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sagesolsticewrites · 17 days

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Brady's Smash Wagon

Your boyfriend (Captain John Brady) takes you (his Red Cross girlfriend) to see his Flying Fortress. Shenanigans ensue 👀

a/n: in light of my recent induction into the Ladies Who Brady™️ club, I present... this <3 enjoy, y'all!

Warnings: mature content (oral (f receiving), fingering, semi-public sex (sorta?? like they’re outside but there’s literally no one else around), praise kink if you squint), an addition to the fandom’s John-Brady-says-grace-before-giving-head universe, definitely a few historical & military inaccuracies

Word count: 2k

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Masterlist

For all the awful things the war had brought you, being a Red Cross girl wasn’t all that bad. Handing out coffee and doughnuts to the men, giving them a friendly face before they went up, giving them a taste of home or simply someone to talk to about missing wives and girlfriends and families back home— it all brought you a sense of happiness, helping the boys in your small way.

It also helped that you got a chance to have some fun yourself.

Take tonight, for instance. Your friends had dragged you to one of the parties the 100th Bomb Group officers were throwing and you were having the time of your life twirling around the dance floor with your girls.

Rosie Rosenthal even took you for a spin on the floor, twirling and dancing circles around you effortlessly, the fast-paced songs he preferred leaving you breathless and dizzy and overwhelmingly happy.

Your eyes couldn’t help being drawn towards the band as the night continued, however. A certain saxophone player had had his eyes on you all night, and a little thrill ran up your spine every time you met his gaze, a flirtatious smile playing on your lips as you saw something flash in his pretty blue eyes.

Rosie stepped off to the side as the band started up a slower tune. Suddenly the saxophonist was gone, instrument left neatly in its case next to his chair, and John Brady was standing in front of you, smiling.

“Well, what’s a pretty girl like you doing here all alone?”

You shrug, attempting to hide the smile that longs to stretch across your face, “Waiting for a certain someone to ask me to dance, I suppose.”

He hums, eyebrow arching.

“In that case, may I have this dance until he shows up?”

You break, giggling as you allow your boyfriend to sweep you into his arms and onto the dance floor.

“You look gorgeous, honey,” John says softly, eyes raking over your figure.

“What, this old thing?” You laugh, deeply aware that he’d seen you in this simple blue dress a thousand times before, softening as you see the sincerity in his gaze, “Thank you, John.”

He simply pulls you in for a sweet kiss, thumb gently stroking your cheek as he pulls away.

“Can I show you something?” He murmurs, quickly assuring you, “We don’t have to go right now, we’ll stay for as many dances as you want, sweetheart, but… there’s something I want you to see.”

The earnest look in his eyes has you eagerly nodding, “I’d love that. And to be honest, I’m a little worn out from Rosie and the girls,” you add with a laugh, “So if you want to head out now, that’s fine by me.”

He agrees happily, arm winding tighter around your waist to pull you close, his nose brushing yours as the song comes to a close.

“Come on,” he whispers, his eyes lighting up as he guides you out of the club towards the hardstands.

“What— John, where are we going?” You hiss, though you can’t help a grin at how excited he seems.

“I’m gonna show you the other love of my life,” he says simply, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek as he tugs you along.

John’s jacket draped over your shoulders, you approach the hardstands. It’s strange, seeing the forts without the bustling ground crew and flight crews surrounding them, but Brady looks perfectly at ease as he guides you towards one fort in particular.

“Skipper,” you say, squinting to read the name painted on the side.

“That’s the name she came with,” he says from his place beside you, looking up at the fort with what you can only describe as pride, “But the boys have taken to calling her, uh… ‘Brady’s Crash Wagon’.”

In the dim moonlight, you can barely make out a faint dusting of pink working its way up to his ears.

“I feel like there’s a story there,” you grin.

“Several, actually,” he says, and launches into the story of the crash landing over the mountains of Wyoming during a training mission that led to the new fort they received being given the new name.

“And then— I think pretty much everyone’s heard this one—” he laughs sheepishly, “on our way in from Greenland our landing gear froze and we ended up having to belly in. She was in pretty bad shape after that,” he nods to the fort, “the fellas and I took a train to get here while she was getting fixed up.”

“I can see why they went with that instead of Skipper, in that case,” you grin, leaning against him, “It suits her.”

He knocks subtly on the side of the plane, the metal ringing softly into the night.

“She says thank you.”

Your giggles are smothered by his lips landing on yours, pulling you close as he smiles into the kiss. Your arms wind around his neck as the kiss quickly becomes heated, sighing into his mouth as he turns to press you gently up against his fort.

“J-John,” you gasp, feeling the cool metal at your back, “Are you sure—?”

“Who’s gonna see us, honey?” He murmurs against you as his lips migrate down your neck, leaving a delicious trail of heat over your skin.

That was true, you were under the cover of darkness, not to mention none of the ground crews were arou—

Your logical list of reasons why this wouldn’t be the most awful thing to do is quickly interrupted by the more primal part of your brain that utterly melts at the thought of him taking you up against the 60-thousand-something pound fort— his fort.

This, you can admit to yourself, is likely due to his lips migrating further south, the warmth of his mouth proving a stark contrast to the cool metal at your back. His teeth graze delicately against the hollow of your throat, making you shiver in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with the cool night air as his hands firmly grip your waist, holding you still.

Your hands fly to grip his hair, desperate for something to ground you. He keeps going, though, and you can’t help but let out a soft gasp as you feel his lips move further down, dragging over your clothes.

The two of you have done this a fair few times, but you swear nothing on Earth will ever prepare you for the sight of Captain John Brady sinking to his knees in front of you, hair mussed from the way your fingers raked through it, pupils blown wide.

“John,” you moan softly as his lips drag down to the hem of your skirt, wasting no time in hitching it up your hips, his pretty fingers tracing along the waistband of your underwear.

“Saw you staring at me at the party, pretty girl,” he murmurs against your skin, “You couldn’t take your eyes off me, could you?”

You shake your head, a soft whimper all you can manage in reply.

You feel him smirk against your thigh, knowing exactly what kept your eyes on him while the band was playing.

“So which did you want first, honey? My mouth or my fingers?”

You clamp down on your lip to hold back a moan as said fingers drag gently over the quickly dampening fabric covering your core. He knew how enraptured you were watching his fingers fly over the keys of his instrument, and he knew how to put those skills to use in… other ways.

“If you don’t choose, I’m gonna have to choose for you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, tracing gentle circles over your underwear.

“Don’t— don’t care,” you manage to gasp through the fog in your brain, “Just want you, Johnny, please—”

“Alright, honey, I gotcha,” he softly assures you, brushing soft kisses along your thigh as he pulls your underwear to the side, dragging his fingers through your damp folds.

Blazing blue eyes meet yours as he slowly, slowly inserts a finger, your bottom lip clamped desperately between your teeth in an attempt to stifle your moans.

In what seems like no time at all, he’s slipping in a second finger, then a third, crooking his fingers just so to hit that spot that he knows has you seeing stars every time he touches it.

Your muffled moans grow louder and louder, his fingers moving faster and faster as you reach your peak.

“C’mon, sweetheart, let go for me,” he murmurs between kisses as he works his way up your thigh, “It’s just us, just me, you can let go, honey—”

Suddenly his mouth clamps over your clit, and you’re tumbling over the edge with a muffled cry of his name, your knees going weak as your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave.

You think you can feel him… whispering something against your skin? as you come down from your high, and when you open your eyes you’re greeted with a sight that has heat pooling in your core all over again: John’s fingers in his mouth, a groan escaping him as he cleans them of your release.

“Fuck,” he groans, meeting your eyes once more as he brushes a series of kisses to the inside of your thigh, slowly but surely working his way back up to your core, “Think you can give me one more, pretty girl?”

You’ve only just gotten your breath back by the time he’s reached the spot where your leg meets your hip, but your frantic nodding is a more than satisfactory answer for him, even as a soft whimper of “please, Johnny” escapes you.

He wastes no time in licking a stripe through your folds, your hands flying to grip his hair as he buries his tongue inside you.

You throw your head back with a gasp, your eyes fluttering shut as his thumb comes up to circle your clit.

“Johnny—”

“Look at me, honey—” he murmurs against you, the vibrations making you tighten your grip on his pretty brown locks as your knees go weak once more, “fuck— keep those pretty eyes open, look at me— good girl.”

He knows what the growl of those last two words will do to you, never mind the sight of his darkened blue eyes looking up at you from between your legs, and you find yourself tumbling over the edge once more as your gazes lock.

Your legs tremble as he mumbles praises against you, effortlessly guiding you through your orgasm and eagerly lapping up your release.

“Oh my— Johnny,” is all you can manage as you come back to yourself, leaning fully on his fort to take some of the weight off your shaky legs.

He grins, standing to kiss his way back up your neck and pulling you in for a tender kiss. You moan, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“Was that alright, sweetheart?” He murmurs against your lips, pulling away momentarily to scan your face carefully.

“It was perfect, honey.” You grin, brushing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “But what about you?”

The pink tinge returns to his cheeks, spreading up to his ears as he mumbles, “I, uh… I got carried away, sweetheart. I’m alright.”

It takes you a moment, but then: “Oh. Oh.” You giggle, winding your arms around his neck as you pull him flush against you for a kiss.

“Next time, then.” You murmur against his lips, noses brushing as you break apart.

“Next time,” John breathes, grinning, “But until then, can I walk you back to the barracks?”

“I’d love that.”

You scoop up his jacket from where it had fallen from your shoulders during your little escapade and dust it off, John helping you look somewhat presentable as you attempt to brush the wrinkles out of your skirt and fix your hair. Eventually, the two of you are strolling over to the little huts where the Red Cross girls are housed, his arm and his jacket draped over your shoulders, looking for all the world like a respectable Army couple.

He bids you goodnight with a sweet kiss, and you slip back into your hut on slightly wobbly legs, with a grin that refuses to fade even as you climb into your bunk to join your roommates in sleep.

#john brady x reader #john brady #captain john brady #ladies who brady #masters of the air #mota #masters of the air fic #masters of the air x reader #mota x reader #ben radcliffe #ben radcliffe x reader #my writing

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obessedwithfictionalmen · 20 hours

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Chicken

John Egan X Farmer! Reader

Summary: When Meatball kills the farmer's chicken. Bucky flies to the rescue.

Warning: Animal death/ swearing/ mention of boobs/ use of Y/n/ mention of blood.

Word count: 1.2k

A/n: I'm alive y'all! And my brain functioned again!

When John Egan came to Thorpe Abbotts, he was aware of the people that already lived there. He knew they were here, but he didn’t know them personally. When he saw her riding her horse, he knew he had to introduce himself. But he didn’t have the courage to go talk to her, she looked so intimidating, riding her horse and handling the goats.

Y/n lived on her family’s farm, but her family was away, they were in Austria, the farm was their summer house, but they wanted Y/n to keep it clean and work there. Usually, she would’ve been back in Austria, but with the war, it wasn’t safe to travel. Her chores were simple, making sure the goats didn’t run away, getting the eggs from the chicken coop and keeping the stables clean. It was easy, especially since she got her horse, Fred. He was a mustang, a beast that she had trouble training, but she kept persevering and was able to ride him. She was riding Fred everywhere; she loved her horse.

‘’Cleven! Good morning’’ she greeted the blonde. They quickly became friends when he came on the base, he went to introduce himself to the people living on the base, already saying he was sorry for the future disturbance that the soldiers were going to cause. When Gale saw Y/n, he thought she was amazing and they talked for hours, quickly becoming friends. They would trade stuff together, for example, if Y/n wanted a bottle of whiskey, she would give Gale a dozen eggs. ‘’Morning Y/n! How are you?’’ he asked. ‘’Good, just counting the chickens’’ she stopped when she heard a dog barking. ‘’Why do you have a dog here?’’ she asked, stepping in front of the chickens. ‘’Brady got him, I’ll make sure he doesn’t come near the coop’’ he reassured her. ‘’He better, because if he eats any of my chickens…’’ she threatened. Meatball came running towards Buck. ‘’He’s cute, but I meant what I said’’ she looked at the dog, smiling. ‘’I’ll make sure of it’’ he smiled.

John Egan heard a horse neigh; he knew that Y/n was close. And he was right, her (Y/h/c) hair were flying in the wind, she had a cowboy hat on her head. A white tank top that made her boobs look 5 times bigger and jeans that made her legs look amazing. She was beautiful. ‘’Y/n, what’s wrong?’’ Gale asked. She got down her horse, patting him before looking at the boys. ‘’I can’t come here and say hello?’’ she smiled as she looked at Bucky. ‘’Technically, you’re on a private property’’ Murph said. She scoffed. ‘’Technically, you guys invaded our property’’ she replied. ‘’Touché’’ Murph laughed. ‘’Nice ride’’ John Egan said, looking at the horse. ‘’Thanks, that’s Fred.’’ She replied. ‘’Um, do you guys have a minute to spare? We need help moving the hay’’ she asked. ‘’Sure, we can help’’ Bucky quickly replied.

‘’Be careful with that Jeep, don’t run over my animals’’ she smiled at Bucky, before she climbed up her horse. ‘’Wanna race?’’ Bucky proposed. She gave him a challenging smile, Fred was a fast horse, he was originally supposed to be a racehorse, but Y/n bought him at the town auction. ‘’Sure, but don’t cry if you lose’’ she smiled. When Fred started to run, Bucky knew he’d already lost, he didn’t want to go too fast, in case of a loose animal. She looked like a goddess, riding that horse. He thought about her riding him for a second, but his thoughts quickly faded when he heard Meatball bark, his mouth was all bloody and he had feathers on him.

‘’Calm down! It’s only 3 chickens!’’ Gale Cleven tried to calm her down, but she was ready to skin the dog alive, Bucky was holding her so she wouldn’t kill the dog. ‘’IT’S LESS EGGS! LET ME GO! I’m going to kill that dog’’ she tried to get away, but Bucky’s grip was too hard on her waist. Meatball didn’t have any regret; he was looking around like his life wasn’t on the line. John Brady, the owner, arrived at the scene in a Jeep, with Harry Crosby and Rosie Rosenthal. The 3 bodies were lying on the ground, headless. Y/n took deep breaths and calmed down a little. ‘’What’s going on?’’ Brady asked. ‘’You’re the owner?’’ she asked, angrily. Brady nodded. ‘’Your stupid dog ate 3 of my chickens!’’ she spat, showing the corpse with her hand. Brady swallowed a nervous laugh. ‘’I told you to watch him and I’m leaving the farm for an hour, I come back, and Dave, Danny and Darrel are dead!’’ she said, looking at her chickens. Bucky had to refrain a laugh at the names of the deceased animals. ‘’I’m sorry miss, I don’t know what else to say’’ Brady explained, scratching the back of his head. She took a deep breath, realizing how crazy she looked. She touched Bucky’s hand, to show him that he could let go. She replaced her hair as she sighed. ‘’I’m sorry, I kinda overreacted. You guys can go, I’ll, uh, clean up. Sorry for the disturbance.’’ She said, with an embarrassed tone.

He felt bad for her, sure it was only 3 chickens, but still. So, that night, he decided to find the courage and go talk to her for more than four words. He rode his Jeep to her house; he nervously taped the wheel with his thumb as he shut the engine down. Seeing lights outside, Y/n got out of the house, standing on her porch, seeing it was a soldier, she wiped her hands on her pants before going down the short stairs. ‘’Major Egan, to what do I owe this visit?’’ she asked, trying to hide her joy. She found him attractive, he was a gentleman during the day and a manwhore during the night, or at least that was his reputation. ‘’Hello, please call me Bucky, and I’m here to pay you back’’ he smiled. She tilted her head. ‘’Pay me back? You owe me money?’’ she questioned. He shook his head, chuckling. ‘’No, it’s for the deceased chickens’’ he explained.

Y/n fought the urge to smirk. ‘’You want to pay me for the chickens I lost?’’ she asked. ‘’Yeah, I mean you said it yourself, it’s less eggs’’ he blurted out. Now she couldn’t fight it anymore, a smile creeped on her face as she looked at the flustered Bucky. ‘’Come inside’’ she invited. He nodded as they waled inside the small home. The smell of burnt candle filling his nose as he looked around the kitchen. ‘’Does Brady know you’re doing this?’’ she asked as they sat in the kitchen. ‘’No, it’s my idea’’ he looked on the ground, not daring to look at her in the eyes. ‘’That’s very sweet, Bucky, but I can’t accept this, you must have family that this money belongs too, what about Mrs. Egan. It’s very thoughtful but keep it’’ she politely said. He started to laugh at the mention of a Mrs. Egan. ‘’There’s no Mrs. Egan, never set that part right, and my family doesn’t need the money. Please, Y/n, take it’’ this time, their eyes were locked into each other.

‘’You know, I didn’t think you would be the one offering me money. I thought Cleven would do it’’ she said, taking a sip of her homemade alcohol. It’s been an hour since Bucky came into her home they’ve been talking ever since. ‘’He felt bad, but he has to keep it for the phones, his girlfriend wants to hear from him twice a week’’ he chucked. She smiled as she looked at him. ‘’It’s getting late, I should get back to the base’’ he said as he looked at his watch. She got an idea. ‘’Are you free for dinner tomorrow?’’ she blurted out. He looked at her, smiling. ‘’Uh, yes, why?’’ he asked. ‘’Because I enjoy your company. And I have some extra money to buy good meat.’’ She smiled. ‘’Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’’ He leaned to kiss the top of her hand. ‘’Good night, Y/n’’ he said. ‘’Good night, Bucky, see you tomorrow’’

#callum turner #callum turner x reader #callum turner imagine #master of the air #master of the air imagine #john egan x reader #major john egan #john egan

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precious-little-scoundrel · 1 month

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Seeing as you’ve (mostly) given us a tour of Croz’s jockey shorts already, I’m going to stand up on behalf of the Ladies Who Brady™️ and request your speculation on John Brady?

*Inhuman and decidedly girlish screeches of delight and trepidation*

nsfw (AF!) under the cut:

Oh my darling, beautiful Brady, how I love him, an all American boy excelling at a man’s job, he’s my husband number…I dunno but he’s up there and he can arm wrestle Croz for top billing. 🤭

Now to business. Speculations regarding the charming attribute (singular) of this lovely human.

Cock-versations || Brady edition (credit to @pearlparty for the genius name and to @suraemoon for being the doll I screamed to regarding this and who helped canonize the below theory)

Hear me out to the end, I beg but to begin: a perfectly substantial, nicely proportioned, beyond adequate and decidedly moderate dick. Justice for the moderates!

Initial extracurricular observations on colouring: pretty pale pole tbh, very veiny, weirdly pretty pube pattern, with coco-rose-blush accents and sack, special treat being when he’s excited his lower belly blushes too and matches his cheeks 🥰

Details of the piece: length is a good, nice, average or a little above. girth is quite substantial and a little more added to that, possessing that extra oomph that makes a difference! with those lean hips it’s plenty impressive to look at when in the act but be ready -he’s massive grower. you might meet him and it’s an adorable, sweet lil thing pillowed on a huge sack (biggest balls in the 100th? maybe, and it’ll make you think the cock is smaller than it is in comparison) when in repose and then voila!!! Six inches or more: at your disposal ma’am. And he does call you ma’am from time to time.

Personality of the user to be considered: this is the sorta post-war husband where you can go round after round and it’s bliss because your cervix isn’t bruised up or indented by cock, so -indulge in all the bouncing and railing to your heart’s content, it’ll feel great but it won’t put you in the hospital or wheelchair. Wahoo. This however, is just taking the member into account, not the attitude of the man attached to it who will, 100% use what he has at *his* disposal to have you limping all through Lent. And you’ll love it, and you’ll have to make up excuses as you shift in your seat at the Brady family table and tardily pass the gravy to his mama…ain’t your fault you’re distracted.

I think he could get quite rambunctious, both in good fun and to wind up a argument, but the Brady cock won’t have you sobbing because you had to take an elephant trunk up you, ya know? *SIDE EYES EGAN* So you could get quite wild rather safely. For instance -I put him down as #1 most likely to lovingly choke you with all due respect.

Or, if that’s not your thing -he’s at least gripping your jaw, squishing your cheeks in one hand as he goes in and out, “look at me, -look at me, keep those pretty eyes open”.

Don’t let the word “moderate” lull you into thinking it’s easy to keep eye contact, hard to do in fact when your eyeballs are taking a tour of the back of your skull because this boy *hasn’t stopped in ages and it’s still pummeling that spot right.there*

But Brady does love a little switching and he’s very tuned in, very intuitive, utterly caring in the end. You have all his attention at all times and he has a goal in mind -and wow will he get ya there.

We love a good all American moderate man of extreme capabilities

#masters of the air #John Brady #ladies who Brady #cock-versations #naughty sleepover #mota asks #mota #ben radcliffe

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thegreenthepeacetheorange · 5 months

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Everlark (Mockingjay, Ch. 18-19)

because of everything in the last chapter, katniss throws herself into her training with a vengeance. something driven by what they've done to peeta but also that keeps her mind off it

the same way katniss used to watch peeta from afar in 12 when they were kids, she watches him when he starts showing up in training

"my weaknesses? that's a door i don't even want to open' let me guess it starts with a p and ends in eeta

i wish we all got a world where finnick got to heal post war with katniss, peeta, annie, haymitch and johanna... broken brady brunch that i love so much. the way being victors binds them into being this family so that even though when katniss says she doesn't really know johanna, we have seen how they are essentially sisters and understand each other in a way that most people don't... the gift she gives johanna when she's in the hospital is so beautiful and so emblematic of who katniss is despite the horrors she lives in. and it's also such a peeta thing to do. because they're both so thoughtful

(an aside: prim's goodbye to katniss hurts differently knowing what i know now)

the fact that she takes the pearl with her

coin was evil but thanks for sending peeta on the mission actually. forced dating trope is old news, forced fighting together in a war against an entity that has destroyed our whole lives is in

when katniss says the whole thing about how she wouldn't be shooting peeta, just one of the capitol mutts. very annoying of her actually but she says it herself, it's her lashing out because of how she's humiliated by it all that she's felt. but poor peeta having to hear that

gale offering to straight up kill him and katniss is like "um no". the fact that gale thinks that this is something she actually wants, that she thinks like him in terms of just wanting the problem dead. oh sweetie no. katniss straight up being like "i can deal with him" aka "mind your own business"

i answered a question here about the squad giving katniss unfriendly looks after her mutt comments about peeta so i won't type it all again

i'm grateful for haymitch talking sense into her because she needed it. with the situations reversed, peeta wouldn't have treated her like how she was treating him and she needed to remember that

"you're punishing him over and over for things that are out of his control"

haymitch reminding her of the deal they made to save peeta. they're still in the games and she's forgotten her task. but here it is again. she has to save peeta but this time she's not sure how to achieve that

finnick lending peeta his rope. ugh. him being there for peeta when katniss couldn't. the way they all step in for each other when others can't.

and she finally starts to open up instead of being defensive and cold back

"i suddenly want to tell peeta everything about who he is and who i am and how we ended up here. but i don't know how to start. worthless. i'm worthless. " - katniss taking it upon herself when actually the idea of telling peeta all this in its entirety is such a huge task because their relationship is too huge to capture in words, in moments.

peeta remembering her favourite colour...

his thank you to her when she tells him his...

"you're a painter. you're a baker. you like to sleep with the windows open. you never take sugar in your tea. and you always double-knot your shoelaces" - these small intimacies. these little facts that tell us how much katniss knows about him. the small things she's held onto. these little things she remembers with so much fondness.

can you imagine peeta listening to all that and then looking down at his double-knotted shoelaces? remembering the calmer sleep that comes with the wind blowing in through the open windows at night? ugh.

this whole passage tells her that katniss knows his essence. these little details that she's never mentioned to us before.

her running away after saying all that because she wants to cry. she's so devastated and i want to hug her and peeta

cheese buns being part of real or not real, along with the colour of katniss's dresses and their maths teacher. they know each other. have known each other.

i can't state how horrific it is that darius and lavinia were tortured and killed in front of peeta. because we obviously aren't his head for the books but the horrors that peeta suffered?! it upsets me so much every time i read this passage. they hurt and killed darius and lavinia to hurt and torture peeta.

(an aside: them all just being kids/young people and messing around while filming the propos and boggs having to reprimand them while holding back his own smile again just reminds me of how young they all were. it's so depressing)

#everlark #katniss and peeta #peeta x katniss #katniss x peeta #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #haymitch abernathy #tgtpto everlark read #the hunger games #mockingjay

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comphy-and-cozy · 2 years

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Sundress Season - Andrei Svechnikov

Pairing: Andrei Svechnikov x teammate’s sister!Reader (f)

Summary: Being a Staal sister, you’ve seen your fair share of cute hockey players, but none that have struck you like Andrei has. What will happen at the postseason summer barbecue at the captain’s house?

Word Count: 4.3K

Author’s Note: I am a sucker for the summer sundress trope. The rest is just pure, unadultered filth. I don’t know where it came from, but I will be blaming (crediting) @ryanpulock for keeping Tumblr’s Svech-thirst train alive.

Warnings: Smut (18+ ONLY). A cocky Russian, swearing, brief alcohol use/mention, absolutely filthy dirty talk, risqué sex, unprotected sex, choking, very brief voyeurism reference, creampie.

Masterlist / Sequel

As a Staal sister, you’d spent more than your fair share of time around hockey players — of all kinds. The rugged veterans, the hot shot rookies, the career 4th line grinders. You grew up around it, living in the rink alongside your brothers, old sticks and rolls of tape scattered in the trunk of your car. You’d met some legends, both humble and cocky, and you’d met fresh faced kids who were just drafted, still pimply and uncertain.

But none of them struck you like Andrei Svechnikov.

Most of the Canes were cordial to you, friendly, but kept their distance because you were their captain’s sister, duh. It was a respect thing, but it was also a little bit of a fear thing. There had been a few guys through the years that weren’t careful with their lingering glances and flirtatious winks, and had promptly been chewed out by one — or more — of the menacing Staals.

That wasn’t the only reason things had never progressed, though. For the most part, your own interest was never piqued past some surface-level flirting, primarily because you knew that the large majority were scummy, and dirty, just looking for a quick fuck — certainly never the kind of guy you’d bring home to meet mom, dad, and four huge brothers.

Simply put, none of them caught your attention enough to even consider the idea of risking the wrath of the Staal boys.

Except Andrei.

When he came back from his summer break following his rookie year, he was stronger, more filled out, and, undeniably, downright delicious. It was a notable change, to everyone, and you were no exception. He was cooler, more confident, almost cocky in the way he carried himself, and what’s worse is that you liked it — you couldn’t help it. In just a few short months, he’d transformed from just another one of your brother’s teammates to an absolute Russian dreamboat who you couldn’t keep out of your head. He was pesky, cropping up on Instagram or in casual conversation just as soon as you’d forget about him, never completely slipping from your mind.

He noticed, too. Being less than an hour from your brother, spending holidays and the occasional weekend with him, you saw Andrei somewhat regularly, and he never failed to make you sweat with just a glance. The tension between you two had been growing, steadily and slowly, over the last few months, through subtle glances here, ghosting touches there. Which is why you found yourself nervous for today, an excited energy fluttering low in your belly.

Playoff hopes dashed, Jordan was hosting an end-of-season party before everyone parted ways for the summer. It’s pure coincidence that you happen to be visiting at the same time, having just finished your semester at Duke. Mostly coincidence, at least.

Just like it’s a coincidence that you picked your flounciest sundress, the one that ripples in the wind and fits your bust in just the right way to show the perfect amount of cleavage while still maintaining your ‘Captain’s Little Sister’ image.

And you play your part well, flitting through the groups that form, making the casual conversation and ensuring that drinks are filled and snacks are stocked. You play catch up with Brendan, joke around with Aho, tell Brady about your program. Heather appreciates the extra hands, chopping up the veggies for the dip, mixing the lemonade for the pitcher, and replenishing the huge spread of food on the kitchen island.

You’re chatting with Jaccob’s wife, Kylie, when Andrei walks in, the air suddenly different and the feeling of eyes that aren’t Kylie’s on you. A glance at the patio confirms what you already know to be true: the object of your affections has arrived, and he’s already taking in the sight of you, offering a close-mouthed smile and a wink before he turns to find a drink.

“He always looks at you,” she comments when she sees where your eyes have trained, returning his smile. “I think our not-so-little Andrei has a crush.”

“My brother would skin him alive, and then kill me, too,” you shake your head, ignoring the heat that her observation brings to your cheeks. Surely the sun beating down had more to do with your sudden hot flash than a certain Russian’s presence, right?

“He’s a really sweet kid,” she says, as if she’s talking about a boy who is courting her teenage daughter and not a six-foot-something professional athlete. “Always so polite.”

You hum, nodding vaguely in agreement, before stepping away to refill the chips on the table. Once you’ve completed a quick check of the spread, you retrieve your beverage, moving out of the sun to cool under the shade of the large oak tree. Casually, you glance over your shoulder, eyes sweeping over the groups chattering in the yard, until you’re met with two rich sepia irises, already staring back at you. A shy smile quickly forms on your lips, and you look away.

Not two minutes later, you glance back to see a large, dimpled Russian offering a wave as he walks up to you. Part of you wants to smirk, to chirp him that he’s by your side the moment you’re alone, but then he’s standing next to you and his cologne is invading your senses and suddenly you can’t think straight, barely able to look up at him and meet his eyes.

“It’s nice to see you,” he greets you, smiling, taking a swig of beer from the sweating bottle in his hand. You can’t help but let your eyes drag along the tendons of his arms, over his enormous hands. Had his fingers always been that thick?

You blink, snapping yourself out of it, and offering a, “You too, Andrei.” Then, “I’m sorry about the playoffs.”

“Ah,” he waves his hand, as if all of the frustration and pain could be shooed away with the gesture. “It sucks, but we’ll do it next year. I’m sure of it.”

Humming, you agree, and when you ask if he’s going home for the summer, he says, “I’m here for another few weeks, and then my brother and I are going to Hawaii. Should be fun.”

Again, you nod in agreement, doing your best to push out the mental image of him sitting shirtless on a beach.

“Marty wasn’t sure if you would be here,” he changes the subject, wordlessly in control of the conversation, like he has a purpose and isn’t even going to bother with small talk. “But I knew you would be.”

“How’s that?”

He smirks then, smug in the way he looks at you, and somehow you know he’s got you right where he wants you.

“Since you’re dying to fuck me.”

Instantly, your eyes widen and you choke on the Mike’s Hard you’re sipping on, heat rushing straight to your cheeks at the blatant, sudden call out. How — ?

“You’re not very good at hiding it, you know,” he continues, as if he can read your mind, has seen every single filthy thought you’ve had about him since he strolled in through the sliding door with his casual, easy air and his shirt that’s just a little too tight around his biceps.

“I — you — it’s —“ you splutter, all thoughts in your mind completely void. What are words, anyways?

Andrei ignores you, shifting on his feet in a way that looks casual but ultimately gets him a few inches closer to you. He lowers his voice, “It’s okay, ‘cause I’m dying to fuck you, too.”

The air of the conversation shifts dramatically as his words settle in, right into your core where you’ve been dreaming of having him, and you’re both mortified and inexplicably turned on at his certainty. He loves watching you squirm, you can tell by the pleasure in his fiery eyes, like he’s playing a game that he has all the cheat codes to.

“Andrei,” you finally manage to choke out. “Jesus Christ.”

“Moaning my name and I haven’t even touched you yet,” he shoots back with a smirk.

“You can’t – you can’t just –” you gulp again, looking around frantically, ensuring that no one is listening in, “– say that!”

He shrugs, taking another swig of his beer, and you know you’re fucked when you watch his tongue dart out to lick the leftover foamy liquid off his lips, wishing you could do it for him. “Why not? It’s true.”

“That doesn’t mean – I’m – Jordan –” a pause, a deep breath, a collection of thoughts. “Jordan is my brother, and your captain, in case you forgot.”

Andrei must have known that response was coming, because he’s quick with a, “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Besides, it kinda makes it hotter, no?”

You feel like your brain is going to explode at his casual air, as if he’s asking you to pass the salt at the dinner table instead of suggesting you fuck your brother’s teammate inside his own home. To keep up the image of casual conversation, despite the fact that it is far from it, you take another sip of your drink, willing it to cool you down.

He watches you, amused at your attempt to gather your thoughts. Of fucking course you want to, your pussy practically screaming at you to have his mouth on her, and, you admitted to yourself, it would be kind of hot —

“You gonna let me? Fuck you?” his low voice pulls you out of your thoughts, posing the question plainly, and you can’t decide if the bluntness is the Russian in him or simply just his confidence.

Despite every ounce of your brain shouting at you to say no, you’re nodding before you can think twice about saying yes, head moving of its own accord. With a short glance around the yard to Jordan, ensuring he’s thoroughly preoccupied as he holds someone’s newborn baby, you feign a goodbye to Andrei, muttering, “Guest bathroom. 5 minutes.”

All he does is smirk, and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes, tempted to take back your words if he doesn’t bottle up his attitude. But you know that’s not what you want, not really.

Once you’re in the bathroom, door shut firmly behind you, you take a deep inhale and look at yourself in the mirror as the reality of your decision comes crashing around you. Are you fucking crazy? In Jordan’s bathroom?

This isn’t you, never daring enough to do anything even remotely risqué as this, but you can’t deny that the anticipation that thrums through your veins is exhilarating. Besides, it was only a matter of time before you’d develop a crush on one of your brothers’ teammates, and they’d be stupid not to expect it.

There’s a soft knock on the door, startling you and popping your thought bubble. With another quick inhale, heart panging in your chest, you open the door, your knees nearly buckling at the smirk that greets you on the other side.

Andrei pushes in, making sure the door is closed and locked behind him before he’s on you, grinning, hands gripping your hips to pull you close to him. His enthusiasm encourages yours, and your hands find purchase on the sides of his face, pulling him in to tug your mouth to his. For a moment, you’re taken aback by the taste of him and the fullness of his lips against yours, distracted by the way his tongue teases you. It’s everything you wanted and more, and he’s only just kissed you.

“What took you so long?” you ask, voice muffled, broken by a sigh as one of his large hands reaches to squeeze your ass.

“Your fucking brother cornered me on my way in here,” he says, giving your other cheek a knead, grinning at the involuntary moan that he pulls from you.

“Y’tell him what we’re about to do?” you tease, deciding that if he was going to let his hands roam free over your body, you’d do the same. Palms run over the smooth, hardened muscle of his chest, feeling the cut of his pecs, then his strong core, admiring with your hands through the material of his shirt.

You’re not sure if it’s your movements or your words that draw a low groan from him, a dark chuckle sounding from his throat as he moves to press kisses along your jaw. “He’d murder me if I told him what I wanted to do you.”

You hum, his admission sending heat directly to your core. Head turned to the side to allow him more access to the tender part of your neck, you manage, “Why don’t you tell me instead?”

“Driving me fucking crazy with this dress all afternoon,” he murmurs hotly, taking advantage of the space you allow him. “Could barely control myself.”

A gasp leaves your lips as he nips at a spot beneath your ear, careful to place it so that it’d be covered by your hair. Fingers tangle in the fringes of his hair, holding his head close to you.

“You still haven’t told me.”

It’s Andrei’s turn to hum, distracted when he unceremoniously tugs the ruching of your dress down, exposing your breasts and immediately moving to get both hands and his mouth on them, fondling and kissing every bit of skin he can touch. A shiver runs through you as his lips find your nipple, flicking and laving the sensitive part with his tongue.

“This, for starters,” he murmurs, voice muffled by your skin. The depth of it rumbles through you, vibrating your chest. “Been wanting to see these tits for so long.”

He tastes you, hands cupping your breasts as he allows his face to press between them. Your hand moves between your bodies, tugging at his shirt, and he pulls his scorching mouth away from you for a few unbearable moments to throw his shirt over his head before he’s back on you.

“Andrei,” your voice calls him, a sharp reminder that he doesn’t have time to worship you the way he really wants to.

“All I could fucking think about all afternoon was pulling this,” he says after tearing himself away from your tits, grabbing the flowing skirt of your dress, “Over these pretty hips of yours and bending you over, fucking you ‘til you scream.”

“Well, what are you waiting for, Svech? We don’t have all day.”

He lets out a mix between a groan and a growl, twisting your body so your back is to his chest, facing the mirror, and you watch his hand, heavy on your thigh, move its way up to your breast while he plants another open-mouth kiss to your neck. Your mouth falls open, eyes fluttering shut, unable to do anything but revel in the pleasure — and he hadn’t even touched you yet, not really.

You’re impatient, and a whine slips through your lips as your hips move against him. He’s hard, you can feel him where he’s pressed up against your ass, and if not for the layers and layers and layers — far too many layers — of clothing between you two, you think you could shift your hips just so and he’d slip into you with ease.

“Be quiet,” he mutters in your ear, the depth of his voice settling into your core. “I’m the one who’s gonna get my ass beat if we get caught.”

Andrei’s hand latches to your hip, his other hand moving under the fabric of your dress, finding the soaked cotton of your panties. He’s smirking behind you, into your shoulder, but you can see his dimple poking through and you want to smack the smugness off of his pretty face. You open your mouth to retort, but the words falter on your tongue when you feel his fingers running over your slit, pausing briefly to prod at your clit.

“A-Andrei,” you groan out, doing your best to keep your voice from wavering. “We don’t have time for teasing.”

“Can’t help it, baby,” he grins back. “Been wanting to feel this pussy for years.”

Your head falls back against his shoulder when he pushes one thick finger past the waist of your panties, slipping into you, pushing, teasing, working you. It’s not long before he adds another, and you gasp because fuck, are his fingers thick.

“God, you’re fucking tight,” he groans, twisting his arm to get better leverage so he can fuck you better, working you open until your eyes are ready to roll back in your head, white hot waves of pleasure coursing through your veins.

The sound of distant chatter down the hall makes you freeze, and if you weren’t moments away from coming all over this man’s fingers, you’d probably laugh at the sight of yourself in the mirror: hair a mess, mouth hanging open, tits haphazardly hanging out of your dress, skirt bunched up with a very large, very talented, hand down your gray cotton thong. Your eyes lock with his, brown and wide, not scared but listening intently, as you frantically search for an excuse of why you could possibly be in the bathroom with your brother’s teammate.

Heather’s voice gets closer in the hallway, eventually passing and moving further into the house. As soon as he realizes the coast is clear, Andrei resumes his movements, bringing you closer and closer to the climax that the brief moment had quelled.

“Give it to me, baby.” His voice is deep, rough, muttered in your ear as you watch the toned muscles in his forearms flex with his movements. “Just give me one and I’ll fuck you so good you see stars.”

It doesn’t take much longer for you to fall apart, slumping forward against the support of his arm as your orgasm hits you, clenching tightly around his two thick fingers. Your hips rolls against his wrist, already desperate for more of him.

Andrei presses a kiss against your neck, gently, drawing the final waves of your release out with long, slow strokes of his fingers. Without an ounce of hesitation, he brings his fingers up to his mouth, as you watch, jaw dropped, while he sucks your essence off of his digits.

“God, you taste fucking good,” he says, smacking his lips. “Next time, I’m gonna spend all day eating this cunt.”

“Oh, there’s a next time, is there?”

“Judging by the way you just soaked my fingers, yeah, I’d say so.”

“Shut up and fuck me, Svechnikov,” you fire back, pressing your ass back against his crotch, sending him a smirk through the mirror as you grind against him.

He growls, not liking your display of control, and murmurs, “Bend over, then, baby. We don’t have much time.”

“Whose fault is that?”

“I didn’t see you complaining,” he’s quick to retort. “In fact, I’m pretty sure you were moaning.”

“Are you gonna fuck me or not?”

He smiles, clearly enjoying your banter, as the palm he places between your shoulder blades pushes you down until you’re leaning against the marble countertop, shivering when your bare breasts hit the cool surface. Your dress is still bunched up around the swell your hips, but he tugs up the material even further before he’s making quick work of his own pants, shucking them down his legs and stroking himself. You barely get a glance at it, thinking vaguely to yourself that next time you’d like to spend a lot more time studying.

“You can have it down your throat next time,” is the statement that pulls you out of your daydream, another dimpled smirk meeting your gaze in the reflection of the mirror.

With one smooth push, Andrei takes the words — as well as any snarky remark — out of you, only able to focus on the feeling of him filling you up. Your mouth falls open, pleasure flooding your system as he begins to move, the friction enough to have you throbbing against him.

Hands grip your hips, pulling you back onto him and you swear you can feel him in your stomach, sure he is quite literally rearranging your guts. He’ll leave bruises, you think, hope he does, so that you can trace your fingers over the marks tomorrow when you’re remembering what he feels like inside you, drawing pleasure with each push of his hips.

When his hand trails up your body, securing a place at the base of your throat, fingers wrapping around with ease due to the size of his hand, your eyes lock with his in the mirror, pleading with him to squeeze tighter. Being the gentleman he is, he obliges as he fucks into you, rough, but careful to make sure his hips don’t slap too loudly against your ass for fear of attracting unwanted attention. He’s forceful with steady, slow thrusts opposed to the fast, hard ones he’d like to give you if you were in private, the ones he’s dreamed of giving you since he first met you years ago. Biting the meat of your palm to stay quiet, you lose yourself in the feeling, letting the desire and heat of the moment take over.

A knock at the door has both of you freezing yet again, Andrei pausing with his hips pressed against your ass, conveniently completely sheathed within you. He’s so fucking deep, stretching you to your fullest, wrapped tightly around his cock, and you know he can feel the way you flutter around him as your heart threatens to beat out of your chest.

“Y/N? You in there?” It’s Heather.

Andrei’s hand releases its grip on your throat slightly to let you speak, though his fingers stay pressed against your neck. Your voice fails you, swallowing, before you’re coughing and replying, “Yeah?”

“Have you seen Andrei? Jord’s looking for him, they’re starting a game of volleyball.”

Resisting the urge to laugh, thinking that you’ve more than seen him, you meet Andrei’s eyes in the mirror and see the sparkle in his eye as his free hand moves to place his finger over your clit. With a glare at him, you do your best to ignore the way he rubs, threatening to pull a moan from your lips. “Uh, no. Think maybe I saw him by the — by the cooler.”

She hums a thank you, and you hold your breath before you hear her shuffling away. Andrei lets out a low chuckle, muffling the sound with your shoulder blade.

“God, that was so hot,” he murmurs, so low you can barely hear him. “Should’ve felt the way you were squeezing me, fuck. Almost makes me want to get caught.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

With a wink, he resumes his movements, this time rougher now that you’ve both had a brief moment to catch your breath, and you know he’s determined to get you off. Thick fingers tighten around your throat once more, tugging you backwards by your neck so your spine is arched and his lips are pressed against the back of your head, breathing heavily against you. “You gonna hurry up and come for me?” he whispers, breath hot in your ear, his accent thick as he nears his own release. “As much as I want to, I don’t think we should have big brother Jordie walking in while I’m balls deep in his sister’s pretty little pussy.”

“Andrei, please,” is your choked reply, eyelids fluttering shut as he begins to hit that spot repeatedly. “God, right there, please —“

He’s a good listener, striking with precision, and it’s only a few more pumps before you’re shuddering in his arms, your strangled cry quickly muffled by his large hand over your mouth. He fucks you through it, pulsing around him before he’s groaning, pressing deeply into you as hot liquid fills you.

A long exhale leaves you, panting, as his arms release their hold on you, ensuring that you’re stable enough to stand with a smirk. The feeling of his cum leaking down your legs makes you bite your lip when he pulls out, and you watch his eyes flick to it, licking his lips at the sight.

You feel like a kid learning how to bike without training wheels, shaky on your legs, briefly wondering to yourself how the fuck you’re supposed to walk back into the backyard and continue socializing like you didn’t have the lights fucked out of you by your brother’s star teammate.

Andrei seems to have similar thoughts as he’s tugging his pants back up, running a hand through his hair, laughing, “How am I supposed to go play volleyball with your brother now?”

“Guess you should’ve thought about that before you decided to fuck me in his bathroom,” you say, accepting the tissue he offers you to clean up your legs.

“I would never pass up the opportunity to fuck you,” he says, and you see a hint of seriousness and sincerity behind his eyes, despite the crude words coming out of his mouth. “As hot as this was, next time it should be in private. After dinner, maybe?”

You feel heat in your cheeks at his insinuation, the invitation hanging out in the open before you’re hesitating, your brother’s name hanging heavy on the tip of your tongue.

“I’ll deal with him, when it comes time,” he adds, noting your hesitation, already knowing the look he’d have in his eyes — he’ll save that for another day.

You smile, nodding an agreement, suddenly shy despite the fact that his cum is pooling in your panties as you adjust your dress. A date. A real date. With a hockey player, your brother’s teammate, yes, but more than that: a gentleman. Finally, a man that was worthy to bring home to the Staals.

When you make your way back to the party, carefully staggering your arrival from Andrei’s, you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips when you make eyes with him as he takes his position by Jordan at the volleyball net.

This one, you thought, was worth the wait.

#andrei svechnikov fic #andrei svechnikov fanfic #andrei svechnikov fanfiction #andrei svechnikov imagine #andrei svechnikov blurb #andrei svechnikov smut #hockey blurb #nhl imagine #a. svechnikov #nhl fic #hockey fic #hockey romance #hockey rpf #hockey imagine #nhl imagines #nhl fanfiction #hockey fanfiction

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mercurygray · 13 days

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The Unquiet Tide

I am happy to report that - after a little bit of work - most of my MOTA OC work is now up and available for your reading, commenting and subscribing pleasure on AO3.

Since Masters of the Air lends itself to a more episodic approach, each of these stories will take place as a series of short format pieces posted more or less in chronological order. Much of the work is being driven by prompts from readers like you! I will still be posting updates here on tumblr, but will probably be linking directly to the full text on AO3.

The three fics are collected in The Unquiet Tide, so if you're on AO3 and would like to subscribe to collection updates for easy notifications, you can now do that!

Pavilioned In The Fields - Cordelia Callaway (John Egan x OFC)

Cordelia Callaway knows planes - she grew up building them and watching them be flown, and there is no one better in the entire Army Air Forces for keeping a level head while one of them comes in for a landing in flames. If the only way she can contribute to the war is making sure all these man land safely, then there's no one else you'd want in your control tower, because she doesn't do things by halves, either. Unfortunately, that also means holding grudges - and if you're the 100th's executive officer, that means you might be in for a very, very long war.

Your Best Girl - Fred Torvaldsen (John Brady x OFC)

Someone said this war would come with donuts, and Freda Torvaldsen is here to make sure they’re right. As a somewhat new replacement for the Red Cross Clubmobile team at Thorpe Abbotts, Freda - or Fred, as she's usually called - is still learning everyone’s name (and everyone is still learning hers!) but she’s confident with time that she’ll fit right in - and a certain clarinet-playing captain is hoping she fits right in with him.

Seek To Hold The Wind - Marion Brennan (Neil Harding x OFC)

It is one thing for the Army Air Forces to send planes out, and quite another to bring them back home. Someone must be there at the end, to gather all the pieces up to make sure what has just happened makes sense. That's Marion Brennan's job, and she's damn good at it - a life spent in the Army will do that to a woman. She's also here to do it without distractions - though a certain former football coach and commanding officer is making that rather difficult.

#i have written a thing #mercurygraypresents #tds cinematic universe #masters of the air OC #masters of the air x oc #freda torvaldsen #marion brennan #cordelia callaway #also i think it's really funny that as of right this moment #fred has bookmarks #cord has hits #and marion has nothing #so that's that on the prevailing fandom taste at the moment

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blurredcolour · 18 days

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Heyy!! I would do anything, and I mean ANYTHING for some John Brady domestic headcanons with a chronically ill reader? 🤍🤍

Nonny this ask is so very lovely and I’ve interpreted it as reader and Brady in a relationship but please let me know if you were hoping for something different!! 💙

Cut for length, no real warnings aside from references to Catholicism and spoon theory

John Brady is the kind of man who takes oaths and vows very seriously - I mean he volunteered for the Army Air Force and went overseas to bomb occupied Europe, they are more than just words to him

So he very much meant “for better or for worse” and “in sickness AND in health”

There is no question of spending his life with you, whether you come to the relationship with your illness or receive the diagnosis later on. You are his person and he is undeterred by the fact that this may come with some complications or difficulties

Hyper vigilant for any and all of your needs - present, imminent, perceived, potential or otherwise

Seems to thrive on memorizing your catalogue of triggers and symptoms and remedies. At times you may wonder how he has space in his head for anything else.

There would probably have to be some negotiation at first, his desire to keep you safe and comfortable feeling restrictive and overbearing. Sometimes you want to do things that cost a lot of spoons and have a lot of consequences. Sometimes these opportunities or events are worth the costs

John will have to have that explained to him because he cannot bear to see you suffer, so it is difficult for him to wrap his head around why you would knowingly put yourself in a position that will result in pain for the sake of enjoyment. It might help to bring up his flying adventures to illustrate your point.

I still don’t see him entirely understanding it but he will nonetheless respect your decision, now that he knows you are making a choice rather than simply overextending yourself carelessly, and be all the more supportive through the inevitable low that follows

He will still pull the plug, however, if you’re actually putting yourself in danger

More than happy to be the reason you leave anywhere early

“Have an early day at the office tomorrow” or “big project coming up.” It is NEVER because you’re feeling overwhelmed or unwell.

Practically an encyclopedia when it comes to your medications, specialists, and recent appointments. Does his best to attend all of them with you, colouring in the medical history when you look at him for specifics. If for some reason he’s not able to accompany you, he sends you with a list of information and helps you prep

Juggles being the primary income earner, cook, house keeper, and caregiver without complaint

In fact he is far too silent about it, particularly the first period where he literally tries to manage it all to his self-exacting level of perfection

Winds up incapacitated in bed beside you and there is another stern talk about realistic expectations

After a lot of trial and error the pair of you manage to find a very comfortable way of life, dealing with flare-ups as needed, easily pivoting to quiet nights in as required

I mean good for you for picking this man to make a home with, he’s not out there seeking the night life and bright lights anyway. A jazz record and cozy blanket and the person he loves is all he could ever ask for in an evening anyway

#answered asks #ladies who brady #john brady #thinking brady thoughts

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wexhappyxfew · 1 month

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Hello love! If it's not a problem for you, how about "what do you mean you don't know?" from prompt list #3 for my girl Annie?

If not, no worries, anything else is fine!

Thank you again, I love the way you write!

ah hello anon!! thanks so much for stopping by and dropping in a prompt - this one took a bit for me to write and wrap my head around for the direction i wanted and the end result is definitely something i like! :) featuring annie bradshaw, john brady, and a whole lot of emotions that are hard to navigate :'( enjoy!!

______________________________________________________________

The bed was probably the most comforting thing in the past few days more than anything else.

It was warm, and a place where she could shut her eyes from the world around her, and most importantly, she could finally let herself rest enough to get a few hours of sleep - something she was severely lacking on in recent happenings.

That and the fact Captain Brady was right there next to her.

One of the bigger changes in recent days as well. It sort of just happened. The two of them there. In bed side by side. He'd wandered in and she'd been in her bed, staring aimlessly at the ceiling, previous thoughts of just what had happened, mulling about in her mind - Major Cleven's fort going down, DeMarco along with him.

Then there had been Margie's tears and trying to comfort a girl who was feeling much more emotional than she thought she would've. There was recognizing that they really didn't know what had happened but that their first assumptions were as expected - MIA or dead.

So, Brady finding her curled in her bed, dead-silent, was something he probably expected.

Him settling down next to her?

Yeah, that was a whole new experience.

And now, with the evening rolling in, with bitter wind chills, the 'nap' (if you could call it a nap) was forcing her from sleep, where she was tucked protectively against his form, the rise and fall of his chest mesmorizing as she lazily blinked her eyes awake.

A part of her wanted to stay in this moment, right here, for as long as she could; curled against Brady, his arm around her, holding her as close as possible to him without it crossing any sort of lines they had tried to draw, his thumb gently brushing the exposed part of her wrist that was curled up against her own chest.

Annie softly let out a breath and then shifted her head to look upwards towards Brady's face, finding him completely passed out. The past few days had taken its toll on everyone; mission every day, losing people every day, planes going down left and right, less seats occupied in the mornings with filling breakfasts. His face was so soft in his sleep, the stress lines gone, his face light. She wondered back home if his own mother would ever pray that he'd come home and be able to sleep like this again - away from war, sorrow and pain. In a world where this, where they were right now, was so far removed from war that Annie could've allowed herself to envision this as a future.

"Hey," Brady mumbled, slowly peaking his eyes open in the sprinkling of evening darkness, shifting a bit as he yawned, looking towards her lazily.

This would be an awkward moment to not call him sir, right? Annie watched him for a moment, her hand lingering on his leather jacket that she was curled against and smiled slightly his way.

"Hi," she whispered back, her own eyes still feeling heavy as she stared at his darkened face in the poorly lit officers' barracks, "how'd you sleep? You were out-cold." Brady let a grin grow on his features, an evidently tired one, but a genuine one nonetheless and he settled again, his hand finding its way along her back, his touch lingering as he went.

"Probably the best I've had in weeks, and," he checked his watch, "to say an hour nap was the best in weeks is pretty sad if I'm being honest." She laughed. A light, genuine laugh.

Annie sat up a bit, leaning an arm on his chest, lying her head there and staring up at him, with probably the most boring gaze she could offer him, with her mind drained, her nerves shot and the last of her wits about her, depleted. But, the corner of his lip quirked up and he seemed to smile at her.

That was this thing with them; the crawling into each other's cots when things got too much, the lingering looks after launching themselves from the B-17s that nearly crash-landed after every mission, the eye contact in Interrogation or at the mess hall from across the tables. The knowing and undying of it all. The knowing, which hurt the most.

"What's up there?" Brady asked her quietly, reaching forward, almost as-if absentmindedly, brushing some hair from her eyes, like it were second nature, "your wheels are turning, I can see it." He always seemed to know when she was on some long train of thought that had no stops. Just that look in his eye, the way his gaze stayed longer than needed; he always knew.

"If you run into Margie, just give her a hug," Annie said quietly, "she's…..she's struggling. All of this." Brady was silent as he listened to her - something Annie gave him a lot of credit for. Just listening, letting her talk. So many times, it was her doing the listening for others. Him watching her so intently and immersed almost made her lose it on the spot.

"I don't know," whispered Annie, her voice tight, "Margie was finally just….letting someone else in? She's a sweetheart truly, but I don't know, ever since that night he took her dancing, she's been so happy, just….a ball of sunshine. He was good for her." And now the only thing uttered after DeMarco's name was MIA (and the other silent word no one wanted to say).

"Benny's a tough guy," Brady said with a nod at her, "and Margie's got more hope for the future than the rest of us combined." He met her gaze.

"And knowing Benny, he's not going out of this war because a German killed him," Brady said. Annie found herself able to smile a bit at the truth in his words - he was right. Benny DeMarco was tough as nails; but with Margie, he turned like a sunflower to sunshine. In her gut, she knew no one like him would just let it be the end.

Annie looked at Brady - fully. Taking in everything about his face, just simply him, that tired look in his eyes, the slight hint of a smile.

"What?" Brady said, his voice low, "There's something else bothering you." There was something deep inside of her, convincing her that nothing else was wrong - that it was the fact that her focus was so intense on Margie that it had consumed her. But then, she looked at Brady and her heart rate sped up.

"Just…." she trailed off, her heart continuing to pound; he continued to hold her gaze, firmer this time, more engrossed and focused solely on her - almost like he knew. Like he knew exactly what was she feeling. There was constant fear that swirled in her gut and made her feel sick. It made her feel like curling up into a ball and never facing the world again. A general fear for every aspect of her life right now.

Annie slowly sat up, trying to get a deeper breath than she was getting at the minute and nervously reached up to tuck her hair behind her ears and looked at Brady again, who looked more alarmed by the second.

"What's going on?" Brady asked quietly, sitting up and reaching forward - always inevitably reaching, like the rest of them. For more, for something better. His hands were there on her arms - and they were inviting, tender and present - right there.

"I don't know," Annie whispered, her voice tight - she did know.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Brady whispered back, his voice filled with concern, which continued to flood in. She looked up at him and shook her head, before staring at her hands again.

"I don't know what I'll do if it's you," she whispered. Brady's grip tightened on her forearms a bit and he let out that shaky breath he did when he held onto his breath for too long - something she would've jokingly commented on, but for now was something that made her stomach twist. Annie glanced up at Brady, his eyes already on hers, the two watching each other and those intermingled bit of words mingling between them.

"I can't control whatever happens in the future, Annie," he whispered and her name sounded ethereal on his lips, she suddenly wanted the world to wash away, "whatever happens, I'd find my way back to you. You know that." Did she though?

All those looks in the flying club, the drink sharing, the offer of his coat, or a hug, or to tell some really God-awful jokes that she always laughed at….did she know though? Was this anything? Or was it something to hold onto in this mess of a war? There was so much unspoken between them, like if they said anything, they'd jinx it all? Maybe that's why they just went along with it, why they were sat here like this, right now.

"Because I know sure as anything if you go down, I'd go on every mission day after day, to make sure the Germans pay, hell I'd come and find you no matter what," Brady whispered quietly, his tone firm, but full of truth, "and I hate to talk that way, to even let myself think it. But with what we do, every day, I have to be okay with that. And you, too." Annie slowly reached forward and took his right hand in her two palms and ran her fingers over the smooth palms of his hands, the tension slowly dwindling from his body as he sighed and leaned forward, pressing his forehead against her own. He let out a shaky breath.

"They got it coming."

#woweeee annie miss girl what are we doing #i mean good for her LMAO #masters of the air #mota #john brady #annie bradshaw #THEM #they mean sm to me truly #just two people trying to comfort each other #trying to find a way to make sense of this all #GOOD LORDDDDD #john brady x oc

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johnslittlespoon · 22 days

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hey, how do we feel about ken and brady? because:

thinking about brady getting up early to go spend time with his little mechanic before everyone else is awake, his version of courting ken being sitting on the tailgate of a truck to watch him do his routine checks, fond smile playing at his lips, a softness so evident that it'd be useless to deny it if anyone pointed it out, but he'd still try.

ken following him around base like a lovesick puppy after the morning's mission, hanging off his every word, looking at him like he's the coolest ever, and to ken he is. eagerly leaning forward in his seat, chin in hand when brady relents and tells him about his flight in the mess hall later, shooting question after question at him until brady quiets him with the suggestion that they go on a walk, "so we don't drive the others mad with your yapping."

ken grows more shy when it's just the two of them, hands in his pockets as they walk off base to stroll down a quiet country trail, fighting off a dopey grin every time brady purposefully bumps against him. the rush of developing feelings, every interaction feeling so fresh and exciting, pure young summer love.

a drawled out "enough about the mission– what'd my pretty handyman get up to while i was gone?" as brady slings an arm around his waist when they're far enough off the road to not worry. light pink blooming on ken's cheeks at his words, smiling bashfully as he tells him about the little things that happened throughout the morning.

the two of them end up in some open field as they often do, sweaty in the sun, cargo pants on but shirts discarded in the grass. brady's laid out on his back with sweet angel ken on top of him, hands cupping ken's face as his boy leans down to kiss him all smiley and giggly and flushed, curls messy from the summer heat and roaming hands.

all of their days off spent in that field, a summer full of lazy make–outs and secret glances and careful brushes of hands, growingly increasingly fonder of each other's company and navigating the feelings that come with that. evenings spent up on the wing of whatever plane ken's spent the day working on, laying his head in brady's lap as the sun goes down, resting his eyes while brady reads his book out loud to him, or while they both talk about their days.

innocent first–love surviving the summer, stretching into fall and then winter, romps in fields turning into cold evenings under blankets when they can sneak into unoccupied barracks. the light small talk and nervous kisses and hand holding of the sunny season morph into late night conversations over the howling wind outside about what will happen after the war, fantasizing about a cozy apartment and a bed for two and quiet mornings and a future together.

#i don't think i've ever thought of this pairing or seen anyone else talk about it so i might be alone in this one lmk #but this vision of sweet wholesome summertime love popped into my head i think i'm kinda fond of them sigh #they'd be such a sight together and so so endearing #literally the black cat bf and golden retriever bf combo #something about pilot x mechanic itches my brain #i'm tired is this anything????#i don't think there's even a ship tag for them oh god this is so much pressure #i'll pioneer this pairing if i gotta. i volunteer as tribute #ken x brady #?#krady #hehe #reminds me of kraft dinner idk #WAIT i like:#blemmons #i think that's cute :-) let's go with that #johnslittlespoon brainrot

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thomasschabot · 3 months

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bet all i have on that furrowed brow

jakob chychrun x fem!oc

isobel has a workplace crush and healthy dose of loneliness that jakob is more than willing to cure

word count: 3.1k

warnings: mentions of spending the holidays alone, cursing, partial nudity, alcohol consumption

a/n: for @wyattjohnston 🩷 thank you so much for putting together yet another incredibly successful event, and for giving me the best gift of all - getting to write for you! i hope you enjoy x (we're just pretending hockey works like american football and the sens have a bye week over christmas okay? okay!) many wonderful thanks to @matthewtkachuk for singing my praises via text and fluffing up my ego

The string of days between Christmas and New Years always feels like purgatory. One holiday bleeds slowly into the next, and there’s a general consensus no one knows what day it is or how long it’s been since they ate something moderately healthy. For most it’s time well spent with family and friends, but for Isobel it’s a sentence to near solitary confinement. She has no family remotely close, few friends, and is much too stubborn to take up her co-workers’ invitations to join them on holiday getaways to ski chalets or sandy beaches. Isobel refuses to be more of an inconvenience than she already feels like she is, but it isn’t necessarily best for her mental health.

She spends as much time as possible at work, researching rising social media trends to present to the team and making sure all paperwork is up-to-date. The team will be able to start with their best foot forward in the new year, something Isobel is extremely proud of, and it keeps her going into the office even when she’d much prefer to stay in bed and wallow in the intense loneliness she feels. There isn’t a pressure to produce new deliverables, which is a slight stress relief. The analytics department isn’t needed as much with the bye week and most of the incoming reports can be run by Isobel alone. A number of years ago the NHL implemented bye weeks in addition to the all-star break, which allows each team to not have scheduled games during the regular season. This year Ottawa got lucky, with their break over the Christmas holidays, and players and support staff alike took the opportunity to get the hell out of the snowy capital.

As far as Isobel’s aware, very few members of the Senators organization stayed in the area. From social media she could see co-workers posting from almost every continent, enjoying all the world has to offer. Many roster players were in tropical destinations, hungry to get away from the ice and snow that ruled much of their daily lives. Claude Giroux has taken his family to the Caribbean and posts a rare snapshot of his young boys enjoying the water. Brady, ever the gracious captain, has taken what seems like half the team home with him to St. Louis in order to cheer on his sister’s university tournament being hosted in the same city. Only Jakob’s whereabouts are unknown, his absence from her life palpable, but Isobel’s sure he isn’t in Ottawa. Why would he be? There are a thousand different people and places vying for his attention, and one of them was sure to be the lucky winner.

It’s her most guarded secret, the fact that Isobel has an almost debilitating crush on who is technically a co-worker, but she’s also sure everyone has figured it out, even Jakob himself. Working with professional athletes means there’s a serious lack of personal boundaries, and one’s private life isn’t exactly private, no matter how well guarded they may be. The boys Isobel works with will stop at nothing short of blackmail to get information out of her, even if it’s only ever used for in-house teasing. No one has said anything yet, which she’s incredibly grateful for, but Isobel can’t help but think it’s the main topic of conversation when she’s not around.

The suburbs of Ottawa are desolate as Isobel winds through the streets to the Canadian Tire Centre. No car is on the road except her own, and there is only one in the parking lot when she pulls in. Badge in hand, Isobel treks up the steps and pulls open the large door at the back of the arena, one that isn’t used by anyone except members of the organization. Jamie, one of the building’s security guards, is face down in a book — it must have been his sedan parked beside her own sensible compact SUV.

“Isobel Walker,” he says, surprised to see another person. The offices were open upon a technicality in contracts that is now grandfathered in, but it’s likely Jamie hasn’t seen anyone since he started his shift. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be getting ready with friends? The New Year's festivities start in a few hours.”

Isobel shakes her head. “Just wanted to square away a few things before the weekend. Besides, it’s not like I have anything better to do. It’s just me this year.”

The attentive man doesn’t miss the sad downturn in her voice, or the longing for companionship in Isobel’s eyes. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll get invited somewhere.” Jamie sounds resolute in the statement, but she knows it must be easy for him to think when once his shift is over he’ll return home to a wife and kids. When Isobel is done putting in work there’ll be no one waiting at home.

The elevator dings then, signalling its availability to deliver a human to the floor where the data and analytics department is located. Isobel waves goodbye in an almost timid fashion, insisting she’ll take good care of herself and promising to at least look into doing something. Nothing will come of it, this she’s sure of, but a small white lie has never hurt anyone. In fact, Isobel deals almost exclusively in little white lies, whether it be to scouts who want to hear a specific player is doing bad so they feel less guilty about not advising the general manager to draft them or to teammates when they ask what she’s doing on the weekends. Telling Jamie one more won’t cause the world to fall apart. Isobel is sure of it.

Her cubicle is tucked just inside the glass doors that shelter the front office from the rest of the floor, but Isobel doesn't head there. Instead, she tiptoes through the space until the corkboard of Senators and their individual season stats is right in front of her. The photo of Jakob immediately catches her attention — not an official headshot but instead a picture from the charity gala last season — and Isobel notices it’s a cropped version of one she has on her desk. In the photo he’s posing with the analytics staff, goofy smile plastered on his face as he stands three people from Isobel. She also remembers that in the photo she’s not looking at the camera, but at him. Eventually she forces herself to stop looking at the gorgeous specimen that is Jakob Chychrun and accomplish what she intended to do. Taking one last look, Isobel places a distant memory that their eyes had locked seconds after the camera’s shutter went off.

⭑⭒⭑

It’s long past sunset when Isobel returns home, and there’s no sense trying to scramble downtown to an overcrowded bar. She hadn’t been planning on it anyways despite what she told the only person she’s interacted with in a week. Things at the office didn’t take long to complete, despite the frequent distraction of Jakob’s gorgeous portrait in the background, but Isobel couldn’t bring herself to return to her empty home. Since the conversation with Jamie in the lobby she’s been dreading the silence that would greet her when the door rocked on its hinges. Instead of immediately returning home, Isobel drives eastward towards more connected areas of the city and marvels at the tourists in town to ring in the new year surrounded by history. Each street sign passed amalgamated into a mushed series in her brain, and once she could no longer tell what was real or imaginary Isobel turned and headed for home.

As expected, the modest craftsman house Isobel occupies is dark and silent and lonely, as well as a million other words she can’t think of to encapsulate how isolated she feels. If she had been thinking clearly Isobel would have picked up take out on the drive back, but she wasn't in a completely sound frame of mind, therefore being resigned to heating up three day old broccoli pasta and drinking room temperature beer. She can’t even be bothered to change into comfortable clothing, instead throwing her blouse and slacks over the back of a dining room chair seconds before crashing onto the worn leather sofa inherited from a college roommate nearly a decade ago but that she can’t seem to get rid of.

The television turns on at the press of a button, and Isobel briefly watches the sports highlights for updates on potential trade targets before deciding she’s done more than enough work for the day and switching to a New Years special. This one seems to be taking place in New York, a place she’s never been nor cared for, but at the moment Isobel would give anything to be there amongst the suffocating crowd. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel so earth-shatteringly alone.

Hours pass by and more beers are consumed, but Isobel can’t seem to reach the buzz she’s so desperately chasing. The performances and countdowns meld together but if questioned there wouldn’t be a detail missing from her recollection. No one could do that inebriated, further proving that getting drunk isn’t in the cards for her tonight. A chill settles over the room and Isobel struggles to wrangle a throw blanket free from its perch on the back of the couch. Though comfortable, sitting in only undergarments doesn’t provide much protection against the drafty windows she should call a repairman about. Some pop star, whom she doesn't particularly care about, is thanking fans for helping them reach a milestone this past calendar year and she zone out. Nothing and everything floats through Isobel’s brain all at once, swimming in circles and causing a beautiful confusion.

The dull thud of a fist against the front door shakes Isobel from her stupor and possible slumber. Panic encroaches and her sharp survival instincts set in — the baseball bat normally kept in the corner of the living room grabbed and work clothes are haphazardly tossed over frame. The person on the other side of the wood slab is the last person she’s expecting to see, and the fact he’s standing there with a sheepish smile is astounding. Jakob Chychrun is on her doorstep, shifting his weight between the balls of his feet and carrying a large bottle of expensive champagne and a bag of garlic bread.

“Hi.”

“Can I help you, Jakob?” she asks, but immediately backpedals when she realizes how ill-tempered the tone of the words made her seem. “I just wasn’t expecting any visitors and am wholly unprepared.”

He smiles even more, as though Isobel can actually solve a problem he’s been faced with, and gestures to the objects in his hands like it’s obvious. “Jamie mentioned you were spending the evening alone when I went into the rink this afternoon, and I had no plans, so I thought we could watch the dumb special programs and drown our sorrows in alcohol.”

The answer is so Jakob, so perfect and friendly and warm, Isobel can’t help but return his grin. “I told him I’d look into going out. What are you doing in the city?”

“I wanted a relaxing week.”

Isobel arches her eyebrow. “The beach isn’t relaxing?”

“Not as much as staying at home.”

“Oh.”

Jakob doesn’t skip a beat in bringing conversation back to his original proposition. “Well sweetheart, what do you say?”

All the air leaves her lungs at the pet name, but she manages to nod semi-enthusiastically and move to the side. Jakob slips off his shoes while Isobel closes the door and treads into the living space carefully, inspecting-without-inspecting the decor. She quickly plays the role of gracious hostess, getting her handsome guest a crystal flute and asking if he’d like anything to eat. Jakob declines, saying he had leftovers before coming over, and urges her to sit down and ‘stop fluttering around like a hummingbird’. She obliges, turning to face him and tucking her legs underneath her center of gravity.

Jakob rakes his eyes over Isobel, once, then a second time, before coughing rather aggressively. It rings through the quiet like a gunshot and nearly makes her jump. Unsure of what could have caused such a reaction, she looks down to find the previously hastily buttoned shirt has shifted, revealing a rather large patch of red lace that hints at what’s underneath. Surely that can’t be the reason the normally suave man across from her is a blushing mess?

He respectfully looks away while she adjusts, and Isobel finishes quickly before placing a tentative hand on her shoulder to let her know everything is back to normal. She’s desperate to dissuade any awkwardness. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” Jakob laughs, but it comes out a little strangled. “Happens to the best of us. Well not me, in that exact way, but I’ve been caught in my fair share of wardrobe malfunctions.”

Isobel focuses extremely hard on not thinking about what that means, and unsure of where to go from the moment that was somehow vulnerable and impersonal at the same time, she reaches across Jakon to grab the bottle of champagne and doesn't even bother getting a glass. The cool liquid does wonders to soothe the fire in her insides, exacerbated by the fact that Jakob came to her, wanted to spend time with her. Some alcohol misses Isobel’s mouth, dribbles down her chin, but before she can even lift the bottle from her lips it’s being wiped away.

It’s Jakob, she realizes, stroking his thumb across her skin tenderly and making sure there isn’t an opportunity for the champagne to stain the silk button up that she can never remember to take to the dry cleaners. Clouds immediately form in her mind and Isobel closes her eyes — this has to be a dream. An incredibly elaborate fantasy. Under no circumstance is Jakob Chychrun sitting on her couch staring at her with longing and centimetres away from her lips. She must have fallen asleep, and her dreams are vivid due to the beer.

“Iso, sweetheart, hey,” Jakob says barely above a whisper, eyebrow furrowed with concern and the slightest bit of amusement. “You alright?”

Her eyelids flutter open, a bit heavy from all the alcohol she’s consumed, but her gaze is met with his blue eyes so close to her own and his fingers fiddling with the hem of her pants. Apparently this is in fact real life, and while Isobel had been trying to convince herself otherwise she’d missed Jakob inching closer and resting his forehead against her own.

“Yeah,” she sputters, nearly choking on air for the second time that evening. “I drank a bit before you got here and I think it’s all catching up to me.”

Jakob smiles softly, like he already confirmed this, and it’s then she clues in to the fact there are four empty beer bottles on the coffee table. “Are you drunk?”

Laughter trickles from her lips. “I wish,” Isobel confesses, “It would make the loneliness a lot easier to ignore.”

Again, Jakob smiles like he understands. It’s a bit surreal, the way the two of them are so similar, but Isobel can’t help but enjoy learning about him through these small glances. If she could keep her cool around the man for longer periods than the handful of minutes long interaction they’d shared, Isobel is almost sure they’d be friends, but the universe is cruel and unyielding. She’s destined to never know Jakob all that well, watching from the sidelines as he jokes with Brady and Tim, marvelling at his beauty and resigning herself to the fact he’ll never be yours.

“Can I kiss you?”

The question steals every ounce of air from Isobel’s lungs. Jakob is looking at her intently, studying her features for clues or transgressions he unknowingly committed. She’s never been good at keeping her emotions steeled away, and Isobel knows everything is splayed on her face for him to decipher if he wants to. The most prominent one is shock. Isobel is beyond surprised he’s asking the one thing that’s been on the tip of her tongue and whispering in her mind for years.

“Are —” she struggles to find the words she wants to say. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

It’s Jakob’s turn to laugh. It’s a beautiful sound, his deep rumbles as he nods his head, and Isobel does her best to imprint it to memory. If this is the last time she’ll ever hear it she wants to give herself the best shot at remembering.

“Pretty damn sure, sweetheart. I’ve wanted to do it since I joined the team.”

Isobel is now beyond shocked. “You’ve wanted to kiss me for three years?”

Jakob smiles in a way that allows it to reach his eyes. Beautiful, Isobel thinks, but doesn’t allow herself much time to focus on it, too eager to catch his next words. “Four if you count the time I got lost when Arizona was the visiting team and you held the door for me to get back to the locker rooms. You were wearing a black turtleneck that made your eyes look even more angelic than normal. I didn’t know that at the time, of course, but I did know I wanted to kiss you senseless.”

“Fuck me, you never thought to say anything when I was so clearly pining after you?” she whispers, emboldened and growing more confident under the confession and moving even closer until her lips are so close to Jakob’s she can feel the breath he inhales.

It takes a moment, but Isobel gains the courage to tilt her head slightly upwards and slot her lips against Jakob’s. Time stops with the flourish of a cheesy romance novel, though she can’t find it in her to groan internally even if she would under normal circumstances. Nothing about what’s happening is normal, however. Kissing Jakob is perfect in ways Isobel could never accurately describe — all plump lips and gentle touches and whispered sweet nothings. She never wants it to end, but eventually he pulls back.

He doesn’t stray far, just tucks her into his side with a hint of possession if Isobel squints , and cards his fingers through the matted ends of her hair. Jakob seems to have quite an affinity for the strands, allowing them to keep his attention while Isobel processes the fact that the man she’s been secretly in love with for years has also been in love with her for just as long.

“You know,” she says breathlessly, still in a surreal state from the kiss, “Maybe ringing in the new year won’t be so lonely after all.”

Jakob giggles in the same warm and gleeful way that made Isobel fall in love with him all those years ago. “I hope not.”

The pair of them spend the remaining hours of the night eating, drinking, and talking about what the future holds. When the television program begins the countdown Jakob looks at Isobel with a gleam in his eyes, and waits until the ball drops to kiss her into the next year.

⭑⭒⭑

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#jakob chychrun imagine #jakob chychrun x oc #jakob chychrun fic #ottawa senators imagine #ottawa senators fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #the winter fic exchange 2k24 #cwrites

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