#kyle garrick fluff
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
mochroialainn ¡ 4 months ago
Text
Thinking about being Kyle Garricks wife and you've been trying to get pregnant for a few months to no avail and then a few weeks after he gets deployed for a mission you find out you're pregnant. The mission is classified so you don't even know where he was to tell him. He ended up being away for 6 months and you through all of the first trimester and most of the second trimester without him, his mother and yours joining you for all your appointments and taking care of you when emotions run high and you end up crying through the night wondering if Kyle would even make it home to you.
By the time Kyle comes home, your bump is showing quite a bit. Its quiet when he comes home, the early hours of the evening and the sun is just beginning to set casting your home in beautiful hues of golds and orange and Kyle feels like he can finally breath for the first time since he left you. The moment he crossws the threshold into your home, he shoulders sag and all the stress he carried crashes into the ground alongside his duffel bags. You hear the muffled crash fron the kitchen, where you stand chopping up some vegtables for dinner and it makes you jump, hand flying up to your rapidly beating heart as a small scream passes your lips. Kyle hears it, and though it was a scream he was sure there was never a sweeter sound in the world to him right now.
"Its just me love"
Kyles voice reaches you and tears well in your eyes, not expecting him home, and the knife you were holding clatters to the ground (narowlly missing your foot) and you rapidly turn and make your way towards the hall where Kyle is bent over removing his shoes.
"Kyle"
Your voice wobbles as the tears finally fall seeing him in front of you for the first time in months. His head snaps up to you, his back straightening and eyes taking in every inch of you, stopping at your bump and he stumbles forward. Steps stuttering until he falls to his knees in front of you, head falling to your stomach and his own tears starting to fall as he wraps his hands around your hips. Your own tears are still falling but you still reach a hand down and tangle your fingers in his curls, nails scratching calmingly into his scalp.
You stay like that for a while, no words being shared but you knew the love was there. Could feel it in the tears soaking your shirt and in the gentle kisses Kyle left against your stomach and the way he traced hearts into your thigh with his fingers. He may not be saying it, but Kyle was revering you as if you were a goddess incarnate.
572 notes ¡ View notes
leyavo ¡ 2 days ago
Text
Kyle Garrick teaming up with an Mi5 agent, who just happens to be Kate Laswell’s niece.
Although you don’t tell him that until Kate pays you a visit and Kyle happens to be there.
“It’s 5am Garrick why aren’t you dressed?”
Kyle scrambling around to get dressed whilst Kate whispers in your ear. “Of course I knew, I’m just messing with him.”
Does threaten him though if he does break your heart.
TF141 says he should just marry you, no point going to an early grave. Happy wife, happy life and a happy Laswell?
[Masterlist]
54 notes ¡ View notes
dmitriene ¡ 7 months ago
Text
cw: kind of voyeurism, little tf141 x reader.
kyle garrick is sly enough to put your most vulnerable picture on his phone lock screen, a photo in which your face is almost invisible, partially hidden by a pillow and his palm, which outlines your jaw, holding, making the gaze of those who look catch on your drooling, pouting lips, disheveled hair, there's nothing remarkable about it, but all those little details, glimpses of your naked skin, make everyone understand what was happening in the background.
no one has been there, but it's easy to imagine how you looked, laid out prettily on your tummy, round ass perched out under the grind of his hips, the palming, greedy touches against your skin, kneading at the fat globs that bounce in front of kyle's heavy lidded, murky gaze, crinkling at your gurgling moans, neck craning back as your sweet keens drown down his hoarse grunts, lengthy cock pulsing, leaking along your tight, rippling walls.
even at the picture, there's a small glimpse of your teary, glossed eyes, rolled down in your head almost completely, and the sight is addicting, to the point where the one who saw kyle's lock screen, those being his comrades from the task force, have to fight themselves so as not to fist their cocks at the image of you, failing nonetheless, your bare form haunting, pressed down by lean, smooth chest down to the sweaty, soiled sheets, sobbing during your orgasm.
fucked back by the tight, enveloping grip around the curve of your waist, tugged in time to meet kyle's rapid, pistoning hips, rutting in your pussy to the point where you just jolt weakly, his weight bearing on you the more he gets close, searing coil squeezing, tightening in both of your stomachaches, as you babble out small gasps, hips squirming, pushing, before your orgasm wrecks you, slick squelching, dripping between your thighs and down his thick cock, catching at the curly hair of his groin.
when kyle snaps the picture, you aren't even fighting him and the bright flash of the camera, just laying there, melting into the bed in the afterglow, tingling shivers coursing through your body, as he smoothes a soothing hand down your curled back, cooing something you barely hear, a bright, toothy smile to his lips, missing the mention of that the boys gonna love you.
main masterlist. quidelines.
932 notes ¡ View notes
bagofshinyrocks ¡ 1 year ago
Text
Government name vs Military callsign
Prompt: What scares them worse? Addressing them by their full government name, or addressing them by their military callsign?
Featuring: Task Force 141 (CoD: MW2) - John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish (separately) x GN!Reader
Word Count: 0.9k
Warnings: none
Tumblr media
John Price
Government name.
Calling him Captain or Skipper just ends with him sauntering to where ever you are and ask (in an obnoxiously self-satisfied voice) what you wanted. Like a cat pretending it can’t hear the urgency in your tone when you say to get off the counter.
“If you want me to ‘shake a leg’, call my name, luvie.”
Now if you holler “Jonathan Price”, he’ll drop something. Either the newspaper in his hands, or his heart into his stomach. He sure as hell moves his ass with a purpose, and he’s peering into the room with an apology on his lips.
“Yes, luv? What’s wrong, poppet?”
“Lift the other end of the couch, would you?”
He does, and you shimmy it further back in the room. “Anything else I can do, love o’ my life?” He’s hovering, and gently coaxing you into his arms. Gauging how mad you were at him. You curled into him and kissed his chin. Then stepped away with a pat to his chest.
“No, sweetheart, just wanted you to shake a leg is all.”
When he remembers your previous conversation, he groans and tells you to fuck off.
Tumblr media
Simon Riley
Military callsign.
When you two are alone, and he’s already given you permission to call him Simon, don’t call him Ghost. When you say that word, he assumes one of his mates are at the door or on the phone, and goes from Simon to Ghost. Stalks into the room with narrowed eyes, only to find you in the kitchen. By yourself.
“Ghost, you want a sandwich too? Turkey and cheese.”
“Fuck you callin’ me that for?” 
Once he sees you’re alone, he swoops in and wraps around you like a hoodie. A firm kiss to your ear, then your cheek, then spun you around. Back pressed to the counter top. Settles his face right close to yours.
“We playin’ games now?” You didn’t want to upset him, so you pressed a kiss to his nose. His grumpy look faded a bit.
“Sorry, baby.” Arms wrapped carefully around his shoulders. And your fingers scratch his scalp. Another kiss to his nose. “I’m sorry for playing games with you. Simon Riley.”
Hearing his name on your lips finally cracked, and he gave you a smile. A little scar on the upper lip. You gave it a kiss, and then pressed a kiss to his lips. 
A quick surge forward, and you only just had time to shove aside the things behind you before you found yourself on the countertop.
Tumblr media
Kyle Garrick
Government name.
He doesn’t mind being called Gaz, and you’ll use Kyle and Gaz interchangeably. Doesn’t even mind if you use “Kyle” or “honey” in front of his squadmates. Though “Kylie” he does have some displeasure with.
“I’ll have you know, Soap is still calling me Kylie, you asshole.”
Call him ‘Garrick’, and he knows that you are pretending to be mad at him. He slinks over and rubs his face against your cheek. He’s too cute for you to stay mad.
If you shout “Kyle Garrick”, he comes running. He could have sworn that he put his clothes in the hamper. And did the dishes. And taken out the recycling. Damn, what was it that he forgot?
“Kyle Ga-”
“Yes, dear!” Shit, he didn’t mean to ‘yes, dear’ you. “Yes, my dear, I’m right here.”
You pause your laundry folding and summon him with a crook of your finger. Once he’s close enough, you tap your lip with the same finger. “I need a kiss.”
He blinked once. Then twice. “God damn you.” He squishes your face in his hands and gave you a quick, firm kiss. “Don’t stress me out like that. Thought you were mad.”
“Give me another kiss, or I will be.”
He rapid fire kissed your mouth, chin, and cheeks, then gave you a smack on the ass before returning to the living room. 
“In my own fucking home,” he muttered.
Tumblr media
John MacTavish
Military callsign.
He’s got some thick skin. And he’s had his name shouted angrily many a time. He would all but skip into the room with a big smile on his face. The only people who shouted that name (and wore out the scare-factor on it) were his family members. Shouting “John MacTavish” meant you loved him. You were also mad at him, but you loved him. That was more important. Even with your scowl and the gross pile of garbage he kept forgetting to take out. You loved him.
Now shouting his callsign reminded him of his superior officers.
“SOAP!”
Shit shit shit. He put down his beer and ran from the garage to the backyard. Leg brace over his sweats, low cut muscle shirt that you also wolf-whistle at when he wears. You were only weeding the garden boxes.
“JOHNNY!”
“I’m here, bonnie,” he hollered, rounding the corner. You were sitting in the dirt, a tidy pile of weeds and dead plant bits next to you.
“C’mere, c’mere.”
He leaned down next to you, hand on your shoulder and good knee on the ground. “Wassit?”
You pointed to the leaf in your hand. “A caterpillar, Johnny. An itsy-bitsy caterpillar.”
He sighed heavily and kissed your shoulder. “Bonnie, I thought something was wrong.”
“Hm?” You spared him a glance. “What are you talking about, bubba?”
“You called me Soap.”
“Did I? Didn’t mean to spook you, loverboy.” You gave him an apologetic kiss on the lips. “Just wanted you to see the caterpillar before he wiggled off.”
Tumblr media
Posted: 2023 Dec 10
19K notes ¡ View notes
starwovenkiss ¡ 26 days ago
Text
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.
Tumblr media
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ♡ ─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ───
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.
356 notes ¡ View notes
feralforfrank ¡ 1 year ago
Text
task force 141 & instagram posts (while on leave).
TF141 X FEM!READER
cw pics r used for aesthetic purposes. might be a bit OOC in the comments. i tried. NON-DESCRIPTIVE READER.
a/n i blew off studying for this 😋
masterlist
Tumblr media
KYLE "GAZ" GARRICK / boyfriend!gaz
kyle_garrick
Tumblr media
liked by yourusername, pricejohn6, 241 others.
tagged yourusername
kyle_garrick puerto rico with the missus 🇵🇷
view all comments
yourusername heyyyy *flirting hardcore* 😍😍😍
> kyle_garrick yourusername i have a girlfriend.
yourusername we should go cycling again!
> kyle_garrick yourusername Watching you struggling up the hill is so fun. Yes, we absolutely should!
> johnny.tavish kyle_garrick Wish I'd bin there tsee tha!!!!!
> kyle_garrick johnny.tavish I got it on video, mate! 😁
> yourusername kyle_garrick HEY!!!!!!!????
pricejohn6 Looks nice. Have fun.
> kyle_garrick pricejohn6 Thank you, Sir!
> ghost0895 kyle_garrick Suck up.
> yourusername ghost0895 AHAHAHAHAH
—
JOHN "BRAVO 6" PRICE / older boyfriend!price
yourusername
Tumblr media
liked by johnny.tavish, pricejohn6, ghost0895, and 132 others.
yourusername hubbie took me to venice :)
view all comments
yourusername kyle_garrick i got him to wear the shirt!!!!!
> kyle_garrick yourusername HAHAHAHAHA, he looks GREAT!
pricejohn6 MY pretty girl ❤️
> yourusername pricejohn6 thank you for taking me, love 😊💓
johnny.tavish YE GIT MARRIET?????
> yourusername johnny.tavish NO DOOFUS. (i wish) (soon, i hope) (not yet)
ghost0895 Sick of this joke. Venice looks nice, though ... 😒
> yourusername ghost0895 sassy simon 😆 me likey sassy simon.
> ghost0895 yourusername 🙄🙄🙄 just get married already.
yourfriend venice looks incredible! have a plate of bigoli in salsa for me 🤤
liked by yourusername
—
JOHNNY "SOAP" MACTAVISH / boyfriend!soap
yourusername
Tumblr media
liked by ghost0895, johnny.tavish, pricejohn6, and 98 others.
tagged johnny.tavish
yourusername bro said he knew a spot and took me to scotland to meet his fam 😵
johnny.tavish they loved ye, bonnie lassie
> yourusername johnny.tavish your family is so nice 🥹 I WANNA GO BACK!!!!!
ghost0895 i see you've met the mactavishes
> yourusername ghost0895 such a lovey bunch, they are!
kyle_garrick scotland looks bloody incredible!
> yourusername kyle_garrick IT IS IT IS IT IS!!!!! 🤩🤩🤩
pricejohn6 Delightful pictures.
> yourusername pricejohn6 thanks, captain price :)
yourfriend SO jealous of you! hope you had a lovely time!!!
liked by yourusername
—
SIMON "GHOST" RILEY / boyfriend!ghost
yourusername
Tumblr media
liked by johnny.tavish, ghost0895, yourfriend, and 148 others.
tagged ghost0895
yourusername lover boy & me in manchester !!!!
ghost0895 youre cute
> yourusername ghost0895 love u si 💘
kyle_garrick you got him to take pictures with you!?!?!?
> yourusername kyle_garrick half of them have been taken in secret 🤭🤭🤭🤭
> ghost0895 yourusername 😑
johnny.tavish when can i meet wee joe
> ghost0895 johnny.tavish Never.
> yourusername johnny.tavish come over whenever!!!!! this kitty loves people!
> kyle_garrick yourusername I want in too!
yourfriend you're in manchester!?!?! we should meet up!!
> yourusername yourfriend i'll def text you! 💞
Tumblr media
— all pictures were taken from pinterest. for aesthetic purposes only.
844 notes ¡ View notes
yuyuwritesss ¡ 11 months ago
Text
Gaz, whose pretty face you zone out on everytime you're physically tired but can't turn off just yet because you're still on the clock. Thing that happens more often than not with the influx of after mission paperwork you both choose to do in the rec room, enjoying each other's silent company, coupled with the sound of the occasionally turning papers. It allows you to look away from the stale, demanding paperwork, and rest your eyes on something easy on them.
"Something wrong with my face?" He asks, eyebrows drawn together and head tilting slightly, after what must be the twentieth time you did it in the past hour.
Absent-mindedly you answer "yeah, it's unbelievably gorgeous".
His puzzled expression is replaced by a big beaming smile, his eyes softly crinckling. The abrupt change in expression snaps you out of your trance and realizing what you said, you try to smooth things over, quickly throwing out a "I meant your face is pleasing to look at." which only makes his smile grow wider.
"No, what i wanted to say wa-" "you're not so bad yourself, sweetheart." He says, chuckling at the end, effectively shutting you up and raising your face's temperature to hellish degrees.
You go back to looking over your paperwork to avoid his warm gaze and shaking his head, he soon follows suit, the previous atmosphere regained. But after a few minutes of strenuous, boring work you can't help but raise your head, your eyes immediately finding his face only to be met, this time, with his brown orbs already watching you.
"Wanna take a break, love ?"
289 notes ¡ View notes
luxcuriousao3 ¡ 1 month ago
Text
Gaz who did modeling when he was younger (he got scouted because like. Have you seen him?). The 141 is on a mission, and they're waiting out a storm in a safe house. There's a couple of old magazines lying around, and Soap starts paging through them to stave off the boredom. Imagine his surprise when he sees his best mate's face grinning back at him from the faded, glossy pages.
844 notes ¡ View notes
gothicflowers ¡ 3 months ago
Text
Gaz who leaves your doorstep before dawn sick to his stomach. When he got dressed quietly he admired you as you laid in the bed asleep, still naked and covered in love bites from the passion of the night. He couldn’t believe he finally got to hold you, yet here he was, fleeing. Leaving knowing you’re everything he wants. He walks with his hands in his pockets trying to remember the warmth of your skin that you had allowed him to touch, warm and soft. It wasn’t just fucking, he finally experienced passion and love… true intimacy.
You wake up later that morning sore and satisfied. You roll over to see if he’s awake, only to find his side of the bed cold, you walk through your home hoping to find him but he’s gone. Was the sex that bad that he left without a word? You showered and scrubbed your skin raw from the disgust and embarrassment. The man had spent months getting close to you. You finally opened up and let someone close enough to be intimate with and he used you.
You calm down a few hours later and send a text hoping that maybe you’re reading the situation wrong.
“Good morning, I was hoping you would have stayed for breakfast. Did you make it home?”
Message undeliverable
Oh… he blocked you.
Pt.2 pt.3
557 notes ¡ View notes
alwaysshallow ¡ 1 year ago
Note
141 react to their partner nightly routine (shower, hair care, face/skin routine, brush teeth, retainer, etc.)?
What if the partner has the night zoomies (late night burst of energy)?
gaz absolutely loves your night routine; he got interested in it when you two moved in together and you sat in the bathroom for more than twenty minutes straight, singing your favorite song in front of the mirror. he observed the process at first, but then got into it.
if he's not deployed, he does it with you; he even has his own products and all, you taught him well. insists on helping you with massaging etc....... since he adores how his hands feel after massaging it for you. if it comes to night zoomies, i feel he's trying everything to tire you lmao. or he just straight up does whatever you want!!!
ghost..... he's not that into night routines, no. it's good to observe you, you always manage to make him smile, but he's not into the skincare, haircare. this man uses 3-in-1 shampoo or your olaplex if you're gonna leave it because his hair smells nice after that lmao. but he always observes you, it makes him calm. if he has time when he's deployed, he definitely calls you on video so he can watch and hear about your day.
night zoomies...... the only answer is wrestling. he's a tired man, tries to have you around all the time when he can; he can't be bothered, really. he pins you down or allows you to pin him and fuck around a little because you're just adorable when you have too much energy.
price and a night routine.......... not into skincare, but more into haircare?? like, you once showed him how fluffy his hair can be and he didn't look back ever since. it applies also to his beard btw, he loves trying things and making you watch it (he's very proud.) skincare only when he's tired after deployment and thinks he looks the worst. week later, he's back to only haircare.
reaction to night zoomies.... he's similar to simon, can't be bothered, but if you want to do something, he's more than okay with that. or if you just need to ramble about your day, or maybe wrestle. or you can fuck and ride him.
soap and night routine oh my god. he's like a five year old mixing all the products and complaining about it after when it stings. he doesn't even read the labels, he does it for fun and thinks that the order doesn't really matter (it does). he's literally into anything you are at this point, following you around like a puppy.
if you have night zoomies, he's literally your soulmate lmao because this man is insufferable. suddenly, the world is his oyster and he can do anything he wants; at least, in his mind. in reality, after fucking around and scaring the neighbors (his favorite thing to do), he sleeps like a log.
717 notes ¡ View notes
writingfromasgard ¡ 11 months ago
Text
[141 + Konig] Surprise! I'm Naked
Tumblr media
Masterlist
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Synopsis: You've been watching videos all day when you come across a genre of people surprising their S/O in lingerie at unexpected moments. You decide to give it a try.
Tumblr media
John MacTavish
You decide to surprise John when he comes in from grabbing a meal with his work buddies. You're laying out on the couch, watching a TV show and nibbling on a snack or two.
This man slams the door shut, blue eyes turning a shade darker when his eyes land on you. "Got some new clothes?"
You laugh at the joke and he's joining you on the couch, pushing one of your legs off while he tosses his own clothes off
Simon Riley
There's nothing more he loves than seeing you lounging around his place, totally relaxed. When he finds you on his bed, a flimsy, cheap lacy ensemble, his mouth runs dry.
He chooses to wait to touch you, giving you a little show as he peels off his clothing. His hand smooths over his Adonis belt, gripping his cock. "Little minx, you see what you've done?"
You swoon as he climbs over you, testing the strength of the material - he's happy that he was right about it being filmsy. Knows you like when his biceps flex when he tears it in one go, fucking you with the tattered remains hanging off your body.
John Price
John is stepping out of the shower when he sees you on his side of the bed. You aren't naked - not completely. You've got those stockings he loves on and his hat. He chuckles, swaggering over to you with his smile.
"What's this, doll?" He asks, tilting your chin up with a finger. You smile just as big as his, spreading your legs open. He drops his towel, grabbing your thighs.
He doesn't mind getting on his knees to lap at his favorite meal as long as you keep his hat on while he does it. The minute it falls off, he's going to show you how good of a day he had.
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
You've thought and thought about how to surprise Kyle - when he's home, he's always loving on you. It's hard to sneak away until finally another trend catches your eye - naked yoga. You've never done yoga a day in your life but that would surprise him.
You buy a yoga mat, set an alarm to a few minutes before he's about to get home and turn on a random yoga video on YouTube. You hardly notice him come in until the door slams shut.
Kyle comes up behind you as you're sitting with your legs together in front of you, gripping the back of your knees. You pretend you're focused. He surprises you, pushing gently on your back, "Babs, you can do better than that."
He's helping you get a little further than you're actually attempting. The routine shifts into a standing. One leg is in front of you while the other is behind, stretched out as you feel your thigh muscles straining. He's right there again, hip pushing you to move to a deeper stretch. "Gotta get you limber for everything I'm going to do to you when you're done."
KĂśnig
You've never slept with KĂśnig which is exactly why you want to try surprising him with your nude so maybe the big lug will get it. You're wearing a trenchcoat as you show up to his home. He eyes it but doesn't say anything.
You step in and follow him to the living, getting nervous. The couch creaks as he sits down, expecting you to join him for the movie he lined up. You stand in front of him, ripping the proverbial bandaid off and dropping the trench coat.
You can tell he doesn't know where to look - how to react until he's leaning forward with admiration in his eyes. "This is all for me, Sonnenschein? For me?" You laugh at his reaction and he drags you down into his lap, sucking on your breast immediately.
You gasp, grabbing hold of his hair to tug on it. "Thank you. Thank you so much. This is all for me.." He groans, bullying his fat cock into you as he continues to thank you.
2K notes ¡ View notes
leyavo ¡ 2 months ago
Text
The TF141 guys when you mention you’re trying to romanticise your life:
Tumblr media
John’s the only one that questions it, knows he’s not in the loop with trends/slang etc. “What do you mean darling?” And he starts romanticising his own morning routine. A nice black coffee, your drink of choice too waiting for you. some music playing as he gets dressed for the day.
Planning shared time with you later, having a bath together and little candles flickering on the side. He also values his alone time and has a bubble bath, cigar and a glass of whisky. Getting himself some fancy pens, the ink smooth so it makes writing up all those reports so much easier and more fluid. He takes time to check in on your day too, a text here and there when he’s not busy or weighed down with work.
Simon’s panicking, thinking he’s been neglecting you. He’s getting you seasonal flowers, bright tulips or daffodils in spring etc. buying you your favourite chocolate. He’s doing little things like ironing your shirt for work or packing your lunch when he gets time. It’s not till you confront him about doing all these little things do you realise he took it to heart.
“Si, I meant romanticising my day, the mundane things I can do to make me feel a bit better.” After convincing him he does enough and he’s romantic in his way he begins to think. Simon then starts small by adding a hazelnut syrup to his black coffee in the morning. Washing his mask more often too, a ritual after each op where he hand washes all the sweat and dirt as if cleansing himself of the sins.
Johnny’s thinks romanticising his day is day dreaming about you and how you smell so good. How he’d like to have his way with you before you go to work. But in all seriousness, Johnny journals (like in the game). He’s got one for work and one for his home life, some pages are scribbled mess of writing and sketches, of you, of little things that catch his eye (also you).
He’s got a box full of journals under the bed, sometimes he likes to read them, connect with who he was years ago and appreciate who he’s become. Loves reading back on your first dates and what he thought you (man’s a dog). Adds some more notes in the margain “we married them.” “You did get laid this night.” Maybe he’ll even show you some of them one day.
Kyle’s knows exactly what you mean, you’re always trying to add more intention to your day and being present. Kyle understands and uses the present as an anchor to stop him spiralling with his job. He calls them glimmers, how when the sunlight steals his attention and reminds him to breathe and stop overthinking.
He makes time for himself to stretch as soon as he gets out of bed, create small moments in between his fast paced job. Loves reading fantasy books, dragons preferably and designates his time before bed to read at least one chapter (you’re normally reading beside him too). Even part of an online fanclub for said book where he talks about theories for the next book in the series. Total nerd for it there like eight books already.
345 notes ¡ View notes
dmitriene ¡ 11 months ago
Text
tf141 as a delivery company, all four boys working so good that all people around you buzz with praises towards them, saying that if you search for someone to help you with some furniture to the new home, you should immediately select their company, and since you just moved to the neighborhood, why not.
it's johnny who you meet first, he's delivering a new bed, because the house is completely empty, and sleeping on the floor is not your best choice, so ordering a bed was a first and most important option, while the other furniture was on it's way.
the first thing you notice is his baby blue eyes, bright pebbles that shine in the morning sun when you greet him, slightly disheveled and dressed in some ordinary pajamas, too sleepy to notice the way johnny's gaze trails down your body and round curves, until asking where you need the bed, bonnie, because he's sure you won't be able to place it yourself.
johnny wonders if you'll let him suck at your cunt as a payment, thoughts clouded with how you'll could have looked sprawled on this new bed, scrabbling at his messy mohawk, mattress stained with a puddle of your syrupy slick and his drool, writhing prettily with your sleeping shorts dangling at your ankle.
too pretty for your own good, especially when you flash him a beaming smile on his way out, thanking him for his work with flattering tone of voice, and johnny glad you can't see the heavy boner between his legs, hidden beneath the baggy fabric of his working pants, staining his boxers with sticky precum.
then you meet kyle, prettiest boy you've ever seen, fitting to be a model rather than delivery guy, holding a heavy box with bedside table in his hands, honeyed eyes crinkling in bright smile when he asks you where he can place it, since you zoned on his face for too long, and unbeknownst to you, it got him much flustered.
he's a sunshine, a golden boy with how fast he works with his veiny hands, saying that you'll give him less than an hour and the table would be ready for you to use, still wearing a warm smile that makes you melt, nodding dumbly, just watching how kyle works, all but focused on the task in front of him, brows creasing.
his shirt riding up to reveal a glimpse of his lower back, skin smooth, and it's you who wonders about having fun with him, propped on his lap, toying with his most likely lengthy cock, all wet for you, imagining if he would let you play with him, or he'll flip you up and rearrange your glossy cunt till you're dumb.
kyle leaves you with a new furniture for a less than thirty minutes and winking at you when he stands at the doorway, leaning aside on his hip, saying that if you'll need more help, you know where to find him, and his name as well, and this leaves you with suddenly sodden panties and unspoken fantasies.
at the end, you meet simon and john, two bulky men that helped you with your new couch, a big thing that is better than the old, dusty one, and indeed worth of having two big men inside your house, crouched on the floor to settle the furniture up, telling you to not worry about a single thing, lass.
simon is more silent, efficient at his work and seems brooding, but his dark gaze softens everytime he meets your eyes as you check up on them, his hand caressing the small of your back briefly, just after john patted you there in reassurance, too close to the swell of your ass, murmuring that it's their work and you don't have to try and stick up to help in your own house.
cerulean eyes soothingly cold, with comforting smile hiding beneath his facial hair everytime your fingers touch, making you shudder briefly, almost praying so they'll won't notice how you eye them, how your cheeks tingle, but they both do.
wondering how you'll look seated on this plush couch, stripped bare and stretched around john's fat cock, with simon's throbbing girth down your tight little throat, an obedient housewife for them, sweet darling that could help them relieve after hard work, and perhaps, since you're living all alone, they could make you theirs.
it's the moment all of the boys are out on the weekends evening in some town pub, drinking glass after glass of warming, tart liquid, when johnny breaks up in slurring about what a cutie he meet when delivering some really big bed, and when kyle joined next, and then simon, john's eyes squinting as he strokes at his mutton chops, your appearance coming up like pieces of puzzles through their talk, everything fell into place.
all along, they were dreaming of the same bird, in the same house in a small neighborhood, sweet darling with giddy smiles and too longing gazes, and since they're such a good team, why won't they're help you a bit more this time, one for one.
main masterlist. quidelines.
5K notes ¡ View notes
bagofshinyrocks ¡ 1 year ago
Text
The Whole Bakery
Prompt: How will the boys respond to an S/O who slaps their ass out of nowhere? [Requested by @airghostlyfox]
Featuring: Task Force 141 (CoD: MW2) - John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish (separately) x GN!Reader
Word Count: 0.8k
Warnings: expletives; lightly suggestive content
Tumblr media
There he was. Making his morning cup of coffee. Comfortable sleep clothes and sluggish movement. Your handsome partner. 
He had finally freed himself from the blanket web and your comfortable arms, with the intent to go through most of his “honey-do” list that weekend.
And he was so unaware.
That your arm was winding up for a powerful smack to his ass.
John Price
The sound was not as impressive due to his sweatpants, but the way he jerked and slowly put down the things in his hands was reward enough. He did not appreciate it. And he did not turn around.
“Luv,” he said in an even tone. “What the hell was that?”
You rubbed the offended cheek with the same hand, deciding against pinching, as he would win any fight you started. 
“My darling John. Your ass is just so wonderful, I can’t help myself.” 
Both hands gently squeezed his ass. And you pressed an apologetic kiss between his bare shoulder blades.
“You’ve got the whole bakery right here, bubba.” Gentle pats. Still no movement of his neck. “All these buns.”
Finally, he turned around.
He was trying very hard not to smile. Trying not to encourage you. But goddamn, did you look pleased with yourself. Strong arms wrapped around your middle, pressing you to his chest.
“You are-” Kiss. “Such a flirt.” Kiss. “And absolutely shameless.”
You kissed him back and lazily threw your arms over his shoulders.
Behind you, his arm raised itself and smacked your ass as hard as he possibly could. You folded into him with a yelp.
“GOD FUCKIN–!”
Tumblr media
Simon Riley
The moment your hand left his cheek, he had turned on you and grabbed you under the armpits.
“Uh oh” was all you had the chance to say before he dragged you off to the nearest wall. He was smiling, but it was the smile that meant you were still in trouble. You chuckled nervously as he settled you against the wall, caging you in and leaning in close.
“You are a cheeky one,” he purred.
“Yessir.”
“Any particular reason we’re playful this morning?”
You wriggled your arms out of his grip, and settled your hands over his ass again. He let you, one of his fingers tapping your nose.
“Well, if you must know, Simon,” you said, adopting a matter-of-fact tone. “It is because your ass is just so delicious looking.”
He snorted at your blunt words and hid his eyes with his hand.
“Bloody hell.”
“I mean, just look at it, lover.” You firmly gripped his ass, squeezing ever so slightly. “All this cake.”
He sighed, but he was still laughing. You’re adorable. He loves you.
Tumblr media
Kyle Garrick
You didn’t smack too, too hard. A peace offering for walking around in his boxers and nothing else. Your favorite outfit on him.
But he still jumped and gave you a dirty look.
“It is 8 in the morning, you shit.”
You turned him back around and massaged his ass, humming a cheerful tune. “I’m just gonna knead this yummy dough, don’t mind me.”
“You a cat? Making biscuits?”
You giggled and kissed the back of his neck.
“Oh, have you got some biscuits on you, loverboy.”
He couldn’t help but laugh into his cup, turning himself around and pulling you into his embrace. Soft, coffee-flavored kisses. Then his arms snaking lower, and his own hands settling on your ass.
“I think that’s one of the sweetest things you’ve ever said to me.”
“Sweeter than ‘I love you’?”
He squeezed your ass and pulled you impossibly closer to him.
“Mm,” he sighed into your mouth. “Tied for first.”
You pulled back and narrowed your eyes.
“What? Oh, right. I love you, too, baby.”
Tumblr media
Johnny MacTavish
Of all the boys, he has no right to complain. A chronic ass-slapper. Repeat offender groper. Can’t sleep without one hand one you, be it your arm, your stomach, or your leg.
He was singing some song to himself, dancing a little. Background noise that kept him from hearing you until it was too late.
“Steaming bloody-”
You hit him too hard. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. You ducked out of his grasp and started pleading for forgiveness.
“Baby, I’m sorry, that was harder than I meant. I’m sorry. I’m sor- shit.”
A mad scramble around the kitchen island. Never had you run away from your bare-chested Scotsman so quickly.
“Get your arse back here!”
“Nuh uh!”
“Fuck you mean-” He vaulted over the island and you screamed. Like a bird of prey, he grabbed you and dragged you to the couch, falling on top of you with all his weight.
“I’m sorry, baby,” you wheezed.
He smothered your face and neck in kisses, and accepted your apology. He would get you back later. With less force but greater number of ass slaps. You were sure of it.
Tumblr media
Enjoy reading this? Here's a link to my other works! Thanks for reading :-)
Posted: 2023 Dec 12
6K notes ¡ View notes
starwovenkiss ¡ 1 month ago
Text
goodnight n go
You continue your daily tradition of calling Kyle while he's away for deployment. A/N: this man has unfortunately taken up too much real estate in my brain and at this point, the only solution is to write it out. <3
Tumblr media
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ♡ ─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─ ─ ⋅
The dial tone rings, and you count the seconds until he answers. Thirty-two today, nine quicker than yesterday.
“‘Ello love.” A murmured drawl crackles through, and you smile, turning over into the pillow directly next to you. You take a deep inhale, savoring the fact that Kyle’s body wash still lingers. You know you have another week before it fades completely. “It’s a bit late for you to call me. I thought you would’ve been asleep by now.”
“I was,” you giggle, “but I had a dream about you.”
“A dream, eh? And what was this dream about?” You roll your eyes at the shift of tone, knowing that if he were here, he would get a smack in the face with his pillow for the innuendo. And your heart tightens, wishing for a moment that he was lying right next to you instead of 5,000 miles away in some war-torn country.
“Our first date,” you hear his chuckle, smiling at your memory. You close your eyes, painting a picture of the freckles that litter his nose, the whiskey color of his eyes, and his flat curls after lying in bed all night. Your fingers reach out, feeling cold sheets rather than the warmth of where his hand should be.
“Tell me about it,” he asks smoothly.
“You should know, you were there,” you laugh.
“I still wanna hear.”
“Well, you were late.”
“Only by 15 minutes. You’ve been way later than that!”
“It was our first date!” you giggle. “And you were wearing flip-flops!”
“I didn’t know I needed to dress up,” he groans. “We were best friends! We had hung out by ourselves all the time.”
“Kyle, we grew up together. You would think I would’ve taught you how to impress a girl on a first date by the time you were 25 years old!” you laugh incredulously, and you hear his laugh back. 
The window creaks slightly as an evening breeze passes through, open to combat the summer heatwave in England. You smile fondly. It had been sweltering the day the two of you met. You were running down the street, chasing the ice cream truck, and were short a few pence for an ice lolly. Only seconds away from putting it back, when Kyle, a boy with sunburned cheeks and grass stains on his knees, stepped in without hesitation. He handed over his allowance and just grinned when you tried to protest. You shared it with him, of course, and from that moment on, the two of you were inseparable.
It wasn’t until he turned sixteen that something shifted. His voice dropped. His limbs stretched. His back straightened like he was growing into a version of himself the rest of the world hadn’t seen yet. Gone was the scrawny boy who still secretly collected trading cards and snuck over to yours to watch rom-coms under the guise of “movie night.”
And you weren’t the only one who noticed. Girls started paying attention, laughing loudly at his jokes, twirling their hair around their fingers. You told yourself the jealousy was just a habit. That it only hurt because you’d gotten used to having all of him. 
It wasn't until after his first deployment that the fear of losing him completely led you to reckon with the love you had been trying not to name since you two met.
“I’m pretty lucky that you gave me a second chance then.” Kyle’s smile laces every word, and you shuffle closer to his side of the bed as if you can will him closer to you by moving into the space he normally occupies.
“Well, you brought me flowers!”
“Lilies. Your favorite.” And almost instinctively, your gaze catches the vase of lilies on your nightstand, delivered the day Kyle left for deployment. Your brows knit as a petal falls, the dying buds serving as a marker for how long Kyle’s been gone.
He hears the pause, and always Kyle seems attuned to the shift in your emotions even through a phone call, so when he suggests “tell me more,” you follow. 
“At least the restaurant you picked was nice.” The cafe was only a short walk from your apartments, perfect for Kyle to show up grinning ear to ear at your apartment door, holding a bouquet of lilies. You had spent the entire morning on the phone with your friend, worried that you were making the wrong decision, and that would be the end of you and Kyle. That everything would be weird and awkward with this new romantic subtext in your friendship. But when you looked down and met eyes with a pair of thong flip-flops, you couldn’t help but laugh in relief that Kyle would always be Kyle.
“I miss you,” You whisper. He’s quiet for a beat too long, and the absence of his voice feels like a weight in your chest. You briefly wonder if you overstepped. It’s not easy, you knew that before you even started dating Kyle, comforting him as ex-girlfriends couldn’t handle the strain of not seeing him for months and months. Yet you could’ve never imagined yourself in the same position of wanting more from a man who could only give so much.
“I miss you more,” he whispers back, voice hoarse with longing.
You're quiet, and you can almost see Kyle’s frown before you hear it in the next words that leave his mouth.
“You’ll call me tomorrow, yeah?”
“Of course. I love you,” You whisper, barely audible over the rustle of the sheets as you shift beneath the sheets.
“I love you always. Now get some rest. I’ll be here until you fall asleep.” You set your phone beside you, eyes fluttering close at the gentle hum of Kyle’s chatter. 

Forty-eight minutes tonight, seven longer than yesterday.
188 notes ¡ View notes
secretlovezz ¡ 8 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
----------♡
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick is the type of boyfriend who activates your cuteness aggression.
He doesn't even have to be doing anything particularly cute or attractive it's just because it's him and that's normal, right?
It's totally normal to want to squeeze your boyfriend into a rib-breaking hug while he takes time out of his day to cook a lovely dinner for the two of you and it's totally normal to have the urge to squish his face in between your hands as he watches a game on the TV unaware of your stare... right?
Your hands fidget and squeeze at your clothes often in an attempt to not bother him; your knee starts to bounce and just as Kyle turns to you about to ask what's wrong your hands, a little roughly, slap against his cheeks just like you were previously thinking about and squish.
His brows wrinkled with confusion but he huffs out a laugh anyway and lets you get whatever is going on out of your system.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
476 notes ¡ View notes