Hi! I'm L, I'm 28 and non-binary. I write for a bunch of things. (primarily nb reader or male reader. I find there's not enough stuff for people like me, so I want to focus on that, but I read just about anything.) I fucking love sloths and think they're just goofy little things. I play video games and read and write. I work full time so I'm sorry if there's a period in time where I don't really post anything. This blog is also MDNI (Minors, Do Not Interact) and I will not be changing this stance.
I've posted my writing on tumblr before, used to run an imagines blog forever ago (it was a naruto one. I had a decent following, but burnout made me delete. I hope I don't do the same thing here).
I've been on this site for over 10 years, and sometimes it still feels like I'm still learning how to use the damn thing. I've been writing for a very long time and I feel like I'm constantly learning new things. But that's okay! That's what life is about.
If I've made a mistake in tagging something, kindly let me know and I'll fix that. I don't want to make people uncomfortable, and I know tumblr is a place a lot of people come to to escape the horrors of daily life. I try to keep this place as drama free as possible and adamantly refuse to engage in it. I don't like to be stressed out and I have no time to devote to hatred. (I'm also way too tired to deal with that)
I currently have a fixation on Call of Duty. I also like to write for Dragon Age and apparently Final Fantasy 14 (online), maybe throw a few OC things in here and ramble about them, but I will absolutely tag that appropriately. Maybe I'll write a few other things in the future but this just seems to be a place where I can slap a few words down and call it a day.
I do not and will not ever give approval for my works or my ocs (if I ever write something for them here) to be used in AI chats/bots/literally whatever. Fuck AI.
Ghost stared at the doctor until the man's voice faltered. They were briefing him in the hallway, stumbling around and over words about a contingency nobody in the military ever actually expected to need to use. This was the kind of thing that got joked about in barracks after one too many beers. Not a real thing.
Except it was real, and you were in the isolation room behind him, shaking apart on the reinforced cot.
"Exposure confirmed. It's... aggressive. But the consent forms are on file and the subject listed you as their primary..."
Ghost let out a slow breath.
He'd seen the forms, everyone had. The brass, in their infinite paranoia, had made everyone fill them out after a classified briefing no one was supposed to talk about.
-In the event of exposure to aerosolized aphrodisiacs or similar incapacitating agents, designate personnel you consent to receive assistance from-
Most people had listed their closest teammates. Johnny had put Ghost down without hesitation- "Ye'd do it for me LT, ye big softie-" which had earned him a punch from the Lieutenant. Ghost, himself had stared at the paper for a long minute before scribbling down immediate lethal intervention.
He didn't believe in sex pollen. Didn't believe in fairy tale bullshit that turned harden soldiers into animals. But regardless, the form had been filed and then promptly forgotten.
And now the doctor was waiting for an answer, and something- curiosity, maybe, or the fact that you had put his name down- made Ghost nod once, curt.
"I'll do it."
The door hissed open and sealed shut behind him with a heavy click.
Low amber lights cast long shadows across the reinforced cot, and there you were, clothing already thrown elsewhere in the room, hips grinding frantically against the thin mattress. Drool slicked the pillow under your cheek, your mouth open on soft, broken whimpers as you humped the cot, the only relief you could find.
Ghost's breath caught behind the mask at the sight and his cock twitched hard in his pants.
Fuck.
The second you heard the door, your head snapped up. Glassy, tear filled eyes locked onto him. A raw, needy sound tore from your throat and you lunged, pushing off the cot with shaky limbs, hands reaching for his shirt, body slamming into his with single minded hunger.
Ghost caught you easy, strong arms wrapping around your waist as your legs tried to hook around his hips. Your mouth crashed against the fabric of his balaclava, hips grinding desperately against his thigh, leaving a wet streak on his trousers. The pollen had you burning up, skin fever hot, chest scars gleaming faintly under the lights with every heaving breath.
"Easy- " he started, but you were past easy. Your hands fumbled at his belt, a sob slipping out as you tried to climb him right there against the wall.
He moved then, one arm banding around your back, the other hooking under your thigh as he spun and pinned you down onto the cot. The mattress dipped under your combined weight. Ghost's body covered yours, heavy and solid, keeping you from writhing away or humping anything else. His knee pressed between your thighs, holding them open while his hand caught both of yours and pinned them above your head.
You whined, arching up against him, tears spilling fresh down your flushed cheeks. You throbbed hot, leaking against his stomach where your bodies pressed together. Ghost shifted his hips, letting his clothed cock drag against you, already dripping from the pollen's effects.
Didn't mean for this, he thought, even as his free hand slid down to free himself from his pants. Probably never expected the freak to actually walk through that door.
But the forms said you had. And he would ask your why later when you were coherent and in your right mind and could handle being interrogated by him, but until then, he had more important things to attend to. Like you crying so sweetly underneath him, every broken sound hitting him and making his cock throb harder.
He pushed in slow and deep, inch by thick inch, stretching your around him until he bottomed out with a low groan. Your back bowed off the cot, a shattered moan ripping from your throat as your walls fluttered wildly around his cock. Ghost stayed there, buried to the hilt, letting you adjust while his thumb brushed over the silvery scars on your chest.
"Tha's it," he murmured. "Taking me so well."
You keened at the praise, clenching so hard around his cock that his vision whited out for half a second. Ghost’s hips jerked before he could stop them, punching the breath out of you and sending more tears spilling down your face. Your cock twitched hard against your belly, another bead of pre sliding down the shaft.
Fuck, yes. That was it. That was exactly what he liked. The surrender. The way you looked up at him like he was the only thing keeping you from flying apart. He’d always been a sick bastard under the mask; he knew it. But you were making it feel like something holy.
He rocked into you again, slower this time, letting you feel every inch. Your mouth fell open on a broken moan, head tipping back against the pillow, throat bared. Ghost’s gaze dropped to the frantic flutter of your pulse there, then lower to the scars across your chest rising and falling with every ragged breath, to where your cock throbbed untouched and needy, to where you were stretched wide and glistening around the thick base of him.
"Cryin' so sweet for me," he rasped and your nails dug into his hand hard enough to leave marks he'd feel for days. Another sob tore out of you, half relief and half overwhelmed, and Ghost felt the last of his restraint snap like a cheap cord.
He fucked you hard then, deep, steady strokes that dragged against every sensitive place inside you and made your voice climb higher. The cot creaked beneath you both. Your thighs trembled around his waist. And still you looked up at him with those wet, glassy eyes, lips parted, your cock leaking steadily between your bodies.
Ghost didn’t know how long he had. Realistically, the pollen probably didn’t care about aftercare or morning after awkwardness. It only cared about relief.
And he was going to give you everything he had while he was here.
Thinking about neglected alpha!Reader x 141 today.
It is such an honour to be the provider, such an amazing thing to be an alpha that your pack can need, that they can rely on when the heat hits.
Or when the world gets too loud, because you are always there. Always warm, always knowing what to say, always ready to shoulder whatever happens to press on them at the moment.
You are there for Price’s prolonged heats, you are there for Kyle’s need to decompress, you are there for anxious Johnny or for Simon’s torturous heats that wreck him if you aren’t there to make it better.
And yet, no one is there for you.
It’s not deliberate, you don’t think it is, not that they are mean on purpose. It’s just…you’d like someone to check up on you when the rut heats.
It’s not necessary, you say immediately, but it would be nice. Really really nice.
Something in your belly tightens when the rut hits again and you are just left alone.
Not a big deal, you think, shouldn’t be a big deal. But the knot in your stomach gets bigger and you have to remind yourself to relax your jaws.
You are an alpha, you can manage without anyone, not like you really need someone. You lived somehow without a pack all these years, right?
You try not to think about lying on the cold tiles alone, pain and need you cannot sate wrapping around you in a straitjacket.
It’s not fair. It has always been like that, you think.
You were always left alone because you could always do it alone and maybe somewhere along the way you forgot how not to.
Johnny reaches out to pat your shoulder and you flinch, chest rising and falling slower because breathing is difficult nowadays too. Everything seems to slow down during ruts, stretches like molasses, makes you both a dragon and a tower and the wall surrounding.
Johnny looks at you, reaches out again, watching the reaction this time and chews on his inner cheek when you pull away again.
“Just…hot in here.” You say, not even really lying, because god, you are sweating buckets, fever spiking up.
Only when Kyle leans in too close to check your temperature, you almost fall off the chair, trying to pull back.
Can’t trust the care that will never last.
You really are okay, you say, nothing’s going on.
You don’t need help. You are fine.
Price doesn’t try to touch you, but something in his eyes hardens. Makes you feel like a dumb disobeying dog.
An inadequate alpha.
Maybe that’s why you have always had to do this alone, tiny voice at the back of your mind suggests.
Maybe you just never were good enough. Maybe you just never were alpha enough.
Maybe your pack just doesn’t fucking like you.
Maybe no one does.
John offers one of his shirts to you after dinner, not the washed sterile thing, but the one that actually smells like him. The one that makes your insides go tight and pained.
The humiliation of his pity is almost worse than the rut itself. You leave it on his chair while he is still in the rec room.
Hating yourself you come back for it in the night, gulp air, nosing at the collar. Imagining it’s his throat. That your captain is spending your rut with you.
That you are enough finally.
Simon doesn’t offer a thing, but starts following you around — watches from every corner. You could ask him for help. You’ve helped him plenty in the past.
He colour return the favour, more practical part of you says and the thought of asking him for payback forces you back into the cramped bathroom and on the cold floors. You don’t need pity.
You don’t want Simon to force himself to give you anything.
How pathetic it is, that you’d need to trade it like contraband sweets sneaked on base?
So you swallow the question, the needy humiliating ‘please hug me, please don’t leave, please stay’ because if they wanted to stay they would come.
Because if you were better they’d want to be around for your ruts.
But no one knocks on your doors. So you look them down for the night, not trusting yourself not to wander outside — feverish and gone. Dizzy with the hunger you could never indulge because being needed should be enough.
Being needed as an alpha should be plenty.
Maybe if you were a better one your pack would know that it never is.
summary: things you'll never tell Johnny. and the one thing he'll tell you.
pairing: soapgaz x f!reader.
warnings: a dash of smut (mdni), a gallon of hurt/comfort :)
part of the [rotten work] series.
you’ll never tell Johnny this but you hate that his government name is John.
it makes your skin itch uncomfortably sometimes when you’re reminded of that little fact. takes you to a time when you felt like you were drowning and the people who were supposed to save you just didn’t want to. instead, they held your head below the water and slowly watched you die.
you were actually against getting into this fling because of it at the start. but since he normally went by Soap or Johnny, you looked past it. made it easier to bear and easier to moan his name in bed without feeling gross about yourself. or him.
“thanks, Johnny.” you placed a big, wet kiss on his flushed cheek after he had fixed your coffee machine.
and yet, in that same hour, you were annoyed at him from finishing your last bottle of face wash. “the store is closed, Johnny. how am i supposed to do my nightly routine now?”
“ye can borrow Kyle’s–” he shuts up when you throw the empty bottle in the small garbage bin with a force that makes a loud thud.
“no, Johnny! i can’t–” your voice raises a slight pitch before you cut yourself off. then close your eyes and sigh deeply. “i can’t just introduce a new product on my skin like that. i’ll break out and then it’ll take even longer to get shit back to normal. i can’t just use soap and water and call it a day the way you do.”
which is why you don’t really know why he had to use your cleanser. you figure he got curious and wasted the last bit of it. you just hate that it had to be at the expense of your skin. you know you’re going to wake up with a massive zit somewhere on your face.
“s’not like we care if ye have a mountain on yer pretty face.”
“mate.” Kyle, who’d been sitting beside him throughout this entire exchange, abandons the book he was reading and facepalms. “that is not the point.”
it doesn't come as a surprise how oblivious Johnny can be sometimes. it is equally as endearing as it is annoying, depending on the situation. like now, you want to hurl a shoe at his face because it's so hard to get anything done when his curiosity gets the better of him. half of the time, it's to somebody's detriment.
“Johnny.” you let out an audible, exasperated sigh while pinching the bridge of your nose. “i don’t do a whole skincare routine just to look pretty. i do it because these pimples. fucking. hurt.”
emphasis on the pain of each one that pops up on your skin. it's why you're so diligent with your skincare routine. cleanse, tone, moisturize, repeat. missing a single day could fuck up your entire week.
you’d never be this outspoken towards the other John. you’d never be allowed to raise your voice at him or Simon the way you did just now. despite the annoyance lining your tone, you know that what you're doing is just to test the limits of what goes. it's jarring that you're allowed such freedoms here. it's jarring that you're not met with immediate apprehension and the threat of a punishment.
the sad expression Johnny gave you in response to your rant made you feel guilty. damn him. this might be the equivalent of kicking a puppy. he’s pouting, sitting up on your bed and swings his legs over the side.
you huff and head back to the bathroom, where he promptly follows. he finds you washing your face with nothing but water. your frown deepens upon seeing him in your mirror as you wipe your face. he comes to hug you from behind, crooking his chin over your shoulder.
“i’m sorry, lovie. i really am.” he murmurs as he presses his lips against your neck. “won’t happen again. i’ll buy five bottles for ye tomorrow and ye can squeeze all the paint out of every tube if ye want tae call it even. how’s that sound?”
the other John would’ve never made such an offer. your complaints would’ve just been a minor inconveniences to his day. such complaints to Ghost would just hurting words at a cold brick wall. no compromise would've been made. you know that your grievances would've been ignored and shelved as non-essential. sometimes seen but never heard.
“you’re lucky you’re so cute.” he brightens at your reluctant response and presses a wet kiss against your cheek because of it.
you turn around, and still pinned between him and the sink, your arms curl around his neck to slot your mouth against his. the tension in his shoulders melts under your touch like butter on a warm day. he follows your lips when you pull away and you giggle into the next kiss. or the next as he swipes his tongue between your teeth.
you think the only reason he lets you stray from the kiss is to let you breathe.
“i’m sorry for being harsh.” you say. “forgive me?”
“there's nothin’ tae forgive, bonnie.”
you glance down. he’s blushing when you meet his gaze again. “you're not hard from being yelled at, are you?”
a pause. “no…?”
it’s only a moment that passes when you hold his timid stare. you purse your lips before pecking his cheek, brushing past him as your hand trails down his chest. he’s jolted when you cup his chubbed cock and stroke it over the fabric of his pants for a long moment but you’re walking away without saying another word.
it doesn’t surprise you when he follows. but if he had any intention of finishing what you started, he doesn’t follow through with them. instead, he settles on suffering through a movie you picked to watch as you’re laying your head on his chest while drawing little shapes on his stomach, completely ignoring the tent growing in his loose shorts.
“you alright there, Tav?”
he chokes back a sound when your head tilts, your lips grazing on his neck before you bare your teeth to nibble on his skin. his cheeks are flushed pink. his ears are worse. it’s cute. he’s so cute like this. quiet. pliant. while letting you torture him because he thinks he deserves it.
“i’m fine.” he grits out through his teeth, his breaths shortening when you lift your head and shift your weight off of him.
you and Kyle both turn your attention to him now, completely ignoring the movie. you’re the one still touching him, still rubbing his belly like a lazy kitten. your nails drag along his shirt as you sink down to meet where the fabric ends and his skin begins. his fists clench the sheets when your fingertips graze his happy trail. jaw clenched when he meets your soft smile, damn near to tears when he silently begs for more.
Kyle watches on, preening at the sight. biting his lip when Johnny’s breaths become laboured, his eyes half-lidded and hazy. he watches on proudly as you yield your power like a weapon. he’s all too thrilled at the strangled noise Johnny makes when you lift up his shirt and plant a kiss right on his belly button.
“you sure?” Kyle prompts him, cupping his face. “need some help with that?”
Johnny makes a choked sound from the back of his throat, his glossy eyes softly pleading.
your devious smile shines through. “aww, you poor baby.”
“you’re so evil, love.” Kyle’s lips brush against your ear as he whispers, “keep doing it.”
“dinnae encourage her.” you giggle at that, Johnny’s hand tugging at your silk nightgown with a soft urgency.
“why not?”
he pouts and tries to answer him but he chokes out something unintelligent when your fingers hook on his shorts and pull down. his cock is hard as steel, flushed and dripping at the tip. he hisses when Kyle grasps him at the base while you aim a little higher.
“yeah, Johnny.” your thumb rubs over the flushed tip. “why not?”
he couldn’t give you an answer if he tried. not when he buries his face into the pillow to smother a hoarse noise. you've never known Johnny to hide his unbridled desire from anyone so this is is truly a sight to behold.
makes it more fun to draw it out of him. it makes you understand why he and Kyle love doing the exact same to you. why they delight in watching you bloom with the pleasure they lavish all over you.
“bonnie–” you can't tell if he means you or Kyle.
you wager a guess that he means you since you're the one stroking his cock, your tongue slowly running over the tip. the brittle whine of your name, his hand reaching for your shoulder is well earned. it burns, hot and molten ichor pouring in your belly.
you watch Kyle fervently claim his mouth, the two lock in a heated kiss while Johnny desperately ruts his hips into yours. you feel all too triumphant upon hearing those muffled whimpers before Kyle pulls away from him just as you do.
“sit on mah’ face.” the words drag along his tongue like honey, pupils blown with pleasure. “i want yer sweet cunt on my face, bonnie lass, please. please, please, please–”
there he is. the shameless dog you know and absolutely adore.
Kyle caresses a finger along Johnny's cheek. “he’s begging real nice and sweet, isn’t he, angel?”
you hum sweetly, “he sure is.”
and you oblige his request. taking off your panties wasn’t his plan at the moment. you plant your knees on either side of his head and just push them to the side and allow him to indulge. for really, you cannot bear to deny him or Kyle anything they’d ask.
you care for Johnny so much, it makes your chest hurt. you do your absolute best to avoid John at all costs. you care for Kyle so much, you’re grateful that his brown eyes resemble nothing of Simon’s.
you’ll never tell them that you adore his nicknames Johnny and Soap. whatever the reason may be, however classified the latter is and how out of bounds you will ever be to reach the secret as to why that name particularly, you’re just happy to not have to associate him with the other John.
and with his arms hooked around your thighs and keeping you pinned to his mouth, his name tumbles off your lips, a prayer devoted to worshiping him. your sweet release came all too quickly with you gripping his mohawk while riding your hips along his mouth. it had drained you a lot more than you anticipated and had you basking in the aftershocks of it with Johnny’s head on your thighs as you watched Kyle fuck him.
a night well spent, you think. you haven’t felt this relaxed in a long time. you think you’re going to savour these memories for as long as you live.
“time for bed, sleepyhead.” Kyle muses when he notices your droopy eyes. they pulled you further down so you don’t doze off on the headboard.
you snuggled in between them, lazily murmuring, “we're already in bed.”
sleep claims you faster than you realize. their hearts melt at your little yawn.
Kyle’s lips press against your forehead. “goodnight, hen.”
followed by Johnny. “sweet dreams.”
you think if you didn’t care as much about Johnny and Kyle, everything they do wouldn’t be bringing you to the brink of tears. if you felt less about John and Simon, you wouldn’t be constantly worrying about what their predecessors think about you.
though you hope that they think of you when they fall asleep.
you will never tell Soap that you’re so grateful that he talks too much. his thoughts spill all over the floor and make it easy to pick apart. his thoughts spill all over you too, painting you with his world and making you a small, yet vital part of it.
truthfully, he makes it very easy to measure if he and Kyle are safe to be around on any given day. if Johnny’s in a bad mood, then Kyle might be either doing damage control or he’s just as pissed. either way, you prefer not to stick around for it. you learned that the hard way when you watched Johnny and Kyle argue amongst themselves the other day.
although, regardless of all that, you never have to worry about them using that as an excuse to take it out on you.
not to mention that Johnny’s funnier and more creative so he’s fun to hang around most of the time. you adore that he’s always keen on welcoming you with open arms (and sometimes a hungry mouth). it was difficult not to associate him with the other John at first because of them sharing a name but Johnny has continuously proven that they could not be any more different. overall, a day with Johnny is well spent in laughter and warmth and well worth any heartbreak you’ve endured on account of John.
and Kyle? thank god his brown eyes are nothing similar to Simon’s. you can’t imagine looking at him and expecting a gaze so cold that it burns. Kyle has never directed one harsh word in your direction. ever. even if he might have an excuse presenting itself so clearly in front of him, he’d never take it.
you’re safer with Johnny and Kyle. much happier too.
your affection is always returned tenfold and theirs is never bartered or begged for. your time and your body are treated as precious things to be treasured. all of your previous concerns about things turning out the way they did with John and Simon turned out to be of no consequence. there was really nothing to worry about with them.
or maybe you spoke too soon.
maybe you got ahead of yourself in trying not to take flight anytime things got too overwhelming. because it seems that the moment your muscles relax, everything goes to shit.
“have you guys seen my phone?”
Kyle’s curious gaze snaps to you while he shifts on the couch. “no? have you checked our bedroom?”
“was just about to.” you say as you walk in that direction.
he gets up from the sofa and follows. “i’ll help you look.”
“no, that’s ok–” you don’t get the chance to dissuade him from doing so because he places his hands on your hips and urges you forward. “go back to watching your show.”
“eh, it wasn’t that interesting anyway.” the kiss on your neck suggests that he wants to do a lot more than just search for your phone. you wouldn’t mind the distraction with the way a giggle bursts out of you with the steps into the bedroom.
however, the room itself is, in no uncertain terms, messy. you and Kyle stop abruptly upon noticing this. there’s clothes on the floor, your combs and brushes are all over the dressing table, the bed has been unmade. it’s pure chaos. absolutely nothing like what it was thirty five minutes ago.
your nose wrinkles at the sight. “guess Johnny’s having the zoomies today.”
Kyle is far from pleased. you hold the urge to laugh when he grunts something under his breath and he picks up the things on the floor alongside you.
for once, you didn't feel out of place alongside him. you were right where you belonged in the domesticity of it. picking up Kyle's things and Johnny's and yours. folding them up and giving them to Kyle so he can pack them away.
at first, you were a bit queasy about having some of your stuff shuffled amongst theirs. little reminders that your presence was only temporary. a few shirts here, a few dresses there. your spare toothbrush in their bathroom. your skincare products took up a lot of space in their bathroom.
part of you had to come to terms with the fact that you were going to have to leave some, if not all, of these things behind in case it all goes to shit because you weren't going to find excuses to come back for them.
though, with the way they treat you, with how they handle you like fragile glass and how they do their absolute best to mend it despite never having a hand in breaking it, you truly don’t know if that day will ever come. it's hard to ever feel like something's missing with them. hard to feel out of place anymore. homesickness for a sanctuary where your heart doesn't ache or throb is a distant plight now.
with Kyle and Johnny, you never have to sacrifice pieces of yourself to appease their endless appetite.
but of course, fate finds a way.
fate always has a way of slipping through the spiderweb cracks and prying open the little sanctuary you’ve been trying to build for the last few months. the walls of it start to crumble before you realize it. each grain of sand and stone coming apart while you’re still blissfully ignorant.
the velvet box in your hands is proof of that.
you find it when you’re rummaging through the pile of clothes in the corner of the room from where you hear your phone ringing. which is also where you find the velvet box sitting right under it.
your breath hitches once you do. you open it without much thought, without truly considering the consequence of it.
inside?
glimmering gems. fractals of light painting shimmers all over the wall when they’re caught under the gaze of the lamp. diamonds.
a diamond necklace.
it’s gorgeous. precious gemstones meant to adorn the skin. worth thousands perhaps. worth much more than what you could ever afford. funny, you don’t remember ever owning a diamond necklace. hell, you don’t remember owning anything diamond in your entire life. your own mother would chosen to drop dead in front of the entire family before buying anything of the sort.
and you know you’d remember Johnny and Kyle ever gifting you something so valuable. so who does this necklace belong to? and why is it here?
“what’s this?”
holding the delicate item in your hand, you slowly stand and turn around. the moment you spot Kyle’s horrified gaze, you know that this is when your heart is going to shatter to a million pieces.
your name is breathless on his tongue. your stomach drops. the sudden weightlessness catches you off guard. it shifts your entire world on its axis.
“we wanted to tell you.”
tell you– what was there even to tell?
oh, god, it’s happening again.
your world crashing down. the pieces hit the floor and scatter all around, the shards piercing your skin even as much as you’ve tried to shield yourself. it was all an illusion. none of this was ever real to them. you were blinded yet again by your own delusions.
this time, they didn’t even have to be cruel to you. they didn’t have to say a single bad word about you. yet they’re going to break you open in a way that is much worse than what Simon and John could’ve done.
they’ve found someone else. that they’ve been seeing someone else this entire time. or they found someone along the way when you weren’t around.
“what?”
they look at each other, worried. “i– angel, we–”
how could you’ve not seen it? you’re so stupid to have missed it. of course you missed it. they were so good at hiding such a thing and you were too blinded by their flattery and deception to see through it.
you’re backing away before you even realize it, your eyes burning hot. “i should– i should go–”
Kyle blocks your only escape. he utters your name, pleading when you don’t look at him. you flinch when Johnny approaches to touch you, backing away into the nightstand. you’re trapped. you can’t breathe.
“angel, i promise you.” he raises a hand in offering, hoping to appease, to pacify. “whatever you’re thinking is not it.”
something boils hotly in your stomach. it burns your lungs, your throat as it bubbles up to the surface and it’s far too quick for you to catch when it does.
“what else am i supposed to think? that you’re not seeing somebody else?” you countered sharply, scowling. “i find an expensive diamond necklace in your stuff and what am i supposed to think?”
“that it’s yours, perhaps?”
okay, that almost gets a snort out of you. if it weren’t for the genuine looks on their faces, you would have let it out and expressed how woefully unbelievable all of this sounds.
John, Simon. Kyle, Johnny. they're all the same. you've only been gold as long as they touch you, otherwise you’re of no real value to them. even when you sacrifice so much of yourself. you’re nothing to them. you’re no one to them.
it’s nothing new yet it hurts. the certainty that Johnny and Kyle have carefully curated in your mind crumbles like dust.
it must show to them that you make an odd expression because their faces drop in a brief moment. “bullshit, Kyle.”
“no, he’s right.” Johnny steps in, pleading. “he’s no’ lyin’. it is yours, we jus’... couldnae tell ye yet.”
you cannot believe that both of them are seriously trying to gaslight you right now. if you had an expensive diamond necklace, they should trust that you would be all too aware of it.
you never thought, of all things, they would choose to lie to your face. to make you look and feel stupid after all you’ve pushed past and been through to be here.
you certainly feel stupid now when you remember how many times you’ve had to remind yourself not to overstep, not to take things the wrong way and believe something that isn’t there. you feel stupid knowing that you went out of your way to make sure that they didn’t feel obligated to keep you around for any reason at all, that they could just drop you and move on without making a big deal about it.
hell, you even went as far as having to clarify that this arrangement isn’t going as far as just scratching an itch. and every time you’ve tried to reinforce that rule, they pushed past them and trampled over any notion of a wall between you and them.
they’ve implied that they wanted more. they’ve whispered sweet nothings in your ear when you tried to be the voice of reason. they’ve pulled you close when you tried to step away time and time again.
yet they turn around and do this?
“Soap bought the necklace not long ago but i told him to hold off on giving it to you because i thought it would scare you–” Kyle’s placating voice cuts off when reaches for you but you rip your hand away. his throat bobs as his eyes begin to glisten. “it’s why we were arguing last week.”
you don’t want to believe they went through all this trouble, that they spent so much money on one goddamn necklace just for your sake. it just can’t be possible.
but. they’re desperate to speak their truth. desperate to make you stay. you can feel it in every breath, in every word, in every time they attempt to touch you.
“it’s…” Kyle begins with a shaky breath. “we had it custom designed but hadn’t gotten around to putting in the order until someone–” Johnny sheepishly grinned when a glare was aimed at him. “–made that hasty decision all on his own.”
a hasty decision is suddenly taking a trip without really planning how you’re going to spend your money or who you’re going to spend time with. a hasty decision is buying a pair of shoes you can’t even afford, knowing you’re going to have to work overtime if you want to eat for the rest of the month– that’s a hasty decision. not– not–
a diamond necklace that costs thousands.
they planned this. for over a long period of time. there was intent behind this. not some frivolous choice that meant nothing to them. there was nothing hasty about this decision.
custom designed.
they had been talking about this for days. for weeks. months. they’ve had this for months.
a heavy sensation sinks uncomfortably in your stomach. the world threatens to spin with each breath you take. you’ve bottled your tears for all of these months and now you’re choking on them. drowning in the ocean welling in your chest.
“lass…” Johnny pleads, holding the box tightly in his hands. “say somethin’.”
what could you say? what was there even to say? paralysis prevented you from uttering a word. for there would have been nothing to even suffice as a response that thoroughly mirrored how you felt.
so Kyle hastily continues where you fall short, “it– this probably costs more than half a year’s rent money. why–”
“why?” the sound is choked out, startling both of them.
“we…” one of them starts but you’re already turning away to hide the gloss in your eyes.
“i can’t accept this.” you mumbled, your face burning. “it’s… it’s…”
too much, you want to scream.
hypocrite, your mind screams back.
you’ve always crucified yourself for being too much yet, here you are. condemning them for the exact same reason. but this was different. this was an offer that far exceeded the benefit it seeks.
“it’s not–” you stop, heart pounding. vision blurring as you blink rapidly. “it’s really not a gift meant for a casual thing…”
Johnny and Kyle don’t think you realize how right you are in that assumption. they do know you think said assumption was made to fit around your frame.
“it’s not meant to be casual.” Kyle’s counter jolts you. his soft gaze remains firmly on your unravelling demeanor as he adds, “none of this ever was.”
it would have never been if you hadn’t been steadfast on keeping things as they are.
“you’ve always been more to us than just casual, love.”
“aye.” Johnny quietly agrees.
all of this is making your head spin. expensive gifts, affection that seems as endless as the vast ocean, that burns as brightly and infinitely as the stars.
what they’ve given you since they’ve met you is something you’ve never received from no other. something tailored just for you. but because you’ve gone so long without it, it remains far too unfamiliar to you.
“you shouldn’t.” the denial comes shortly after. you try to speak with a hardened voice but fail. “this wasn’t what you both signed up for. why would you–”
“bonnie.”
Johnny’s step feels like he took ten. you’re cornered. his eyes weigh heavy with something more profound than grief. and that is something you recognize, for it has lived within you for all these months.
don't say it.
“Soap, don’t you dare.”
even with Kyle standing between you and his other half, you know what’s about to happen next. you know the end of the world as you see it.
because even after everything falls to pieces, it's always going to be the two of them. Johnny and Kyle. (John and Simon). Soap and Gaz. (Price and Ghost). Your mother and father. Your brothers and sisters. Your friends.
It’s the same cycle repeating all over again. you’re always going to be the outsider looking in through the window. now the mere touch of your finger cracks the glass.
you're a crack in the wall. a malevolent tumor that's destroying a well balanced ecosystem. a cancer. you always have been since the very
“Johnny.” Kyle warns, “you’ll scare her.”
you're turning them against each other.
because of you. again.
you’re cursed. you must be.
with John and Simon, they worked in tandem to turn against you at any point in time. but with Johnny and Kyle, they're on opposite ends of the battlefield because of you.
you're hurting them.
“she deserves tae know.” Soap insists.
and Gaz still pushes back. “and you think now is the best time to–”
but you can’t bear it. you just can’t stand to watch them fight anymore.
“i don’t want to know!”
your voice cuts through their dispute and leaves them bleeding with silence. their shock lands on your trembling frame.
“i don’t…” you breathe out, throat tightening. “whatever it is, i don’t want to know. it’s tearing you two apart and i don’t like it.”
your eyes flicker between the both of them. neither one moves. neither one dares to take a step forward.
“please stop fighting.”
you don’t know if your plea goes unheard or if your interference will change the tide to something worse. you’d hate for this to go even more sideways than it already has.
“Johnny–” you start but what follows isn’t your bargain.
what follows is an earth shattering confession.
“i love you.”
an insurmountable force claims your breath. there is no end to the echo of shock, be it yours or theirs now that the words materialized into the very air you all breathed.
your lips shut as tightly as a vice. if a pin dropped, you all would’ve heard it.
Kyle lets out a heavy sigh, his eyes closing in defeat. your fates are all sealed. doomed.
“wh– sorry…” you stuttered, unbelieving. “what?”
for a time, it's been unclear to you how your world is going to crash first but the inevitable is that it is going to end. soon. you didn't think soon meant right now.
you don’t think he’ll dare to repeat it.
something's burning. your eyes. your throat. something in your chest. you can't breathe. their gazes hold the air in your lungs still.
it's Johnny who moved first. slowly. approaching a frightened animal. hands clenching before opening, his eyes set on his headstrong conviction but it breaks upon being met with your frightened silence.
“i…” he falters. it shocks you even more.
John MacTavish is known for never shutting up. from the moment his eyes open to when he closes them to sleep, he’s always got something to say.
but today. right now. the words fall short when he needs them the most.
so. you do what you do best.
stop the fire from spreading. too much is burning already but there’s still time to save it all from being engulfed by the flames.
deflect.
minimize.
your gaze pleads to his other half. “Kyle.”
pull him back. reel him back in.
it was his role in the cycle you've come to appreciate. when Johnny crowds you to the point of almost smothering you, it's Kyle who snaps at his chain and reminds him to give you room to breathe. reminds him of the boundaries you've all agreed upon. reminds him of the agreement.
it was a perfect cycle. a perfect agonizing cycle of not knowing where you stand but knowing that it was not worth losing over your own feelings getting the better of you.
(it reminds Kyle that you're not ready for what could be the perfect outcome.)
yet even Kyle couldn’t give you the answers you needed to hear. not this time. for the first time, he turned away, unable to look at you when you silence calls for his aid when you need it the most. you’re slipping. you’re alone in this once more.
“he’s not lying, dove.” Kyle softly asserts after a sigh. your throat tightens when he looks to Johnny and takes his hand, now united in their stance. “he loves you. and i love you. we both do.”
no regret in their shared expression. no moment of turning back time and taking it all back. there’s no holding back an ocean flooding in once the floodgates break.
you can’t quite explain what happens next.
something goes horribly wrong in your mind. where you should be elated that your deepest wish finally came true, a sudden wave of dread floods your veins until you couldn’t see straight.
your hands tremble with the force of all the moments that screamed at you that you’ve never been worth it.
“and we know that… that you might not be ready to hear that, but we can’t keep going like this.”
your breaths become shallow.
“if something were to happen to us, we want you to keep living knowing that we will always love you till the very end.”
then. something snaps a synapse in your brain.
Johnny’s confession isn’t the first. no. this shouldn’t be news to you. you’ve heard those three exact words long before all of this.
months ago, in fact. last year, around christmas time. when Kyle came to your place first two days before Johnny did. oh, how it all comes back to you now.
i missed you. i missed you. i lov–
you.
the memory becomes so vivid now. you couldn’t hear it then but the shape of Kyle’s lips changing and forming something else entirely is unmistakable now.
i love you.
Kyle said it before then. he’d spoken with such ardent reverence, with as much certainty as Johnny is now. months ago. possibly before the necklace even came into existence. and he’d timed it just right too, banking on the hope that you wouldn’t notice with the pleasure overriding every sense when the high hit to hide it from you.
god, and you quietly denied it too. swept it under the rug and gaslit yourself into thinking that it didn’t happen.
you’re going to be sick.
“i’m sorry, i–” you turn, head spinning perilously.
Kyle’s heart drops, a hand already reaching towards you when you stumble backward. “no, don’t–”
you can’t breathe.
“let me out.”
you can’t fucking breathe.
“we’re not letting ye go.” Johnny is already by your side, gently grasping your hand, even as you flinch and attempt to pull away. “not anymore, bonnie. ye’ve run from us for far too long.”
his touch burns. his presence overwhelming. Kyle isn’t helping when he compounds his own to the equation, blocking the door when you try to head towards it.
“what if–” you choked. “what if i don’t love you back? what then?”
the words are poison spat at their feet. the remainder of it burns your teeth when you lick them.
“is that how you feel?” Kyle asks, almost hopeful that you don’t mean that but the longer your silence lingers, the more his and Johnny's hope breaks and crumbles like a fractured marble statue.
far from it, something in your whispers back. but you can’t bring yourself to say it back.
not with what you know now.
“is it?” he presses, challenging you to speak your truth.
but it continues to hide in the shadows. won’t come out no matter how much they both try to will it.
because you know better. regardless of how they feel, you know better. this reality wasn’t meant for someone like you.
this is just a dream. a sick, twisted dream to distract you from what has happened time and time again. the truth is that you’re not the one people choose or love. you never have been. so many others have told you so and have done cruel acts and motions to show you when words didn’t quite suffice.
this? with Johnny, with Kyle? such dreams aren’t meant for you.
it was time you relinquished them.
your gaze drops to the floor. “can i please leave?”
Johnny’s hand tightens around yours. Kyle remains still, unmoving from the door. their silence stretches on for much longer than you want it to.
“please?”
they both rescind their hold on you.
and you do the one thing you've always been good at.
run.
Johnny has always been the risk taker.
he’s the one jumping head first into places and situations he shouldn’t be. it’s a nasty habit of his, sure. has that gotten him some regrets in life? absolutely. and this?
this shouldn’t be one of them.
“she’s not answering my calls.”
Kyle has made several in the hour that you’ve gone while Johnny went to check your apartment. the trip was made in vain.
“i’ve just asked the neighbours.” said Johnny. “she’s no’ at her place.”
in hindsight, he should’ve anticipated that you wouldn’t go there. too obvious. especially with you knowing that he would most likely camp put at your door and howl for you to open up, regardless of how much he got on the neighbours’ nerves.
yet, despite that amusing thought, the worst case scenario is beginning to play out right in front of them.
“where the fuck could she’ve gone?”
you just vanished with no trace. there was no vague idea of where you could’ve gone or who could’ve seen you. or who took you.
they didn’t want to entertain the possibility of an accident or worse, an abduction. but with how much violence they’ve been exposed to in their line of work, it became increasingly harder to ignore the latter as the minutes pass by with no word from you.
you were gone.
with your absence leaving a black hole, a suffocating echo of silence haunting the walls.
Johnny feels entirely responsible for that with his careless impatience. he watches Kyle pacing around the room, a hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck whilst he kept checking his phone.
it hurts to see his lover like this. worried. restless. eyes hard. teeth clenched. heavy sighs leaving his lungs every few seconds. it hurts that he’s the sole cause of his distress.
“angel, please answer your phone. we just want to know if you’re safe.” Kyle’s phone was pressed against his ear. he pauses for a moment, sighing before adding, “call us back when you get this.”
Johnny’s chest tightens even more.
Kyle sighs once more as he hangs up the phone and goes right back to trying again.
and you?
sweet, kind, broken little bird. so terrified of any sort of warmth because it reminds you of the fire that scorched your feathers. you with your quiet song of grief and your trembling hands, with a light that you constantly try to smother behind little white lies and fake smiles.
you’re more fragile than anything Johnny has ever held in his hands.
you were a ticking time bomb. waiting for your time to run out. or waiting for someone to drop you on your head. whichever one comes first and everything goes up in flames.
and then it did. in Johnny’s confession.
the horror in your eyes when he said the words. how you looked to Kyle to cover the truth with the lie you keep telling yourself, that you’re not worth any of it.
Johnny might not have shown it but he was as serious as a heart attack about this gift. he was more nervous, more terrified than anything but he just couldn’t go on without telling you what he truly felt in his heart. he couldn’t let you keep believing that what you and they had was strictly casual.
because that couldn’t have been further than what was written in the stars.
and while Kyle might be a stickler about certain things when it comes to you but this? he was right about this.
your haunting absence was proof of it.
“ye were right.” the lump in Johnny’s throat tightens. “ye were right, love. she’s not… she wasnae ready.”
if only he had listened. if only he’d hid the box somewhere you’d never find it until it was the right time.
“i’m sorry…” he continued. “i drove her away.”
Kyle’s gaze softened once he looked at him. all this time he’d been fussing over you and thus forgot to check in with Soap. who had been blaming himself this entire time.
yet the house is already burning. adding more fuel to the fire won't do any good. you already slipped out of their grasp and left them to assume all sorts of bad things in your absence.
that had to stop. Kyle refuses to give up now, even if it might already be over.
“we both did.”
Johnny’s glassy eyes snap to him. “but i was the one who–”
“what’s done is done.” Kyle softly interjects. “no use blaming yourself for the choice we made. don’t forget, i only added fuel to the fire.”
he’s right. again. Kyle very easily could’ve minimized the confession and forced it under wraps. he could’ve lied about the gift and made up some bullshit story on the spot but chose not to. even if it would’ve pained him to do so.
“i don’t like admitting that as much as you do.” he adds, “but we have to think smart about this. we’ve got to be real careful around her. she’s–”
Johnny shakes his head, denial descending to despair. “we’ve already lost her–”
“we haven’t.” Kyle cuts in, shaking his head, his legs taking fast strides towards Johnny until he’s close enough to reach him, cupping his face in a firm grip. “i refuse to let her go now and neither should you.”
conviction was a dangerous thing. it twists and bends like vines on pillars, claiming dominion for as far as it reaches and holding firm.
and the truth of the matter is that they would never allow you to atone for the sins of those who’ve harmed you. no matter how much you’ve been made to believe that you’re responsible for carrying them.
Kyle gently pressed their foreheads together. “there’s no grave deep enough for the bastards who hurt her.”
“aye.” Johnny affirmed, pulling him closer for a much deserved kiss. “but we’ll get tae that later.”
first, they had to find you. and then.
they were going to bring you home.
everything’s much quieter here.
with the air crisp and clear, your skin was cold to the touch. you almost want to curse yourself for forgetting to grab a jacket or a sweater. but the air feels nice as it freezes over your flesh. numbs your racing nerves, soothes your raging heart. though you can’t feel at rest, this certainly feels better than jumping out of the frying pan and into the pit of fire.
everything flashes back to you in seconds. how Soap was all too excited to drag you back to bed when you tried to leave. how Gaz coaxed you to stay a little longer than you should have.
how they both looked at you since the very beginning. never once telling you off. never leaving you high and dry. always giving you a heads up that they were going on deployment for a possibly long time, yet always making sure that you knew they were coming right back to you once it was over.
finding reasons to keep you around. never needing one to open up to you, to just sit and talk to you and laugh with you. trusting you with their faults and giving you reasons to trust them with yours. taking the time to understand you in ways no one else bothered to.
always keeping the door wide open for you.
(never once threatening to close it, even when you were certain that you’ve stepped out of line.)
angel, you can text us anytime.
he meant it. they even wanted you to call them. anytime. whenever you felt like it. and they promised that they’d never get sick of it– of you.
now, with the truth laid bare for you to witness, you’ve come to terms with the fact that nothing would’ve ever made them break that promise. nothing would’ve changed their thoughts on the matter. they would’ve stood with you through everything. especially at your most vulnerable moments in time.
you’ve been so afraid of your heart’s intuition, even though it pointed you to the right direction, to where you fit in between their arms like the final piece of a puzzle that’s evaded you for your entire life.
every moment spent with them, every second of every day with them clinging to you, dragging you back when you tried to pull further away. the time spent in their embrace, the time spent with them speaking softly when you were there, the time spent looking at you like you were something to be treasured.
and– and–
it was all real.
tears blind your vision until the little city lights widened as they blurred until you couldn’t make out the shapes of what was in front of you.
it was all real and it was all true.
it was all real and you didn’t… you couldn’t believe it. you wanted to but you just couldn’t. you had known it for a long time but you denied it for even longer.
they love you. Johnny and Kyle love you.
and they had kept it to themselves. kept this secret as closely as you had guarded your own fragile heart because they were as terrified as you were.
how stupid you’ve been not to see it, to realize how much they cared and tethered themselves to you, knowing you could’ve taken off and never looked back. how selfish you’ve been to even consider running from them and hurting them like that.
god, they must hate you now. they offered you the one thing you’ve been secretly praying for and you spat in their faces with your cowardice.
the door creaks behind you, startling you out of your stupor.
“thought ye’d be here, lass.”
they’re here.
of course they’re here.
you stand from the cement bench on shaky legs. “how did you…”
“security cameras.” Johnny grins. “for a second, we though ye’d left the building.”
“but we just needed to bribe the landlord.” Kyle adds.
both men approach slowly, both with such kind and understanding gazes. both so forgiving of your cowardice, of the hurt you must’ve caused when you took off running out of their home like a bat out of hell.
the cold was of no consequence any longer. it was nothing compared to the warmth of their presence. them being here proved everything you thought you knew about them so woefully wrong. and you’ve thought this might be the first time in your life when you’ve never been so happy to be wrong.
you sniffled. “i’m sorry…”
Kyle shakes his head, reaching for your cheek. “there’s nothing to be sorry for, love.”
his patient smile gutted you. twisted your insides and wrung them out. Johnny side steps him and leans in to kiss the side of your head. and that’s all it takes for you to break all over again.
“i was overwhelmed– i’m sorry–” you blubbered tearfully. “i ran off and– that was so stupid of me–”
“it wasn’t.” they both countered, so certain, so firm in their answer that it grounds the unsteady tremble in your chest.
the truth is you’re still overwhelmed. still overrun with thoughts and emotions that now brought you full circle; right back into their arms. right where you belong.
“we wanted to wait first before telling you because we didn’t want to scare you off.” “you weren’t ready to hear it. but it doesn’t change the fact that we’ve felt this way for a very long time.”
“since the day we met ye, in fact.”
“and it won’t change even if you don’t feel the same and you want to cut ties with us.”
it does not matter how much you tried to stack the odds against their favour. they were never going to allow you to slip through their fingers.
“we love you, angel.”
“we always have and always will.”
it’s final. closing off all doors to any rebuttals. leaving no room for denial.
so this is what love feels like.
grief all comes pouring out of you in waves. it’s endless, it’s vicious. wrecking you from the inside out. your sobs were nothing short of loud, choked gasps that felt like squeezing a wound in your chest, wringing out the years of rot that had taken root in there.
and it hurts. more than anything, it hurt to let it all out and lay it all bare for them to see, to touch. but it felt so good to let it all go. to finally shed the skin that had held you in one place, restrained you as your bones shifted and grew out of your endless suffering.
Johnny and Kyle hold you there so you don’t take off again. you won’t, though you’re tempted to. though your heart is beating so loud, it’s almost all you can hear. they hold you through your painful cries without fear, without judgement or contempt.
they hold you with the love they had so easily given from the very beginning. the very love that had held you down and held you close when you thought you weren’t deserving of anything. the very love that had brightened your bleakest days and coldest nights. the very same love that had filled and woven into pieces of you that were missing and gave you something to look forward to when you previously had nothing.
“let’s go home.” Johnny murmurs into your neck as he and Kyle pull away.
home.
you have a home now.
worked on this since *checks notes* (mutters) holy shit... *looks back to audience with deadpan expression* february of last year.
The Missus wouldn't like that is Simon Riley's catchphrase.
It follows him round like the plague; every mission briefing, without fail, whatever it is Price wants him to do is followed up with Johnny's voice rattling off the walls and chiming with a shit-eating grin, 'Well sir, wouldn't be too sure 'bout that really, cause I heard his missus wouldn't like that.'
Like clockwork, Simon follows up always with, 'Fuck off.'
They don't think you're real. They think you're something he's come up with an take every opportunity it rub his nose in it, and so, when he's back home and on leave, as he's standing in the kitchen, watching you bake, you look over his shoulder and chime, 'Why don't you have the boys over?'
'Luvie-'
'None of this it's unprofessional business,' you say with a huff, pointing your rolling pin at him. He shuts his mouth quickly, 'You bring them here, and they'll never call you a liar again; I'll see to that myself, yeah?'
The opportunity is enticing, he thinks to himself, almost too plausible to let it slip through his fingers, so, he grabs his phone and asks you, 'How's tonight work?'
'I'll make a cottage pie.'
He hears the Scot before he sees him, he's a doorbell in himself, and as he pulls open the door, Garrick has his hand raised, about to knock on the door. He lowers it slowly and grins, 'Nice place ya got yourself, Lt. Let me guess, the missus decorate it?'
In spite of his cocky attitude, he steps to the side and allows the three of them to walk in. The airs warm, chasing away the coldness from the outdoors. Price closes the door, whistling as he looks around the place, 'You playin' a prank on us?'
'Ah, ah, ah,' Johnny hisses, 'Don't joke like that; his missus wouldn't like that.'
'You're right.'
There heads turn down the corridor to address you, standing in your apron, brows furrowed as you look at the three of them. Their jaws are on the floor as you approach them, wielding a wooden spoon like its a knife. 'His missus wouldn't like that, and if I hear one more thing about you sayin' anything to him, Makarov will be the least of your worries, you hear me?'
Simon sensed they didn't quite believe your identity until you said that name. Now, even Price is red in the face. It crawls up his neck, 'You work...'
'At the base, yes, Johnny, I do,' you say, narrow-eyed. The wooden spoon is right by the Scots neck as you say, 'And you say anything to my Simon again, you'll be buried at the back of it, you hear me?' He audibly gulps and you swear you hear him sigh in relief as you turn and walk away.
Simon's grinning like the cheshire cat as he says, 'I tried to warn ya. The missus won't like that.'
“well. that was dramatic.” you croak and shoot a weak smile at your friend who is staring at your mouth, uncharacteristically silent. kyle’s hand is still on your back resting between your shoulderblades. he can probably feel your heart pounding in your chest.
“kyle? are oka–mmph!” your question is cut off as kyle’s mouth clumsily lands on yours with bruising pressure. his little wesley-esque moustache tickles the delicate skin of your top lip as he pulls you as close as he can within the constraints of your seatbelt.
wait.
kyle is kissing you.
tags/warnings: fluff, humour, friends to lovers, requited unrequited love, near death experience, non-sexual choking, swearing.
rating: mature
word count: 2.1k
available on ao3 for all registered users
“so…” kyle’s voice breaks the monotonous sound of tyres on the road and the swish of the windscreen wipers against the rain, “that was a bit of a shitshow, yeah?”
you grimace at the memory of your sister shrieking at her boyfriend, their baby screaming her displeasure at the top of her lungs, and your mum’s drawn face. another family dinner ruined by your sister’s shitty attitude.
a deep weary sigh leaves you in a rush. “i’m sorry. fuck, it seems like every time i bring you to one of these things now it blows up.”
unfortunately, you’re not exaggerating. aside from the first couple of monthly dinners when your sister had been too friendly with kyle, it’s gone to complete shit. gone is the overly charming and borderline flirtatious persona and now she’s more than happy to ruin everyone’s meal with her juvenile antics.
from your peripheral vision you see kyle shrug from the driver’s seat. a roll of his shoulders that causes the fabric of his grey t-shirt to bunch and smooth out with the motion. if he wasn’t your best friend you’d probably look at him a little more openly than your sly sideways glances when he’s not looking.
“s’all good. i like spending time with you and your mum.” he says it like it’s an indisputable fact. completely oblivious to the way it makes something fonder than friendship curl around your heart.
“then it’s a good thing we lo– like having you around then, huh?” you turn to face him with your best shit eating grin to cover your near slip. “anyway, what was all that with the tupperware?” you affect a breathy falsetto that sounds absolutely nothing like your mum for the next bit. “‘ooh kyle! thank you, sweets. it’s so nice having a tall and helpful man around. ooooh!’”
“yeah, yeah. like i didn’t spot you drooling.” he laughs fondly. your stomach flips traitorously at the sound before his words land.
“wh-? pfft. nah. no.” you bluster, face warm and your grin slipping into something nervous as you turn to look at him fully.
what you see makes your breath catch in your throat. kyle’s looking straight at you, his lips curved up in a fond smile but the look in his eyes… there’s something serious and knowing there before he turns away to focus on the road again.
you turn away and prod at the buttons on the centre console to turn on the radio with a slightly shaking hand to distract yourself and kyle from the moment. the chorus of it’s raining men blares through the speakers and you laugh delightedly when kyle groans.
even as you sing along loudly, and in kyle’s case tunelessly, you can’t help thinking about the look in his eyes. you resolve yourself to ignore it, after all it’s probably just wishful thinking after five years of solid – purely platonic on his side – friendship.
you’re picking through kyle’s bag of wine gums on your lap with one hand trying to find another blackcurrant sweet for him and happily chewing on your own strawberry and lime combination 25 miles later when he reaches over to turn the radio down.
“so…” he says slowly. “i want your opinion on something.”
you make a curious noise around your mouthful of sweets and roll your wrist in a i’m listening, let’s hear it motion and turn to face him.
“your mum, she, uh, said something to me in the kitchen when i was helping her wash up.” kyle turns his head to keep you in his peripheral vision even as he smoothly flicks on the indicator to overtake a particularly slow renault clio.
oh god. you start chewing faster, hoping to refute whatever embarrassing thing she said before kyle can ask too many probing questions.
“she said,” kyle laughs and it sounds a little bashful, “that, uh,” he pauses before mumbling something that you miss due to the low drone of acceleration and road noise.
you stop chewing and squint suspiciously at him to make a garbled noise that you hope adequately conveys that you a) didn’t hear him and b) you’re super curious now. your mum always gives kyle the juicy gossip about your sister that she doesn’t want to share with you in the belief that it won’t make your opinion of your frankly terrible sister drop lower in your estimations.
kyle clears his throat and chances a – is he nervous? – look at you.
“she said that we have more chemistry than your sister and her boyfriend.” he says easily despite the way his shoulders have started to creep up towards his ears belying his discomfort.
oh fuck. oh no. shit. shit fuck. shitting shit fuck. your mum has, most likely inadvertently and completely innocently, let the cat out of the bag about the fact you fancy the pants off your best friend of five years. your ears begin to ring as your embarrassment and, you’re positive, soon-to-be mortification rises.
“– so i was thinking about it and i think she’s right, what d’ya think?” you hear kyle finish quickly through your panic.
you inhale through your nose to take a deep breath to explain that you promise it’s just a little crush, that you’ll get over it, and you swear you won’t make him uncomfortable if he stays friends with you. and promptly start choking on the fruity confection in your mouth that you completely forgot about.
in between hacking coughs you contemplate if kyle would mind if you opened the passenger door and rolled out into the road to save you both the humiliation of this situation. you’ll sign a written statement to the emergency services to state that you categorically weren’t being kidnapped or otherwise abused, you’re just a complete moron.
“fuck! don’t bloody die now!”
a warm hand on your back pushes you forwards and thumps squarely between your shoulder blades and the sad lump of sugar lands somewhere in the footwell. not that you can tell with the way you’ve squeezed your eyes shut to stop them from streaming.
you cough wetly and swipe at your mouth with the back of your hand as you open your eyes to see that kyle has managed to pull over into a helpfully placed lay-by. you make a mental note to email the local council a thank you when you eventually get home. it takes a long moment for you to catch your breath and turn to kyle.
“well. that was dramatic.” you croak and shoot a weak smile at your friend who is staring at your mouth, uncharacteristically silent. kyle’s hand is still on your back resting between your shoulderblades. he can probably feel your heart pounding in your chest.
“kyle? are oka–mmph!” your question is cut off as kyle’s mouth clumsily lands on yours with bruising pressure. his little wesley-esque moustache tickles the delicate skin of your top lip as he pulls you as close as he can within the constraints of your seatbelt.
wait.
kyle is kissing you.
kyle is kissing you.
okay, in fairness it’s not much of a kiss. more like a desperate mashing of mouths rather than the tender melding of tongues and lips you had privately imagined for the last two years but still! kyle garrick, your best friend, frequent bringer of snacks, fan of the cheesy slice of life anime fruits basket, gorgeous specimen of manhood and all round decent guy is kissing you.
clearly you have actually choked to death on his wine gums and you’re now in the afterlife.
fuck it, if this is the afterlife – and you’ll be massively pissed off if it is – you’re not having your first-slash-last kiss with kyle be some awkward fumbling attempt like you’re teenagers snogging in the back of the cinema. you tilt your head and let your lashes flutter shut as your mouths align properly. his lips are full, warm, and ever so slightly chapped against yours. it’s perfect. and then kyle flicks his tongue against your bottom lip like he can’t stop himself from tasting you.
your lips part with a soft gasp, his tongue slides over yours and you taste the hint of blackcurrant from the wine gums you had been giving him. the pressure of the kiss goes from bruising to merely firm and you feel his other hand slide up to cradle the side of your face like you’re something precious, as he takes control of the kiss.
you both lose yourselves into the slide of tongues and lips for what feels like hours to your admittedly slightly oxygen deprived brain, although you can’t say if that’s from your near death experience caused by the sweets or from how good of a kisser your best friend is.
kyle pulls away after one last nip to your bottom lip, his hands sliding away from you slowly, and your chest hits the limit of the seatbelt as you try to follow him. you stare at him starry-eyed and lick your lips slowly and feel your face heat up when his gaze drops to your mouth again as he lets out a pained sounding groan.
“fuck, i’ve wanted to do that for ages.”
“i think i’m dead.”
you both stare at each other as you speak at the same time.
“what?”
“what?!”
you wave your hand clumsily like you can bat the words out of the air.
“what do you mean ‘fuck i’ve wanted to do that for ages’?!” you ask him in astonishment. christ, your heart is thudding like you’ve been chasing after the bus and it’s not slowing down with kyle’s confession.
kyle looks away from you as if he’s suddenly… shy? embarrassed? oh god, you don’t think your poor ego could take it if he’s embarrassed and regretting kissing you. it's definitely not a rational thought, especially considering how intensely kyle was kissing you, but it makes you slump back into the passenger seat.
you watch kyle’s shoulders fall and rise as he takes a deep breath like he’s steeling himself. greedily, you watch the way his broad chest fills his grey t-shirt and the way his jaw works before he turns to face you again.
“i like you. no, let me rephrase. i’ve been half in love with you for the last three years and it’s been driving me mental not being able to kiss you.” the corner of his mouth ticks up in a tiny unsure smile.
you blink.
“are you sure i’m not dead?” falls out of your mouth before you cover your face with your hands.
a pair of warm, lightly calloused hands tug gently at your wrists revealing a beaming kyle garrick.
“is that your way of saying that you like me back, babe?” he asks cheekily, deep brown eyes sparkling with mirth. your stomach erupts in a kaleidoscope of butterflies when he twines your fingers together.
“i – you – what?!” you splutter, thoroughly distracted by the way his thumb is rubbing gently over your knuckles.
his beaming grin falters before dropping completely and you clutch desperately at his hands so he can’t pull away before you manage to get the words out.
“yes! of course i like you back! jesus kyle, i’ve been mad for you for the last two years! i just –” you take a steadying breath so you don’t babble like a complete nutjob, “i’m just surprised is all. i wasn’t expecting you to, y’know, actually like me back.”
there’s a pause before kyle throws his head back and laughs with a slight edge of relieved disbelief. you can’t help but join in when you realise why he’s laughing. three years to your two. of fucking course.
“bloody hell, what a pair we make.” he manages, shaking his head slowly, when he finally stops laughing leaving nothing but a gorgeous grin on his face. your struck, not for the first time, with the urge to kiss him but this time you realise that you can.
you lean forward, watching as his expression changes from delight to that soft expression he wears sometimes when you say or do something particularly daft to make him smile, and jolt to a stop.
confused, you look down and groan in frustration.
kyle sniggers at what you’re sure is your offended expression at the seatbelt across your chest.
“don’t laugh at me, kyle. i’m trying to kiss you properly this time!” you grumble, trying to figure out how you can free yourself when he’s still holding your hands.
“wouldn’t dream of it babe.” he murmurs as he closes the gap to kiss you sweetly.
you smile into the kiss and think to yourself that this one is pretty perfect too.
(may all of our abusers die suddenly and when we have airtight alibis)
cw: allusions to abuse/domestic violence, straight up murder, male reader character, unedited, abrupt ending
ghost is the kind of guy who picks up a burner phone every couple of months, switching numbers the same way he switches residences and socks.
occasionally, he'll get someone calling or texting a wrong number. it happens, and he's more than happy to send off a quick "they're not at this number, mate" in the name of not getting repeated messages from strangers. usually they get the hint, at most sending a quick "sorry" and fucking off forever, but this time, it's different.
it starts with a long winded voicemail, some nasal git begging for his partner to come back. sounds like a right arsehole to ghost, the way his message goes on and on, attempting to reel back in a little fish named "robin" that clearly doesn't want to be caught. ghost follows his usual m.o., and texts back a "they're not at this number anymore, mate", assuming that'll be the end of it.
(it is not, in fact, the end of it.)
instead, "matt" ramps it up, calling over and over and over, sending texts between calls, "i know it's really you"s and "just give me one more chance"s- and ghost feels his blood pressure spike. the messages are equal parts annoying and telling- this is someone who doesn't take no for an answer, who bulldozes their way through everything, and based on what he can gather from the dozen or so half-apologies he's being bombarded with, he can piece together that something pretty nasty went down between matt and his ex.
something that reminds him of his mum and dad.
a picture comes through of a handsome looking lad with sad eyes and an uncomfortable expression with some wanker with a face like a dog's arsehole wrapping his arm around him. one person clearly doesn't want to be there, and the other is almost physically holding him still for the photo.
no having to guess who's who, really.
>>come on, babe. stop playing around. you're making me mad, and you know how i get when i lose my temper.
as ghost reads the latest text, sirens go off in his head, his vision goes red, and suddenly he's on his jailbroken laptop, using every skiptracing tool at his disposal to find this piece of shit. it doesn't take too long- matt's sloppy on social media, posting everything from his breakfast to his work. a routine is easy enough to establish from his instagram alone, but he won't need it. not with a git this fucking stupid.
out of curiosity, he tries to find robin. there's not much there- everything's locked down tight, save for one social media account that has his face as the profile picture. he looks much better than the picture he's in with matt- his smile reaches his eyes, his shoulders are less rigid, and he's clearly in a much better place now that he's got a new number and no way for his bellend ex to get ahold of him.
ghost shoots off a text to matt, plan formulating in his head as he types.
>>fine. i'll meet you for fifteen minutes maximum at the coffee shop on church street tomorrow at nine. you can say your peace, and then we will go our seperate ways. understood?
the idiot takes less than twenty seconds to reply.
>>aw babes, c'mon, don't be like that! fifteen minutes isn't near enough time to catch up and fix things.
>>fifteen is all you get. if you text or call me again i'll change my number and won't show up at all.
based on how blessedly silent his phone falls, ghost assumes he finally got through to that thick bellend, and starts to put his plan together.
~
ghost is perched on a rooftop a few thousand meters from la dolce vita at 7am sharp, settled into a makeshift snipers nest as he watches the cafe. the place is closed as of yesterday, according to the news, so he knows he can expect everyone inside to be too busy tearing things down and trying to salvage what they can to pay much attention to the noncey-looking prick that's already lurking around the back alleyway where the bins are.
ghost knew to expect fuckery- even in the few hours that he was subjected to matt's texts, calls, and voicemails, it was clear he had no intention of honoring any of robin's wishes. he wants what he wants, damn the feelings or comfort of anyone else. little twat probably thought he could get the drop on poor robin by showing up early, was hoping to strong-arm him into going somewhere else with him, to hear out matt's half-arsed apologies and all the reasons he's "not a the bad guy here".
and, look- ghost knows he's no saint. for fucks sake, he's got an illegal firearm trained at the ugliest man in england's face, all because of a series of annoying texts and calls. while he's normally the zen master of 'not my business, i don't need to get involved', something hit a nerve. maybe it's the way matt reminds him of his father, or the way robin's expression in that photo reminded him of his mum, but whatever the reason, he just can't allow this prick to keep terrorizing the lad.
matt wanders around the front of the cafe, visibly upset as he seems to realize that he's been tricked, and shoves a hand in his pocket, fishing out his phone as he wanders back to the alley where lorries are being loaded with equipment, furniture, and various items that are probably headed off to auction. his fingers fly over the screen of his phone as he parks himself right under a stove that's dangling in the air, hoisted by a hydraulic crane.
it's like a sign from the heavens- end this git now.
but first- the cherry on top.
before matt can finish typing what ghost can only assume is an all caps message full of hate, he calls him. he can't hold back the chuckle as the little arsehole blinks stupidly as the phone rings in his hands before putting it to his year.
"you fucking-"
"shut up." ghost cuts him off, and smirks at the way matt's posture goes suddenly rigid. "you've caused quite enough trouble, and now it ends. you ain't ever gettin' t'robin again, you 'ear me?"
"who the fuck is this?" matt asks with a bravado ghost can tell he doesn't quite feel.
"nobody you 'ave to worry about f'much longer." with a steady squeeze of his finger, the trigger trips the hammer, which hits the primer, which launches the bullet an impossible distance, snapping the rope that holds the stove aloft and dropping it right on matt's head.
there's no scream, no last words, just the distant sound of a heavy crash and a dial tone in ghost's ear. robin's boogeyman is now just a stain on the concrete, never to be heard from again.
good bloody riddance.
~
>>robin, did you see the news?? -mum
>>mum, we talked about this, you don't have to sign your texts. i know it's you.
>>also no, i've been at work. what happened?
your mum sends you a link to a local news station's website, and you nearly drop your steaming cuppa into your lap. your ex's face is splashed across the home page, a picture you recognize because you took it several years ago, before you'd found your courage to run for your life. your initial reaction to seeing his face again is instant, roiling nausea, but you swallow hard and force yourself to read the article.
he's dead. matt's dead. he's never coming back to hurt you again. you won't have to change your number again. mum won't have to screen her calls as militantly. shit, you might be able to comfortably unlock your instagram account for the first time in years.
it's strange to feel relief over a snapped cable and a falling stove, but you do. he's gone forever, he'll never be able to put his hands on you, call you horrible names, or harm you in any way ever again. you release a long, slow, shaking breath from nervous lungs, and it takes you a moment to realize- you're smiling. a real, honest to god, ear to ear grin over the death of that bastard.
>>are you okay? -mum
>>yeah, mum. better than okay, i think.
>>i have to finish work, but i'll call after, all right?
>>love you
>>love you too. chat soon. -mum
~
nobody ever finds out that the cable didn't snap on its own. nobody ever looks into who matt was talking to when a stove squished him like an unwanted insect. nobody even bothers to question you- after all, you'd been at work since the wee hours of the morning, clocking in before the sun rose to get your presentation done.
and your new neighbor -the military one with the cleft palate scar and violent looking tattoos- who seems to reserve all his gap toothed smiles just for you, never mentions that he has your old telephone number.
"I would sacrifice all I've gained to rest by your side once more."
- A note hastily scribbled by Rhaya, crumpled up more than once, found by Alphinaud who watched it fall from Rhaya's pack.
