#cod crash

[writer-of-various]

Firebreak, looking at his resume: I can't believe they marked me as a "pyromaniac"!

Crash, looking up from the burnt corpse of their enemies: ...Yeah, unbelievable

[pippynsworld]

Happy New Years friends!

[s0fter-sin]

thinking about the way ghost doesn't hesitate to start killing shadows when graves betrays them but soap only takes one hostage

you can almost hear the voice in his head telling him it doesn't have to be this way; they can still talk it out

"i'm calling shepherd"

his first instinct when confronted with betrayal is to play it by the books: to go up the chain. that goes against everything we've seen him do. he bucks authority at every chance except for the one time he's confronted with the barrels of his allies' guns

he wants a peaceful resolution; for the first time we've ever seen, he doesn't want violence to be the answer. there has to be another fix, a solution that doesn't end with him killing the same men he's been working with; his friends

nothing's happened yet

it doesn't have to go this way

but ghost has been betrayed before. he knows the way this ends; either with him six feet under or his enemy

he doesn't hesitate

it's only when they knock alejandro out that soap shoots; when they spill the first blood and cross a line they can never come back from

only when ghost orders him to run and he has to cover his retreat

and somewhere along the line, between civilians’ screams and taunting voices, between his shaking breath and ghost steady in his ear, that naivety is stripped away; his trust turned to teeth that he uses to sink into throats of men he'd have given his life for

"be careful who you trust, sergeant; people you know can hurt you the most"

he's learned the price of trust

just like ghost did

but unlike ghost, he has someone to guide him through the aftermath

"good advice, It"

[charliemwrites]

Part 5 of Mister(s) Steal Your Girl

Long awaited, but no Johnny smut just yet. Soon, I promise. (And Kyle will be back. It's been so long since he's gotten to smooch our dear reader.)

Also! A little reminder than you can check the queue to see what I plan to post for next. I try to update it often as the worms wiggle. Next I plan to do the final chapter of Greater Bad. (Unless I get my not-so-secret, no-longer-a-surprise oneshot out first)

Lastly! Please note that I wrote the "posts" from his perspective. So inconsistencies with the actual story and any grammar/spelling errors were purposeful or for "authenticity".

Content: Brandon.

r/CakeEater _OnBrand_ I asked my fiancé for an open relationship before marriage. It worked. A while ago I posted on r/adultery about the affairs (yes, multiple) I was having behind my then-gf’s back. We’d already been dating for ~4 years and I was seeing one of my coworkers (my “work wife”) regularly and one of her coworkers on and off. People on my other post were critical and called me all sorts of things like selfish and pig. I know it’s not traditional, but I genuinely don’t think I could ever be satisfied by one woman. My work wife (Rachel) and fiance’s coworker (Lucy) provide things my fiancé just can’t but I still love my fiancé. She’s the woman I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. When I posted on r/adultery I was trying to figure out how to propose without her finding out. I knew she’d expect me to help with stuff and possibly want to look at my phone more often. It would have been harder to sneak off to meet up with Lucy or Rachel with wedding planning and I was sick of being stressed she would find out. Some nicer people on the post suggested I ask for an open relationship. I took their advice and sat her down to sell the idea. It’s a good thing I’m so good at sales (top 3% in my company for 5 years in a row) because she agreed. Yes, actually agreed. At first she got kind of pale and her eyes got really big and blank. I thought for sure she was about to start crying and run off. Maybe even kick me out. She doesn’t really get angry but she gets upset and it freaks me out. After I explained everything about how good it would be for us though, she agreed. This is my official unlimited hallpass. I’ve been seeing Rachel on weekends and Lucy once or twice during the week for drinks. Tonight I’m going to sign up for every dating site I can. Tinder, Bumble, Hinge. If anyone has other suggestions, I’ll check those out too. Fiance has been kind of off but I think it’s just an adjustment period. Sometimes I can tell she’s been crying but she hasn’t come to me about it so she’s probably just being emotional about all the changes. At least she’s got our house to focus on while she gets used to things. I feel a little bad about running out every night but she’s just so mopey and sad all the time and it’s not enjoyable to be around. I know she probably feels like I’m abandoning her a little but once she starts getting back to normal I’ll spend time with her again. You really can have your cake (all the cakes heh) and eat them too. Edit: no, I never told her that I already had Lucy and Rachel and I’m not going to. What good would it do? She’s already agreed to an open relationship and telling her that I didn’t have permission first would just hurt her for no reason.

Kyle’s been gone for two (long, lonely) weeks when he finally gets a chance to call. So far, he’s only been able to send scattered texts at odd hours. Always something sweet – telling you he’s alright, or that he’s thinking of you. Sometimes you even catch him for a brief exchange before he apologizes and “goes dark” again.

Not that you begrudge it. This is part and parcel of dating him and you knew that going in. You’re not complaining when he’s putting his life on the line so that the public can live in blissful peace.

That doesn’t stop you from missing him though. His hugs, his smile. Getting his voice - even roughened by distance - is a nice compromise though.

“How have you been holding up, chickadee?” he asks after the initial reassurance that he’s whole and hale. 

“Easier this time!” you answer proudly. “I know what to expect with you gone and Johnny’s good company.”

“Yeah?” he asks, sounding pleased.

You can just imagine him now, leaning his hip against the nearest surface, arms crossed over his broad chest. He tends to duck his head when he smiles, and you unintentionally grin to yourself, thinking of him hiding into his phone. God, you miss him. 

“Mhmm! We found a board game bar that you’re going to love. Oh, and we’re going to the Hay Festival this weekend.”

He hums. “I’m sorry I can’t be there to take you, luv, but I knew Johnny would be good to you.”

More than good to you, really. There’s not been a day he doesn’t call to check up on you - if he doesn’t see you in person, that is. Dinner, movies, coffee. He’s somehow both a gentleman and an incorrigible flirt, but only with you. He’s nothing more than polite to anyone else, keeping his focus on you and whatever the two of you are doing.

You don’t know what to do with the undivided attention. If you didn’t know better…

“You two are getting close,” Kyle observes.

“I think so,” you admit, then hesitate. “Is… that okay?”

“‘Course, luv. I’m glad.”

You blink. “You are?”

“He’s my best mate and you’re my best girl.”

An odd pang of anxiety pierces your chest. Johnny calls you that too. His “best girl.” You love hearing it - but maybe you shouldn’t?

“It… doesn’t bother you? That we’re spending so much time together.”

He snorts softly, but it’s not derisive. It’s a noise he makes whenever he thinks you’re being silly, but his voice comes out soft and warm. Not an ounce of condescension.

“No, baby, I’m not fussed. You spend your time with whoever you want, however you want. Yeah?”

Your chest floods with warmth. “Okay.”

“There’s a love. I’ve got a brief, so I have to go. I’ll call soon as I can.”

“Be safe, Ky.”

“Do my best. Give Soap a smooch for us, aye?”

You blink as he hangs up. That’s a new one.

You ponder over it while packing on Thursday night. Was it just a joke? A tease at the little crush you’ve developed for Johnny?

Because it is a crush, you know it is. It’s impossible not to be attracted to him. Not with that smile, that laugh, the goofy humor and sweet mannerisms. He still sends you flowers every few weeks - just as the previous ones are about to die. It’s so thoughtful; you’ve started feeling a bit warm every time you look at them.

But you feel greedy, being even remotely interested in anyone else. You have Kyle and Brandon (even if you two are going through a… patch) and that should be enough for you. Shouldn’t it? You’ve never been with more than one person at a time before; it took you weeks to shake the compulsory guilt when you first met Kyle. It feels almost unforgivably audacious to want Johnny too, especially since he’s Kyle’s best mate.

Still… Kyle’s not a jealous or passive-aggressive guy. You’ve been with him long enough now that you know he’d just tell you outright if he was unhappy about something. And he’s been with you long enough that he can surely tell you’re more than a bit fond of Johnny.

Maybe that’s why he made the joke about “smooching” him.

Regardless, you want to talk to him about it. Things always make sense when you think out loud to him. His levelheaded and practical approach to difficult topics always straightens your panic spirals out into neat lines.

Plus, it’s not as comforting to hold your own hand. (God, when is he getting back?)

“Where are you going?”

You blink up at Brandon, folded pajamas in hand.

“The Hay Festival,” you answer.

Speaking of - you slip past him into the bathroom. He doesn’t follow, rooted to the spot spinning his phone around in his hands.

“Alone?”

You snort. “Of course not, I’m going with a friend.”

The allergy pills are at the bottom of the medicine basket beneath the sink. You really need to organize it the next time Johnny’s too busy to hang out. There’s no way you need three bottles of paracetamol. 

“I need that suitcase.”

You toss the bottle in and pivot for the dresser. “What for?”

He shifts, eyes sliding away. “An… overnight.”

Ah. That’s what he’s calling it now?

You snatch a few (too many) pairs of underwear from the dresser.

“Just bring them here,” you say over your shoulder.

There’s a long, tense beat of silence but you’re too busy rummaging for socks to break it first. Will it be too warm for thigh-highs? Eh, you’ll go with the sheer ones; the little lace roses match one of your dresses anyway.

“Bring who here?” Brandon asks slowly.

When you turn, he looks paler than usual. You shrug, trying to project casual comfort.

This is a totally normal and reasonable conversation to have. Just a couple in an open relationship, discussing a stranger coming to the house for a shag. Nothing to make a fuss over.

“Whoever you need the suitcase for? I know you’ve had people over before anyway, and I’ll be gone all weekend.”

He stutters, color returning to his face in bright pink blooms. “Why do you think I’ve had people over before?”

You arch an eyebrow. “I do the laundry, remember? And there was lipstick on one of the wine glasses.”

That had sent you into a tizzy at the time, disgusted that some stranger was in your bed, with your fiancé. You washed the sheets twice on the hottest setting and tossed in a bit of bleach for good measure. Hadn’t been able to look at him the whole week - not that he was there much to not look at.

Now, though, you seem to have adjusted to the idea, even if you’re still not thrilled. Brandon can have his… whoever over, and you’ll goof around with Johnny in Wales.

“Just toss the bedding in the wash afterwards,” you add.

“I thought you do the laundry,” he sniffs.

“I’m not traveling all day just to do chores when I get home,” you answer. He does a double take like you’ve started speaking a new language. “You’ll be here all weekend, I’m sure you’ll have time.”

He opens his mouth, and you can tell already that he’s about to argue - though you don’t really know what about. It’s not like he can’t do laundry or dishes, after all. He lived alone before you moved in together.

Thankfully, his phone distracts him before he can form the words. He spins away to tap at the screen and shuffles out of the room, shoulders till tense. You go back to packing and teasing Johnny about the amount of hair gel he’ll bring.

Friday afternoon can’t come fast enough. Even though you’ve taken a half day from work, the few hours seem to drag. You’re practically daydreaming about the food and drinks, music and activities. There’s a baker’s dozen art stalls you want to check out as well, and a gift to pick out for Kyle…

“Hope yer thinkin’ o’ me when ye make tha’ face.”

Your head snaps around so fast, you nearly give yourself whiplash. Johnny grins down at you in all his casually handsome glory – ripped jeans, green tee, and brown boots. Angels are singing somewhere, you think. Or maybe that’s just your nosy coworkers ogling from their own cubicles.

The reality of him sinks in a moment later and you leap up from your cushy chair – and right into his arms. He’s like a furnace compared to the cool, conditioned air of your office, a welcome source of warmth for your chilly fingers.

“What are you doing here?” you giggle. “Who let a rowdy guy like you in?”

He smells like bergamot and pine. It takes active thought to resist pressing your face into the crook of his neck. It looks cozy there.

As always, he squeezes you a bit tighter just before letting go.

“Hey now, Marcy’s a discerning lady. She knows a fine gentleman when she sees one.”

You snort, belied by the smile curling your lips. “She may need new glass then.”

“Och, don’t go talkin’ poor about my second-best gal now.”

“Is it that easy to get in your good graces?” you scoff, glancing at the time on your computer. It’s later than you expected; no wonder he came up to retrieve you. You spent so long daydreaming that you’ve lost track of time.

“Aw don’ be green, dove, you’re still my number one. Send ye flowers ‘n all.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Yeah, and now I’m wondering just how special that is.”

He stands close, proclaiming his case for how obviously special you are while you shut everything down for the weekend. You’re only half listening to the bit, admittedly. Mostly just basking in your excitement for the mini road trip and the weekend to come. You have no doubt that it’s going to be fun, even if it would be better with Kyle along too.

“Where are you headed off to?” Lucy asks.

“Hay Festival,” you answer shortly.

You’ve never been a big fan of Lucy, but lately she’s been insufferable. Talking over you during meetings, leaving you out of emails, throwing away papers at the printer. (Okay, you haven’t seen her do that last one, but you know.) Worst of all, she can help but make backhanded comments about every flower delivery.

“You’re not taking Brandon?” she simpers. “Something wrong?”

“He’s hanging out with a friend this weekend too,” you correct, “and he doesn’t like hay.”

“Shame that,” Johnny adds, sounding like it’s not a shame at all.

You haven’t told him much about Brandon – but you’re sure that Kyle has. From the face Johnny makes the rare times your fiancé comes up in conversation, he doesn’t think much of Brandon.

“Have fun you two!” your manager, Selene, calls.

You wave and shoot Lucy one last, unimpressed glance before stepping onto the elevator with Johnny.

r/CakeEater _OnBrand_ My fiancé is going on a weekend getaway with another man. I’ve posted in r/adultery and r/cakeeater before. I’m not looking for judgement or insults here. I really just want advice.

A little context: my fiancé and I are in an open relationship and it’s been like this for a few months now. I originally asked her to ope the relationship and for a while she was weird about it but lately she’s been getting sbetter. I thought she was finally getting used to me going out with other women and things were getting back to normal.

A few weeks ago, I noticed she was on her phone more. Like, all the time. Even at dinner when she used to be really picky about phones at the table. One day I came home from work and she was talking on the phone to someone. Giggling and laughing. When I turned the corner she was kind of blushing too. It kind of bothered me but I figured she was talking to a friend and just hot from cooking or something.

Lucy texted me pissed off one day, asking why I was sending my fiancé flowers but not her. I told her I hadn’t sent any flowers. I think they’re way too expensive for how long they realistically last and that they take up a lot of unnecessary space. But I thought it was weird that someone was sending my fiancé flowers and got kind of uncomfortable. That’s a pretty romantic gesture and her family isn’t the type to randomly send flowers either.

I tried taking her out on a date but she was all mopey again and turned her phone to ‘do not disturb’ so I wouldn’t even see if she was texting someone. We don’t have much to talk about now. I love her but she’s not a good storyteller or into very interesting things. All her ‘funny stories’ are just mundane things that happen during the day. We’ve run out of interesting topics about because we’ve been together so long. (That’s why I like having more than one partner.)

Yesterday she randomly started packing for a trip. I don’t even think she was planning to tell me until I asked her. She was packing a bunch of cute clothes too. Like dresses and tights and things like that. Stuff she only used to wear on our dates. I asked who she was going with and she just said ‘a friend’ which is weird because she would usually say the name of someone even if I don’t remember who they are.

Well today Lucy sent me a picture of my fiancé leaving her job with some guy. I couldn’t see his face because he was turned away, but I could see the side of my fiancé’s face and she was smiling at him. I got this awful sinking feeling in my chest like it was hard to breathe. It took me a few minutes to process that she’s going away for a weekend with a complete stranger.

Doesn’t she know how dangerous that is? Where did she even meet this guy? They’ll be gone all weekend so are they sharing a room? A bed? I nearly threw up thinking all these things as I called her.

I asked her to cancel her plans and come home. She seemed confused and reminded me that her plans were with someone else and it would be rude to ditch last minute. I told her I wanted to spend the weekend with her and that I’d been missing her. She seemed surprised and said that she’d see me on Sunday night, but she was looking forward to the festival with her ‘friend’ and wanted to go. As a last ditch effort I asked if her friend was more important than me, nearly begging at that point. She must have heard the desperation in my voice, but she just told me that she was already on the road and it was too late.

My fiancé doesn’t like lying but it’s hard to believe this guy was just a friend. Even if she sees him as a friend I know how men think and I doubt he sees her the same way.

She said some other weird stuff before she left about having someone over while she was gone. I don’t get it. How could she just casually invite someone else into our house like that? Has she had other people over? Is she dating now?

I’m not sure what to do. I don’t like that she put this trip over me. Should I talk to her about how bad this makes me feel? Should I call again and tell her to come home more forcefully? Am I blowing all of this out of proportion?

Edit: she doesn’t know that I’ve been seeing Lucy. I haven’t told my fiancé about any of the women I’ve been seeing. (mostly just Lucy and Rachel. I’ve done a lot of texting through apps and gone on a bunch of first place, but most women don’t put out right away and I usually can’t be bothered to get to know them better). Even then, I wouldn’t tell her about lucy. They don’t get along and never have. It would cause a lot of unnecessary drama.

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[demothers-empty-blog]

insecure König… ooooh… 👑🌀

König can’t get out of his head sometimes.

It was nothing, a harmless action, yet somehow a sharp pain managed to jam itself deep in his heart and he felt sick.

He tried kissing you but you innocently turned your attention elsewhere, effectively dodging his kiss. His eyes were closed at the time and only shot open when he didn’t feel the side of your head on his lips.

He overthinks it at first, then tries to shrug the weight off his shoulders; it doesn’t go easy.

The feeling was akin to moving around in a body of water and stepping over an open space, leading somewhere deeper, darker.

Despair engulfed him like he was drowning.

For a split second, König actually felt like he was.

Do you even love me anymore? He blurts out, voice raising in pitch by the slightest, burly arms crossed over his chest.

Too stunned to say anything right away, you turn and frown at him in utter confusion. Where did that come from, you wondered. His baby blues had dwindled into a lifeless grey, König seemed precarious but he held his gaze.

Finally, it clicks.

Oh, You say. Oh, you absolute big baby, c’mere. Despite the bite in your voice, your movements are welcoming. You open up your arms for him to come melt in your embrace.

Du bist meinem Kuss ausgewichen… (you dodged my kiss)

Lord, the whine in his voice bordered on pitiful. Now you know why he looked so dejected. You rub his back with up and down motions, König begins to sway your bodies back and forth.

He doesn’t know why that got to him so bad, he’s constantly afraid of losing you and missing that kiss felt like you’d slipped between his fingers.

Eventually he stilled once his mind settled. How can I reassure you that I won’t leave? You ask, feeling some of his lingering frustration seep into your conscious.

König feels pathetic, his tongue is in a tie and he’s quick to invalidate his feelings, but he knows you won’t let it go if he tries to brush this off.

Maybe a kiss would help…?

Well, how could you say no to that? Exactly.

[quarterlifekitty]

Misery style story where John’s retired to a secluded cabin in the snowy mountains, and he finds you passed out in the snow after your car veered off the road in the storm— your leg broken. And he does a double take— he recognizes your face because it’s printed on the inner jacket of a few of his books. You just happen to be his favorite erotic romance novelist, and he smiles as he carries you back to his cabin— no way for emergency services to make it out in all this. No, you’ll have to wait for the thaw. In the meantime, he’s eager to learn if you’ve been writing from experience or not.

And when this winter is through, maybe you’ll have enough fresh material for a new book— though, maybe he could convince you to try out a new style. Picture books, maybe.

Something he can read to the baby at bedtime, y’know?

[crashandlivewrites]

Bathroom Habits with the 141 Boys

These were random thoughts that I had so I wanted to make it a thing with some input from @soapsgf

TF141 x GN!Reader

CW: it gets mildly steamy in a couple of them, but relatively domestic otherwise

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Chronic shower sharer. If you’re showering, he’s showering. Just enjoys spending the time with you

Hogs the water and adjusts the temperature for his liking, even if you got in there first

Washes your hair and body tenderly, massaging you gently with your favourite soaps and presses soft kisses to your shoulders as the water rinses your skin

Always comments on the smell of everything and tells you his favourites so you buy them again. Also takes into consideration the smells you like best on him

Loves when you return the favour and wash him. He’s a glutton for being pampered

Avid skin-care enthusiast. You don’t get skin that pretty without some TLC. Definitely takes sunscreen away with him

If you’re into skin-care as well, he enjoys doing it together (read: he enjoys lying in your lap and having you take care of his skin for him. Don’t worry, he’ll return the favour)

Does enjoy a cheeky swipe of moisturiser on your face when you’re not paying attention then bolts out of the room before you can retaliate

He’s also a neat man, meticulously laying out your bathroom bench or shelves with products so they’re easy to grab

Enjoys having his face mostly clean shaven when he’s home, but goes to a barber more often than doing it himself

Pushes the toothpaste from the bottom, making it easy to get most of it out

John Price

Not really a fan of sharing showers but enjoys sharing the bathroom at the same time

He likes doing his beard routine/ casual trims if you’re in the shower and vice versa for your small daily tasks whether it be hair or skin care

However, if you are looking to have a bath and you have one big enough to hold you both? You can be damn sure he’s joining you

Also makes it a big deal when he’s back. There’s candles, drinks, bath salts, and a movie playing in the background as you relax, back against his chest

Cannot keep his hands to himself. As you’re paying attention to the movie, his hands are gliding down your sides and over your thighs

Tells you to keep focusing on the movie if you start squirming too much before doubling down

Not big on skin care, but has a beard care range. Thoroughly enjoys spending his time re-shaping his beard especially after coming back, then having you keep up the smaller trims here and there

Does let you put moisturiser and sunscreen on his face but that’s it

Enjoys brushing, stroking, and/ or braiding your hair as you brush your teeth

Sits on the toilet for an hour despite knowing it’s bad for his bowel health

Clenches the middle of the toothpaste tube initially, but does push it up from the bottom when it gets low

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

Gremlin in the bathroom. Invades your space. Like Kyle; if you’re showering, he’s showering even if he’s already washed himself for the day

Unapologetically pees in the shower and on you if you’re not careful

Enjoys washing you. Or rather, your chest. Loves soapy nipples. It’s the cleanest part of your body

Also abuses your body with the detachable shower head, holding it between your legs as he pins you to the wall, making you whine

Encourages you to wash him too, trapping your wrists and running your hands over his body suggestively

Can’t have a minute alone with this man. Always has something to talk to you about or show you so there’s no point closing the door

Washes his face with water; bar soap if he’s particularly dirty. We all know he’s a 3 in 1 user

Skin is crusty when he comes back from missions but sits pretty for you if you want to put moisturiser on his face (read: you’ll have to sit on his chest and pin him down but he likes it)

Also another one to spend an hour on the toilet but doesn’t think it’s an issue. Wants you to sit in there with him (no thanks)

Adores it when you shave his mohawk for him. Pretends he can’t do it himself if you’re around. Loves the way your eyes squint in concentration and move his head around forcefully, barking orders at him to sit still

Squeezes the toothpaste right at the top, doesn’t close the lid and leaves it in the sink

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Like Price, also not a shower sharer fan, especially early on in the relationship

The size of him is the main reason, but also wary of making you anxious about his heavily scarred body

No preference of soap or shampoo, probably whatever he’s stolen from base. Also doesn’t use conditioner

Doesn’t mind sharing the bathroom with you though once he gets comfortable, if you happen to be in there at the same time

If you’re having a bath, he won’t join you in the bath, but rather sit next to it on a stool either silently or having quiet conversations with you

Does love washing your hair as he enjoys the way you moan softly at the feeling of his strong hands pressing into your scalp

Always takes deep breaths of your hair and skin when it’s clean, committing the smell to memory

He wears a mask most of the time. He has acne because he doesn’t really wash it, especially on deployment

Doesn’t really care about treating it, but sits for you if you express an interest in taking care of it for him. He won’t admit it, but he is also a glutton for being pampered

Tries to remember what you’ve told him but forgets when he’s away. Sometimes he remembers moisturiser and sunscreen, but it’s a bit hit and miss

Toothpaste looks like he’s had it for years. All shrivelled, cut open, and squeezed to high hell in order to get every bit out

Thank you for reading!! If you have any requests for hc’s, don’t be afraid to send them through!

[batsybat91]

CW: Fear of planes

You are flying to Machester to see your boyfriend. It's a long, long flight from your nearest airport to him. But you wanted to do something nice for him. You packed everything up for two weeks, and you've been impatient the whole plane ride. I'm going to get to see Simon when I get there!!

The plane hits a few bumps. The woman next to you makes a scared face. "Euh, I bloody hate aeroplanes," she groans.

"Hey, it's just a bit of turbulence," you assure her.

"I really, really hope so," she says, gripping her armrests so tight that you hear her joints pop.

"Where are you flying from?" You try to distract her from the bumpy ride.

"Wyoming. Er, well, Salt Lake," she replies. "It was on me bucket list to go an' see Yellowstone."

"Oh, it's gorgeous up there," you say, offering her a smile.

"Yeah it is, innit?" she laughs, easing up a bit. "I rather liked those big, colorful pools. You know, the hot springs?"

"Yes ma'am-"

The plane plummets down. Your stomach drops, and your hands fly to the edge of your seat. Screaming, crying, and prayers erupt in the plane. It evens out for a moment, before plummeting once more.

The woman grabs your hand and squeezes it tight enough to break the bones. But you don't care. You're silently praying. Please, God, don't let me die, you think frantically. I want to see my boyfriend.

The woman is crying next to you. "Hey, hey, hey," you say, holding her hand impossibly tighter.

"We're going to die!" she says between gasping sobs.

"No, we aren't," you reply, though you're not too sure yourself. Everyone is buckled in their seats. Flight attendants shout to keep your heads down.

"I'm never goin' to see my husband again!" she exclaims.

"Yes, you are," your voice breaks. "I swear to God, you'll see him again."

"Christ," she whimpers. You close your eyes, and you can see Simon. Tears slip from your eyes as the plane continues to plummet and bounce into an even line. God, if I don't make it, make sure Simon knows I love him.

"We're going to be okay," you whisper. "Yeah?"

"I don't know," she whimpers.

"I promise you, we'll be okay," you repeat.

"I'm so scared," she admits.

"Me, too. My boyfriend is picking me up when we land. I haven't see him in a year," you ramble. "I'm scared I won't see him again. But listen, these planes are built to be safe. We'll be okay."

"My husband didn't come with me. It was a girls' trip," she chokes.

"Shh, shh, shh," you soothe. "We'll be fine. We're going to be okay."

What feels like hours in hell is likely only a mere hour. You hold the stranger's hand the whole time, trying not to cry. Just make it to Simon. Just make it to Simon. The plane keeps dropping in elevation, then resumes to normal for a few brief moments. A taste of salvation.

The plane lands in Manchester, and everyone is racing to get off. You're just happy it didn't crash. You give the strange a hug when the two of you stand. "We made it!" you exclaim.

"Thank you, lovie," she says against your shoulder. "Bless you."

You smile, though you're trembling from fear. "Thank you, ma'am. That's very kind of you."

You cannot get to baggage claim fast enough. Simon Riley is waiting for you by the carousel for your flight number, wearing a button-up and dark jeans. You'd ogle him if you weren't so goddamn shaken.

"Simon!" you cry, leaping into his arms. The luggage is forgotten.

"'Ello, luv. You 'right?" he asks, catching you easily. He cradles you to his chest as you tremble against him, rocking you gently. You know that's how people would normally soothe toddlers, but you don't even care.

"The plane-" you manage before the tears flood from you. "It almost crashed! Simon, I- I thought I wasn't going to see you again."

You can tell he has a million questions in his head. Instead, he just says, "Shhh, I'm here now. You're safe. You're safe, darlin'."

[starwovenkiss]

Sleep Tight, Soldier

The 5 times you and Kyle accidentally fall asleep next to one another + the 1 time it’s on purpose.

content: female reader, explicit smut (18+ MDNI), slowburn romance, childhood friends to lovers, dual pov, fluff, angst, grief of a loved one,light depictions of PTSD/trauma, emotional vulnerability

word count: 15.2k

a/n: this started as a drabble that quickly spiraled out of control. i don’t know what else to say other than if you read this whole thing, ily ♡

also for anyone doing the math: technically, kyle is canonically 24 in MWII (per Activision) and somehow also 34 (per the game). i’ve decided to split the difference and go with his wiki birthday: 1993. trying to make the canon timeline work gave me a literal migraine and age is just a number. i love him either way.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ♡ ─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ───

October 11, 1999 - 01:36 A.M.

Kyle looks up from his football just in time to spot two wide, curious eyes peeking over his backyard fence.

The sun beams down on his back, and he’s still getting used to the fact that he can go outside to practice football whenever he pleases. It was so different from the gray skies that seemed to permanently haunt London in the springtime, so when he looked up at the clouds to examine if the sky could really be that blue, he wasn’t expecting to see a girl with messy hair and a bright smile staring straight at him.

He had known that there was a girl his age who lived next door, had caught small glimpses of you while you went on walks with your parents, but had never had the chance to speak to you until now.

“‘Lo,” he mumbles. He hears his father in his head, guiding him to speak louder and stand up straight so he tries to follow the direction. Tries to appear older than he is at six years old.

“Hello!” You giggle, and suddenly, he sees the rest of you, sitting on the edge of the nearly five-foot fence separating the two backyards. He briefly wonders how you managed to get all the way up there, and if American kids had some sort of superpower climbing skill that British kids just aren’t aware of. Before he can test this theory on his own climbing skills, you’ve already done a crawl-shimmy-jump down the fence and landed with a flair that only a six-year-old could when jumping into a pile of dirt.

He takes the time to examine his new neighbor with the flushed skin and polka dot dress and scraped knees (’no doubt from climbing other kid’s fences,’ he thinks). You’re the picture of Americana, down to the melting red, white, and blue Bomb Pop you carry in one hand and a Barbie in the other. Kyle does notice, a little bitterly, that you are a few inches taller than him.

“What’s your name?” you ask, a toothy smile on display, and Kyle begins to shuffle his feet when he sees your bright grin up close. He fights the urge to turn away, feeling a similar way to when he looks at the sun for too long.

“Kyle. What’s yours?”

You tell him your name, and Kyle smiles. It fits, all sunshine and bubbly, the way you seem to be. Kyle’s about to ask if you want to play when you pause from eating your popsicle to stick a hand on your hip like you’re sizing him up — and Kyle has no idea what you’re looking for.

“You talk weird,” That’s …. not what Kyle was expecting, and is a little ironic. Yes, he does have an accent, but you do whistle while you speak on account of your two missing front teeth.

“No, I don’t,” he argues back.

“Yes, you do,” you determine with that huge smile, seemingly unaware that your insistence is causing his brow to furrow and his fists to clench.

“I do not!” he huffs. He almost stomps his foot, but quickly remembers that he is supposed to be acting more …. grown up in this situation.

You shrug and turn around, taking this as a cue to examine his backyard. You carelessly toss your Barbie next to the side of the fence you landed on, taking in the green grass and tall pine trees that surround the yard.

As you continue to skip around the perimeter of the yard, Kyle takes the time to examine you. He’s never seen someone his age be so sure of themselves, so certain of how everything should be in the world.

“Do you play soccer?” you ask, and it takes Kyle a beat to register what you’re saying, so lost in his thoughts.

“Soccer?” he questions and you point to the ball at his feet like he might be a little stupid.

“You mean, football?” he clarifies, and you laugh, running over to hand him your sticky, melting popsicle.

“See, you do talk weird!” you grin and move to kick the ball from his feet.

Kyle hesitates, heading to the trash to toss the mess you gave him. He shakes his head as he goes. He talks like Mum and Dad, and they don’t sound weird to him. So why would he?

To his amazement, when he turns around, you’re carelessly kicking his football around, chasing after the ball, and sometimes pausing to cartwheel in between as if you’ve forgotten what you’re doing. He’s never seen anyone play so…. wildly.

“What are you doing?” he asks, watching as you skip after the ball.

“Playing soccer!” you smile, and Kyle fights the urge to shake his head again.

“That’s not how you play soccer! You clearly don’t even know what you’re doing,” he says like he’s some expert, so confused by the way you’re running that he doesn’t even notice that he calls it the American name.

“That’s not true. I play on a team with my friends and I was voted best player.” For the first time since meeting you, you don’t have a smile on your face. Your brow furrows and you look at him disappointed. Kyle doesn’t really believe the best player story, but he can sense that he’s on the verge of hurting your feelings so he changes the subject.

“What if we play something else?” he suggests. That seems to appease you and you brighten again, back to the smiley joy he didn’t realize he was already used to.

“Sure! I have my favorite Barbie doll with me, but I don’t know where I put it!” Your brow furrows again as you turn wildly to find where you tossed your Barbie.

It’s at that moment when Kyle steps back to give you some space, he hears a crack that sounds suspiciously like a Mattel doll being fractured in two. Kyle freezes, hoping that if he doesn’t move any further, you won’t notice the fractured Barbie underneath his right cleat.

You turn to him with a glare in your eye.

‘Oh no,’ Kyle thinks to himself.

♡ ♡ ♡

When you open your eyes, Kyle’s nose is about two inches away from yours, and his chest rises and falls slowly and steadily. You cross your eyes to count 35 freckles scattered across his cheeks and chin. Most annoyingly, he is currently cuddled up with your teddy bear that you insisted on bringing to this sleepover.

After a very dramatic Barbie funeral, you reluctantly accepted that Kyle wouldn’t be going back to London (it took stealing your brother’s encyclopedia and two very long conversations with your Mom to understand that you can’t just deport a six-year-old for Barbie homicide - no matter how justified it feels.) So you’ve decided to try and befriend him, mostly because your mother says you have to.

It hasn’t been going well.

Kyle warmed up to you quicker than anyone expected, and somewhere between April and October, the polite British boy you first met was replaced by a full-blown menace.

Every time you try to play house in the backyard, he chases you with frogs. You give him daisy-chain flower crowns; he shoves mud pies into your hands. You want to pick sunflowers, and he’s more interested in running wild with your older brothers and playing “football” as he calls it.

As far as you can tell, Kyle has little to no interest in being your friend, and frankly, you’d be okay if he stayed on his side of the backyard forever.

Which leads you to this predicament.

You two, at another kid’s sleepover, are stuck sharing a sleeping bag, and he is hogging both the blankets.

When one of the other kids forgot their sleeping bag, everyone figured that since you and Kyle were being raised like siblings at this point (and fought like it too), there was really no issue with you two sharing.

You actually had fun for most of the night, painting ghosts and smiley faces on your pumpkin, sneaking extra candy, and laughing with the other kids — until one jumped out from around the corner and tossed a rubber spider on you.

The weirdest part of all is how Kyle had been acting. You had expected him to laugh along with the others when you screamed at the spider, but he pushed the kids aside, mumbling “It’s really not that funny.” before pulling you with him.

After that, he was weirdly nice the rest of the night — he even snuck you the last sugar cookie, even though it was his and you’d already had one.

Despite his kindness earlier, Kyle doesn’t really understand the concept of sharing— at least, not when it comes to sleeping bags — and you watch irritably as he gets more and more comfortable under the blankets as the room gets chillier.

You tug, and he tugs back. And you’re seconds away from losing your mind before he begins to blink, slowly coming to.

“What are you doing?” Kyle asks, rubbing his eyes blearily, and for a moment, you see Kyle as his real age. You know he tries to act older and more mature, a product of his father's upbringing and all, but it’s rare to see him so childish unless he’s tormenting you. You secretly wish he would act more like a kid, even if it means it’s at your expense.

“You kept stealing the blankets,” Both of you aren’t whispering, not really understanding how to be quiet, but you do see another kid turn over and quickly put a hand over Kyle’s mouth.

Kyle looks at you bewildered, and you fight the urge to laugh. When the other kid finally settles, you remove your hand as both of you break out into silent giggles.

He seems to finally notice that he has taken over the entire sleeping bag, and shuffles to give you some more blanket space. His skin burns slightly red as he wordlessly hands you your teddy as well.

��I’m sorry,” You’re not entirely sure what he’s apologizing for, since they’re just blankets and you’re almost 90% sure you probably kicked him in your sleep, but it seems important to Kyle, so you decide to hand him back your teddy bear.

He smiles as he gets comfortable, and soon, his breathing evens out next to you, falling back into those slow and steady rises, and you let yourself relax too.

It wouldn’t kill you to be nice to Kyle for a night, either.

So, you simply pat his shoulder and turn to the other side.

Maybe, just maybe, you didn’t mind Kyle sticking around for a while.

♡ ♡ ♡

July 28, 2005 - 11:42 P.M.

“Kyle.”

That can’t be right. Kyle’s solving an equation he can’t quite remember the formula for. That’s not what confuses him, though. It’s you, sitting next to him like you belong there. He doesn’t understand why since you have language arts when he’s in maths, but there you are, staring at him urgently. He wants to respond and ask why you’re here, but instead, he focuses back on the algebra problem in front of him.

“Kyle!” Your whisper comes across more urgently and he whips his head to you, trying to figure out what it is that you could possibly want. You sound annoyed, which is common in conversations with him, but there’s something more. He feels a slight breeze and wonders why you’re leaning towards him before a blunt punch in the arm jerks him awake.

“Ow,” he groans, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing at his arm, already sure there’s a bruise here.

“You sleep like the dead,” you respond matter-of-factly, upside down over his head as he wakes up. Kyle knuckles his eyes slightly, trying to adjust to his surroundings, quickly realizing that he’s not actually in his year six maths class, but still at the summer camp your parents shipped you both to every year since you were seven.

“_____,” he hisses, sitting up to look around him. “You’re not even meant to be in here.”

The rest of his cabin mates seem to be asleep, unaware of the girl standing at the edge of his bed in a strictly boys-only cabin, and for a moment he worries that his counselor will walk in and catch you two.

He stands up, ready to walk you out the door until he really looks at you.

Your eyes are glassy, tears streaking your cheeks in the moonlight, and Kyle forgets about getting caught. You’re crying, and that makes his stomach twist worse than any trouble could. He knows that camp had been rough for you this year — your braces are just the latest thing. Every week, Cassidy Shelton finds something new to pick apart.

“What’s wrong?” He asks.

“You’ll laugh at me.”

“I’d never laugh at you.”

“Even when I fell down during the pep rally?” You raise a brow at him, and even though he tries to stop it, he does snicker at the memory. You laugh quietly as well, before rubbing at your cheeks to wipe your tears away, and Kyle’s heart sinks even further.

“C’mon, let’s go for a walk,” He suggests, already grabbing his jacket. He notices you’re holding his blanket, and grabs it to tug you slightly towards him.

“We can’t leave. That’s against the rules,” You hiss, eyes wide with terror. He holds back a laugh, knowing that the two of you are already pushing it with the amount of noise you’re making and someone is bound to wake up soon for a midnight pee or something. Only you would break into a boy’s cabin, breaking the biggest rule of all, but be terrified by a midnight walk.

“No worse than you sneaking into the boys' cabin, is it?” He shrugs, already headed to the door. If it wasn’t for the midnight quiet, he would’ve missed the barely audible whisper of ‘I just wanted to talk to you.’

The darkness in front of you seems to stretch for miles only illuminated by the tiny sliver of the moon above. The earth is slightly damp beneath your feet as you follow Kyle further through the campsite.

You don’t know where Kyle’s taking you, but you trust him — just like you trusted him enough to climb through the window of Cabin B in the first place.

He’s been a constant in your life for the past six years, and you’re unsure where the shift from childhood neighbors turned into tween best friends. You’ve never had to wonder where you stood with Kyle — he just showed up.

Lately, you’ve needed that loyalty more than you’d like to admit.

Cassidy’s been relentless all summer, never far away with a comment or a look. She made fun of your swimsuit during pool day, made a joke about your retainer when the boys were around, and “accidentally” left you out of the cabin photo.

But today, she made sure to taunt you in front of the entire cabin, everyone crowded in the bathroom to get ready for bed.

“The braces help, seriously” she says, brushing out her hair in long, perfect strokes. “At least now you have a feature people will notice before your nose.”

You tense, trying to rush through brushing your teeth so you can crawl into your bunk where she can’t bother you.

“I mean,” she sighs wistfully, like she’s offering life-changing advice. You know better, know that what comes next is nothing but the punchline to one of her cruel jokes. “You’re just so lucky you’re funny. Some guys like that more than looks.”

A few girls snickered, and that had been the final straw. You felt the need for comfort, missing home more than usual and your feet found there way to Kyle like they always did.

There’s a slight breeze that tickles the ends of your hair, and the crickets slowly fade into a melody in the background as you realize that Kyle is leading you toward the lake. You cross your arms at the chill in the air, and Kyle turns to frown down at you. He’s gotten so tall since the beginning of the summer, and you know deep down that he’s happy he no longer has to look up at you anymore.

He stops in front of you, shaking you out of your thoughts as you almost run into him. He sets his blanket down next to the canoe racks, and you smile. The first summer you spent here, you and Kyle had accidentally capsized a canoe after arguing over the correct way to steer. The next day, the counselors made you both sit out, and you spent the whole hour just talking. It’s become one of your favorite spots to hang out at between activities since.

He sits down and looks up at you, eyes searching yours. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shake your head, already feeling kinda childish and guilty that you had dragged Kyle out of bed to comfort you. He has always seemed so mature, and even now, you feel unsophisticated as you clumsily move to sit down next to him. Where you had been teased and picked on this summer, Kyle seemed to blossom over the past few weeks, breaking records for the fastest time in rock climbing and always being first to be picked in dodgeball.

Everyone wanted to talk to him, and no one seemed to understand why he was always so content to just hang out with you.

Kyle’s silent, and you wish for a second that you could know what’s going on inside his head. You turn to look at him but find that he’s already staring at you, and you both quickly look away.

”Look, you can see Orion tonight.” You look over at him and follow where’s he pointing to the brightest constellation in the sky. He lies down on his back, and you follow his lead, both of you gazing up toward the night sky. “And there’s Andromeda.”

You try to look up to where he’s pointing, but can’t make out the shape. Your hand brushes his as you point upward.

”Where?” you ask, and he grabs your hand, tracing the outline of the shape in the stars. You pause, taking in the fact that you’ve never seen so many at once, before quickly realizing that Kyle is still holding your outstretched hand, and both of your faces burn as he quickly drops it.

”How do you know all this?” Kyle shrugs the best he can while still lying down to your question.

”We learned about it in science class a few months ago, and I thought it was interesting. I read some books from the library, too. They all have these crazy stories behind them. Like Andromeda. She was like…brave or something. And Orion’s a hunter.”

Kyle begins to get excited as he starts to ramble, and you smile. Not only is he great at sports, but he’s also one of the smartest people in your grade, and loves to show off whenever he can.

”That’s Ursa Major, and there’s Ursa Minor. They’re both the bears. And that one’s…. well, I forgot the name, but it’s the prettiest one. And it’s always right there. Like you.” Kyle stops talking so fast it knocks the breath out of you. Your head spins.

You’re not sure what you expected him to say, another fact, maybe a joke, but definitely not that.

You feel Kyle squirm next to you, clearly mortified, and you’re certain that if you turned to him, his face would be flushed from the heat of his unexpected confession - if you could even call it that.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him trying very hard to keep his gaze fixed on the stars, like maybe if he doesn’t look at you, the words won’t count.

And somehow, that makes you smile.

You’ve never even thought of Kyle that way— sticking to daydreaming about boyband members and teen actors, so you don’t know why your pulse keeps stuttering at his revelation. It’s Kyle, and you know the girls in your grade are already starting to become interested in him, have already started whispering about who he might ask to the seventh-grade dance next year and how they hope it’s them.

You wonder how Cassidy would react if Kyle accidentally compared her to the prettiest constellation in the galaxy.

”You shouldn’t let what they say get to you,” he whispers, and you find that he’s looking at you this time.

”Who?”

”Cassidy and them. I don’t know why you care what they think. You’re way cooler than them.” He stares at you intently, and now it’s you who has to look away, who focuses intently on the constellations above instead of the boy next to you.

”Thanks, Kyle,” you sigh, moving to get more comfortable. All of a sudden, you feel exhausted—the day finally catching up to you. Kyle grabs his jacket, draping it over you.

“You’re way cooler than them too,” you mumble, and from the corner of your eye, you see Kyle smile.

The rippling of the water and the cricket sounds slowly lure the both of you to sleep until the next morning when your counselors find you hidden after spending the past hour freaking out over two missing campers.

You both get dish duty for a week. But at least you’re together.

♡ ♡ ♡

April 7, 2010 - 12:57 A.M.

Kyle feels like his black bow tie is choking him, and for what feels like the thousandth time that night, he tugs at the collar of his tux. He’s not sure if it’s the collar that’s making it hard to breathe, or if it’s just you.

Sweat beads lightly on his forehead as he forces another bright smile under the camera flashes.

”One more! Do not make that face, Kyle! It’s only one more picture. I just can’t believe how big the both of you have gotten,” his mother coos, sentences trailing over one another in her excitement. You’re applying a fresh coat of lip gloss as your mum fixes your gown, and Kyle can’t stop looking.

It’s the night of your senior prom, and Kyle originally had no plans on going. But after your date stood you up, he grabbed the black suit from the back of his closet to accompany you on the night you had been looking forward to for the past year.

And Kyle had always known you were beautiful.

He just didn’t know it could make his chest ache the way it does now.

Up until now, Kyle thought he’d seen you in every outfit imaginable. But the blush pink gown wraps around you like a whisper, like you might break if the wrong hands touch you. His throat dries as your glossy lips catch the light as you press them together to smooth everything out. You seem to glow, an outright supernova that somehow made its way to Earth, a divine cosmic intervention that Kyle could only count himself as lucky to experience.

He knows he’s being dramatic, but when you look over at him, eyes bright and smile wide, he feels like he could write a sonnet about you just like he learned in English.

He makes himself keep his eyes on yours, even as the slit of your gown sways closer with every step. He thinks the lights are making him delirious because he swears you float to him in a cloud of tulle and shimmer.

”Okay, one more, and that will be the last one, Beth,” your mother chides, guiding you to stand next to Kyle. He looks down at you, at how you now barely reach his chin, even in your strappy high heels.

”How much do you want to bet this isn’t the last one?” You mutter under a beaming white smile, and for a second, Kyle sees the same six-year-old who once crawled over his backyard fence.

He shakes his head, pulling you closer to him. It takes everything in him not to breathe you in and hold you tighter.

Kyle hasn’t left your side all night.

Which is normal for Kyle. You two won “Class Inseparables” for a reason, but what isn’t normal is just how clingy he’s being.

Kyle had spent the year making it extremely clear that he didn’t want to go to prom, and while he didn’t outright say it, you know that with the recent death of his father, he’d much rather stay at home and do…… whatever it is that Kyle wants to do.

You had struggled to be there, as he shut you out more and more while dealing with his grief. You blamed yourself for not knowing the right things to say, what to do, and most of all, feeling like nothing you did was ever enough to show him he wasn’t alone. It was just something he had to work through on his own, and you made sure to always be a shoulder for him when he called.

So when your mother found out that your date canceled on you last minute, she spoke to Kyle’s mother, and the both of them decided that it would be good for the two of you to go together — one last adolescent celebration before you two fully entered adulthood.

And although you hate to admit it, they were both right. You couldn’t have imagined spending the night any other way, dragging Kyle through all the cliches of photobooth pictures and slowly dancing to pop songs. His laugh infectious as he clumsily dips you to the floor, almost dropping you in the process.

So when the two of you made it to an afterparty, you were surprised to not see him next to you as you exited the living room barefoot to the backyard deck. Already buzzed on a few drinks, your head pounds to the bass of the song blaring and you welcome the muffled quiet you get as you shut the door behind you, heading to the railing to look up to the sky.

Only a few moments later, you hear the sliding glass door open, and without looking, you know Kyle has found his way back to you.

“I can’t believe this is it,” you whisper, eagerly welcoming the bottle of water Kyle slides your way. He takes a sip from his own, and as you dazedly watch him swallow, you notice that he ditched his bow tie somewhere between the limo and the shot of Smirnoff you took with your friends. The first few buttons of his dress shirt are unbuttoned, and he looks more relaxed than you’ve seen him in a long time.

“What’s it?” He questions, and you smile at his accent creeping through. In addition to class inseparables, Kyle also won the senior superlative for best accent (a category you’re almost certain they created just for him), and to this day, you don’t know how he maintained it despite living in America for most of his life. A part of you thinks it’s due to the yearly trips to England he takes with his family, and another part thinks that it’s just the way it’s meant to be because he wouldn’t be Kyle without it.

“I mean, we’re done. No more high school,” you sigh wistfully. The big decision of ‘what’s next’ seems to loom over everyone’s head as graduation creeps even closer. You had already committed to a college for the fall, but Kyle had kept unusually silent about his decision on what to do next. You tried not to pry, knowing that he was already dealing with more grief than anyone your age ever should, but it worried you that he didn’t have a plan, and a tiny voice in the back of your head won’t stop whispering he’s keeping something from you.

“I thought you, more than anyone, would be glad to be done,” he laughs, taking another sip of his water.

You suppose that’s true, school had never really been your favorite. But the thought of leaving Kyle to go out of state? You’re not sure how to feel about it. He’s always been a fence away, and your hands begin to twitch as you’re suddenly overcome with a weird urge to hold his hand.

You don’t know what to call your feelings for Kyle. If anyone ever insinuates that there could be anything more between you two, you almost immediately deny it. Tell everyone and anyone who can hear that “he’s just a friend, more like one of my brothers than anything else,” but late at night, in the wee hours when you feel the darkness can hide any thought you’re too scared to say aloud, you entertain the idea of ‘what if?’

You had tried - once in ninth grade because everyone said that’s what two people with “chemistry” like yours were supposed to do, but Kyle had too much of a crush on an upperclassman girl to focus on you properly and you had always felt like your “dates” felt too much like hanging out as friends to ever take it seriously.

But now at the cusp of adulthood, you’re beginning to see Kyle as something more, and it terrifies you slightly.

“Of course, I’m happy to be done. But I don’t know what I’m going to do without you next year,” you admit, softly, the truth coming out before you can bottle it back down. “I mean, you’re my best friend, Ky. Promise you’ll come visit me next year?”

Kyle doesn’t look at you, letting out a heavy sigh.

”Of course, I’ll visit. It’s just-” He stops himself, running a heavy hand through his hair, and looking up towards the sky. Your heart begins to beat faster, trying to anticipate what he’s not saying, and for once, you wished Kyle spoke as carelessly as you did instead of watching every word to make sure he never said the wrong thing.

“What is it, Kyle?”

He takes another drink of water, fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt before turning to you with his full attention, staring you deep into your eyes.

”I’m moving back to London at the end of the summer. I’m going to enlist in the military.”

You recoil at that bombshell. You know you shouldn’t be that surprised; Kyle’s dad was in the military himself, and with everything that’s happened, it makes sense that he’d want to follow in his footsteps.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” You hate how selfish you sound, knowing that it’s not about you, and the edges of the room start to blur as you try to catch your breath.

”It was just never the right time, and I couldn’t figure out how. Plus, you were so stressed about college applications that I didn’t want to add that on to everything else you were dealing with.”

You try to see how that logic would make sense to him, but as the timeline catches up to you, you start to realize that you have a little over 100 days until Kyle is almost 4,500 miles away from you.

Your heart begins to beat even faster.

You want to be happy for him — proud, even. Because of course, Kyle would do something so brave and selfless. But your stomach churns as you think about everything he’s still carrying and whether running towards something like this will really let him outrun his grief.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” You murmur, eyes burning as you slide down the railing to sit on the deck.

”Don’t do that, love. You’re going to get your pretty dress all dirty.” You fight the urge to roll your eyes because only Kyle could be focused on the state of your appearance while you’re on the verge of falling apart. “C’mon, let's go inside.”

He leads you through the crowded living room, ignoring the whistles and cheers as he takes you down the hall to find an unoccupied spare bedroom.

As soon as the lock clicks, you lay face down on a scratchy pillow, a violent sob racking your body.

You feel the bed dip as Kyle sits beside you, gently stroking your back until your tears quiet. You wonder if he thinks you’re being melodramatic about this situation, if his leaving is as big a deal to him as it is to you. You count down every moment you two have spent together, and wonder if he’s done the same since he’s decided to enlist, if he’ll cling on to the same memories that you will a year from now.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” you whisper. You don’t want to say it, not wanting to ruin this momentous decision with your own emotions, but you feel him slipping away, and selfishly, you want to hold on as tight as you can without letting go.

“I know this can’t be easy for you either… but I just — God, I don’t know how I’m going to do this without you,” you sniffle slightly.

”I’m going to miss you more, darling,” he whispers back, moving to lay beside you. He cuddles up behind you, holding you tightly, and the comfort of having him near you is enough to calm you down. You lay in silence for a few moments, letting the sounds of the party outside drown out every fear you’re not ready to name.

“Y’know, when we were six, I wanted you to move back to London,” you laugh, and he snorts too.

”Did you? Why was that?” his embrace softens, and you begin to feel quite tired as the heat from his body envelopes you.

”You broke my Barbie and made fun of my ‘football’ skills,” he laughs at the exaggerated posh accent you put on before you continue- ”As far as I was concerned, you were enemy number one.”

“How lucky am I,” he drags, sarcastically. “that I changed your mind to keep me here.”

“I think I’m the lucky one,” you murmur, your voice small now. “Because now I don’t want you to go.”

He stiffens slightly before relaxing into you more.

And just like that on a borrowed bed in your formal wear, you reckon with the fact that this is the last night of your childhood.

You grab Kyle’s hand and drift off to sleep.

♡ ♡ ♡

November 28, 2014 - 3:19 A.M.

Kyle hasn’t seen you in two years, and yet here you are, sitting in front of him in the tiniest black dress he’s ever seen in his entire life.

Both of you are crammed into a booth in a dark, sticky club, and he tells himself it’s the bass of whatever EDM track is rattling the walls that’s making his head spin — not the way your chest presses together when you lean over to grab your drink.

He takes another sip of his own. You’re spending the summer interning at a finance firm in London, and Kyle secretly hopes they’ll offer you a job after graduation — just so you’ll have a reason to stay. Which is how you found yourself out with him and his friends to celebrate their first deployment going so successfully.

They’d started the night at a proper pub; pints, darts, and all — much to your confusion when you showed up like you were headed to a rooftop in Miami.

“What are you wearing?” He asks, eyes scanning over the smokey makeup and sky-high heels that stood outside of the door of his flat. “You do realize we’re going to a pub, yeah? Why the dress?”

“You said we were going to a bar.” You push him to the side since clearly he wasn’t going to move to let you in, and toss the oversized leather jacket you were wearing onto his couch without a second glance. “This is what you wear to bars.”

Kyle’s almost positive he didn’t say that, any American slang, wiped from his vocabulary since moving back to the U.K., and despite growing up together, he still isn’t sure how the two of you manage to miscommunicate.

You turned to him then, lips already pouted, eyes bright with mischief as you looked him up and down.

“What, you don’t like it?”

The problem is Kyle likes what you’re wearing a little too much which is how he found himself in a basement club in central London. You had gotten along well enough with a few friends he made while away, gleefully sharing embarrassing stories with his new military friends (“Kyle, mate, why didn’t you tell us you used to do ballet?” “Piss off, I was like seven.”). So, when you light up at the suggestion of going dancing, staring at him pleading when his friend, Elliott, mentions a club nearby, he grabs his jacket instead of heading home like he wanted, where he’s found himself spending way too much money on drinks and watching how your skin seems to glow under the flickering strobe lights.

You giggle at something Elliott whispers, no doubt a joke at Kyle’s expense, with the way you flash him a wicked grin afterward, and Kyle’s jaw clenches. He takes another sip of his drink as you lick a drop from your lips.

Kyle knows that he needs to stop watching. That soon you’re going to catch on that he’s looking at you in a not-so-friendly way.

But whatever it is, he can’t stop watching the way you move. Can’t stop imagining what it would feel like to pull that dress up around your hips and slide his hands over the skin he’s been dying to touch since you walked through the door.

He tells himself to stop looking and keep his thoughts chaste as you unintentionally pout your lips as you look at him to see why he’s so quiet.

But, fuck, he can’t stop the way he feels.

Like a live wire pulled too tight, every look tossed his way hitting him in his chest. In his gut. Lower.

You were always beautiful, but this — this is different.

Grown. Self-possessed.

Devastating.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom, both men watching as your hips slightly sway as you try to find your balance.

“Jesus, mate. You never said you had a girl like that waiting on you.” Kyle watches Elliott for a moment too long. Watches the way he’s already looking at you like a challenge that he could win you over. He’s seen that same look in almost every guy at this club when they look at you tonight, and his fists clench.

“She’s not my girl. We’re just friends.” A sour taste forms in his mouth as if he’s swallowed something acidic, and he watches Elliott light up at the info.

“Really? Is she seeing anyone? Or keen to be?” Kyle almost chokes at the waggle of Elliott’s brow at the last part. He doesn’t understand why he’s feeling this way, you’ve both dated other people before so this is nothing new, but the thought of you going home with anyone other than him makes his chest hurt.

“Dunno. You’d have to ask her.” Kyle shrugs, but it comes out too sharp, too fast. He swallows hard. It’s not a joke to him anymore. He takes a proper look, assessing the man sitting in front of him. It would never work between you and Elliott, would it? He’s military, too determined, too focused — too much like Kyle. And if you were going to be with somebody �� why couldn’t it be Kyle?

“Gonna check on her, yeah?” he murmurs, rising before he thinks better of it. The rest of the drink burns on the way down, but it barely registers. Not over the heat crawling up his spine.

Admittedly, you got a little lost on the way to the bathroom, the three drinks catching up to you all at once. The club pulses and spins around you, lights strobing as the bass vibrates within your bones.

What was supposed to be a quick trip becomes a full lap of the dance floor, and you’re flushed and slightly dizzy when you walk up to the bar to order another Sex on the Beach. You’re halfway leaning over the counter to pass your card when someone drops theirs ahead of you.

The scent hits you before anything else: sharp, clean, with that rich warmth you’d know anywhere. Tom Ford. Kyle’s favorite.

You go still. Heart thudding.

You don’t turn around to look at him yet, suddenly, feeling too warm, too aware of the way your dress clings to your skin, the way your breath stutters in your chest. You tell yourself it’s just Kyle.

But it’s not the same Kyle, is it?

The one standing at the bar is taller now, sharper around the edges, all quiet confidence and serious demeanor. His gaze tracks you like he’s hunting, like he’s already read your next move and is deciding what to do with it.

And then there’s his body.

He’s broader now, chest and shoulders stretching the sleeves of his shirt, arms thick with the kind of strength that isn’t just there for decoration, but for utility and purpose.

Sun-kissed skin, dark mustache, and a lean athletic figure that has enough stamina to go for hours, whether that’s on the battlefield or —.

But the thing you find yourself staring at the most are his hands. What were once smooth are adorned with callouses, each one holding a war story that he’s yet to share. Like they’ve seen battle and want to learn softness now. Like they could leave bruises shaped like constellations on your hips if you asked nicely.

You take a large gulp of your drink like it might drown the thoughts clawing their way through your head. The alcohol burns, but it’s not nearly enough to dull the way your body thrums when Kyle gets even closer.

You turn around, and there he is — smiling dangerously like he’s hyper-aware of what path your thoughts have taken. His voice is a whisper in your ear, low enough to curl straight down your spine.

“Thought you were looking for the bathroom?” he murmurs, and you hate that your first instinct is to lean in like two opposite ends of a magnet.

“Got a little lost,” you say, breathier than you mean to, and take the straw into your mouth again slowly this time, just to see if his eyes drop to your lips again.

They do.

“What are you drinking?” he asks, and you push your cup toward him without thinking.

“Try it,” you say, soft. “It’s all juice and sugar. You probably won’t like it.”

You expect him to grab the cup and tip far from his mouth like he always used to when you were kids, but instead, his fingers skim your jaw, and he catches a drop from the corner of your mouth. You freeze.

Then he brings it to his lips.

“It’s sweet,” he says, slow and deliberate, still watching your mouth. “I like it.”

Your heart punches against your ribs, wild and frantic, and you barely stop yourself from chasing the taste on his lips. You fumble your drink with a clatter, cheeks hot as if you could be any less smooth.

He grins, cocky and all too pleased with himself, and slides in closer, setting the cup aside like nothing else matters.

The scent of him hits you — cologne and sweat and something deeper — and suddenly it’s like your entire body is one raw nerve. Your thoughts scatter. Your pulse stutters. You want to touch him. You want to climb into his lap. You want him to grab you by the hips and ruin every thread of self-control you’ve ever had.

He’s your best friend.

Somehow, you don’t care.

You try to collect yourself. Breathe in. Out. Focus on your heartbeat. On anything other than the way your skin is still buzzing from where he’s touched you.

But when you glance up, Kyle’s already looking at you half-lidded, pupils blown so wide that you almost have to squint to make out the thin ring of gold surrounding them.

You don’t even realize you’re moving closer to him until your hand brushes his, chest mere inches as you drink in Kyle in front of you. He takes your hand, fingers tracing the inside of your wrist. Your pulse skips a beat.

His doesn’t.

He opens his mouth, whether to speak or kiss you, you’ll never know as two of his friends come barreling in, ripping him away with slurred words and half-assed apologies.

“Oi, Kyle, some tosser thinks I’m flirting with his bird. Tell him he’s having a laugh, yeah?”

And just like that, the moment shatters. The lights, the music, the crowd pressing in — it all rushes back at once.

You even register the annoyed looks from people trying to squeeze past the two of you.

How long had the two of you been standing there?

“Can’t leave you guys alone for two seconds,” He mutters, catching his breath. His hand lingers on your wrist as mouths ‘be right back.’

You reach for your drink, spinning the liquid as if it’ll hypnotize you to keep your thoughts from spinning too.

“He’s pretty good, right?” Elliot slides in next to you, watching Kyle make his way through the crowd. “He was always the most level-headed in basic training. He probably broke up more fights than he was in them.”

You smile at that — of course, Kyle would gain the reputation of being the strategist, the fixer, always thinking things through.

“—- told him in training to go after what he wants, but it seems like he still hasn’t listened,”

You tune back in at the end of his sentence, narrowing your eyes at Elliott.

“I’m sorry?”

Elliott just grins.“Lemme buy you a drink, yeah?”

You should say yes- he’s cute, really fucking cute, and obviously interested by the way he’s been flirting with you all night.

But as you shift you weight from one foot to another, deliberating, your gaze slides to the other side of the club where Kyle is already watching.

You swear his jaw clenches when Elliott moves in closer to you.

“Oh,” Elliott laughs, catching the look. “You’re both a little fucked then.”

You blink. “What?”

He shakes his head, something almost kind about his expression. “Better that I’m not the one to tell you, right? But -“

He stops himself like he shouldn’t be saying something before shrugging his shoulders and tossing back the rest of his drink.

“Plenty of the lads at basic had birds back home. None of them ever talked about their girls the way Kyle talked about you.”

Your stomach twists at Elliott’s words, but you’re not sure if it’s from the implication or the confirmation. You’ve known Kyle was acting different tonight — the stares, the softness, the tension that always seemed just shy of crossing a line. You want to ask what Kyle said, how he said it, when he said it, take every sentence and dissect it syllable by syllable. But you don’t get the chance.

Because Kyle is back.

And he looks… different. Not just under the strobe lights, not just with his shirt rumpled and curls damp at the nape of his neck. He looks like someone who has made a decision.

His eyes skim over Elliott, land on you, and stay there.

You barely register Elliott muttering something about giving you two a moment before disappearing into the crowd. Kyle doesn’t say anything — not at first. He just stares at you like he’s trying to memorize every feature on your face like this is the last time he’ll see them.

“What did he say to you?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Because if you open your mouth, you might admit that you’re shaking. That something about this — him, you, tonight — has shifted past the point of pretending. You don’t know how to flirt with Kyle because it never felt like you had to. But right now, standing in front of him with your heart in your throat, you want to be brave. You want to try.

So you just say, “You already know.”

Kyle blinks. His jaw twitches. Then he grabs your hand.

He pulls you into the crowd, the bass drowning out every thought except the feel of his fingers tangled in yours, the way his body moves ahead of you like he’s cutting a path through the world just to get you somewhere quieter, darker, closer.

Your skin sparks under his touch. Your blood hums with electricity.

And you don’t even realize you’ve stopped moving until you’re suddenly chest to chest, breath to breath, the rest of the world nothing more than sound and color. Hidden in some back hallway away from any interruptions or prying eyes. He stares down at you like you’re something divine. Like if he blinks, you’ll disappear.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he says like it’s a confession pulled from his ribs.

His palm slides against your lower back, anchoring you to him as if any distance will push you away. You smile, ready to make a joke, to tease him, to play into this push-and-pull you’ve somehow found yourself in.

But the look on his face punches the air out of your lungs.

Any ounce of self-control has fled from his body, replaced by a primal desire that seems to bleed from him. His hand trails up your spine, every hair on your body standing on end as you come to the complete and utter realization:

Kyle is going to kiss me.

And before you can even process what that means for your friendship, his mouth is on yours.

Suddenly you can’t think, all thoughts flooding straight from your brain as they’re replaced by one single, repetitive thought: ‘Holy shit, Kyle is a really good kisser.’

His hands find your waist, then your hips, then your ass, like he doesn’t know where to hold you because he wants to touch you everywhere. His tongue sweeps inside your mouth, tasting like gum and pints of lager, and a hint of the cigarette he bummed earlier, and that combo would be so disgusting on anyone else, but of course, it works for him, and you hear yourself gasping into him.

Your fingers fist into the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, and he groans deep and low like the sound is being pulled straight out of his chest.

“Fuck,” he mutters, lips moving against yours. “Why do you taste so fucking good?”

He kisses you like he’s trying to ruin you for anyone else, and you think it’s working. You will never be able to kiss anyone again without thinking about the way Kyle took you apart, thread by thread, with just his mouth. You pull him in closer, feeling slightly depraved and insane. You want to crawl into his skin, get under him, inside him, anywhere where he can hold on to you like this forever.

You shift, and your thighs brush against him, forcing you to feel him — thick and hard through his jeans and pressing right against your hip. You moan before you can stop yourself, and he grips you even tighter, pulling you flush against him.

“You’re driving me insane, sweetheart,” he rasps in your ear, dragging his mouth down your jaw. You drag his face back to yours, and he kisses you again —deeper, messier, needier— but it’s still not enough. You want more, need more, need to know what it feels like for him to be inside you, fingers buried in his hair as you fall apart for him over and over again.

But for now, you just let him devour you. Kissing you with a promise of what’s to come, like he’s starved and you’re the first taste he’s allowed himself in years.

You break away first, barely breathing hard as you take in Kyle’s swollen lips and chest heaving as if he just ran across the country.

His hand is still gripping your waist like he’ll fall if he lets go, and he rests his forehead against yours. For a second, you think he might kiss you again until he exhales hard, coming to terms with the situation that just happened.

”Fuck, we — we weren’t supposed to do that, sweetheart.”

His voice is wrecked like he’s ashamed of how badly he wanted it. Of how badly he still wants it.

You don’t move. Your fingers are still twisted in his shirt, and your neck still tingles from where he dragged his lips across it. You finally open your eyes to look at him.

And when your eyes meet his, he looks absolutely ruined.

“Stop looking at me like that, love.” His hand twitches like he might pull away, but he doesn’t. Just takes a deep inhale. “We’re friends, right?”

The words don’t match the way he’s staring at you, with lips parted, pupils blown, and you still feel the weight of him fully pressed up against you. And whatever line you two were pretending existed has already shattered.

So, you look up at him, bold and tipsy, and braver than you have any right to be, and whisper in his ear: “I don’t want to be just your friend tonight, Kyle.”

Something settles in between you two, the words impossible to take back, so Kyle just gives a deep nod before calling a cab.

You slide into the cab first, and Kyle follows, close enough that your legs touch, close enough for him to smell the sweet sting of your perfume and whatever’s left of the drink on your lips.

The door shuts, and for the first time all night, it’s too quiet — he hears his heartbeat in his ears, and his nerves continue to dial themselves higher and higher.

You shift, and his gaze drops down to where your dress rides a little higher from the movement. He can’t help himself, his hand settles heavy over your knee, thumb dragging slow, deliberate circles on your bare skin. It feels delicate, pretty, soft and he wonders if you’d feel that way all over.

Your skin warms instantly, and he can feel the heat coming off you in waves. You glance up at him, eyes silently begging for him to move again, for him to kiss and touch and worship you like he craves.

And God does he want to.

Kyle leans in closer, mouth brushing just behind your ear, making sure to keep his voice low enough that only you can hear,

“If we weren’t in a fucking cab right now…”

You still.

“My hand wouldn’t just be on your thigh.” He makes sure to draw a deliberate line up the inside of your leg, stopping just short of where your dress ends, hiding where he wants to see you the most. “It’d be under that fucking dress, halfway to making you come again.”

Your breath hitches. The driver coughs once, and Kyle forces himself back,hand still on your leg, grip just tight enough to remind you that he’s still here, just as wanting as you.

You don’t say a word for the rest of the ride.

Neither does he.

The car slows to a stop, and before Kyle can stop himself, he tosses a large tip to the driver before taking your hand like a man possessed and dragging you into his flat.

The second the door clicks shut, Kyle’s mouth is back on yours.

He barely registers kicking the door shut before he’s got you pinned to it, hands firmly gripping your waist to anchor himself to this moment. He wants to take his time, to memorize how you feel under his hands, how you sound when he kisses your neck, commit this to memory in case he never gets the chance to again, but desperation takes over, and all he can think about is how badly he wants more. How badly he wants you.

Your purse hits the floor, but he doesn’t really care. You let out another gasp into him, and he’s never been angrier at himself. For pretending, for years, that this was inevitable.

He drags his teeth against your bottom lip, wanting nothing more than to suck and bite until it’s flushed red.

Instead, his hands move free of his control, down your thighs, under your dress, until he’s rubbing the front of the thong you have on, and he moans slightly into your mouth.

You’ve completely ruined yourself, underwear drenched, and your hips jerk as he presses a light circle to your covered clit.

He smiles, using his other hand to pin you to the door, and he feels you shaking like you might detonate against him as he continues to draw light circles around your covered heat.

“Kyle,” you whine, and it feels like a livewire has been cut deep inside him as he moves your panties to the side, and slides two fingers inside of you.

And all he can think to say is, “Fucking finally.”

God, you’re tight, warm, and just fucking perfect. Your hips jerk against where his hand is moving, like you’ve been shocked and he feels his breath stutter against the high-pitched moans you make, raw and startled like you didn’t know you could want him this much.

Kyle presses his forehead against yours, cursing when you gasp at the curl of his fingers. And he feels the confession bubbling up, tries to push it back down where it’s supposed to remain hidden and locked away, but you sound so sweet when you whine his name that he just starts … rambling.

“I’ve thought about this,” he rasps, voice wrecked and low. “I tried not to, sweetheart, I really did, but you were always there in my mind at night. What you’d sound like, what you’d look like coming undone, what you’d feel like when you finally let me touch you.”

Surprisingly, you don’t jerk away from his confession, call him a creep, or tell him that he’s supposed to be just a friend. Instead, you clench tightly around his fingers, moaning a little bit louder throughout his admission, and adoration begins to fill your eyes.

It only takes a few more pumps of his fingers, before you fall apart, and Kyle holds you through it, hand steady, mouth skimming your jaw as he tries to brand the shape of your body to his memory.

You’re still trembling in his arms when he pulls back, and he watches you blink, dazed and flushed and impossibly beautiful. He’s never been so hard before, and you reach for his belt, his body slumping forward as you brush a delicate hand across the rough outline of his cock.

He wants you so badly it hurts. But it can’t be like this. Not the first time.

“Baby,” he rasps and you whine at that, grasping the print of him a little harder and he grabs your hand to still you.

“I want you so badly right now.” He cups your face, brushes against your cheek, and whispers against your lips, “But our first time will not be against a bloody door.”

He pulls you in again, lips pressing as he drags his tongue against your mouth, hands drifting down to take a firm grip of your ass.

And just like that it shifts.

Kyle picks you up like it’s nothing, and cradles you close, as he carries you through his flat to his bedroom like you weigh nothing at all. Lays you down so softly like you’re made of glass.

And then you kiss again, softer, slower, as if he’s truly taking his time to learn who you are. He reaches down, pulling your dress off of you, and the look in his eyes makes your breath catch.

He looks as if he’s seen a divine being, wanting nothing more than to lay you down at the altar and worship you until you bless him.

So, he does.

He takes his time, kissing down your chest, your ribs, your hips, like he’s tracing down a map to something sacred. He removes the last barrier you have, the last of your clothes, and you open your legs for him. His eyes darken, the edges lazy with want, and he sucks a deep, bruising kiss at the apex of your thigh.

And then his mouth is on you. If you could even describe something as monumental as simple as that. As if you could describe the starburst that floods your vision with such a crass term as “eating pussy.”

Kyle lays everything out with the broad strokes he licks into you, groaning as if he can’t imagine anywhere else as perfect as in between your thighs.

You cry out, one hand flying to the wall, the other buried in his hair, as he traces soft circles into you.

You hear yourself call out his name, all your senses locked into the way he smiles against you. ”Been dreaming about the way you’d say my name.”

He sucks at you like he wants your legs to shake, like he won’t be satisfied until you come completely and utterly undone for him.

So when you come for the second time, it’s no surprise that it’s with a broken cry that leaves him shuddering.

You think he might stop there. Takes the time to let you recover as he strips himself. But he’s above you again, and you take the time to run your hands across broad shoulders that lead down to a tapered waist adorned with a perfect set of abs.

He hangs hot and heavy between your legs, and you sigh as he takes you in for another kiss, briefly tasting yourself on him before he pulls back,

“Is this still okay?” He whispers, eyes looking for any doubt.

You nod. “More than”

And he sinks into you with a groan that’s been clawed from his chest.

His pace is unhurried and measured, forehead against yours as you clench around him when he presses a kiss against your forehead. His pace falters before picking back up as he mutters “fuck, love, you feel like heaven.”

You lock your ankles around his waist as he laces your fingers together. His mouth catches yours mid-moan and refuses to let go. You wish it felt wrong like this is a dark and dirty secret that will never be touched, but as you come for the third time, you know that you’ll never be able to live peacefully knowing what it looks like to have Kyle fall apart above you, mouth on your neck as his whole body trembles into yours.

He slowly pulls out of you, lying next to you before pulling you close to his chest, and pressing a familiar kiss to the top of your head.

You’ve never felt so serene, so calm, so at ease, and you want to say something to break the moment. To bring you both back down to the level you normally operate at, with friendly jokes and ribbing and teasing.

Deep down, you feel that coil snap, that something’s changed between the two of you. You wonder if he feels that too, but when you look at him, the only thing you see is the same devotion he had a few moments earlier.

So you shove all your thoughts away and close your eyes

You wake up missing the familiar weight of Kyle next to you. The bed is cold, the sheets pulled into a precise military fold, and the only sign he was ever there is the dent in the pillow next to you.

You grab something discarded from the pile of clothes on the floor, Kyle’s shirt, and tug it on before padding out barefoot to the kitchen.

“Morning,” you whisper, voice still scratchy with sleep.

He startles just slightly at the sound of your voice and straightens before turning around.

There’s a small smile on his face, but it doesn’t quite meet and doesn’t feel as genuine as it should be.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, standing on the other side of the island. He nudges your cup towards you, tea prepared the way you’ve always preferred and you hold the burning cup in your hands, lines forming between your brows.

“I’m fine. How do you feel?” you ask, guarded.

Kyle looks exhausted, not the face of someone satisfied after a night of good sex, and you start to second-guess yourself. You’ve seen Kyle with ex-girlfriends, and he’s the picture of romance - flowers, kisses, constantly holding hands and all over them.

For a moment last night, you thought you saw that Kyle when he was with you, but you don’t recognize the man in front of you- guarded, drawn back.

Off-kilter, you take a sip of the tea you’ve been holding, dropping the mug when it burns your tongue. The clatter echoes through the quiet flat, and you immediately bend down to grab the mug, muttering apologies as you check for chips in the ceramics. ”Shit — sorry, I didn’t mean to —”

“It’s fine,” Kyle says quickly, already kneeling to help. His hand grazes yours, and you both freeze.

You look at him, and his eyes stay firmly trained on the mug. The silence stretches across the apartment until becomes unbearable.

“I just — I wasn’t expecting you to be gone,” you say, voice childishly quiet. “When I woke up.”

Kyle runs a hand through his hair, already mussed from sleep, and still refuses to look at you. ”Didn’t want to wake you.” He sounds just as young as you just did, and your heart does an unusual pitter-patter.

“That’s it?” you ask. “After everything?”

His face falls, and the expression tells you everything you need to know. He’s already halfway gone, leaving you again like he did when you were both 17.

You don’t want to ask. You don’t want to know.

“Do you regret,” you pause, struggling to get the words out. “what we did last night?

Kyle’s head whips to you, eyes panicked. “No,” he says. “It was… Fuck, it was—” He swallows hard like something is lodged in his throat. “This just isn’t something I can do right now.”

You blink. “What do you mean?”

His eyes meet yours like he’s seeing you clearly for the first time all morning. “I leave in six weeks.”

“And?”

“And I’ve watched what happens when people try to wait,” he says. “What it does to them. I’ve seen it ruin people and wreck lives. And I care too much about you to let that happen to us. To you.”

Us.

Your chest caves a little at that.

“So you thought it’d be better to fuck me first?” You laugh sardonically. The words come out sharper than intended, and you see the hit land.

Kyle flinches. “That’s not — don’t make it like that. It wasn’t like that.”

You hug yourself, pressing your lips together to hide the wobble in your voice. “Then what was it?”

He doesn’t say anything, sits across from you in silence, and you understand. That knowing the truth would hurt too much. That Kyle is still trying to protect you from all the things that could hurt you in this world.

Only this time it’s from himself.

You nod once, jaw tight. “Got it.”

You turn to leave, and this time, he doesn’t stop you.

♡ ♡ ♡

December 24, 2022 - 10:24 P.M.

Kyle listens to the fire crackle, as cousins, aunts, and uncles trickle into his grandfather’s house. The first Christmas he’s spent with his family in years is a big one, and he briefly wonders how they’re all going to cram into the tiny sitting area.

He pulls the tartan blanket over his cousin sleeping next to him before moving to sit next to his mother. In 29 years, he’s never seen his mother look so tired, so weathered, so worried. He knows that it’s because of him, that it must be impossible to sleep at night, knowing that there’s no guarantee that your son will return to you safely. The chime of laughter coming from the kitchen brings him down from where he feels he’s floating a million miles away. He takes his mother’s hand and runs his thumb gently across her knuckles, grounding himself there.

”How are you doing, mum?” he asks, softly, and she turns to him with bright eyes. Kyle’s mind wanders to what if his dad were still here. Would he still have joined the military? Entered the SAS? Met the 141? Maybe he would have ended up here anyway. But the look on his mother’s face says otherwise.

”I’m just so happy to see you here, Kyle.” Her eyes water up, and Kyle knows instantly what’s not being said. He tries not to think about that day too much, the bullets ricocheting off the helicopter, as the only thing keeping him alive is a fraying rope. It’s become a bit of a legend amongst new recruits.

“Can you believe the sergeant fell out of a helicopter and survived? I heard he took out 5 men while dangling from a rope. No, it was six.”

A ringing starts to fill his ears, and he focuses back in on his mom who’s looking at him with concern again.

”I’m happy to be here, Mum.” He mumbles, and suddenly, he feels exhausted. Being tired isn’t a new feeling - he hasn’t had a real night's sleep since before he joined the military, but this exhaustion feels deeper, like it’s carved into his bones. He’s so used to waking up at six a.m. and running 5 km that the stillness of a peaceful night is almost foreign to him.

“He would’ve been proud of you, y’know?” Kyle jerks up at that, turning to his mom. She doesn’t often talk about his father, doing the small things to keep the memory alive on his birthday and the anniversary of his death, but the pain always seemed too much to bear. “He would always say when you were younger, ‘My boy, he’s going to accomplish great things.’ He just would’ve been so proud.” Her voice wobbles a little before she catches herself.

”I know, Mum,” and the funny thing is he believes that. He knows that he’s accomplished everything his father had dreamt for him, grown into the man his father started molding the second he was born. Yet he still feels like something’s missing.

Kyle hears the door open, and close, wondering who the late addition could be. At this point, every family member has arrived.

“Darling, you mustn’t be upset, but she has no family out here. We’ve had her over every year since she’s moved,” His mother rushes out, worry quickly replacing the melancholy that lined her voice.

Before he can even process what that means, who he could possibly be upset about seeing, he hears a voice he hasn’t heard in over 8 years—

Yours.

A part of you thinks it’s weird that you spend every Christmas with Kyle’s family despite not speaking to him for 8 years.

Your job had brought you to London a few years back, and you were more than happy to spend the day eating Chinese takeout and rewatching old Christmas movies. But your mother found out and gave a call to Kyle’s mother and well, “Family doesn’t let family spend the holidays alone, do they?”

Which is how you find yourself at their Christmas Eve dinner every year.

Kyle never shows up, always on duty or leave, but you find yourself holding your breath every year hoping he’ll walk in.

And you’re disappointed every single time.

You shouldn’t be, you don’t even want to be and you don’t know why you anticipate him being there as if he wasn’t the one who said you two were better off as friends and then slowly stopped responding to your texts and calls.

Your friends all tell you that you’re better off, that Kyle fucked up and doesn’t know what he’s missing. And you try and pretend that you don’t look for him in every guy you see, looking for brown eyes and a protective heart in every Bumble date and one-night stand you meet.

So when Kyle turns around, your breath hitches, shallow and fast, like your body’s bracing for impact.

You thought of this moment for years, the moment where you can yell at him, scream and curse, and cry for breaking your heart. Inflict a fraction of the pain he caused you back onto him, make him feel all the nights that you spent crying, mourning the loss of your best friend.

But what stops you in your tracks is how absolutely exhausted Kyle looks.

He’s still Kyle, but his whiskey-colored eyes are rimmed with dark circles and wrinkle a little more when he smiles. His beard has grown a little more, a rarity for Kyle who has liked to be as clean-shaven as possible since the moment he started growing facial hair.

You had heard about the accident, how he barely survived — and his mom had begged you to give him a call. But every time you reached for the phone, something stopped you.

What do you say to someone when there’s so much that’s been left unsaid?

The door creaks shut behind you, breaking the awkward showdown you’ve found yourself in.

“Darling!” His mother is the first to react, walking over to where you awkwardly hesitate in the door, one step away from bolting. She brings you into a warm embrace, running a comforting hand through your hair.

”I’m so happy you could make it. He won’t say it, but I know he misses you. Still puts up the ornaments you two made in primary school,” she whispers in your ear. Your eyes catch Kyle’s across the at this, and you press your lips together in a firm line. You don’t want to be bitter but if he really did miss you as much as she said, why is he still there — still putting distance between the two of you?

She lets go of you, helping you out of your winter coat, and then a few of Kyle’s younger cousins are dragging you to the kitchen, wanting to gossip about all the things you normally do when you come over, and you forget that once again, Kyle is watching you walk away.

And despite his presence being so loud in the middle of this party, you’re able to continue like you normally do. You laugh and eat roast and mince pies, and even participate in Secret Santa, where you receive an absolutely horrid sweater that will never see the light of day. And it all feels so normal that your heart swells, that if you keep your focus on certain parts of the room, it’s like Kyle isn’t even there.

But whenever your eyes meet, Kyle goes completely still — like something has knocked the breath out of him. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. Just stares like he’s seeing a ghost he thought would never come back to haunt him.

Your stomach churns — it was a bad idea to stay. You should’ve feigned an illness as soon as you saw him there because unhealed wounds are starting to bleed the longer his wide-eyed gaze follows you around the room.

So, you begin to pack up. Walking around from family member to family member to say goodbye, accepting all the kisses on the cheeks and leftovers to eat for the next few days. It’s not until you’re standing by the coat rack to put your jacket on that you shiver from the feeling of a large figure behind you, your body remembering him before your brain can catch up. He’s silent on his feet in a way that can only come from years of military training. He had never been so quiet before.

“Are you leaving already?” he rasps, and your knees almost buckle from hearing his voice for the first time. Your stomach flips like it’s trying to turn yourself inside out.

“Yeah, I need to start driving back now before it gets too late,” you whisper, not wanting to speak too loud as if he’s an apparition that’ll disappear with any quick movements.

“What’s this about you driving home,” Kyle’s mother interrupts, eyes narrowed. You didn’t even realize that she was standing there, but from her crossed arms, you knew that you fucked up.

“It’s only a short drive, Ms. Garrick. Swear, I’ll be home in twenty minutes,” you promise, hoping she won’t beg you to spend the night. Tonight had already been heavy. You spare a glance at Kyle, but his gaze is solely focused on his mom, listening intently to what she’s going to say next.

“But it’s already so late. Why don’t you just spend the night here? You can stay with Kyle, it’ll be just like when you two were kids again,” she beams, and you don’t have the heart to say no.

“Mum,” Kyle protests, already beginning to form an argument but his mother silences him with a wave.

“Really, Kyle? You’re going to make her drive home alone in the dark. I would’ve thought I raised you better than that. Besides it’s just one night,” she dismisses the two of you with such finality you have no choice but to follow Kyle upstairs as he shows you which room he’s staying in.

“I can sleep on the floor- or the couch, give you some space,” and for a moment, you’re tempted to take him up on his offer. But the way he’s slumped, you knew it would be awful to subject him to subpar sleep because of an 8-year grudge.

“It’s fine, Kyle. I’m the one intruding. You take the bed,” you say, and are already grabbing your pillow to head to the door to go back to the couch.

For a moment, it’s just you and Kyle and the ghosts of a hundred sleepovers past — whispered secrets under shared blankets, the safety of knowing he’d always be there

But now there’s an invisible line between you, drawn sharp and painful, and neither of you know how to cross it.

Kyle shifts closer, hesitant, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he moves too fast.

You pause in the doorway, pillow clutched awkwardly to your chest. Kyle shifts on his feet, the floorboards creaking beneath him.

“You sure?” he asks, voice low and rough from exhaustion. And suddenly it’s just the two of you, standing in a too-small room with eight years of distance stretching between you.

“Why don’t we just share? My mum would kill me if she found out I made you sleep on the couch.”

“Okay,” you whisper, following Kyle back to the bed, shakily pulling the covers back one by one if anything to delay sleeping next to him again.

He follows your lead, slowly crawling under the bed, back towards where you’d be sleeping. You sigh softly, before following suit, back facing his.

You don’t know how you’re going to sleep tonight, feeling overwhelmed by every shift and movement Kyle makes, the heat of his body next to yours, the careful distance he keeps between the two of you to make sure you don’t touch.

You wait, counting as the seconds turn to minutes in your head. Waiting for him to say something, anything to acknowledge that he has his back turned to what was once the closest person in his life.

It’s all too much, and your throat begins to burn. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself not to cry.

Then you feel it.

The lightest brush of Kyle’s fingers against your hand, hesitant and trembling, as if asking for permission.

You freeze.

He doesn’t grab, doesn’t force. He just …. waits. His pinky hooked barely against yours, a question hanging between you.

For a second, you want to pull away. You should pull away. But you don’t.

Instead, you shift your hand just a little, letting your pinky catch his.

You wait, wondering if his graze was accidental or if he’s going to acknowledge where you two are linked. You feel your stomach twist, and you watch the trees gently sway under the moonlight. You try to calm yourself down and inhale as quietly as possible before exhaling when you just barely hear it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and you get hit with a familiar feeling. Of you two sharing a bed before and him whispering those same words.

You feel as if you should turn, and face him to see what he says next, but you are still frozen, petrified that any moment, you’ll wake up to find you’re still in your apartment and Kyle is still a million miles away from you.

“I don’t know why I didn’t call you or talk to you. I - I was 21, and you were the most important person in my life. I, I just couldn’t lose you.” his voice cracks at the end, and he sounds absolutely wrecked at the idea.

“And then I did.” he continues “It was stupid, but I didn’t know how to be your friend after knowing what it’s like to kiss you, to hold you, to be with you. And it fucking killed me, it - it haunted me. And every day we didn’t talk, I didn’t know how to reach out to you. And then you were gone completely.”

You’ve gone completely still. Of all the things, you expected him to say, you didn’t think that would be it.

“Please, just say something, love. Anything.” he pleads, and releases a bone-rattling sigh.

“Kyle,” and you hear your voice tremble. “I was in love with you. And you- you left me.”

As soon as you say the word love, you hear Kyle shift over, and turn to face you, and you know you should follow suit. Turn to face him and brace this reconciliation, but the thought of dealing with his rejection again keeps you in place.

He shifts, moving to grab your hand but pausing. The burning pressure behind your eyes is throbbing, and you have no doubt that you’re fully crying at this point. You feel Kyle’s stare at your back, and you crawl into yourself more, leaving only your hand outstretched for him to still anchor onto.

"That day," Kyle starts, voice cracking a little, "the one where I fell out of the helicopter..." He swallows hard. "The first thing I thought of was you.”

You suck in a shaky breath, clutching the blanket tighter.

"I thought about—" His voice catches. He scrubs a hand over his face like he's trying to pull the words out by force. "I thought about how if this was it, if I was gonna die, you'd think... you'd think I didn’t love you.”

You’re certain that the entire house could hear the sob you let out at that. Without even realizing it, you’ve turned over to him, and Kyle looks just as devastated as you do.

Kyle’s eyes are red-rimmed, his mouth pressed tight like he’s holding back everything at once. He starts to reach for you, then pulls back, and fists the sheets instead.

"I wanted to call you," he says hoarsely. "A thousand times. I just—" He laughs once, brokenly. "I didn’t know how to fix it. I didn’t know what to say to make it better."

You stare at him, blinking hard, heart hammering against your ribs.

"I just..." His voice goes nearly silent. "I missed you so much, love."

He lets the silence stretch between you. A lifetime of things unsaid crowding the room.

"I'm sorry," he says again, almost inaudible. "For all of it."

You don’t say anything, close your eyes for just a moment to process what was just said to you. Kyle continues to breathe shakily, closing his eyes as well.

He’s thrown out his lifeline, laid every card on the table, and you feel your heart break — for all the words unsaid, for all the time missed.

You tentatively grab his hand, intertwining your fingers together fully.

Kyle chokes on a sob, shifting closer so your foreheads touch, closing his eyes to breathe you in, holding tight to the fact that you’re just there, close and in his arms once again.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, and you two stay like that, fingers intertwined as you fall asleep.

♡ ♡ ♡

October 12, 2024 -  1:28 A.M.

Kyle mentally runs through the wedding planner’s checklist to make sure he doesn’t do something stupid, like tripping on an untied shoelace and face-planting down the aisle.

He glances down at the daisy chain wrapped around his wrist, something you had woven for him the day before, tucking it into his palm with a kiss to the cheek before vanishing behind closed doors until today.

It took time to get here. To rebuild the foundation, and Kyle wishes he could say it was easy. That things simply slid back into the place the way they used to when you were kids.

He took the time to learn you again, the woman you’d become in those eight years, no longer just the girl who climbed over his fence or the teenager who spun with him under disco lights.

And the more he found, the more he fell.

Nobody was surprised when you finally announced that the two of you were dating. Both your mums claimed they knew all along. Kyle suspects they did.

Then the violins start.

Everyone stands.

And Kyle has to remind himself how to breathe.

Your silhouette appears at the end of the aisle, and his heart pulls so tight it aches. You glow, so soft and radiant in white, and walking arm in arm with your father. And suddenly he’s seven years old again, dressed in his favorite Easter outfit, as a circle of stuffed animals bear witness to your first “wedding.”

The memory clings to him now, tugging at his ribs like a second heartbeat.

You catch his eye, and he smiles widely.

You smile back even brighter.

You take your time crossing the aisle, careful with every step, the train of your dress sweeping heavy behind you.

After Christmas Eve, everything shifted. Kyle called every day, texted when he could, and reached out in whatever way to let you know he was thinking of you. And you, despite everything, met him there, refusing to run and instead letting him show up.

After what feels like an hour, you finally make it to the front of the alter, your father kissing your cheek before handing you off and you step in front of Kyle.

“Hi,” he whispers. His cheeks flush pink, and suddenly you see the six-year-old boy you met all those years ago, with red skin and scraped knees, and honeycomb-colored eyes that you secretly hope your kids get.

“Hi,” you whisper back, sounding so giddy to your own ears. If anyone were to look at you, you’re sure you're glowing with love as you look at the man who is about to be yours forever.

You hate to admit it, but the ceremony blurs by you until it’s time for your vows, and Kyle is shakily unfolding a piece of paper.

“The day we met, I remember I was so amazed that I could be in a place so bright compared to rainy London.” The audience laughs lightly at that, as the rain drums steadily against the chapel roof above, like London itself is blessing your vow.

“And then you came along, somehow making everything brighter. I didn’t know it then, but that was the moment everything changed.

You’ve been in my life so long, I don’t remember a version of myself without you in it. You’ve seen me through every season —every good bit, every broken bit — and you never stopped showing up. So today, I’m promising to do the same. To show up. To love you properly.

You’ve always been my home. And I’m so bloody lucky I get to spend the rest of my life coming back to you.”

You can’t hide your tears if you try, and you hope that the officiant finally says you can kiss the bride by the time you lunge toward Kyle and pull him towards you. Luckily, Kyle is just as eager and he kisses you like he’s waited half his life for this moment, the audience laughing as Kyle flips off Johnny’s suggestive coughing.

The hotel is quiet, the kind of quiet that only comes after hours of laughter and champagne and dancing until your feet ache. You’re still in your dress, the zipper half-undone, your lipstick mostly gone, when Kyle carries you through the doorway of your honeymoon suite.

It’s calm, the way you know he is, arms around your waist, forehead pressed to yours, fists balling the fabric of your dress like he can’t bear to let go. Like he might go another decade without you again.

He sets you down gently on the bed, and for a long moment, neither of you moves. You stare at one another, drinking each other in. You know every line of his face, could sketch a portrait blindfolded and backwards, but tonight he looks new. Lit from within.

In love.

“Come here,” you whisper, voice breathless with happiness, and Kyle follows the sound like a prayer. His lip finds yours, and he kisses you slow, deep, and steady. Taking his time to permanently cement this moment.

He unzips your dress like he’s unwrapping something sacred, fingertips dragging over your skin like he’s trying to memorize it all over again. You tug at his shirt with clumsy hands, and he chuckles in disbelief into your mouth, letting you pull it over his head.

“What?” You ask, smiling a little breathlessly at him, and he runs his thumb across your cheek.

“I just can’t believe it’s you,” he says, awe in his eyes and in his voice. He presses a kiss to your collarbone, moving down to your shoulder, your ribs.

You don’t have a clever reply. All you can do is kiss him, slow and deep, like saying me too without words. Your hands cup his jaw, your thumb brushing over the slight curve of his smile, and you think about how you’ll always get to kiss him like this.

When he finally moves between your legs, it’s patient, worshipful. His hands fit perfectly against your hips, like he was made to hold them, and you wrap your legs around him instinctively, already breathless from the weight of him against you.

“Sill okay?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

“Always,” you whisper back, and he slides into you with a groan so soft and reverent it nearly breaks your heart.

“I love you,” he whispers against your mouth, pulling you in for a deep kiss.

There’s no rush, no teasing, just him rocking into you slow and sweet. His hands lace yours again like he did all those years ago, and he kisses you like he’s trying to tell you something he can’t put into words. Like saying I love you isn’t enough so he has to show it with his body.

You cry a little when you come. It’s embarrassing and messy and overwhelming and Kyle just holds you tighter, kisses your cheeks, tells you how good you’re doing, how beautiful you are. He follows soon after, soft curses pressed to your throat, hips stuttering as he falls apart with you.

You stay like that for a long time, just holding one another. Breathing each other in.

“I love you,” you whisper, tracing a light thumb over his cheek as he smiles at you.

“Forever and always,” he whispers back and kisses the inside of your wrist.

You smile against him as sleep pulls you both under.

Like gravity.

Like home.

[kortac-sweetheart]

this deserves it's own post i think, spiritual successor to this

…if you have— well…had, enemies, then you don't anymore.

when you get home you’re welcomed first thing with the sight of nikto on his knees, presenting to you a delicately ribboned ivory gift box— hands and face and ribbon stained with still fresh blood.

they do not ask you to open it. they do not verbally ask anything of you. you should be allowed to open it as quickly or as slow as you please. but he still smiles when you gently lift it from his hands, a small kiss on the forehead as a reward— their hard earned reward.

you reach a hand out expectantly, the weight of his knife instantaneously in your delicate grasp. and with only a flick of your wrist, the carefully knotted ribbon falls away.

inside lies a human heart. two— actually, still warm and delicately nestled within luxurious pink and white silks, now soaked with crimson blood.

you don’t freak out, face remaining tranquil as you admire them. because why would you? your dear husband has so kindly gifted you the fruits of his hunt.

(you remembered what you had told them offhandedly yesterday morning. of those two idiotic drivers and how they nearly caused a three car crash. entirely their fault for running red lights, and nearly taking you out in the process.)

a look of recognition and pride crosses your face and nikto smiles, for he knows that they have done good. good work, good hunt, a good husband— for you.

so you sit down, gift box still open on the kitchen table— and you beckon your dutiful husband over.

(sitting is the only option, for he would never allow you to bow nor kneel alongside him. he should always be on his knees for you. never the other way around, you shan't stoop to his level.)

he eagerly crawls to you on his hands and knees, and you pat your lap. allowing him to rest his head on your plush thighs, blood smearing all over your pants. but you don’t mind— you never do.

instead you coo at him, praising him— spoiling them with your love and affections. murmuring about what a good husband he is, how skilled of a hunter he is, how much you love him. and he all but purrs, nuzzling happily into your lap before you gently lift his face. your hand slowly tracing down his jaw to cup his chin, leaning towards him to press a kiss to the bloodied bottom of his mask, where his lips are.

they melt into your touch, your kisses, fingers aching with the need to touch you in return. you pull back from kissing him and they whine, already missing you.

“it’s ok andre, you can touch me. touch me all you want, my dear.” you murmur against his mask before kissing him again.

they think you just told him he’s got a one way ticket to heaven. (they might already be when he's cuddled in your warm embrace.)

their hands tremble as they grip your thighs, pulling himself closer, closer— closer. until it’s unclear where you begin and nikto ends.

the two of you wouldn’t want it any other way.

[temeyes]

i'm a bit pissed rn, and i'm pretty sure it's HIS fault gRRRR

[writer-of-various]

Another one.

[gomzdrawfr]

these for frwens

Price falling asleep on Nik's shoulder while fishing (I made it berry au with big fesh) for @ghostmoon1

Rudy with smoothie and definitely nothing else suspicious @karlachismylife

[yi3248]

him and his eyes <3

[charliemwrites]

Part 4

Mister(s) Steal Your Girl is, somehow, now the official title. Congratulations you little shits (affectionate).

Content: Toxic Behavior, Brief Weight Shaming, Hurt/Comfort

You didn’t expect to see Johnny much after that one night - or possibly ever again. Kyle introduced you two, it was a lot of fun, but you figure that’ll be the end of it. Like introducing a new man to your girlfriends (not that you can really introduce Kyle to yours) you passed the vibe check and now Kyle will keep you and Johnny separate.

That’s how it’s been with Brandon’s friends. (Granted, you don’t really care for Brandon’s friends. And you figure it’s mutual based on the “uptight” comments they pretended to think you couldn’t hear.)

You’re starting to realize that Kyle is always going to subvert your expectations.

Johnny becomes a fixture - a welcome one. While you and Kyle still have your date nights and privacy, Johnny joins you two at least once a week for movies, drinks, dinner, or just silly adventures out and about.

You’re surprised that you don’t mind. Johnny is fantastic company, always respectful, funny, and friendly. Whenever the two of you are left alone, there’s no dead air. In fact, sometimes you could almost swear there’s electricity. Which is… well. It makes it hard to look him in the eye sometimes - and looking at Kyle even harder.

Guilt nips at your stomach until one of them distracts you with another story you’re 70% sure they shouldn’t tell you.

You and Johnny play a game with pub napkins, doodling something on one folded half, then passing it over for the other to scribble on the second half. The trick is not cheating and seeing the first half, then unfolding it to a complete (and usually silly) picture. Gaz always gets to name whatever monstrosity has been created.

You get a month of that good company. Then Kyle sighs at his phone one night.

“Shipping out again,” he explains when you glance at him.

“Will you be gone long?” you ask, shifting.

His brow furrows. “Not sure. They can’t tell us much over the phone.”

You hum in understanding. Still new to this whole military thing, the redacted danger of it all, but you think you’re getting the hang of it. At least, Kyle never seems annoyed when he can’t answer you, only apologetic.

“Is it gonna be the whole team?” you ask.

“Nah, just me and the cap.” He rubs his palm along your calf, a gesture that you suspect is self-soothing rather than for your benefit. “Probably not too dangerous, then.”

You make a noise of protest, nudging at his thigh with your foot. “Bad luck!”

“Sorry, sorry!” he chuckles, tapping his knuckles on the wooden end table. “You’re right.”

You crawl from your side of the couch to his, nuzzling up under his arm. He trails kisses along the side of your face as you snuggle in.

“I’ll miss you,” you mumble into his neck. Still a little embarrassed to be so needy, but you want him to feel appreciated.

“I’ll miss you too, chickadee. I’ll call if I can, yeah?”

You hum in agreement, squeezing an arm around his middle.

“While I’m gone, if you need anything - even some company - you ought to call Soap,” he adds.

The idea is tempting but… “I don’t want to bother him.”

“I promise you won’t,” he laughs. You don’t know what’s so funny, but hearing his voice rumble in his chest like this is always a treat.

“Maybe,” you allow.

“We’ll take it.” Before you can ask what that means, he loops an arm around your waist and scoops you into his lap. “Now then, about my send off.”

Your giggle turns into a moan as his mouth slants over yours.

Kyle’s only been gone three days. You’ve occupied yourself with cleaning up the flat you share with Brandon. Dust has been collecting since you’ve been out and about so much - and god knows Brandon hardly does more than load the dishwasher. Besides, a good bit of spring cleaning is a pleasant enough distraction, humming as you toss out old things to make more room for the new stuff you’ve been collecting.

“Good to see you getting back to normal,” Brandon says cheerfully. You glance up from the laundry you’re folding. He continues, “I was worried with how behind you got on things, but I knew you just needed some time. I told you this would be better for us both.”

You try not to let that sting. Even if things are better now, and continuing to get better, you can’t forget the pain that lingers from the beginning.

“Tell you what,” he adds, hands in his pockets. “When you finish cleaning up, I’ll take you out to the pub, yeah? Put on something pretty.”

You perk up, pleasantly surprised, though hesitant.

“We could leave earlier if you helped,” you point out, hoping for more than just dinner. “Maybe we could walk in the park or something before eating.”

He gives you a weak smile. One you recognize more than his real one by now. It’s almost apologetic, but not quite.

“I would but I’m bloody exhausted from this week, ya know? Big projects coming up at work.”

Your smile freezes. “And some late nights, I’m sure,” you try to joke.

He doesn’t laugh like you expect, but gives you an odd look. “Why would you say something like that?”

Baffled, you shrug. He shakes his head.

“I’m going to take a nap, come wake me up when you’re ready to go.”

You manage to finish the majority of your to-do list by 5. Shower, get dressed, do your hair and makeup with Brandon snoring in the background until 6. By then, he still hasn’t woken up from his nap, so you perch on the edge of the bed and gently nudge at him until he stirs.

“I’m ready to go, babe,” you murmur.

He scrunches up his face - you spare an affectionate thought for how cute it is. You’ve always found it cute.

“Five more minutes,” he grumbles.

You laugh a little. “It’s getting late, we should probably head out.”

He groans. “Five. Minutes.”

You huff in amusement and reach for his phone to set an alarm, but pause at all the notifications from dating apps crowding his screen. There are… a lot. And as you’re looking, a new message pops up, just labeled “blonde” with a peach emoji. Gross.

You set the alarm and slip away to the living room.

It takes him another half hour to finally rouse, shuffling into the living room with a groan.

“C’mon,” he yawns. “It’s going to be bloody crowded by now.”

You follow him quietly to the car, knowing he’s not chatty when he’s just woken up. Hunger only adds to his mood; you can practically see a cloud forming over his head. By the time he pulls up to the pub, he’s downright grumpy. He grumbles about shit parking, and the milling people outside. It looks busy.

“We could go somewhere else?” you suggest.

“This is fine,” he says.

He parks a block away and starts at a swift pace. You try to hold his hand, but halfway there, he pulls away to check his phone and doesn’t take it again.

Surprisingly, it’s only a twenty minute wait for a table - but Brandon sneers something like “of course it is” under his breath. You smile apologetically at the hostess and usher him away.

He doesn’t talk during the wait, at first. Until suddenly he blurts. “We wouldn’t have to wait if you’d woken me up.”

You blink at him. “I did. You asked for five more minutes.”

“Well, why didn’t you wake me up then?”

���I set an alarm?”

You don’t know why he’s so irritated, just that he seems tired and hungry.

“You know I don’t listen to alarms,” he complains, scowling at the sidewalk.

“Okay… I’ll wake you up next time,” you offer.

“Yeah, next time.”

Thankfully, the two of you are called a little early. The pub is indeed loud and crowded, and you’re definitely overdressed. But at least you know what you want - Brandon’s taken you here a million times before.

Wisely, you wait until he’s downed the texmex rolls before trying for conversation again. He hums along as you talk about work, about the books you’ve been reading, about the new movie you saw last week. You think it’s going pretty well, catching up on each other’s lives, when he interrupts you mid-sentence.

“Where was this?”

You frown. “At the grocery store…?”

“You’re still on that? Thought we moved on from that story.”

You don’t bother finishing it, just ask him about his work. It’s like pulling teeth. A lot of “good” and “busy” and “same as usual.” By the time your entree comes, you’ve given up, not sure if you want to cry or just walk away to see if he even notices. He keeps checking his phone. Your fingers twitch to text Kyle, but you don’t want to bother him while he’s working.

The end of dinner can’t come sooner. You decline dessert when the server asks.

“Probably for the better,” Brandon tells you lowly when they’re gone to get the check. “I think you’ve put on a bit of weight. You know how you get.”

You probably have - Kyle has a sweet tooth and practically begs you to split desserts with him. Johnny’s shares his food with you now too, grinning when you express approval for whatever high-protein dish he’s picked and shoving more at you.

As for “how you get”… Brandon’s mentioned in the past when you were heavier that you get mopey, aren’t much fun to be around.

(A small part of you wonders how that would even effect him at this point. He doesn’t spend enough time around you to notice if you’re mopey. Is that why tonight has been such a disaster…?)

You just collect your purse and lead the way out of the pub. It’s a quiet walk back to the car, even though Brandon seems to be in a better mood. He’s still texting, nearly bumps into an elderly couple along the way.

Back at the apartment, he runs his hand down your side, tugs at the lace hem of your shirt.

“Careful,” you chide.

He sucks his teeth and drops his hand. “I’m just trying to be playful.”

“I know, but I like this shirt.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’ve got three just like it.”

You don’t answer, know it’ll lead to more useless bickering. Just tug the stupid thing over your head, ready to go to bed.

“Hey now, that’s more like it,” he drawls, fingertips running down your spine.

You jump, surprised, but play it off that his hands are cold. He makes some crass comment about warming them up, reaching for your breasts, and your stomach churns.

“I-I think I ate something bad,” you lie, all but sprinting for the bathroom.

You close the door behind you - but don’t lock it. Just sit on the floor, the wall cold against your back, while you try to breathe through your spinning, conflicting thoughts.

He’s finally giving you attention, affection. Why aren’t you jumping at this opportunity to spend time with him? Not long ago, you would have been weeping with joy to have an iota of your normal relationship back. Maybe you really did eat something bad.

“Hey,” Brandon calls through the door, “I’m gonna stay somewhere else tonight.”

You stare at the blank white wood, aghast. “But I’m sick.”

“It’s not like I can do much, is there? Except listen to you be sick all night,” he reasons. “And who knows. Maybe it wasn’t something you ate. Maybe it’s contagious. I don’t want to spend the weekend ill.”

Your eyes burn. He didn’t even open the door to check. “Yeah,” you agree, voice robotic, “you’re right.”

Not even five minutes later, you hear the front door close. That almost, almost does you in. You manage to keep your lackluster dinner down, but not the tears.

You let yourself be pathetic for a few minutes, crying into your arms, folded over your knees. When you finally manage to get yourself together, it’s not Brandon you ache for. It’s Kyle. It’s not possible, you know. You just don’t want to be alone even though the nausea is dissipating.

Sighing, you remove your ruined makeup and wash your face, climb into one of Kyle’s jumpers. At least it still smells like him. It’s only as you’re trying to decide on a comfort show, huddled into a ball on the couch, that you remember his advice.

It takes all of fifteen seconds of debate before you scramble for your phone.

I know it’s late, but are you free, you text Johnny.

A response comes almost immediately.

Always for you, lass. You bite your lip on a tiny smile, already feeling better. Your phone buzzes again. What’s up?

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard for a moment as you figure out what to ask - then how to ask it.

Would you want to come to mine for movies? I don’t feel good…

He answers instantly again. Ice cream not-good or Theraflu not-good?

You sniffle when you remember that being sick was a dealbreaker for your night with Brandon.

Ice cream not-good, you reply.

Say no more, hen. Be there in fifteen. Pick a good one.

You watch TikTok’s until there’s a knock at the door. Upon answering, you’re swept up in a bear hug that lifts you off your socked feet.

“Johnny!” you cry, laughing a bit in shock.

“There she is!” he crows, swinging you around. “Been missin’ my best girl!”

You tell yourself the thrill in your stomach is just from him setting you down. (It’s a harder sell when it happens again seeing his wide smile and warm blue eyes.)

“You're ridiculous,” you huff, “I’m not your best girl.”

He arches his eyebrows. “Oh, yer keepin’ track, are ye?”

“C’mon, you must have a partner or something?” you prod as you usher him inside.

“Kyle must’ve told ye, hen, it’s hard in this line of work,” he explains, shrugging. “Tried before but… usually they just end up feeling neglected, ya ken.”

You hum. That’s why Kyle said you and he would work so well with the open relationship - that you’d still have someone at home while he was out. That you wouldn’t be alone if something happened to him.

“Anyway, this is no kinda talk for a cozy night in, now is it?” Johnny says, cutting your melancholy musing short. “Come look at what I brought ya!”

You only notice then the two grocery bags in one hand. He herds you to the couch and sets them on the coffee table for you to root through.

“My favorite!” You exclaim when you extract the tub of ice cream.

The grin Johnny shoots you is proud. “Kyle said so.”

“You two,” you sigh happily.

He’s also brought a squishy stuffed animal, crisps, popcorn, soda, candy, and a small collection of self-care items. You hold the face-masks up with a questioning smile.

“Heard somewhere that it’s good for ye, when yer feelin’ down.” You try not to giggle when the last word comes out sounding like “doon.” He continues, blissfully ignorant. “Hope that’s the right shite, there was a lot to choose from.”

You throw your arms around him, chest warm. “Thank you, this is perfect, Johnny.”

He circles his arm around your waist, holding you close. “Anytime, bonnie,” he murmurs into your hair.

You squeeze his shoulders as you pull away, waving one of the mask packets with a wicked little smile.

“Wanna try this ‘shite’ with me?” you tease.

You expect a resounding and masculine-heavy no. Instead, Johnny tilts his head consideringly for a moment, then shrugs.

“Eh, why the hell not?”

You wake up the next morning to a mess of candy wrappers, discarded moisturizers, and an empty carton of ice cream. And the smell of eggs. Cartoons are playing quietly on the telly. When you yawn and sit up, you’re greeted by a cheerful Johnny at the stove, wearing your pink apron.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” he calls.

You flush and smile back, glad that you called him. “Mornin’!”

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[shadow0-1]

Nice shooting 😏