#nova cod

His arm is under your head, a perfect plush pillow. You run your thumb over the ruined tattoo wrapping his forearm. He says it used to be a skull, but you can’t ever make out the design with the heavy scarring interrupting the ink.

“любовь,” he rasps into your ear.

You press back against him, twist your head to kiss the lax muscle beneath your head. The change in your breathing must have awoken him. He squeezes you a bit tighter for a moment, feeling like an oversized teddy bear. You smile, realize he can feel it when he puffs with amusement.

“детеныш,” he murmurs, lips brushing tender skin.

You sigh, try to dig your voice out of slumber, but it’s slow to come these days. Even when you haven’t had a bad night, you have trouble speaking in the morning. None of your team minds – but especially not Nikto, who hardly ever speaks more than a handful of sentences a day.

For a while, the two of you doze, breaths sinking, enjoying the time darkness before daylight heralds the return of his mask. You don’t mind it, of course, respect his need for privacy and protection, his discomfort with the scars of his torture. But you won’t feel guilty for enjoying the rare access to his mouth, either.

His fingertips begin to trace over the curve of your collarbone, a featherlight caress that makes you shiver. Eventually his palm travels up to your throat, cradles you there, thumb against your quickening pulse. Not gripping or restraining. Just holding, measuring. You tilt your chin back to give him access, finally manage a soft hum against his palm.

“Can I take care of you?” he asks.

“Hmm?”

You almost mourn the loss of his hand on your throat as it maps down your bare body. But then it stops at the soft hair of your pussy, curling almost playfully. You inhale softly, a thrill jolting through your stomach, sinking low and simmering in your gut.

“пожалуйста,” you whisper.

You’re already warm and wet for him, know it as soon as guides your thigh up and over his own. Leftover pleasure from your private time with the captain and a night with your ass cradled against Nikto’s pelvis. You grind back against him now, feel the delicious bulge of his cock parting your cheeks.

He hushes you, peppering kisses along the line of your neck. “Relax. Let me take care of you.”

You stop pushing back against him, making your body go lax and compliant again. He murmurs praise against your skin, a single finger dipping into your slit, skating over your slippery, swollen clit. You gasp softly, slumping back against him, spreading your thighs a bit wider.

There’s nothing hurried about it, just a gentle, coaxing pressure and leisurely circles. Almost hypnotic, the novel texture of his finger pad setting your nerves alight. You’re still sensitive from the previous night, melting in his arms as pleasure quickly turns your hazy brain to cotton fuzz. When the pleasure starts to crest, he changes the rhythm, rubbing circles in the opposite direction. Doesn’t stop the climax altogether but delays it, spools it out.

You make a soft noise, not sure if your disappointed by the denial or grateful that he’s drawing the pleasure out. When he’s treating you like this, the build up is just as good as the orgasm itself. You could live forever in moments like this, soft and blurry and riding on a constant thrum of ecstasy.

“Easy, easy,” he soothes, “let me take care of you.”

You squeeze his arm in agreement, moaning softly as he changes the direction again. He sucks gently at the sweet spot behind your ear, nothing that’ll leave a mark – but enough to sweeten the pleasure into something syrupy, dripping from your lips on humid breaths. His pace never changes, never hurries or rushes you to the end. Like he could spend all morning playing with your pussy too. Just lets it build and build…

“Whenever you’re ready, любовь,” he murmurs. “I won’t deny you anything.”

The pleasure crests like sunrise, liquid gold pouring over you. You moan, voice pitching low in your throat, none of the desperate high pitch of the night before. His teeth sink gently into the spot he’s been lavishing. No pain, just a pleasant ache that makes you tingle from head to toe.

Nikto doesn’t stop until you whimper softly, tapping twice at his arm that you’re overstimulated. He stops instantly, eases away, squeezes your hip and thighs until you catch your breath.

“Alright?” he asks.

“A-alright,” you breathe, craning your neck back to receive a languid kiss from his rough lips. “Do you want to…?”

“Not today,” he replies, sparing a moment to adjust himself in his underwear. “Just wanted to be good to you.”

You hum in understanding, wriggling around to press your hands to his scarred chest. “You’re always good to me.”

He hums, drops a lingering kiss on your forehead. “Need help cleaning up?”

“No, love, thank you though,” you murmur. “Should I grab your mask while I’m up?”

“It’s on the dresser.”

“Got it.”

You sneak one last kiss before shuffling out of bed.

--

Price’s arms are crossed tight when Simon files into his office with the rest of the 141. His expression could be carved of stone, jaw tight. There’s no evidence of it, but Simon can tell he’s been pacing. Has the grim look of a mission with shit odds and no backup, but they’ll have to make it work anyway.

“I talked to her captain,” he begins without preamble.

Simon stills, doesn’t acknowledge the guilty glance Johnny shoots him. Gaz audibly swallows and tucks his hands into his pockets.

“He’s agreed not to contact Laswell for an exchange.”

Something in Simon’s chest loosens. If your captain contacts Laswell to get a new team assigned to the mission, it means you’re gone again. Beyond their reach. He could have made peace if he never saw you again. But to have you here, within arm’s reach – even if you can barely look at any of them right now… well, you always saw reason once you got the worst of your feelings out.

Simon knows he’s banking on your forgiving nature, but the 141 was your first team. The fact that you’re still so angry with them means they still mean something to you, even after all this time.

“This needs to be put to rest,” Price continues. “I know we’ve all got bad feelings about what happened, but it can’t keep interfering with the job.”

Johnny and Gaz duck their heads, ashamed. Simon’s own chest twists. In retrospect, throwing his fight with you was stupid and desperate. He had been hoping that a few good swings would soften you up to a real conversation – but he shouldn’t have discounted your pride. Especially when it comes to him.

“He’s agreed to talk to her, see if she’s willing to hash things out with any of us – but under the caveat that we keep it professional.”

He rocks back on his heels, pins them each with a hard look. The kind that promises retribution.

“Whatever you’ve got to say, save it for after hours and hope she doesn’t swing on you. Dismissed.”

Even Johnny is quiet as the three exit Price’s office, a somber frown on his face. Simon doesn’t wait to ask him what he’s thinking; he already knows. Johnny may have put up a haughty front earlier, but eventually his true feelings will surface. The hurt and guilt, the confusion and fear. He and Gaz loved you in a way Simon couldn’t manage. Even if you’re still pissed, Johnny’s such an earnest sort that you’ll soften to him eventually.

Same with Gaz. Forgiveness is a light at the end of that particular tunnel.

It’s a coin toss for Price, your poker face is especially blank when it comes to him.

But for Simon…

Simon’s made peace for a long time that there’s little redemption for him. On Earth or anywhere else. With you… at the very least you deserve an explanation, even if it doesn’t absolve him of anything. You should know that his intentions were never to have you removed, by your own volition or otherwise.

Maybe he wasn’t too far off with the initial idea – let you get the anger out. He’s the one that deserves it, not Johnny or Gaz or even Price, really. Went about it the wrong way, maybe, but not a bad idea all around.

So, he doesn’t make the turn to the 141 barracks. He pivots instead for the SpecGru hall.

It’s quiet, all the doors closed, with no indication of who is staying in which rooms. But Simon doesn’t need it. He knows that yours is the third door down on the right, across from Russ.

He pauses outside, stares at the cheap woodgrain as he loads words like bullets.

Raises his hand to knock, knuckles white beneath his gloves—

“Daddy!”

He freezes. Denial flares hot and bright for a moment, a desperate hope that he didn’t actually hear that. But then it comes again, that desperate, needy pitch he remembers on his weakest, loneliest nights—

“D-daddy!” your voice slithers out from beneath another door, wraps around Simon’s throat and strangles him. A hitched moan follows, one that he knows from experience means you’re out of your mind on pleasure.

And it’s like his mind is working against him, because he picks up the little, damning noises he didn’t notice before. The obscene slap of skin on skin, the deeper, quieter cadence of a man’s voice. It only takes a moment to recognize it as your captain’s, the rasp of it unmistakable, even if individual words are inaudible.

Simon feels his stomach curdle and sink, chest burning with something he can’t identify. Anger? Jealousy? Shame? He can’t figure it out – not right now, right here. With the sound of your impending climax making you louder and louder, clawing memories from his brain. A life he should have had with you, a relationship he never had the strength to acknowledge.

He turns on his heel and storms away, almost shoulder-checking Nova on his way.

--

Nova greets you rosy and bright at breakfast later that morning, a coffee for you already in hand. It’s such a sweet gesture that you can’t help yourself. You curl an arm around her waist and kiss her, licking the taste of too-sweet tea from her lips. Your precious girl.

“Morning, pretty thing,” you hum.

There’s a blush blooming high in her cheeks as she pecks your nose. “Mornin,’ babes. Made it right?”

You accept the mug from her, take a quick sip. Not too hot, just the right amount of cream and sugar – you even catch a hint of cinnamon, her calling card for your drinks.

“Perfect,” you reply, kissing her forehead, “thank you, love.”

She hums, sends you off to Keegan and your captain with a little pat on the ass. You sit at the table with a warm greeting, leaning into Keegan when he curls an arm around your shoulders. In the kitchenette, Nova and Nikto are exchanging their own good mornings, a sly grin on her face as she teases him.

“Here, baby,” your captain calls, sliding a plate of pastries your way. “You haven’t eaten since dinner.”

You tuck into a muffin while he and Keegan continue chatting – sounds like they’re discussing plans for the day. Training schedules and dealing with the 141. It’s too early for you to be bothered by talk of your former teen, so you just listen quietly, enjoying your breakfast. Nova takes a seat beside you, snuggling in extra close with her thigh against yours.

“How was your sleepover with the cap last night?” you ask.

“Cozy. We watched one of Keegan’s true crime docs,” she replies happily. “Missed you and Nik, though.”

You smile, knock your knee lightly into hers. “How about you and I start that new season of Doctor Who tonight? I’ll do your hair while we’re at it.”

She lights up. “Yeah? It’s a date.”

She flicks a glance over your shoulder, you turn and catch Keegan watching you both, eyes half-lidded. Fond, warm. With the mask, he can be inscrutable to others, but you know how to read the light in his eyes. Never knew you could understand someone so well when they want you to know them.

You only realize that Ghost was there in the doorway when you notice the dark flicker of him walking away.

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laswell is the captain of the glam grenades (yes i know the name is corny, derby team names usually are lmaoo), and her wife coaches the corresponding junior team. laswell’s derby name is watcher, and her number is 01. she usually plays as a blocker, but she’ll pivot sometimes.

farah is almost solely a jammer. her derby name is farah scare-‘em (which again, i know its corny but all derby names are 😭). she’s a speed DEMON, and she’s insane at jumps. if she’s jamming against you, you’re barely even gonna land a hit on her. she’s jumping around on her toe stops and squeezing around blockers like she’s dancing. alex goes to all of the team’s practices and bouts, and he’s practically drooling the whole time like “holy shit thats my badass girlfriend”

valeria is usually a pivot. her name is slammin’ scorpion (referencing that one line where alejandro calls her a scorpion 🤭), and when i say slammin, i mean it. shes one of those blockers that gets penalties constantly. she is VICIOUS. she send jammers flying when she hits them. she has a lot of pent up anger, ok? god forbid a woman has hobbies.

roze is a blocker for sure. she’s sturdy as hell and it takes a lot to take her down. her derby name is ragin’ roze and shes a bad bitchhhh!!! i like to think shes pretty tall, so sneaking around her is a no go with those long legs. she also seems like the type to manhandle her teammates a lot. like if the jammer is moving to the opposite side, shes yelling “out!” and just yanking the other blockers over.

callisto is a blocker too. she prefers to play as a point because she’s a control freak, and while she trusts her teammates, she prefers to be able to see the jammer. this is a really stupid joke but i think it would be funny if her derby name was lady liberty because she’s from france and moved to the US lmaoo

i feel like stiletto’s derby name would just be stiletto. its cool enough on its own lmao. she also gives blocker to me, and i feel like shes the type to get penalties a lot and then get insubordination penalties for giving the refs sass.

nova feels like a jack of all trades to me. i think her derby name would be nova, and i feel like she would be one of those players that just throws caution to the wind and charges in with no hesitation.

kleo is greek and i also imagine her to be pretty tall, so i think her derby name would be something like amazon lol. i feel like shed be a pretty aggressive blocker. she is NOT letting that jammer past, so much so that she sometimes gets stop block penalties.

Your head feels leaden as you drag it up, searching for help, searching for —

There they are. The 141. SpecGru. All of them, standing just out of reach. They could help, they could save you. But they’re not, they’re just standing, watching. Could be statues if not for the sneer that twists Soap and Nova’s face when you make desperate eye contact.

Your captain takes a single step forward, crouching as you fall to your knees.

“You’re just not a good fit, anymore,” he explains, shrugging. “Nothing personal, kid.”

“Baby. Baby!”

Keegan’s face is above you, jaw dusted with dark stubble. He’s wide awake, eyes huge and worried, showing you both his hands. His mask is gone, hair tussled.

Bed. You’re in bed. You fell asleep with him tonight.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” he whispers.

“K-Keegan…” The shivers start almost instantly, like you really were bled out. Before he can ask, you reach for him. Let him bundle you against his chest, arms tight around you, and legs bent up on either side of you. A cage of safety around you, keeping you safe and close.

“I’m here, sweets. Right here,” he murmurs into your hair. “‘M not goin’ anywhere.”

You sniffle, press your face against his bare chest, listening to his heartbeat. Too fast; because he’s worried about you.

“Which one?” he asks.

You shudder. “A new one.”

“Fuck,” he whispers. Drops a kiss on your head. “Just me, or do you need someone else?”

You squeeze your eyes shut as the tears start flowing, guilt gnawing at your tight stomach.

“C-can I see the captain?” You ask. “I-I’m sorry, Kee. I just…”

He shushes you. “That’s why I asked, baby. It’s okay. Nothing to feel bad for.”

He doesn’t even give you the option of walking. Just tucks you into one of his sweatshirts — sandalwood and vetiver — and scoops you up. You tuck your face against his neck against the hall lights as he walks with you.

“Dreams again,” he says to someone — Nikto, probably.

Three sharp knocks. A single beat. Then a door opens. You peek out, relieved to see your captain standing there.

“Hi babygirl,” he rumbles, “bad night?”

Keegan hands you over with practiced ease, your captain letting you loops your arms and legs around him. His skin feels almost burning, warm enough to drive out the lingering chill. He smells good too. Like sleep and home.

“Y-you still… you still want me right?” You whisper, eyes stinging.

“Always,” he answers instantly. “My girl, my soldier, mine. Just like Keegan and Nikto and Nova.”

You cling tighter, but he just hums and smooths his hands over your back.

“Keegan, get Nova and an extra mattress,” he orders.

“On it.”

The captain carries you in, a shadow from the corner of your eye telling you Nikto is still there. You’re set on the bed in a spot still warm; it dips as another body settles with you. Nikto again. Mask on as always, but dressed down for sleep. He’s even got his gloves off and lets you play gently with his fingers while your captain turns on a light and fetches you a glass of water.

“Still with you,” Nikto murmurs.

You sniffle and wipe hurriedly at your eyes, trying to preserve what little dignity you’ve got left.

“None of that now, baby,” your captain soothes, tilting a glass to your mouth. “Cry if you need. Get it out.”

The tears some slow and quiet, only little sobs escaping as Nikto’s arms curl around you. Keegan appears at the door soon after, Nova helping him drag a mattress into the captain’s quarters. She comes to your other side while Keegan and the captain start arranging the other bed.

Soon, they switch you over, drag the first mattress onto the floor as well. After that, arrangements are familiar and automatic. The captain takes one side, fits your back against his chest. Keegan takes your other side, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head. Nikto nestles up behind him - needs the access of the end of the bed. And Nova distributes herself on top of you and Keegan, a gentle warm weight soothing you.

“Sleep if you can, babygirl,” your captain murmurs in your ear. His thumb sweeps gentle arcs over your hipbone. “We’ll be right here when you wake up.”

—

The nightmares were the worst when you first joined SpecGru. The first six months. You’d wake up in a cold sweat, apologies to an empty room on your tongue.

Nikto would find you out on the obstacle course at all hours of the night, in all kinds of weather. Running and jumping and climbing without so much as penlight. Pushing and pushing until you were panting on bloody hands and knees, driven by the single-minded need to be better, to be worth it.

When he found out, your captain put a ban on you from running the course unless he himself was present the entire time. You were pissed at first — even went so far as to bitch him out one day, exhausted and strung out on stress.

And he’d let you. Just sat behind his desk listening. Unimpressed, but not pissed, either. When you’d finally run out of steam, he’d stood.

“Still mad?”

When you nodded, he nodded towards the door.

“C’mon, we’ll go for a spar,” he explained when you gave him a distrustful look. “And then you’re going down for a nap.”

You frowned, shifted. “What about…?”

He snorts. “All that a minute ago?”

When you nodded, he shrugged. “Nothing, unless you feel like you need a bit of discipline to keep it together.”

You’d wrinkled your nose. “Definitely feel like socking you now.”

He’d smirked. “Good.”

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“Listen, about what happened…” Gaz starts.

“Not relevant,” you snap, crouching behind a barrel.

“I’d say it’s pretty relevant,” he replies. “It’s not right, how we left things.”

You nearly snarl. ‘Not right’ is the understatement of the bloody century.

You twist on him. “You’re being unprofessional. Shut up and take this seriously, Garrick.”

You duck as a sniper shot pings dangerously close to your head. Spot Nikto across the way, hand-signaling to ask if you need back up. You reply with a ‘no’ and turn back to Gaz.

Thankfully, it seems he’s caught the message and keeps his mouth shut for the rest of the stupid drill. You resist a snappish comment when it’s over. Up until Gaz starts up again.

“I just think you deserve—”

“I don’t care what you think I deserve,” you interrupt. “I know what I deserve. And it’s a partner that can keep their feelings in their vest.”

Speaking of, Nikto appears at your side like a shadow in shifting light. There’s a disapproving tilt to his head, aimed at Gaz. You shake your head and tap your knuckles against his.

“Need a water break?” You ask, worried about how long he’s been under the helmet.

He shakes his head, then surprises you by bumping his forehead against yours — his version of a kiss. Even in private those are rare. You hum at him.

“Thank you, Nik.”

You have to run the next drill with Soap. Know from the start he’s going to be a stubborn prick about it. Can see it in the set of his jaw and the flicker in his eye.

“Didnae have to be a knob to Gaz,” he says.

You don’t respond, slipping away as the exercise begins. He calls after you and hurries to catch up, nearly blowing your cover.

“He feels bad enough for what happened, ye know.”

You level him a cool, blank stare. “You speak for him now?”

His eyes narrow. “If you won’t give him the chance to, aye.”

You knock his leg out from under him and fire at the “enemy” combatant, Nova. She sportingly goes down, but mutters that you should have let her take the shot. You should have.

“You compromise this drill again,” you tell a toppled Soap, “I’ll tell Laswell direct that you don’t belong on this mission.”

You spin on your heel and continue the exercise, ignoring any and all attempts by Soap to get you to speak again. At the very least, he picks up the slack, earns his callsign.

Nova finds you again when it’s over, arms around your neck and chest plastered to your back.

“Look’it you go, mamas,” she coos. “Shot me through the heart all over again.”

You laugh bending your legs to let her hop up for a piggy back ride. Yeah, you’re tired. But never too tired to carry your girl around. She giggles in your ear as you carry her off back to your captain for her next drill.

“With Price now,” he says, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Sure thing, boss,” you answer, doing a good impression of enthusiasm.

You know your place, settle into position just behind Price’s left side. No overtures about the past this time. Whatever iota of lingering respect you have for him grows as you complete the drill flawlessly. When it’s over, the two of you are at the furthest point from the designated “start”. And that’s when he decides to open his stupid mouth.

“It wasn’t personal, you know,” he says.

You smooth out your expression even though you don’t turn to him, already starting back.

“Okay.”

“It was the best call,” he explains, falling into step with you.

You tilt him a sideways look, don’t even bother with your full gaze. Spent far too much time looking up to him, by your estimate.

“Okay.”

“I look out for my soldiers.”

You turn forward again. “I wouldn’t know.”

Your captain happens to intercept, sweeping you up with one arm. You yelp, though can’t help grinning as you hook your fingers in one of his chest straps.

“Shouldn’t sneak up like that, sir,” you scold.

“That’s how I’ll know when I need to retire,” he replies with a crooked grin. “When I can’t sneak up on you anymore.”

You huff, snatching his sunglasses off his face to wear all the way back to the start point. Keegan meets you, looks directly at you as he salutes.

“Captain,” he says.

You laugh, give your CO his glasses back.

“Keeping fuckin’ around, Russ,” the captain rumbles, “I’ll take it out of your ass later.”

You gasp, scandalized, and laugh as the little skin visible through his smearing face paint turns pink.

“Off with you, girl,” your captain says. “We’re done after this, so keep it quick and clean.”

“Yessir,” you reply, jogging off to meet Ghost.

Fucking Ghost.

You don’t spare him a single look as you set up for the exercise. If nothing else, you have every expectation that he won’t say a single goddamn thing to you. No attempted apologies, no reprimands, no justifications. Just radio silence, like always.

What you don’t expect is for him to treat you like nothing’s changed. Like you’re still a fresh transfer that can’t watch their own six. You consider just putting your “gun” away and trailing after him until the exercise is over, but that would be just slightly too immature.

So you suck it up, grit your teeth, and do your job. Up until he gets in the fucking way. You’re about to get a sneaky shot on Keegan — a rare thing indeed — but Ghost moves. Goes out of his way to get the shot you already had and loses you both the element of surprise.

“Fucking oaf,” you snarl, scrambling behind a wall. “Is this your first fucking day or something?”

His eyes flash across the corridor. “What the fuck did you just say?”

You don’t reply, getting low and kicking your boot off, carefully sneaking it towards the corner like you’re trying to peek out. Keegan comes around, aiming too high and in the wrong direction, and Ghost shoots him.

Keegan “goes down” — goes out of his way to land on you, actually. You huff and shove at him.

“It’s not nap time,” you groan.

“Can’t hear you, I’m dead.”

You snort and shimmy out from under him. Not so different from most mornings, actually.

“If you two are done…” Ghost growls.

You suck your teeth and stalk off, giving Keegan one last pat to the back. The rest of the drill is barely civil, Ghost’s eyes more on you than on the training grounds.

When it’s finally, finally over, you sigh and pause, trying to work out that knot again.

“Haven’t changed a bit, have you?” Ghost sneers.

It’s meant to hurt. Meant to piss you off. Maybe remind you of the last things he said to you. You don’t look at him, bending to re-lace your boots. Thrilled to realize it’s like poking at an old scar. The skin is deadened, even though a mark remains.

“Fuck you’re so immature,” he growls.

You straighten and just start walking. Keegan finds you almost instantly.

“The hell was that about earlier?” He asks, frown audible.

“Ugh, he got in the way. I would have fuckin’ had you, otherwise.”

His eyes spark with outrage. “He fuckin’ what?” He snarls, turning like he’s about to say something to Ghost. Which… no. Just not worth it.

“Keegs,” you sigh, “c’mon, I told you this would happen. He’s not worth it.”

He scoffs, laces his fingers with yours. “‘Course he’s not. Don’t waste bullets on the dead, right?”

You snort and tug him along. The rest of your team will be waiting.

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