Gaz X Reader - Blog Posts

heyyy so recently I’ve been reading more COD x reader fics and I’ve gotten into the theme of the boys sharing pics of reader on a gc and was wondering if anyone has more fics with this kind of content, mainly NSFW stuff if possible but I’m fine with SFW as well

If anyone has any fic recommendations on Tumblr or Ao3 that would be greatly appreciated 💗💗💗🙏🙏🙏

John just had to get a taste of his dessert (≧◡≦) 

18+ minors do not interact!

so you know that stupid tradition of the groom sticking his head under the bride's dress at the reception to pull the garter off? yeah that but every single one of the 141 would kiss your pussy while doing it.

johnny's full on making out with it over your underwear, leaving it sticking to you from a mixture of his spit and your arousal.

simon's got it pulled to the side so he can plant one directly on it and you can hear the deep rumble in his chest when you gasp in surprise.

kyle would place a kiss right over where your clit is under your underwear before running his tongue up the length of it.

and john would stuff his fingers in you while he gives your clit a harsh suck before letting go with an audible pop, comes out from under there with the garter in his teeth and licking his fingers.

My man so pretty (≧◡≦)(≧◡≦) ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡\(^ヮ^)/\(^ヮ^)/

gaz study

They can do more than that if they want (≧◡≦)

i gotta go and think about golfer! john price and his buddies who frequent the country club you work at and they tip extra nice, and sometimes they like to slip it in the waistband of your skirt!!

Gaz>>>>

“Is that a threat?” ✦ Kyle Garrick

      Kyle passed the blunt to you with a heavy sigh. “Could go for a bite,” he mentions offhandedly. His fingers glide down the skin of your arm again and again until he finally throws his arm over you and tucks his head between your tits.

     You hum. “What’re you wanting, pretty boy?”

     A choked whine splutters out of Kyle’s throat. “Mm…” he turns his head to press kisses to your sternum. Large hands slide down to your hips as you finish off the joint. “You.”

     “To eat, Kye,” you chuckle. You muss with his hair: pulling at his little curls and twisting them together gently.

     A low groan rumbles Kyle’s muscular body. “I could eat you so good right now, baby.”

     Your eyes glint brightly in the dark room lit only by the moonlight streaming from the cracked window and the penis night light (a gag gift from Johnny). “Is that a threat?”

     Kyle’s large fingers pull down the soft fabric of your shorts and underwear to rub the pad of his thumb over your pussy lightly. “No-” he murmurs, tossing your undergarments to the floor before peppering kisses ranging from your inner thighs to your clit- “it’s a promise.”

What's in a Virtue (Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Reader)---Part 3

*GIF not mine*

Summary:

Gaz wants you, but the hotel bar you work at has rules; when a bartender calls dibs, all others have to back off. It’s how the peace is kept, and as the new girl just trying to rack up some savings, you’re not willing to rock the boat.

But Gaz doesn’t take kindly to you avoiding him, and he’s never been one to beat around the bush. From confessing his love on the first night you met to shouting your name seven times from across the bar, he’s not letting you off the hook that easy. Not when he’s seen the proof that you’ve fallen just as hard for him.

A/N: mwahaha, and they said it couldn't be done. those who doubted me shall gaze upon my very first (and perhaps last) complete series! Victoryyyyy! I hope you enjoy!

Word count: 8374

Part 1 Part 2

   You’re pretty sure you didn’t hear him right. 

You’ve got morning-after brain, and his chest is so hot and adamant behind you, and his breath is right next to your ear. Plus, your stomach is growling with a pit only chocolate-chip pancakes and white peach oolong can fill. 

And he’s doing that tracing thingy again. G. A. Then what?

R. Maybe.

And that leads you to think you might’ve just maybe heard him correctly, because why the hell is he drawing his last name on your hip so brutishly that it twinges? 

“Um.” You stiffen. “What.” 

Not really a question. The way you say it, it comes out more like you don’t want to know the answer even if you really did ask. 

Kyle groans that long, gruff way, husked past his vocal cords and throbbing a path through your entire body. “Look, I get it.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Just let me… ah, fuck, I know it sounds ridiculous, love, but hear me out.” He moves away, giving you space to think while he leans against the counter and grips the edge, tight. 

“Wait,” you hold up a hand before he can start talking again, because you need a minute. Several minutes, actually. A whole assload of minutes to comprehend the suggestion he’s just thrown at you. “Wait, wait, wait. Are you serious?”

This is probably just what Kyle’s morning-after brain is like. It makes stupid, sudden suggestions that he just blurts out on a whim with no regard for how it’ll land. In all fairness, you doubt it’s ever done him wrong before. Even in a regular headspace it’d be hard to tell him no. 

Never mind that he’s shirtless, and that his broad shoulders eat up the space of three cupboards, and that his gaze is doing that thing again—that unfair thing where he towers over you but can still make you feel like he’s kneeling, dips his head so those pleading irises look up at you. 

“Dead serious, love.”

There’s an air about him that’s resolute, despite it all. He’s tender but stern, decided and confident in his conclusion. He’s shedding his clothes and skin, leaving himself belly-up for you to bite. 

“Kyle…”

“Too soon?” He doesn’t even look hurt. Just expectant. 

You shrug helplessly. “Yes? Very too soon, don’t you think?” You spin around, fiddle with the pancake mix but don’t open it. The mug you’ve microwaved for your tea is probably cool at this point, and you try to turn that into your biggest problem of this morning. 

Not the special forces sergeant who lives life at three-hundred miles an hour, exuding such a new energy in here that you can’t remember the basics. It’s the morning after, and as beautifully new as Kyle is, like the stretch of new blue jeans, he’s not threadbare enough in here yet. Too tight, sucking the air out of your own home and leaving you all prickly and sweaty and nervous. 

And he wants you to move in with him? Right now? This soon?

It’s easy, when you turn your back to him and lob your hand towards the microwave handle, to pretend that your biggest problem can be amended in minutes. 

Because now, despite that itchiness of Kyle’s gaze on your face, your biggest problem is that you haven’t even begun to steep your tea. That’s a huge deal. You’re supposed to do it seconds after the microwave beeps, pull the mug out and let the steam soak into the tea bag that you swing for a bit, always have to watch the foggy-air disruptions back and forth. Then you steep it, let the water grow murky for ten minutes as you cook the rest of the meal. Add sugar, an ice cube because you’re scared it’ll burn your tongue like the first time, and stir while you pour syrup on your plate. 

You’re horribly set in your ways, so much so that you hate—actually hate—the newness Kyle’s thrust upon you. It took him twenty-four hours to upset everything. 

Well, not everything. Just you. While you feel fresh out of the box, everything around you has been preserved in mundanity. 

If you took two rights and a left from this building, you’d find a sandwich shop owned by a short man with an orange cat. If you went two floors up, you’d find a pack of graduate students; one more floor, and you’d see Mrs. Beverly and her purse dog. If you went into your living room, finagled with your window a bit, the shutters would close in a perfect angle so that the sun falls on your couch but doesn’t glare on your TV. 

You know it takes you twenty-seven minutes to get to work in the morning right after you brush your teeth. It takes you fourteen minutes to walk home after you clock off. Thirty more minutes to order food and settle in, Netflix the pinnacle of your night before you nod off in a tank top with exactly three holes and short shorts you’d bought under the duress of a busted AC.

You have milk and eggs both two days away from expiration in your fridge, along with old Chinese takeout. You have books with crackled spines and ruffled pages on your bookshelf, and a muddy stain on your entryway carpet from two days after you’d bought it. A bedroom unruly and unbidden, clothes strewn everywhere.

You could envision it all, see it all because you knew it all. Have known it all for the months that this place has been your home and you’d begun working at the hotel bar. You could have the rest of your life mapped out by tomorrow if you really wanted to. It’d be safe. Predictable. Boring, in that average way you’ve always known. None of it would be moving by so fast that you wouldn’t get a break to think of the consequences. 

None of it would make you feel like you’re reaching new heights by jumping off cliffs, taking big, stupid risks that wind up working all the damn time—and solely because Kyle makes them work. Because he runs seven steps ahead of you and lays out the golden carpet for you to step on, telling you it’s okay to keep pushing forward.

The phone calls, the talks, his touch and voice. All of it closing in on you, molding you into something fresh and unseen. 

But that’s just it. It’s still just you who’s changed. 

Not Kyle, who’s certainly been like this his whole life. Who’s used to making snap decisions that have an impact, gotten so damn used to doing that that he carries it with him now. 

And it’s not Mariano or his cat Garfield, or the ham and swiss you get on Fridays. It’s not Jared and Samantha, both of whom play Mario Kart after writing another page in their theses. It’s not Mrs. Beverly and Chloe, or Jeanne, or your family or friends you haven’t texted in a while. 

Only you. 

You’re stripped to your marrow, neurons and fibers spilling all over the place because—oh hell—you’ve grown too big for all this. Kyle’s had you melting and flowing fast and sharp since he first showed up in your life, and you’re moving too fast to feel out that old stagnancy. 

But there’s an ugliness that lives inside of you too, that hates how uncomfortable every little step forward is, even if you can’t stop taking them. 

It’s exposing. You feel naked, but not in the new, comfortable way Kyle’s helped you discover by virtue of his longing. More naked like school nightmares and too-small bath towels. Naked like someone’s going to douse you in lemon juice and salt any second to watch you writhe. 

“Kyle.” Your hand’s still propped on the handle. The microwave beeps again, impatient. “Last night was—God, it was amazing.” You open the door, pull out the mug despite how lukewarm it’s grown. “Best I’ve ever had, by a long shot. But…”

“But what, love? You’re scared?” His voice is barely above a whisper, and you’ve no doubt he’d watched your mind run and run circles around itself, and had had enough time to form an argument of his own. “It’s too much? A lot to ask? I think that too, love, but we’re running out of time.” He rises to his full height, and you try not to shy away at how much space he takes up when he’s grim and serious. 

He’s massive, bigger when he’s panting over you, sleek hips pressing down, suppressing your twists and jolts. He’s gotten better at trapping you, too. It’s intimidating. Thrilling, in better circumstances.

You can’t think straight anymore. He smells like pine all over again, and looks it too. 

“Come back with me to England. We’ve got bars—bars I can bother you at. We’ve got universities for second chances. I’ve got a flat with plenty of room, plenty of money to—”

“Kyle, please.” The whine rips from your throat, and you drag two hands over your face. 

In the corner of your vision, you don’t miss the way he stiffens and swallows a bit. But then he says your name through choked sigh, and rasps, “I know it sounds fuckin’ crazy—I feel like a bloody fool saying it out loud. But I don’t want to lose this, and I can’t keep comin’ back here to start us from scratch every few months.”

You don’t know what to say to that, can’t stop bobbing your mouth open and closed, trying to find those useless words that might explain what’s holding you back.

Something like, It’s only been three months.

Yes, but Kyle knows that too. And he still wants you. 

You don’t even really know him.

Sure. But what was there to learn that he wouldn’t offer you on a silver platter?

It’s going to fall apart. It always does for you. Months will pass, and he’ll realize he made a mistake. He’ll kick you to the curb, and you’ll be back to square one. 

A coaxing palm cradles your cheek, and a warm thumb prods over your lower lip, both of which make you flinch out of your thoughts. Kyle tips your head up, up, up until you’re looking at him, brown irises gentle and luring.

“I can see it, you know. That cruel little brain of yours is whirring so loud it’s makin’ me nauseous.”

Your eyes fall closed, and you reach up, grapple at Kyle’s wrist, massage the tender spot at its center. “I’m sorry.”

He inhales, ragged and slow. Exhales, blowing past your flyaways. “For what, bunny?”

You continue to caress the baby-soft skin of his wrist, marveling a bit at how different it feels from his rough fingertips, from his scarred thighs, his bruised back. “I need… time. A little bit to think. Consider things.”

The last thing you wanted to do was tell him to leave. You felt like an idiot for even implying that space from him was the something you needed right now. You know the silence will swallow you whole when he’s gone. 

“You want me to go?” he breathes out, and his face crumbles. Likely, he didn’t want to leave. He could barely be goaded out of your bed, and now this? 

Kyle looks like he wished he hadn’t asked, hadn’t said anything. Those mournful brown eyes slip to the counter, where your mug and pancake box sit, then back to you, to your eyes and nose and lips. 

Your lips. He prods at the bottom one, like he can’t help it. The caress slows to a stop when he pinches his eyes closed and tips forward, dropping his forehead to yours. “But I don’t wanna leave, love,” he mumbles. “Scared if I do, you won’t let me back.”

You don’t think you could ever keep him out. Not out of your house, and not out of your head. But your brain feels unspooled and uncollected, and all that’s left are too-sweet cotton-candy wisps that can’t quite latch onto anything. 

“I…”

Don’t want you to leave either.

I want you to stay. I want to move in with you. I want every night to be like last night, and every morning to begin like ours did.

I want it all to be ours.

Your hands rise up and brush against the dips and swells of his chest. Goosebumps blossom under your touch. 

“Kyle, you know this isn’t goodbye. It can’t be. I need you to tell me you understand that.”

He sighs again.

“I know, love. I know that.” His thumb wanders over the arch of your cheek. “I’m used to all this, with you. All the pullin’ away and coming back.” He chuckles bitterly, a bit breathy. “It’s just so fuckin’ hard this time ’round.”

Your chest feels like it’s split open, gaping and pouring out. But your mind, or what’s left of it, knows you need this. You need the separation from him, deserve time to think through all he’s offering, all you could barely repay him for in return. 

The debt between the two of you is yawning. But if you gave in and told him yes, all you’d be left with is uncertainty. 

Not even a man as perfect as Kyle can make up your mind for you. 

“One more kiss before you go?”

He takes you up on it before you can say any more. 

His lips are a harsh press against yours, bruising enough to leave them puffy for hours. He kisses to consume, to swallow you up and spit you out wanting more. 

Gentlemanly as Kyle can be, there’s not a glimpse of it to be seen now. He’s not playing fair, at the moment. 

He hooks a finger under your chin and holds you steady, keeps you close and running out of air as he slips past your defenses, the hot, wet press of his tongue on top of yours. It’s instantly dominating before you have a chance to fight.

And then he’s toying with you, kneading you back into the fray with long prods and swipes, his stubble from the morning a heady friction on your skin. He’s playing and caressing and devilishly stroking needy whimpers from you, fingers dancing along your skin, drawing circles on your skin and whines from your throat. That dangerous tongue of his performs another sweep about your mouth, then slips back. Kyle begins worrying at your bottom lip, teeth digging in so harsh and quick —

—and he tears away from you so abruptly that you gasp, can’t even see straight. Suddenly you’re cold and alone, panting and losing your balance without Kyle’s sturdy form keeping you upright. 

You only realize what had happened when you hear a rustling from your bedroom. Kyle reappears seconds later, avoiding your gaze as he zips his jacket up over his bare chest, legs and hips clad in last night’s jeans. 

Subconsciously, you pick at the neckline of the black cotton tee you’re wearing—his shirt, one you guess he doesn’t want back before he leaves. “You don’t want your—”

“Don’t take it off—not yet, yeah?” He meets your eyes for the first time in two minutes, and there’s little brown left to them, all dilated pupils and a consternated furrow. Even his lips, wonderfully swelled, are tugged into a small frown. “Keep it on f’me. I’ll come back for it when you’re ready.”

But you don’t know when that’ll be. How could you possibly make an unbiased decision when the damn thing still smells like him and you can’t forget that ravenous look in his eyes when he’d first found you in it?

Kyle’s hovers near the door, hand tight around the knob like he can’t quite figure out how to open it again. He glances back at you over his shoulder, lets himself take you in, take the entire scene in. He even looks back at your bedroom, where the sheets are rumpled and need to be washed. Then he settles on you one last time, jaw set, muscle feathering a bit.

“Call me. Text me. Anything, darling. But don’t you dare forget about me.”

The door closes with a slam.  

~~~~~~

The first day, Gaz is sure it’s fine. You need time to think, and that’s okay. He can handle that. He’s handled it multiple times.

And, yeah, when he’d gotten back to his hotel room, he had to sit for a moment, staring at the wall. Had to replay that whole night all over again. 

Then again. 

He did the same thing with that morning, reimagining licking the sweat off your thighs, sliding up and burying his face into your stomach, pawing at your body wherever you’d get the loudest. Replayed the feeling of your supple palms and soft fingertips—every inch of you was so damn soft, fleshy and yielding in his hands—wandering over his cheeks, his lips, his scalp. 

Fucking beautiful. Every goddamn second of it. 

Gaz, that first day, tries not to linger too long on how it’d ended. 

So stupid of him to bring that up. Suggest for you to move in with him when obviously you both functioned at two vastly different paces. 

Isn’t it ridiculous that he can’t even bring himself to think it’s crazy? He can’t find it in him to say no, that’s bullshit, because who are you and why the hell did he ever think moving with a woman he’d only known for three months was okay—desirable, even?

So bloody desirable it almost crossed that line and became imperative. 

He spends that night checking his phone, wondering if you’ll call him again, borderline tears and needy like yesterday.

That was his favorite aspect of yours so far—when you needed him, you needed him badly. You needed him while you choked back gasps and almost-sobs. You needed him while you breathed a little sigh of relief at the sight of him and jumped into his arms. You needed him with that first kiss, shy and tentative, but trying your best to imitate reckless abandon—until he taught you properly. 

He’d spent that whole night watching you be shocked at yourself for how badly could want him, all confused and flushed when you’d noticed your fingers digging into the buttons of his trousers. A little stunned “o” formed on your lips when you’d dug your nails in, body trembling with exhaustion, and still begged him for more. Kyle, please. More.

Gaz only convinces himself to take a shower for the night when the thoughts become too much. He almost trips over his own feet in a mad scramble when he sees his phone flash, only to find a notification for an update. 

He goes to sleep in a sour mood. 

The second day goes about the same. He wakes up late in the afternoon (because, due to your midnight upset, he was still on his Middle-East sleep schedule), spends way too much time remembering and staring at his phone, waiting for a buzz or a ring. Eats his dinner and drinks in a deathly silence. 

Because silence is unnerving to him now. You’ve changed that much in him. Every second spent in lonely quiet feels like a waste of his time. 

But you don’t call. And you don’t text. 

You don’t do any of it for the next three days. 

Gaz wallows even worse. He gets antsy, goes to the hotel gym and sprints on the treadmill, because he knows if he runs outside he’ll find himself at your place. He goes to stores, buys himself another black t-shirt, same size and brand as the one that you’d worn, that’d cinched in at your waist and flared out to capture your hips and thighs. 

He wanders into the bookstore next door and finds a few of the ones he’d spotted on your bedroom bookshelf whenever you’d tapped out on him. He flits through a few pages, eyes catching on the naughty words, and reads through for… wistful entertainment, at least. 

Research purposes, at most. 

And Gaz chuckles to himself, winking at the girls that try to wander into the section inconspicuously. The same ones who surely have as good a poker face as you, and who immediately vacate the area at the sight of an invader. 

It would be more fun if it was you he was teasing. Same pink ears and face, same eyes avoiding contact at all cost, fingers fidgeting at the hems of your sleeves.

A longing ache floods his chest so directly and intensely that he has to take a second, breathe and set down the book so he can center himself again. That same flood of cognizance about his situation hits him when he’s on missions, when the victims’ sobs finally get to him or he looks too long in the eyes of a dead man. 

Like he’s yanked to the surface after hours underneath the tide, and the sun shines so brightly his eyes burn. But he’s seeing and feeling everything he’d shoved deep down, knows exactly what led him to this moment. 

Gaz doesn’t go out much after that. 

Not the next day, or the day after that. Not even the next two days after those. 

It’s around this point that he wishes you would just put him out of his fucking misery. He’s so tired of thinking of you before he goes to bed, dreaming of you, then waking up to phantom touches all over his body. He’s driving himself up the walls trying not to call you, break into your house and just steal you back to England anyway. 

Patience. Son of a bitch—patience. God, you strung it out so thin with him that it could snap like a rubber band and hurt you both. 

It’s midnight of the tenth day of no contact with you that Gaz’s finally got his sleep schedule under control, and he’s twisted up in the sheets, body caked with sweat. 

Well, actually, he’s in Prague.

He’s rapidly approaching a target in a dusty, dark alleyway. Just before they turn the corner and get into public view—can’t let that happen, have to maintain cover—Gaz wrestles them away from the glow of the streetlamps and back behind a dumpster, kicking away their gun while he wrenches a biceps around their neck—

But it’s your voice ringing through the air. Your pleas and sobs pierce his conscious too late. Your neck snaps so loud he flinches, and all the while his mind is screaming no, no this can’t be right. She’s not the target. She’s never the target. 

Gaz scrambles away, tearing off the sheets and rolling out of bed. 

Jesus Christ.

He has to see you. 

After that, just needs to make sure. Needs to check that you’re still in tact, your sweet neck not cracked and limp, eyes not dim and silenced. 

He rises to his feet and can’t find his Goddamn socks anywhere. A yellow glow from the window lets Gaz catch himself in the mirror at the perfect moment, and he can see the thick sheen of sweat that covers his body head to toe. 

You deserve better than that. Better than a sweaty, desperate man with no patience pushing his way into your house and demanding an answer, a single word, fucking anything from you. 

Even a nod or a shake of your head would settle his poor heart. The damn thing aches in his chest all the time now. 

Gaz slips into the bathroom for a quick, cold shower, stubs his toes against the not-wide-enough walls of the tub several times, and ambles out a bit slower and far more jittery than he’d gone in. 

He’s shifting a pair of pants up his not-yet-dry legs when he spots it. 

A dim flash from the hotel nightstand, where his phone is plugged in. 

Gaz freezes.

Surely it’s not…

Well, it might be…

But he’d been gone for not even five bloody minutes; that’s not even fair!

Suddenly, he’s kicking off the pants and hurdling over the bed, buck-naked and scrambling for his phone.

No, no, no, no, no, no, NO.

But yes. It’s a voicemail from you. Three minutes and forty-seven seconds, and he wasn’t there for any of it. 

He presses it with wide eyes and a heaving chest, and something stabs him, hard, cruel, and swift right in the center of his gut when he hears your voice. 

“Wow, I’m getting deja vu.” You laugh, but it’s empty and short. “I’m really hoping you didn’t sneak off to a mission without telling me. That would, uh…” Your tone grows dreary, even as you huff another laugh. “That would really suck. But I’m sure I deserve it.”

You thought he’d leave you?

You can’t see him, and he knows that, but he still shakes his head, brow furrowed because no, no, no, he would never do that to you. Damn that evil brain of yours. 

“I just… um, I just had a dream, though. Wanted to tell you about it. It wasn’t even bad so, like, I don’t even know why it woke me up.” Some shuffling, and a sniffle. “Well, I mean I do, but… okay, fine, I’ll just tell you. 

“It was pretty lame. Nothing big, but I was hanging out in an apartment—a flat, you might say—which is a stupid name for an apartment, but you Brits don’t even know what chips are, so whatever. I’ll let it go. 

“Anyway, I was sitting on the couch kinda bored, and then you came in. Came back, really. It’s like that background knowledge thing you get in a dream, where you only know exactly what’s going on the moment it happens? But you were back from a mission, and I had dinner and a hot bath ready, and you…”

Another sniffle. Gaz hovers over the phone, waiting for those seconds to dwindle down, needing to know how you felt when the message ended so he could call you and be…well, be whatever the fuck you needed him to be in that moment. 

“I don’t know. We were about to kiss, and then I woke up and you weren’t even there and I just…hated that. The idea of that. Of you not being there when you could’ve been. And knowing that the only reason you weren’t was because I was being so stupidly stubborn.”

You sigh, then, and get too quiet for him to hear without crouching closer. “Kyle, if you still want me even at all after this, I…” You suck in a long breath, and he hears that little hitch at the back of your throat. “I need it to be slow. Slower than what it’s been. Especially if… if it’s gonna be the same apartment. I’ve never had anything like this before. Never felt it. And I’m scared of, well, all of it, honestly.

“But I’m more scared of never taking that chance with you. And you’ve been commuting to my home, my country all this time, so… you know, maybe it’s time I reciprocate. Reciprocate a lot of things.”

Then someone knocks on his door.

~~~~~~

Kyle never directly told you which hotel room he was in. But when he’d kicked his pants off and you’d watched them soar over your bedroom floor that night you’d called him over, you’d laughed into his kiss at the sight of his wallet, his key card, and some loose change rattling across the floor. 

The next morning, you’d picked it all up while he was in the bathroom, where he was hopefully not glaring at the impulsive hickey you’d given him. You’d snagged his t-shirt for yourself, some womanly, possessive part of you wanting to squeeze yourself into his clothes, whether it would fit or not. You’d felt like a damn fool crammed into it—until Kyle saw you for the first time, and the look he gave you made your stomach clench. 

You’d organized the rest of his things onto your dresser, only eyeing the room card, and the number sharpied on the back, passively. 

Room 428. 

You knocked on the door now, pulse thump-thump-thumping against your eardrums. 

An “Oh fuck” was muffled and low through the door. 

It didn’t sound like you’d woken Kyle up, and you admit that you’d been seriously considering the fact that he might’ve left for a mission while you were in AWOL mode. A bit of luck, really, that it was actually him, still here after ten days of radio silence. 

But you’d know that gruff, British grumbling anywhere, and your body began to tremor. Small, at first, in your fingertips and toes. Then your knees felt a little loose as time went on and all you could hear from Kyle’s end was quick footsteps and the snap of fabric. By the time the door whipped open, your every breath came out stumbling, like waves over jagged rocks.

And Kyle…

Oh. 

Oh, Goddamnit. 

Ten days was too long for both of you. 

Because Kyle, for all his effortless handsomeness, was a wreck. Untidy stubble’s laid claim to his jaw and throat, and his lips look bitten raw. Deep-seated crescents curve under each eye, lined and dark and angry. He’s draping himself against the door with the black curls on top of his head in complete disarray, and watching you with a low-lidded gaze. 

Gaunt, worn, weakened. Like the life has been drained out of him. 

But it’s still Kyle. There’s a phantom of his old self in his form now, a tautness to his shoulders and neck, slight bend in his knees, vigilance in his whiskey eyes. You’ll have to reel his spirit to the surface.

Looking at him now, though, it hurts to think you’re the one who’d done it to him. So damn hard to believe that he takes absences of you like shots to the heart. It’s lovely, to be so wanted by Kyle Garrick. 

Harrowing, too. 

There’s a learning curve to holding his tender heart in your hands and trying not to squeeze it too hard, too often, but you get the feeling you’ve been treating it like a stress ball. You forget that he keeps himself at this rough idle for you. That he always carries soft, warm feelings all the time, and lets them fester behind the velvet steel of his abdomen.

“Did you get my voicemail?”

He nods a little. 

“So you heard that I…?”

Another nod. 

The air is thick and straining with his silence. All he is right now is two eyes watching you and ten long fingers flexed against the door, features bordering on unreadable. 

But there’s yearning. There’s always that fierce yearning with Kyle.

You lean a little closer, don’t quite know whether to be disturbed or flattered at how his nostrils flare when he suddenly sniffs. 

Then he hums, low and deep.

“Peaches,” you mumble, recalling months ago, a staunch memory of his words about your perfume. 

“Tha’s right, bunny,” he mutters. His fingers peel off the door before he lurches toward you, a lovely swoop in your gut when he hauls his arms around your waist, tilting his face to yours. He takes another sniff, this one nestled against the top of your scalp. “It’ll smell like peaches.”

When Kyle takes a step backward, his arms remain iron-stiff around your back, dragging you with him. Step for step for step until you’re in his hotel room, kicking his door shut with the heel of your shoe. 

His hand rises and sweeps back the hair stuck to your neck, already slanting his lips over your pulse point, teething at the skin. “My flat,” he whispers. Then he scoops up your jaw, tilts your head to the other side and reattaches his mouth to the next indent in your throat. “My bedroom.” Another readjustment of your head, aligning himself just below your chin, your head tipped all the way back, blurry, blissed-out eyes locked on the ceiling. “My sheets.”

“Kyle.”

His fingertips dig in hard enough to leave purple dots against your lower back. “All of it’ll smell like peaches. Like you.”

You pry him off with a tugging grip at his damp hair, only slightly intrigued by the water droplets that you now notice litter his skin. 

A bit too busy trying to think back to why you’re here, outside of getting his hot mouth all over you again, to try and care about something so minor. 

There’s an indignant huff against your bobbing throat before he draws back. Kyle looks damn near put out by the fact that you hadn’t let him keep sucking distractions into your skin, and his teeth bare slightly when he grumbles, “What is it, love?”

Lest you forget Kyle first and foremost loves to grope at the plush of your thighs, he does so now, mindlessly, detrimentally to your train of thought. “There’s—there’s so much to figure out, Kyle.” Your words are more like a sputter, wild spilling past your teeth. “There’s getting my stuff there, and passports, and visas. Things that take more time than how long we’ve known each other.”

The golden gleam of his smirk almost takes you out of commission. One second he’s bitter about his mouth and the lack of your skin against it, the next he’s pulled back far enough to meet your eyes dead on, confident like he knows you inside out. 

“Bunny, when you first started to walk, did you go ’round asking everyone what running felt like instead of trying it?”

You… don’t know what that means. Like at all. 

And you’re fairly certain you wouldn’t be able to figure it out even if you weren’t exhausted from four-hour sleep and the wandering of calloused fingers. 

“Kyle—what?”

The deep timber of his chuckle floods your ears like spools of silk. It’d almost be mean if it wasn’t the same playful laugh he used to give you from across the counter, one hand on a drink, the other reaching for yours, and if he hadn’t done it with little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. 

“I just mean…” he pauses and strokes at your thighs a little slower, “that all of this has felt so bloody natural. Like I’m made to be doing this. Like I’m learnin’ how to walk all over again. And you…” One hand departs, rises and encompasses your cheek, thumb swiping over its swell. Kyle’s features soften. “Love, you make me want to run so badly.”

Your hands fist against his chest, but you know he can still feel the quivering that’s begun. That slowly showers over your body, tip of your skull down to the bottoms of your feet, electrifying and frightening.

You say his name again, startled at how much you want him. 

He’s not wrong. Not even close. Being with him is like warm sweaters, or old socks, or scuffed shoes. Things that always just fit.

But it’s new, these butterflies frenzied in your stomach, this chain reaction of shivers and sparks of pleasure and licks of sweet heat. 

New, and timeless. Confusing, and so damn easy. 

“I’ve got connections, love. And so much time for you. All the time in the goddamn world.” His hips press into yours, and once more, he begins to sway.

And, once more, you follow suit.

“And there’s bars aplenty in England, love,” Kyle whispers the words against your forehead. “If that kickin’ little mind o’ yours feels like it has to repay me—pain in my arse, but I’d let you do it. Even though I wouldn’t mind it if you could just sit in my apartment and look real pretty. That’s always on the table for you.”

“Definitely off the table, Kyle.”

“All right, all right, fine.” He peppers kisses over your face. “So long as you’re there each time I walk through that door, yeah?”

~~~~~~

Gaz can smell it from the hallway. 

The heavy scent of chocolate and those pretty candles you love to light, along with a lingering hint of peach. The door to his flat towers, ominous and contingent, like if he doesn’t open it now, any second it’ll slip away and he’ll be back on the field, gunsmoke thick in his eyes and throat. 

Coming home is always a little hard.

 He’s unwinding vertebra by vertebra, trying to fracture himself into small enough pieces to fit through the door. And there’s the crotchety stiffness of his limbs, too long for these halls, too sturdy for a scene soft as this. 

Gaz shoots for quiet and hits dead silence when he twists the knob. Slips through the doorway and takes in this little fault he’s discovered in reality, phenomenon he’s kept under wraps for the past year or so. 

Because entering the pocket dimension of his flat is nothing short of ascendant. Every damn time. 

The air in here is velvety smooth and warm. Not unbearably, for July—it almost feels like the warmth of a sweaty palm still interlaced with his, making his body all syrupy slow. The lights have been dimmed and everything in view from the doorway is more shadow than actual features. London, like the determined sadist it is, is gray and drizzly outside each of his wide-open windows, helping none with his search.

That is something he’d had to bargain for—open windows. Gaz doesn’t mind the subpar reward any creeper might receive peeking into his home, but you weren’t as convinced. The task to win you over had become almost insurmountable when he’d grown too greedy in the living room and you, with eyes only barely comprehensive over his shoulder, locked gazes with an elderly woman across the way and screeched.

But he’d won, and it seemed you honored your promise now. 

Speaking of you, he doesn’t even spot you the first look-around. Even as his nerves meld into the sleek familiarity, panic splices through his gut when he glances once, twice, then thrice around. You’re not running toward him like he desperately wishes you would. You’re not hovering over the kitchen stove, or digging through the fridge. You’re not even curled up in the window seat, sipping on a steaming mug. 

Gaz knows he was quiet, but he didn’t know he was too quiet. 

It becomes increasingly obvious that you’d had plans to greet him. 

Because not only is his favorite meal still sitting over the burner, and the kitchen’s covered in dirty dishes, but you’re lounging on the couch, plush thighs crossed one over the other with a book in hand, clad in fantastically sparse lingerie of frilly black lace that leaves meager gaps for his memories to fill in.

With a stuttering breath, he fills the gaps in tight. 

Your lazy fingers scrape at the corner of a page, then you flip it with a bored sigh, shifting a little by hooking your heel over the top of a sofa cushion, splitting your legs wide so he can see—

His pack drops to the floor with a thunderclap of noise. 

Your body jerks all at once, a quick shriek splitting the viscid atmosphere in half. 

Your wide, prey eyes latch onto his while you grapple at your chest, book having been launched halfway across the carpet. “Kyle, you son of a—could you have been any quieter? What the hell?!”

He barks out a laugh. The potency of your voice saying his name is already swimming through his mind, and he reaches back and closes the door while you rise to your feet. “Sorry, love. Next time I’ll just crawl through the window, yeah?”

“Fuckin’ may as well have,” you grumble, adjusting the stringy straps of your bra. Your skin is all blank and pale right now from months of his absence, white space where amaranthine marks should be. 

Four months. The longest the two of you have been apart, and every step you come closer that heady scent of your perfume prickles its way up his spine. 

“My sweet little bunny, precious love of my life—what have you been up to, hmm?”

Your hands slot on your hips, and you pout up at him. The build-up of energy crackles all over his skin the longer you stand so far away from him, but you’ve still settled for a lecture instead of a kiss. “Well, I had this whole plan where I’d feed you and bathe you, and then we’d fuck like rabbits, but I guess that’s out of the question now.”

Gaz snickers, the abject disappointment raw on your face. “How is that out of the question?”

“Timing’s off and you ruined the whole sexy vibe I was aiming for.” You fold your arms, and Gaz shamelessly drags his gaze down from your face. “You really suck, you know that?”

His lips part in that effortless grin you so easily drag out of him. “So sorry, love. If you come over here, I’ll be sure to apologize quite thoroughly.” Gaz lifts his arms, holds them out and gestures his fingers enticingly. “I’ll have your forgiveness in a matter of seconds.”

Your expression’s all stubborn and prickly, but you sway forward a little anyway. “I…” You grunt and stomp toward him, let him wind his entire body around you, and relax a little when his palms massage and dig into your shoulder blades. “I really did have everything planned,” you mumble into his chest, fingertips all twisted up in the back of his shirt. 

Gaz is starting to get an idea about what’s going on. 

Only about half the candles are lit throughout the flat, the majority of which are near the bedroom. The bathroom light is still on, door opened a crack, but there’s unpacked bath bombs strewn about like you gave up halfway through. Even the kitchen is more messy than usual after the nights that you cook. Only half the pots and pans look actually used, the rest an anxious jumble of utensils and ingredients he knows you didn’t need to make chocolate-chip pancakes alone. 

It looks like you were distracted. So very terribly disturbed by something that you could only commit half a mind to all your ideas. 

With him, you’re rarely left to your own devices for this long, and it shows. 

Gaz can see it, feel it, and practically smell it all over you. Despite his embrace and what should be relief about his return, the muscle and tissue all over your body are pulled taut, bowstring-tight and ready to pitch forward at any second. 

He hums, feels the tension in your spine only grow as he draws little circles against your skin. “I know, love. I see it. Candles, and the dinner, and the bath.” He kisses your forehead, grins wider when all you do is huff and puff. “Did so well. I know it’s hard.”

It only serves to wind you up more. “I’m supposed to be the one massaging and calming you. Feeding you and taking care of you after your mission. This is…” you hiss a curse, nails scraping at his waist now. 

“S’okay. I’ve been through this hundreds of times.” His fingers dance a little lower, teasing that arch in your back that you curve a little harder against him. “I know exactly what you need, bunny. Sort you out so you can get back to your plan, yeah? Just need you to let me take care of it.”

“I don’t…” you shake your head. “I don’t know why I just—I mean, all of the sudden it’s you, and I can’t—”

You fall silent so fast when he shushes you, presses a too-short kiss to your lips. Already, he can feel the verve traveling through your very bones. He lets his words brush along your lips when he repeats his promise. 

“Know jus’ what you need. Let me handle it.”

~~~~~~

You’re straddling his thighs with a fork in hand, watching in a satisfied stupor as the plate balanced on his chest rises and falls at a rapid pace. 

Sticky, flushed, and sated all over, you saw off another sliver of pancake and hold it up to Kyle’s lips. He accepts it greedily, lets his head knock back against the headboard with a euphoric, close-lipped smile. 

He hadn’t been… wrong. 

Which is to say, you’d somehow managed to get yourself so worked up in his absence that the second he returned, all you’d wanted to do was jump his bones, sans any of the prelude you’d planned.

A warning would have been nice, now that you think about it. Anytime around four months earlier when he’d first begun preparing you for his absence without you even knowing it, would have been superb. 

Instead, he’d let it fester in you, like he’d planted himself a gift, fruit ripe for the plucking at a later date. 

You want to be mad. 

Can’t quite bring yourself to, though. 

A bit too… preoccupied. 

There’s still sweat dripping at Kyle’s temples when he cleans off the plate, hands still squeezing in distracting patterns around the meat of your thighs. 

“Fucking delicious, love.” He laves his tongue at the corner of his lips. “My two favorite meals.”

“You’re horrible.” You scramble off him unsteadily, trying to keep both you and the dishes in your hands balanced. “I should get a bar of soap for that mouth of yours.”

Kyle laughs first, then groans, swiping his hands down his face. “If you’d said that shit in the barracks, love…” he calls after you, tutting in the distance while you deposit the plate in the sink. You almost trip on your skimpy lingerie set from a couple hours ago while stumbling your way back to the bedroom. 

“Am I supposed to know what that means?” You raise a brow at him even as you tug on his arm, drag him out of the bed and down the hall. 

After it all, Kyle had insisted you keep up the plan. Didn’t want that guilty conscience of yours to fester and, even worse, those pancakes to grow cold. He’d poked at your cheek, voice slurring a little from exhaustion as he whispered, “Gotta stay awake, love, or your li’l rabbit heart’ll feel all sad tomorrow.”

So you’d rolled off the mattress and made the trek back through the apartment, and, admittedly, you started to feel guilty about the mess you’d left during your hazy planning earlier. 

You recalled trying to think of ways you could impress Kyle but not being able to think clearly after slipping on the lacy panties; too caught in imagining how he’d tear them off to really notice how half-baked the rest of your plan was. 

And how all you could think about was him serving you, which really wasn’t fair. It’d been over a year since you’d started living together, and when he went off on missions, it was an unspoken promise on your end that you’d welcome him back in calm and comfortable ways. 

His first few missions had been just that—romantic kisses and big, sweeping arcs of hugs; slow dances around the living room and the kitchen, sweet, bubbly champagne with dinner. 

All you’d managed this time around was half-assed pancakes, lacy panties, and a cold bath that you hadn’t been patient enough to finish prepping. 

You remember that you hadn’t even been exhausted today. The opposite, really. You’d been buzzing from head to toe the moment you got his call, mind too frantic to ever really stick to your old habits. 

Kyle kneels down beside you outside of the tub, three bath bombs encompassed in just one of his absurdly large hands. The other is curling your hair around a single index finger. He’s patiently busying himself by touching you, playing with some part of your body or other like he’s always done. 

One morning he’d had an absurd obsession with your left heel, and he’d nipped at the tendon out of sheer curiosity. 

You’d almost kicked him square in the face. 

But he gets new little obsessions with you all the time. Each day, he’s poking and investigating at a different part of your body, and he always—always—has to feel it against his teeth. 

And you let him. Even now, as he hinges his jaw around your shoulder. 

A true adventurer, unafraid to explore with all that he is. Wants to discover every little thing in a million different ways. 

You lean forward and wrench the faucet off, then pat at Kyle’s cheek. “Bath bombs, please.”

When he thunks them in the water, the air in the room floods with lavender and chamomile. The tub’s still fizzing purple when he clambers in and hauls you in after him, slowing your descent into his lap just enough that only a bit of water dumps over the edge. 

A long, drawn out sigh ruffles the loose hairs atop your scalp. Kyle’s hands sweep all the way up to the underside of your breasts, then way back down to the middle of your thighs, back and forth, back and forth. For the most part, you try not to move, try to let the aches melt away with the heat.

You drop your head back into the crook of Kyle’s neck and shoulder, tipping your face a bit to look at him. 

Everything’s fuzzy. Pleasant. Legs and arms weighed down by gratification, gut slick with sated heat. And your heart thumps wild and proud, bum-rushed red and gold. Natural and gleaming. Normal and perfect. 

“Can we stay like this forever?” Kyle asks again, a lifetime later. You’re only one year wiser when you nod yes, of course, how else would we be?

He burrows you deeper against him, trying to meld your skin into his because it’ll never be close enough. Touching and bruising and biting only mollifies it, this wonderful new appetite only Kyle can feed. 

It’s crumbs of food, or the tiniest sips of water. 

Or spare oxygen.

Kyle hunches over you, hard body slipping against yours. Soughs, like you hit just the spot. 

“Can’t believe you kept gettin’ away from me before all this. Tested my patience so bloody much to get here, bunny.”

You smile, tilting your head and pressing a tender kiss to his cheek. “It’s your best virtue, Kyle.”

Call of Duty Masterlist

☔ = Angst

🌦️ = Angst to Fluff

💥 = Crack

☀️ = Fluff

💋 = Smut

🖤 = Yandere

🔔 = Request

🟪Imagines🟪

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

■  What's in a Virtue ☀️

Series (Complete)

Gaz wants you, but the hotel bar you work at has rules; when a bartender calls dibs, all others have to back off. It’s how the peace is kept, and as the new girl just trying to rack up some savings, you’re not willing to rock the boat.

But Gaz doesn’t take kindly to you avoiding him, and he’s never been one to beat around the bush. From confessing his love on the first night you met to shouting your name seven times from across the bar, he’s not letting you off the hook that easy. Not when he’s seen the proof that you’ve fallen just as hard for him.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🟪Drabbles🟪

Soap x Shadow Company Medic!Reader ☀️

Soap x Reader Body Swap AU 💋

Soap's feelin' a bit peckish 💥

What's in a Virtue (Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Reader)---Part 2

*GIF not mine*

Summary:

Gaz wants you, but the hotel bar you work at has rules; when a bartender calls dibs, all others have to back off. It’s how the peace is kept, and as the new girl just trying to rack up some savings, you’re not willing to rock the boat.

But Gaz doesn’t take kindly to you avoiding him, and he’s never been one to beat around the bush. From confessing his love on the first night you met to shouting your name seven times from across the bar, he’s not letting you off the hook that easy. Not when he’s seen the proof that you’ve fallen just as hard for him.

A/N: umm so good news is second part is out as promised. Bad news is....this is not the end. I totally plan on making another part, but I don't know how soon that can be done considering life just began again. Guess we'll see. Enjoy!

Word count: 8193

Part 1

In hindsight, you’re not quite sure when you started falling so hard for the handsome guy from the bar. 

Yes, okay, there was initial attraction. Kyle was one in a million when it came to that. 

Then it was the way he looked at you. Like you saying his name and pouring him more scotch made his world spin. 

Kyle just made it so easy. Too easy. 

So dang easy that you felt guilty Jeanne was attracted to him too. You tried to convince yourself for a long, long time that he looked at her the same way. At every girl the same way. 

But that first night turned into the first week, which then turned into the first month. 

Your poor heart ached each time he slipped through the glass doors, grinned at you in relief. 

“Thank fuck you’re ’ere, love. Nobody in this bar knows how to pour a scotch better than you.”

And after that first touch, his warm fingers grappling after yours around the glass, you couldn’t fight it that easily anymore. Sure, you preferred people sober, but each time Kyle imbibed, he wanted a brush of your fingertips, and you did to. 

Everything about him screamed hard yet warm. He was big—special-forces big, apparently. And he had these little scars on his cheeks that you dreamt of at night. 

Where did they come from? Where else was he scarred? Why did a guy like him ever choose war over modeling?

Confounding. 

Even more confounding was that he liked teasing you, and only you. It was a little trampling over your feelings at first, all that fresh hope and nervousness each time he showered you with attention. But then it was steamrolling, too much all at once that you couldn’t think of him without your entire body slipping into a nervous tremble. 

Worst part was that you didn’t even know why he liked you so much. You were just as shitty a bartender as you were a failed medicine-or-anything student. You had nothing too offer him, not your too-big body nor your underwhelming lifestyle. 

But Jeanne… Jeanne was perfect for him. Loved all the stuff he did, hiking and swimming and everything you couldn’t do for five minutes without sweating up a storm. 

And just when it’s been a month and you think you’re so far in the hole for this hot tease of a customer who can’t seem to leave you alone—hot British tease, by the way, because how dare you forget him calling you “darling” with that accent—that you can’t even sleep at night without tossing and turning…

He’s gone. 

Kyle just disappears.

The same Kyle who leaves a perfect, Kyle’s-butt shaped butt-print on the dusty corner seat he loved so much. 

The same Kyle who, on the first night you met, was so damn snockered after seven scotches that he wouldn’t stop professing his love for you. (Not that he seemed to remember that the next day, or any day following, but you still hold the memory near and dear to your heart like the masochist you are.)

The same Kyle who stopped smelling like cigarettes after a while. Who once leaned over the bar just to push a little strand of hair behind your ear, rough fingertips pausing at your temple and brushing the skin in a small circle. “Just makin’ sure you’re safe ’nd sound” was the short mumble from his lips. 

Gone. 

Gave you his phone number before he left, and then hasn’t shown up to the bar for the last two weeks. 

He could’ve—well, he could’ve told you he was leaving. Warned you. Instead of this cold-turkey bullshit, you could have actually prepared. 

God. You wished you’d had time to prepare for this guy you’ve basically just met leaving you?

He’s made a mess of you.

Kyle, though… he’s Kyle. 

And two weeks without him has left you with a Kyle-hangover. You’re all achey and sad and bored—fucking bored. What happened to you being able to occupy yourself with thoughts twenty-four seven and treating men like a distant daydream?

Ironically enough, you miss not missing men just as much as you miss that man. 

Not for the first time in the last two weeks, you clock off after what has become some of the most miserable shifts of your life, and go home, curl up on your couch, and think about Kyle. 

You think about that moment where he’d demanded you for your phone, long fingers curling in a “give it here” gesture, so stern you barely recognized him. You huddle deeper into the leather cushions, feeling in your pocket for your phone. 

Timezones are tricky. Couple that with the fact that you have no idea where he even wound up, and you’re blindly searching through your phone for his contact with both eyes pinched closed, as though you’d be incriminated for the act if you saw yourself do it.

A ringing hums through the air, and you peek just to make sure you’re not being a fool for the second time tonight. Kyle (Hot Guy from the Bar) Garrick slides along your screen, bouncing back and forth so you can catch the entirety of what he’d typed. 

You can hear him saying it, like it’s tainted with his soft, playful tone. 

It’s the same voice telling you to leave a message now, and you’re so stunted by the familiarity of the sound that you don’t speak for another few seconds, having to reassure yourself that, no, that wasn’t actually him. 

A voicemail. You could leave that. 

Like all social interactions, you prefer them with a bit of distance and disconnect anyway, whether that be through phone or several glasses of alcohol. 

“Umm” is all you say for a while, staring down at the ticking seconds in your lap. 

Then “Hey” and “it’s me.”

After another pause, you realize he probably doesn’t know who “me” is, really, so you tag on your name. 

And another “umm.”

“I’m calling because…”

You don’t know. Honest to God. 

You don’t know why you’re sitting here on your couch, back straight as a pin, anxiously tearing your fingers through your hair and watching your phone screen with eyes so wide someone’d think it’s going to eat you. 

“You know, I—I don’t really know why I’m calling. I mean, you asked me to, and now that I’m sitting here, doing it, it kinda feels like a mind game or something. You could still pick up, you know. Put me out of my misery.” 

You pause. 

Wait a few seconds. 

“...But I guess you won’t be doing that. That’s great. Um.” You poke your tongue into your cheek, practically seizing up at this point. “I hope your mission’s going well. You know, stopping the… the bad guys and all that. And I hope that you’re—” safe. You don’t know if anything’s happened to him. It’s been two weeks, maybe that’s why he hasn’t called. 

You think you’re gonna be sick. 

“You know, it’d be really shitty if you gave me your phone number just to up and die on some top secret mission to save the world. I think that’d be pretty rude of you.”

Quiet, again. Still. You’re not even sure why you’d thought maybe you could hear his response. 

But he’s the superhero guy, the special soldier on a secret mission that involves killing bad, bad men and even worse organizations. 

So maybe it’s a little selfish of you to miss him. 

“Be safe. I mean, I’m sure you already know to do that, but, you know. Try harder at it, I guess. For me.”

You end the call and fight the urge to throw your phone as far away as possible, and go about your night like Kyle doesn’t even exist. 

This distance thing’ll be… easy. Maybe. 

~~~~~~

You call him the next morning. Can’t help it. 

Hearing his voice, even if it’s from the damn voicemail thingy, is soothing. Like a balm over your twinging chest. 

Leave him a message at the beep. Oh, you plan to. 

“It’s been,” you glance at your phone, “six hours since I last called you. I can’t sleep, so that’s gonna be your problem too. I had this dream where I was riding a unicorn—and I know you think this is gonna be cute or something, but just give me a second—and so we’re just galloping along in the forest, all magical like, and then suddenly I’m surrounded by these guys in SWAT gear and those helmet-binocular deals that you guys wear.”

You’re picking at your blanket, morning gunk still grimey over your teeth, wondering why your first thought of the new day—five a.m., by the way, and you have work until one a.m. tonight—was to call Kyle (Hot Guy from the Bar) Garrick.

“It was a bloodbath. My poor unicorn had to stab military men, so I’m blaming you for giving me a horrific dream like that, Mr. Military Man. Awful rude of you to drag me into the horrors of war like that. And no, you will not be forgiven until you call me back. Goodbye.”

You can’t go back to sleep. Not after that. You’ve scarred yourself sending something so mindlessly ridiculous to a man who has legitimate work to do—might even have one of the most valid jobs on the planet, and you were whining to him about your weeny nightmare. 

So you spend the rest of your day meaninglessly-choring your way to the beginning of your bartending shift. 

Jeanne hasn’t asked where Kyle’s been. She’s got a new target, a rich businessman who mainly operates in the field of pool floaties. Luckily for him, it’s almost July, which means business is lively, and so too is her interest in him. 

It’s around that time that you realize Kyle was valid in denying her at every turn, but your guilt is still slow to fade. 

Then your phone buzzes in your pocket.  

Kyle.

You whip your finger across the screen, almost dropping the phone in your haste, and read the text. 

Reread it a couple more times, because you kind of don’t understand it.

It’s not heartfelt by any means. Not Earth-shattering. And you ponder over it for the rest of your shift, glancing at it every few minutes instead of responding, because it’s so short and succinct that you get the sense it’s all he could manage during his mission. 

All it says is “More.”

~~~~~~

Calling Kyle becomes a comfort. During breaks, after bad days, sometimes early in the morning when you were too exhausted the night before. 

You feel like a fool after some time. He never once sends another text or calls back, and this time you really think he’s gone. 

But there’s a hole your apartment’s silence can’t quite fill anymore, a quiet where Kyle’s lively chatter used to be at the bar. 

So you fill it like he’s still there with you. 

The third voicemail that you leave him begins with “You never told me your favorite drink.” You spend a half hour rambling about the different drinks you could have made him, how you’re getting better at it in his absence—you’ll even make him another Mai Tai to prove it, if he promised to come back—and how scotch is horrible. You’ve tried it for the first time, and you don’t believe for a second that it’s his preference, even if he’s a hardened soldier trying to wash the pain away. 

You don’t buy it. He’s an umbrella-drink kind of guy. 

The fourth is about how you’re rethinking things. So many things, while he’s gone. You’re rethinking what you want from life, considering going back and giving school the old college try one more time. You’d had these big dreams before you’d been cowed into submission by doubts and debt. Doctor of… well, something. Anything, really. You’d just always thought doctor looked good in front of your last name. 

It looks good in front of Garrick, too. Doctor Garrick, that actually sounds pretty cool, and—oh shit, you don’t mean it like that. Not like you’d be his… 

Anyway. 

The fifth through twenty-seventh voicemails follow the same pattern. Random thoughts you’ve come up with throughout the day combined with ponderings cranky customers have drawn out of you. 

None of it, you’re certain, is interesting to Kyle at all. 

Not when he’s on a mission, taking down the evil guys and saving lives. Risking his own in the process. 

But you can’t bring yourself to stop, too caught up in the text he sent you and how blatant he’d been about his interest before he left. 

No funny business. Just you. 

That’s what he’d wanted. 

And he’d wanted “more,” too. 

Good thing you’re willing to give it to him, highly concentrated and in a large number of doses. 

You’re a giver, after all. Maybe he hasn’t noticed it yet, but if he needs these calls from you, obnoxious little chats about the mundane side of life, you’ll do that for him. Because Kyle is a good guy, and you want that chance, however slim it may be, to prove that he passed on his number for good reason. 

So you keep calling, let the voicemails stack up and up as weeks go on, continue working behind the scenes of his life, hoping it’s not all in vain. 

~~~~~~

Gaz lets the phone drop back down to his side on the barracks bunk, smiling like an idiot at the ceiling. 

He’d been a tad nervous that you’d stop after a while, sometimes considered breaking Price’s no phone rule—he never would, of course; AQ can track the IPs of outgoing signals, and the last chance he’d had to send you a message was just before moving hideouts. 

But they’ve been in too deep the past few weeks to let his wants trump the importance of the mission. 

Plus, you’d obviously understood what “More” had meant. You certainly hadn’t given him less, at any point. There was only one three-day hiatus that made him strangle the shoulder straps of his chest gear so hard the fabric cinched and remained wrought. 

And then you’d called, all apologetic and sniffly because you’d gotten some kind of bug despite it being the middle of summer—which was so fucked, in your opinion. 

They’re flying back tomorrow. Through pure luck alone, it was a shorter mission than most, a two-month intel grab that ended with only enemies KIA, but Gaz knew what was coming. 

Short missions like this meant something big was on the horizon. 

Which meant that he had to make a decision soon to lock you down or let you go. 

Not getting to hear your voice during a mission like he did now? It sounds fucking devastating. But asking you to stick around for his flighty lifestyle, spend months mucking about on your own, worrying about him and his lack of contact—it was a lot. Ultimately it’d be your choice, and Gaz is terrified that he can’t predict what you’d choose; it feels like defusing a bomb with sweaty fingers, or running out of mags in the middle of the field. 

Things were out of his hands the second he put his phone number into yours and begged you to stick around. 

He’ll have to get on his knees this time.

He’s already asked a fellow soldier, one of the American Marines who’d been recruited for a building sweep, for a ride to the hotel. By his count, he’ll be there around eight in the morning, just early enough to catch you and only you. 

Gaz isn’t quite sure what he plans on doing. Something horribly twee, if past experience is anything to go by. Can’t quite get a conscious hold of himself when he sees you. 

And it’d be bloody fuckin’ embarrassing, the way his nerves buzz just under his skin, if he was this excited for anyone but you. 

But it’s eleven pm where he’s at and you just left a message bellyaching about his radio silence again. You’ve found a way to make scotch even worse and you’re going to torture him with it next time you see his face—you promise. Unless and only unless he messages you in the next five minutes with his favorite drink so you can practice. 

It’s terrible and a bit rude, the way you can toy with his feelings through kindness. His little puppet master twisting his heartstrings so tight he can never truly unravel, all with the tenderness of a damn saint. 

Gaz stares at your name in his phone. He works out the hours, then the minutes and eventually seconds until he gets to see you, and can finally stop fawning over the photo he’d found from your public high school’s online yearbook. He’s pretty sure you don’t have that zit anymore, at least, but it’s been too damn long and he’s due a verifiable fact-check. 

His return can’t be too big. You’re not a pomp-and-circumstance kind of gal, too uncertain of your own worth to ever happily accept flowers and fanfare, even if it was just the two of you. 

He’ll work you up to things like that. Over months. Years, hopefully. A lifetime, if the universe ever acknowledges the debt it owes him for the shit he puts up with. 

But for now, he plans for small. Modest and tame. 

Something to soothe that little prey heart that itches to run each time he flirts too loud and smiles too widely (because for some reason you can’t believe you draw it out of him, which, admittedly, preserves his pride a bit). 

Suddenly, he’s got just the thing. 

~~~~~~

Eight-fucking-thirty a.m. 

Who on God’s green Earth opens a bar at eight-thirty a.m.?

Surely not the hotel director, who you’ve only seen once and with pinot staining his white mustache, of all things. 

Couldn’t be one of the many, many bar managers who, thank God for them, only work at night. They couldn’t imagine working a bar in the morning, only serving those depressing early birds and the real addicts, haha. 

Real. Fucking. Funny. 

You’re not a morning person. Never have been, never will be. 

But when Jeanne says these are the hours that nobody else wants, during which almost no customers show up, and implies that you’ll pretty much be paid to sit on your ass and do nothing, well… by God, you will be there at eight-thirty sharp, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. 

Except the only thing that’s bright is the goddamned sun outside the windows—too bright—and your bushy tail is more of a bushy mane, as you woke up about thirty minutes ago, almost late to serve fucking no one, and didn’t bother to tame it with any manner of spray or hairbrush. 

To be frank, you’re a disaster. You look like you were caught in the Tasmanian Devil’s warpath, and you have the attitude to match. 

You thunk your bag down on one of the few empty shelves in the bar’s storage room and groan, wiping a hand over your face. The only thing that could make you feel better right now would be…

God, you just love to torture yourself, don’t you?

It’s been two months. Kyle’s not going to answer. He hasn’t responded to your texts. You don’t even know if he’s alive. 

But you miss him like he is. You miss him like you know he’s on the cusp of returning any second now, and you’re standing at the door, waiting to tear it open and pull him in so close you can smell that cheeky cologne he barely deserves to wear. 

Woodsy musk and cinnamon. Shameful that you remember it so distinctly. That you’d once wandered into the men’s shampoo aisle in a Walmart to try and figure out the word for the dark, elusive scent that clung to him like a second skin. 

It wasn’t there, which means he’s fancier than your budget can comprehend. 

Or that’s just him, and he exuded it so robustly when he’d been here that you can smell it now, drawing you out of the backroom with your phone in hand, thumb hovering over his name. 

Music is playing, which is confusing because you haven’t touched the radio yet. It’s the slow croon of your guilty pleasure song, the one you love ‘ironically.’ The song you’d confided in only one other soul about. 

“Careless Whisper” plays with a slow cadence in the furthest reaches of the bar.

It comes from the same place where two brown eyes are sliding over you at a debilitating pace. 

“Fuck me” falls from those lips, that wicked British accent, as he takes in your hips for a while, then your chest, where your heart pounds so damn hard you think he can see it. Then he watches the little jump in your throat as you swallow, and he wets over his lips before glancing up to yours. Stays there, for a long, long time. 

Then he meets your eyes, and the stutter in his breath is so damn loud.

Kyle. 

Your soldier. 

The man you’ve been calling for months, with no response. 

His face is littered with an array of new wounds, like little scrapes on the apples of his cheeks you get the most bizarre urge to run your tongue over. A split in the smooth skin of his forehead, a paling scar seated in his unshaven jaw. 

His hair’s a little more clean-cut. Perks of heading out for a mission, maybe. 

And his long lashes shadow over the yearning look he’s got locked on you, sharpening and honing it like they’re fibrous whetstone. 

You’re a bit breathless as you round the bar, even more so when Kyle jolts toward you. Out of his devilishly tight black tee peeks a strip of white wrapped around his bicep, and one of his thighs is thicker than the other, suffering the same treatment under his jeans. But he makes his way closer—too slowly—and tries to stave off a wince when he gets too excited, takes a step a bit too fast. 

“Been waitin’ out here for hours, love,” he murmurs, voice breathy but rough. He holds out a hand, curls his longer fingers over yours so tight they can barely tremble. “You still got that scotch ready f’me?”

Your mind floats over the joke completely, instead filling you with worries and urges you can’t fulfill all at once. 

Because, God, it’s Kyle. Your Kyle. And he’s looking at you like that’s all he’s wanted to be. 

And he’s injured. 

He tries shrugging off your hand the second you reach for his face, fingertips hovering over the stiffness under his right eye as he mutters a “Love, don’t worry about it. ’S’better than it looks.”

“Kyle,” you whisper. His other hand falls to your hip, constricting iron-stiff around the soft flesh. 

“M’not broken, darling. Promise.”

And, because you’ve always wanted to, you cup his cheek, a puff of air bouncing off your lips when he leans into it. Turns towards the pliable skin of your palm, like he’s going to run his lips over it, but pauses when he feels you tense up. 

Something in his eyes darkens, makes you feel almost ashamed at the nervous reaction, but it’s just so much. You’ve missed him. You’re not accustomed to this, and it’s starting to dawn on you that this moment, however right and perfect and perfect perfect perfect it feels is still so fast. 

Two months. You haven’t seen him for two months. 

And now that he’s back, it feels like the two of you have been greeting each other like this forever. 

How can he make you fall so fast and still have you feeling like you’re pacing yourself?

This can’t be right, it can’t be—

“Dance with me. C’mon, before that horrible brain of yours blows a fuse about all this.”

“Careless Whisper” and that dashing smile of his, and all of his touch and proximity gets your mind all fuzzy. A good fuzzy. A quieting fuzzy. 

He’s getting too good at this is a thought that tries to stick, but recedes back into the murkiness when Kyle starts to sway. 

He urges your hips and feet to follow his lead. It’s far too easy to give in and let him have control, especially as he pulls you in a little closer, rearranges your hands and bodies until the noticeable space becomes the noticeable lack thereof. 

You’re tucked into his broad chest, warm and sturdy against you. 

He’d placed your hand right over his heart with a meaningful look in his eyes, waited until you felt the frantic thumpthumpthumpthump that leaves your face hot. 

Kyle was always confident around you. He always seemed to know what he was doing, because he was always obvious about what he’d wanted. 

But you didn’t know that you, of all people, could have this effect on him. 

That flutter of pulsations under your fingertips.

His head ducking low until his face is nestled into your collarbone.

The arm that swings around behind you until the crook of his elbow is caught in the dip of your waist and his broad palm is flattened against your opposite hip. 

It’s a little hard to face this moment, being how you are. It feels beautiful. Too beautiful for someone like you. You’re chest is so full, heart so quick, head so wondrously empty. 

You can’t think past the back-and-forth scrape of Kyle’s fingers underneath your shirt’s hem. 

But you feel like apologizing for something. Maybe you’d say sorry for how you feel in his arms, too big surely, despite the way he’s wrangled around you and holding so tight it’d take a solid minute for him to let go. Maybe you should apologize for the stupid song that’s playing, the one that everybody hates, you guess, even though you love it. Maybe you’re sorry about—

Wait. 

“You listened to all those messages?”

Kyle doesn’t make a sound. At first, at least. 

Then…

“They were the only things that kept me hangin’ on, love.” Where his lips brush these words into your skin, the nerves underneath throb. 

A sorry feels cruel on your tongue after that. 

Kyle hums into the silence, singing along a bit when the song repeats for a third time, then a forth, and your hair sticks to his face as he draws away. 

He looks like a fool, but a lovesick one more than anything. It’s dumb and stupid and ridiculous that he has to brush your hair off his face, and even more dumb that he looks like he’s enjoying it so damn much his face is split in two, top and bottom with only pearly whites in between. 

 A fool for doing all this for you, for wanting you so bad when he could replicate this with anyone, someone much prettier, and have them forever. 

“I don’t even wanna know what that dreadful mind of yours is concocting right now, darling. Don’t wanna hear a lick of it, because I know it’d make me so mad, too mad for a moment like this.”

“I don’t want to hear it either,” you whisper, letting your gaze fall to where your hand lay, to where Kyle’s heart gives off an indignant thud. 

The knuckle of his index finger knocks against your chin. “Let me silence it then, yeah?” His head tilts in an innocent way, almost distracting from how quick his heartbeats are now, agitated into a frenzy.

You nod, only partly because you’re a little worried he’ll go into cardiac arrest if you don’t. Mostly because you’ve heard about half of what he’s said by now, the rest of your brain designated to determining what he’s drawing into the curve of your hip. The hard press of his fingers is ruinous to your mental stability. 

That—right there—has to be a G. That’s the first symbol you’ve managed to decode so far. 

Kyle’s lips are so close when you tilt your head up again, and the intensity of his attention has increased tenfold. You wonder if you’d ever considered this to be the end result of all your phone calls, those nonsensical anecdotes every other twelve hours that you’d felt so guilty about sending. It felt like you’d been wasting his precious time. 

But his fervid grip on your body has you thinking the complete opposite way—that instead, you’ve been feeding this needy man before you far too much, a gratuitous enough amount that you’ve tracked him back to your house like a wild wolf you’re not really sure how to treat in the confines of your own home. 

You meant it when you said the distance made it easy. 

A is the second letter.

You wonder distantly if its shape is now bruised into the fleshy tissue of your side. 

And you wonder if he’s ever going to kiss you, leaning in so close like that.

~~~~~~

Gaz has to draw the line soon. He’s gotta find it first, but he’s so damn scared he’s gotten too close without even realizing it. 

The skin at that little sloping line between your neck and collarbone is all hot and smooth. He almost sunk his teeth into it, wanted to bite you a little and hear that little rabbit squeak of yours before you tore away, flustered. 

He can barely fight off the urge of giving the same treatment to that trembling lower lip, the fatty one you’ve ran your tongue over deliciously quick, like you thought he wouldn’t notice. 

Would it be so bad if you let him worry at it with his own teeth? Let your lips get all puffy and red from his touch, and only his?

But he’s pushing the boundaries too much all over again, and you’re back to shaking. It’s a good tremble, one he can feel through the muscles of his forearm, the one that’s flush with your spine. You’re all excited, and it’s because of him. 

All good things. 

But he knows you, knows the martyr that you are. Knows that if he feeds you now, you’ll think that’s the only meal you need and deserve, and you’ll tear away from his hold all over again, because you haven’t been giving enough. You’ve received too much already; he can see it in your eyes. 

Gaz walked in here a little too generous after all those phone calls. He thought you’d expect a reward for your diligence, and instead you’re acting like it was a burden. Undue torture for him to draw away like that, in his humble opinion. 

But fine. He won’t kiss you. Not yet. 

He pulls back a bit, unraveling his arm around your waist and settling for spelling Garrick into your other hip with a bruising pressure. It’s high time the other side of your body received the same treatment, anyway. 

If he’s tasked with quieting your mind, he’ll have to do it the less fun way. 

“So,” he mumbles, a bit ticked at how the words disturb the air, “come here often?”

A surprised laugh tears out of your throat, and you tip your head back until the delectable line of your jaw is all he can see. 

Foul play. 

Patience. Fuckin’—God, patience. He almost forgot.

Almost slipped that fucking leash. 

“You’re horrible,” you admonish with a grin, fingers curling up at his left pectoral. 

“You love it,” he whispers back. If there’s any shred of him that’s lost faith in how you feel for him, it’s the same hand that forces his last name into your hip. It wanders, for a second, up your back, behind your ribs, until he can feel that off-kilter thrumming that matches his own. 

Feels that stutter at his words.

“Love, huh?”

He tries not to freeze up. If you felt that from him, you’d have a little spike of doubt pierce right into that ever-working brain of yours. 

Gaz is so pissed he let that word slip, even casually, and scans over your face, trying to read how it landed. You were casual about it, too, but he knows that’s a touchy subject to push on. He’s toppling into bad territory. If you pulled away from him now…

“Cheesy shit like that is all I hear at my job.” Garrick Garrick Garrick. He’s pressing the letters into your spine now. “Honest. Dad jokes every morning. I’m the last one you have to worry about. It’s like going on a mission with a comedy club, that crew.”

Your smile eases up a bit, and you relax into the moment again. 

“You barely talk about your job.” You look away, seemingly finding the wooden-paneled walls far more interesting. “I didn’t know that topic was on the table.”

“The good parts are. That’s all I’ll ever want you to hear about.”

“I didn’t know you were so protective.”

Gaz is nipping at the bits to respond to that exactly the way he knows how. Of fucking course I am. It’s you. But he can’t rephrase it in any way that would soothe and not scare you off. 

So he lets your comment hang in the silence as you sway.

~~~~~~

When Kyle leaves the bar, at first it feels an awful lot like when he left that very first time. A bit disappointing that the hot, crazy drunk guy won’t be entertaining you for the rest of the night. Won’t be screaming I love you sooooo much, miss bartender gal until you clock off. 

The feeling makes you wistful.

Then—

Oh fuck—

It starts to feel like when he left for his mission. When you didn’t know if he’d ever come back, and you just missed him so damn much you couldn’t think straight, wanted to hear his voice one more time and not just saying “Leave a message at the beep.”

When you drove yourself crazy thinking about the little touches. When you dreamed about him far too much than was normal. When, more than anything, you wanted him to give in to all those little urges he seemed to hold back from you, that little grimace winding his lips when you swept to close or said something even remotely suggestive. 

And you know you don’t deserve it. You’re not fit to be the girl of his affections, the one he comes home to each time he returns from a mission and greets with a kiss. 

But it doesn’t stop you from imagining that you could be. 

You’d try to repay him for his love each time he comes home by greeting him with his favorite meal and drink. You’d massage the corded muscles of his arms and back, lead him with a shy smile into the bath set for two, and he’d have that same hungry look as you stripped to join him, splashing water everywhere in effort to tug you over to his end of the tub. 

You’d sit on his couch each day, scratching his scalp as you read a book, listening to the soft snores as he napped. You’d dance with him in the kitchen like you did today, slow sways to a song he liked this time, and then you’d play your favorite again, just to listen to those soft hums of his crooning along…

Oh God. 

You want Kyle. So damn bad.

You want his body. You want his hands all over you, eyes raking over your face, legs twisting against yours. 

You want every little thought running through his mind. You want his attention. You want his laughs, his cries, his silence when he’s protecting you from his memories. 

You want him shamelessly. Constantly. Perpetually. 

You want him so bad that you could give two shits whether you deserved him or not. 

You’d do everything in your power to earn it. Pour in your love and heart and soul into building something with him. 

And best of all, you can’t bring yourself to regret it. 

You don’t regret the way you call him that night, pleading for him to come over. It’s three a.m., and his voice is groggy and exhausted over the phone, accent thick as he grumbles, “Love, what’s wrong? What’s happened? Oh, you’re cryin’, darling, tell me where you are. I’ll be there sooner than possible.”

You relapse so hard that night. The second you saw his face all over again, you knew you couldn’t go without him. A Kyle-addict, and you didn’t even notice until it was too late. 

He’s shouting, yelling at your door like a mad drunk, but you didn’t give him any scotch that morning. None of that whiskey sour either, the one he revealed was his favorite, but knew Americans wouldn’t get right. 

You tear open the door. His clothes are in disarray, buttons all wonky. His eyes are wild and wandering over you. His hands are curled tight around your doorway, blood sapping away from his knuckles because he’s holding himself back so hard. 

You don’t care. He shouldn’t bother anymore. 

You make the first jolt toward him, and his face melts into awe.

Kyle’s lips, they taste like….

Fuck, you whine a little into his mouth. 

Like fucking rain. Like a dream. Like clouds and floating untethered.

But also corporeal, grounding. Like plain chapstick and a bit of toothpaste. They taste like fingers winding so deep into your hair and hips pushing at yours until you stumble into your living room. They taste like Kyle blindly kicking the door shut, like him pulling back with a gasp and being aglow with ardent moonlight, like him reading every little emotion on your face and shaking his head, mumbling a “fucking finally.” He tilts your head up a bit higher, swivels your face to the side so your moans bounce off the walls as he drags his tongue along your jawline, down the warm column of your throat. And then you lurch, eyes flying open as he bites into the crux of your neck and shoulder. 

“Kyle!” Your nails dig into his back, drag down and dig in again at the same tempo as his bite-pull-back-bite-again. And he does the same to the rest of your body, every little inch that gradually presents itself when the clothes come off. His lips and teeth wander without bias, but each time you try to speak he drags himself back up to your ear and shushes, soothes your concerns with mindless mutterings along the lines of “Just lemme—gimme a bit to—fuck, love” and “Need a bit of patience, darling. I’m tryin’ to play here.”

He controls every second of it. All of it. 

Like he wouldn’t stand for a single mistake. Like he needs you to know it’s worth it. 

The sun showers over him when he’s trembling, sweating, hovering over you, hands intertwined with yours, peppering your face with kisses despite his rapid chest rising and falling, when he finally collapses against you, around and inside and generally being everything he can to you in this moment. He’s bigger than the bed, bigger than the apartment, bigger than that bar and your world. 

Kyle’s smile, still charming and exhausted, is the last thing you see as he coos you to sleep. 

~~~~~~

Gaz has to bat your hand away from your phone for the seventh time. “Jus’ fuckin’ ignore it,” he hisses into your stomach. “Bloody fuckin’ thing ruinin’ this beautiful mornin’ we’re having.”

“It’s two in the afternoon.”

“Yeah, what about it?”

Despite your phone—Jeanne calling, apparently, because you’re three hours late to work, and you could’ve at least warned her you were going to be honeymooning off with the newly returned soldier boy (she’ll give you a sick day)—ruining the moment, it was still the best awakening he’s had in his adult life.

Maybe even better than birthday chocolate chip pancakes when he was a kid. 

No. Wait.

Definitely better.

He woke up to a soft caress against his cheek, found himself buried into your chest. Your breasts, as it turns out, are even more beautiful to begin his day with watching than any sunrise. 

He tore his gaze up higher and found you staring down at him, gentle smile on your lips. Your fingertips were tracing over his scars, thumbing at his lips every now and then. 

It’s not right that he hasn’t woken up like this before. Part of it makes him think he hasn’t really been living until right now, when he can’t think past your hot skin and plush thighs nuzzled close to his stomach. 

“Don’t mind this one bit, darling,” he’d said, dropping his head to feather his mouth over your belly button. “Can we stay like this forever?”

It’s genuine, and he can tell you know he means it because your cheeks turn pink. Surely it’s a lot for you in this moment. Your split-second decision last night was just that, and on his taxi ride over he’d worried himself over how you’d react the next morning. 

Your brows furrow, and your lips purse real tight while you think. 

Gaz’s trained himself to fear your thinking, but he holds off on distracting you from it now. Plays fair, even though he could be kissing his way down further and further until he could force a promise out of you; a gaspy, whiney one. 

But that wouldn’t do. He needs that rabbit brain of yours that likes to kick out and scurry away to agree with him for once, that yes, you want him to stay. You always will. 

And before he knows it, you’re cupping both sides of his face, drawing him up onto his forearms, making him crawl up your body until you press one long, hard kiss to his lips before muttering, “Yes. Let’s do it.”

Your thumbs swipe under his eyes, no doubt bothered by the dark circles, but the rumble of his voice as he praises you for giving in must tell you he’s gotten plenty of sleep. He made sure he did all of the work last night, had you follow each and every one of his commands to sit, stay, and let him take care of you, for fuck’s sake, or it’ll kill him.

All his energy, all that stamina was worked to the bone, and he feels like a puddle of goo against your form. He presses another kiss to your lips before trailing his way back down, nestling into your stomach while informing you that you’d make a damn good pillow every morning. 

~~~~~~

You’re certain nothing could ruin this moment. 

Kyle’s already back to snoring softly, little grumbles against the skin between your breasts, hands starfished at your thigh and lower back. He looks ten years younger curled up against you, the wrinkles of his face smoothed out through thorough exhaustion. 

Just seven hours ago he’d smiled at you, somehow more doting than the last, his skin dewed with sweat, and collapsed into your hold. He’d been content to run himself ragged, and now that he’s got you thoroughly trapped underneath his muscled, form, he seems intent on not moving an inch. 

His wounds still unnerve you. The bandages from yesterday could use a change, damp and wrinkled around his bare thigh and biceps. But from your position, your head leveraged on a pillow, you can see pale, ravaged skin from botched stitches and bullet holes. Uneven gouges and linear scrapes, wounds whose origins would surely pain you to listen to—most of all because he’d say it with such nonchalance. 

It’s hard to turn the sweet Kyle from the bar into this war-broken soldier before you, hard to combine them into one person and have it make complete sense. Like water and oil, the pair of them refuse to mix into one. 

You’re running the tip of your middle finger along one particularly horrifying line running diagonally down his nape when he wakes up again. His head lifts, and you let your hand slide with the movement until you’re cupping his cheek and he’s leaning into your hold. A wet kiss cools on the inside of your wrist when Kyle gets close enough. 

His limbs wrangle even tighter with yours. “What time is it now?”

“Two-thirty.”

His pretty brown eyes are locked on your face, a gentle roaming back and forth in rhythm with the slow strokes of his index finger against your knee. 

“Good. A few more hours and I’ll have kept you here all day. A personal record, one I’ll flaunt with honor.”

“We’ll have to get up at some point.”

“Maybe I’ll trap you here all week,” he ignores you, all serious consideration now. “I’ll have to check my rope supply.”

“You know, there are easier, less illegal ways to entice me into staying.”

“Don’t like riskin’ it with you.” He draws himself up and leans in, and you tilt closer to accept his peppering of kisses over your forehead, across your cheeks, down your jawline. “Each time I try to do it the nice way, you manage to slip away from me. Have to start playin’ for keeps now.”

You’re not sure if you love Kyle. 

You know you’re not quite in the same place as he is emotionally. But he certainly knows how to put you on the fast track to get there, and it starts with the way he cradles you closer—always a little bit closer—and nudges his nose just underneath your ear, releasing a sigh like touching you can make all the horrors, worries, fears slip away. Like you’re a magical woman. 

You feel like you’re made of magic, anyway. 

And you don’t regret any of the decisions you’ve made since calling him last night. Hell, since calling him that first time, when he was thousands of miles away, and all he wanted was more. 

~~~~~~

Gaz has a bad urge. A terrible one. Bloody fuckin’ day ruiner of an urge that has him peeling away and hiding out in your bathroom for too long after relieving himself. 

He’s staring at himself in the mirror while he dries off clean hands, investigating that dark mark you’d sucked into the side of his neck before he could untangle from you. 

Bad, bad, bad Gaz. 

It’s too soon. 

You don’t take “too soons” very well. Can’t handle them. 

But, well, biased as he is, Gaz thinks he looks more alive than he has in months. 

And all it was was you, injected into his veins and flowing back to his heart before being properly dispersed throughout the rest of his body, even distribution of needing you every hour of every day until he can’t even curl his toes without thoughts of you. 

No. He really, really shouldn’t.

He won’t.

Gaz steps out of your bathroom and fumbles his way through your apartment, following the sounds of humming and beeping. 

Almost blacks out at what he finds. 

You, bent over and retrieving a frying pan from your cupboards, rising up until your standing tall, wearing his goddamned shirt. The black cotton hugs your thick figure tight, but it’s too long, caps off somewhere near the tops of your thighs, lace panties barely twinkling at him just underneath

Fuckin’ Christ, bloody Jesus, Hell on a—

“Love,” he chokes on the word. “Darling. You’re killin’ me here, bunny.”

Fuck it. 

Seriously—fuck it. 

He’s gonna ask. It’s not too soon. Not for him. Not when it comes to you. 

You laugh a little. “Sorry. I know, I know, it’s too tight. But I was too lazy to find something else, so if you really want it back—”

“No.”

You pause, smile locked on your face. “Okay then. Good. Glad that’s settled. I’ll just keep making breakfast then.”

You’re on your tippy toes now, reaching high to the small pantry above your stove, fingertipping at a box of pancake mix. 

“Could you…?”

“Yeah.” He’s behind you in a matter of blinks, broad chest brushing your back before you can dart out of the way, even grasping your hip with one hand and passing you the box with the other. 

You take it from him with a fumbled thank you, the words stuttering their way out of your mouth as he swipes your hair back and behind your ear. “What’s on the menu, then, love?”

He can practically feel the current of chills slinking down your spine. He follows you, chest still against your back, step for step as you putter around, finding a whisk, a carton of milk, and… a bag of chocolate chips. 

Fuckin’ hell, don’t tell me.

“Pancakes. I’m adding chocolate chips because they’re my favorite, so don’t you dare bitch about—what, what is it?”

You palm at his forehead in confusion when he buries his face into your shoulder and groans. 

Fool. Bloody fuckin’ fool, dumbass bastard ruining everything after one goddamn night. It’s too damn soon. It’ll ruin everything.

“Love, I hafta—”

A cacophony of beeps cut through the air, and your attention slips to the microwave, where a cup sits aglow in the yellow light. 

“Sorry, that’s for my tea—”

He’s really doing this. 

Fuck it. 

Fuck. 

It.

“Move in with me.”

~~~~~~

Part 3

What's in a Virtue (Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary:

Gaz wants you, but the hotel bar you work at has rules; when a bartender calls dibs, all others have to back off. It's how the peace is kept, and as the new girl just trying to rack up some savings, you're not willing to rock the boat.

But Gaz doesn't take kindly to you avoiding him, and he's never been one to beat around the bush. From confessing his love on the first night you met to shouting your name seven times from across the bar, he's not letting you off the hook that easy. Not when he's seen the proof that you've fallen just as hard for him.

A/N: idk man i accidentally googled who ghost was like a week ago and fell so deep into the hot cod men rabbit hole so here we are. Enjoy!

Word count: 8261

Gaz is pretty sure he’s in love with you. 

It’s a surprising discovery at 11 pm in an American hotel bar drinking the worst scotch he’s ever had. It’s even more surprising because he just discovered you existed all of thirty minutes ago. 

He’s got his glass swirling between two nimble fingers, trying to find that line between hating his drink and actually putting it down. And he’s watching you. 

You’re the same bartender who’d asked him (in a horrible imitation of his accent) if he’d wanted his neat scotch “shaken, not stirred.” You’d flushed after you said it and promised to leave him joke-free for the rest of the night. He’d laughed, a bit hollow from his circumstances, and told you it was all right. That he liked it, and that made you flush a little more. 

Now, you scuttle like an ant past the other worker, a blonde who’s been making eyes at him all night. Your face is split into this unabashed grin, grippable hips bouncing off the counter as you sweep by and reach below for a bottle, giving him a view of the enviable dip between your breasts. 

At first, he thinks it’s just that. Too much American booze, not enough inhibitions; both sending him into that post-mission spiral that makes him touchy and want to touch all at the same time. And he finds it’s nice to watch you rattling glasses and wiping up spills; it’s soothing, the way your eyes are alight with life in this ritzy place, seemingly unbothered by the high level of customers. He especially likes the way you mock the spoiled sods when you can get away with it. 

The hotel must be experiencing the perfect storm of weddings, proms, and business meetings—not to mention one very unfortunate layover for one very unlucky special forces sergeant. 

He watches as teens keep stumbling back to the counter with pink cheeks, flashing their IDs every time they ask for a new drink. Despite their prom getups and obvious ages, they swear they’re just guests from Mr. and Mrs. Weddington’s ceremony. 

The girl you’re with now, stumbling from her heels but selling it as though she’s tipsy, begs and begs for another lemon drop before she “goes back to work on Monday.”

You nod either way, and he watches as you make a display of pouring alcohol into one shaker and juice into another, swapping them out when the teen looks back towards her friends. 

You send her on her merry way with a sugared rim and a lemon rind, saying something like “Go easy” as she wanders back to her table. You smile to yourself, amused at this little game you’re playing with half the customers here. 

You must feel the heat of his gaze, because you glance at him then. He hopes it’s burning you up as much as it looks, that nervous pinkening of your face as you give him a shrug like what else was there to do?

And Gaz, again, thinks it’s just that. Lust. He thinks about wiping that small smile off your face with his lips, stumbling with you into his hotel room, frantic fingers peeling off clothes. He thinks about how it would be—giggly, probably, despite his surprising coordination when he’s plastered. It’d be you and him swapping words back and forth, back and forth the whole time, silence only filling the room when you’re kissing him and when you feel so fucking new it steals your and his words away. 

He doesn’t know why he latches more onto the idea of the moments afterward, the biggest thing being that you decide to stay. Then it’s more back and forth, hobbies and pet peeves and every little thing that’s been on your minds since the 2000s. He gets to know you inside and out, inside again a few more times even as your conversation runs on. 

It’s no longer lust at that point. He knows that. 

He’s ruthlessly torn from the fantasy by the blonde bartender who, judging by the looks you’re swapping with her, has gotten the entirely wrong idea about the direction of his stare. 

He swears to God he was being obvious about it. It was you—it was fucking you that whole time. 

But he’s noticed a couple things about you.

The first is that you’re quiet when your customers aren’t overwhelmingly sloshed; awkwardly so, for a bartender. You’re something of a mirror when they are, far more relaxed, laughing easy and cracking jokes, like you preferred your real self be forgotten the next morning. 

The second is that you’re soft. Around the edges, all pillowy at the hips and thighs, a sloping curve down each side. And you were soft with your words, no yelling, no arguing with customers, just easy little jabs that no drunk mind would ever cotton onto. 

You were only snappy with him the second his head started growing fuzzy. 

He wants more of it, even as the pretty bartender makes friendly conversation. 

She asks about his day, then his job, then his adventures. Three of the last things he wanted to think about tonight, let alone discuss with a stranger who wants in his pants. However, because she “loves a man with a British accent” and he’s too damn polite to give her the boot, he reveals a little. 

Yes, his job is hard. Yes, he’s jumped from an airplane. Yes, he’s killed someone. Of course they were bad.

Until they weren’t. But he won’t tell her that. 

However, above all things, Gaz is a planner. And though he’s caught the wrong fish with his bait, his plan B is working excellently. 

Gaz glances at you, brushing your hair behind your ear in the increasingly crowded room. The wide array of customers spread out among the limited seating are starting to flood the bar. You can’t pass out beers and shake cosmopolitans at the same time, and a wonderful warmth blossoms in his chest the second you glance at him too, growing desperate. 

There’s something like an apology in your eyes. You’re sad you have to ruin your friend’s chances; meanwhile, he thinks it may just be the best part of his night.

The third thing he discovers about you: you’re trying to be the wingwoman for your pretty friend here, and Gaz won’t have it. 

You’re going to have to come over here. Beg for help from your friend.

Ruin this little flirtation she’s got going on—what a shame. 

You’re too damn polite, just like him. The second he talks to you when you make your way over, you’ll think you have to stay. Humor him for a bit. He’ll ask you for a drink, forcing you to come back a second time around, when the bustle has slowed. He’ll rope you in for the rest of the night by then, and the wait’ll be over. 

He feels like a damn schoolboy when you take that first step toward him, and he’s practically vibrating when you get close enough that he can hear your voice for the second time today. It’s far less grating than your friend’s, he’s certain of it—he wouldn’t mind if it was you badgering him, is what he means.

After all, Gaz was on leave, and when Gaz was on leave, he liked things slow. Fresh off a mission, he liked to roll through the motions, order drinks and let the memories turn into static from the corner of the bar. He’d planned on calling Price and damning him for saying it was a blessing to get trapped in the US, set up at a posh hotel on the task force’s budget. 

But you stop before him, contrite eyes softening, and he’s getting better at seeing the upside of it all. 

“Hate to interrupt—I know you two are trying to get all cozy in the dark over here, but I could use your help, Jeanne. ‘Hugh Janus’ is asking for another beer and our non-alcoholic tap just ran dry.” You look off into the distance, frowning slightly. “I fear we may have genuinely drunk teens on our hands soon.”

Jesus, was her name Jeanne? Gaz hadn’t caught that. 

On the bright side, he’s able to confirm one of his sneaking suspicions. Your eyes really are fucking gorgeous up close, and they’re so expressive that he can read you like a book. 

But he hates the way you say “you two.” It’s so nonchalant. 

Was it too much to ask for a little envy? Just a hint of spite, to prove that some part of what he’s feeling, even a little speck of it, isn’t one-sided?

Your friend— Jeanne , apparently—gives him a disappointed sigh, looks at him like he and her are two conspirators planning on eloping any second. “Duty calls. I’ll be right back.”

He nods, trying to find that balance between polite understanding and absolute relief, but his head grows foggier by the minute and all he can manage is a “sounds good.”

You dive into an explanation when the pair of you are far enough away to inspect the taps, gesturing at a couple of them, and then discreetly at a group in the crowd. 

From here, he can see it a little more clearly. You’re younger than the blonde, probably just by a couple years, which means you’re newer here. Younger than him, too, since he pegs Jeanne at around his own age. 

The blonde disappears into a storage door wedged between two shelves loaded with glass bottles and illuminated white-blue. A manager, maybe.

Only thing he knows for certain from observing this quick interaction is that you’re finally alone. 

He flags you down, and his chest floods with that warm, fuzzy feeling all over again when you hustle over, genuine smile on your lips—because you’re so damn easy to read.

“Know you’re busy, ’nd I hate to bother you, darling, but can you get me another scotch? Shaken, this time, if you please.”

The pet name lands perfectly. Even through all the chatter and music, he can hear the quick stutter in your breath. Then you laugh at his joke, like you think he deserves it. 

It’s cheap of him to force that laugh out of you with a shitty joke like that, but he’s feeling a little needy. Wants a preview of what the real thing would sound like. 

Fucking music, surely. 

“I’ll go get it—”

Not yet. I need more time.

“Not right now. I’ll finish this one off while you work through that fresh hell–” he nods toward the anxious crowd “–then you can come back to me. You’ll find I’m pretty patient.”

A little less so, when it comes to you, but you don’t need to know that yet. 

The slight slur to his words must be comforting, because you give him that small smirk you’ve been conservative with all night. “I’ll hold you to that. I’ve heard Brits are perfect gentlemen; be a shame if you proved me wrong.”

“I’m all that and more, darling.” He winks. “You’ll see.”

He could be the bloody worst man on the planet, too, if you wanted. 

And he could come out and say that to you, all the things he could be for you tonight, if he wasn’t so keen on the instant change in you. 

Because here’s what he expected: a few more little flirtations back and forth, everything kept light and easy. He’d keep you smiling and smirking like that, comfortable in your own skin for just a little bit longer before you have to go back to the other customers and slither back into your shell. He’d get to see that breathtaking blush of yours, pink splotches that tell him he’s on the right track. And then he’d get your rapt attention for the remainder of your and his night, quite like he’s given you his. 

But that’s not what happens. 

Instead, you’re instantly sheepish, finding yourself leaning a little closer, so close he could reach out and run a finger along the back of your hand (a small touch, but it would certainly floor him). 

And then guilt. Pure, heart-wrenching guilt, like you’re taking every word of his to heart in the worst possible way.

Gaz panics. 

But you’re not wearing a ring, so no husband, no fiance. He guesses boyfriend or some long-standing crush he can’t—shouldn’t—burrow his way in front of. It’s a disappointing discovery, something he’ll be stewing on for the rest of the night or maybe week, depending on how long he’s stranded here. 

He’s not a fan of infidelity, and he sure as hell isn’t changing his opinion on that anytime soon. So he settles himself for a night at the bar cut short. Maybe he’ll order drinks up to his room from now on, praying the task force won’t try and shift the bill onto him. He can’t imagine coming down to the bar and seeing you will be nearly as satisfying anymore. 

“I shouldn—I mean, Jeanne really likes y—I mean, we kinda have this rule where we, um,” you fumble with the rag on the counter, suddenly invested in a stain he’s been avoiding all night. You swallow. “I’ll just, uh, bring you your drink later. As promised. I should go help her.”

And you dash off as fast as you can between the counter and the precarious wall decor, almost running into the storage door the other bartender whips open while dragging out a new keg for the tap. 

Meanwhile, Gaz… 

He has a question. 

Were you feeling all that guilt over some “dibs” rule at your bar?

He wants to laugh. The whole first-come, first-served thing makes you look as guilty as if you clubbed a baby seal. So what if Jeanne wants to ask him out? If he says no, does that mean he gets you?

Then he actually laughs a little, because it’s so ridiculous that it’s honestly cute. You care about and respect your coworkers, and support them when they’re hitting on guys at bars. So cute. You’re like the ultimate wingwoman, he’s sure, but that’s not going to change the fact that he wants you. 

But the night drags on, and this half hour of patience Gaz promised you becomes paper-slim when you pass off his drink to Jeanne and avoid his end of the bar for far longer than is acceptable. 

But you’re still giving her reassuring smiles and manning the bar as she lays her interest on thick, asking how long he’ll be staying and telling him when she gets off. 

Gaz isn’t laughing anymore. And that little thing you do where you back off and play wingwoman? Definitely not as sweet as he’d thought it was. 

Fuck, it might be the one thing he hates about you. 

Because you avoid him for the rest of the night, and he still can’t take his eyes off you. 

Not to worry, though. Gaz is a patient man. More importantly, he’s a planner. 

He’ll find a way. 

He always does. 

~~~~~~

Gaz barely sleep that night. Too busy thinking about the mission, the lives that were lost, all that blood that had coated his hands just three days ago. 

The way it bothers him comes and goes in phases. Some missions slip off him like rain water over a slick road, rivulets down drives, and he sleeps just fine. 

Others soak into him, further than skin deep, where his body becomes a subcutaneous cache of nightmares and gunpowder, and he wakes up choking, smoke filling his lungs, tearing at the tissue of his throat enough that water can’t soothe the burn. 

Mornings like this is where he fights fire with fire. 

The hotel bar is unsurprisingly destitute but still oddly open at 11 am on a Thursday morning, and he takes a seat more daringly center-staged than he had last night. He glances around, letting thoughts of you, a bartender whose biggest issue was a dibs rule on men, swathe around him. 

Admittedly, a lot of it is foggy. He remembers wanting you—a lot , actually. Too much, he might even say, but after all he drank he’s surprised he even found his way back to his room. But the place, a little more aglow with the open windows (that make his head fucking spin, by the way), looks the same as last night, which means he can still envision you wandering over every inch of it. 

And he thinks no, you probably weren’t that attractive. Maybe your snipes weren’t that funny, and he’d had no reason to get so upset with you over a rejection. And every little wish he’d had that you were the woman who could warm his bed while he was out on missions and greet him when he came home was a bit over the top, even for drunk Gaz. 

Sober Gaz knows better. Sober Gaz knows that no other human being can have that much of an effect on him anymore, because he’s had to rebuild himself after joining the military, after seeing the most honorable and dishonorable things humans can do, and he’s just not fit for something unconditional. 

Drunk Gaz, though….

Hammered and horny. That’s all it was. A terrible mixture, and he’s damn ashamed that an innocent girl like you became the target of it. God, did he even tell you his name? Or was it just instant come-on and creepy watching from the corner of the bar? 

Gaz notices he’s not alone as he lets his eyes wander; there’s a group of three elderly women jabbering in the corner, waving too-friendly when he spots them. He tosses them a dashing smile, the one that makes his grandmother’s friends burst into titters and giggles. 

It has the same effect. 

“Who knew you’d be just as charming sober?” a familiar voice rings out. 

Gaz’s heart thump-thump s forcefully.

“In all fairness, you do have a shot with them too, if you really wanted to take it.” You lean a little bit closer over the counter, one-ended smile pulling at your lips, and when he catches a trace of that same perfume, his chest twinges. 

Fuckin’ hell. 

“She’s newly widowed,” you nod to the gaggle again, demeanor conspiratorial, “and happy to be, apparently. Why am I not surprised you’re popular to all ages?”

He’s got no clue what you’re talking about. Damn, he’s not even listening. Your lips look too soft to him right now, and it’s downright unfair how domestic you look in morning light, placid and playful, like the last thing you were made for was exacerbating nightlife. 

“All ages?” he mumbles, because he can’t quite think straight, and the best thing he can do is repeat the last few words he’d heard you say before his train of thought had caught fire, derailed, and crashed explosively against brick wall. 

He’s struck still, is what he means. He can’t quite think past the idea of you, coming a little closer to him, letting him trap you against his chest. Letting him breathe in the scent of your hair as you tell him about your day—boring, maybe, if it wasn’t you who was telling the story. 

But your voice and tone, that playful edge that sounds like the sweetness of cotton candy and would taste like fucking everything to him, it draws him in. 

Gaz comes to the conclusion that not everything was a drunken haze last night. 

And he realizes that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t quite the fisherman he thought he was, trying to catch you. If anything, he was the fish snapping after your line, bait or no, wanting to be yanked out of the water and gutted until everything he ever was was bare for those pretty eyes. 

And he’s that very same fish this morning, gaping and blinking wide-eyed. 

Fuckin’. Hell. 

“My God, those teenagers last night? And then Jeanne, and the bridesmaids? And, okay, I shit you not, even the bride. You’re a menace in this bar, you know that?”

“Are you included in all that?”

If he remembers anything from the night before, it was the way you clammed up after he made his first move. You’re the spitting image of it now, pursed lips and antsy fingers, even after all that big talk. 

It’s an absent thought that flies past him in that moment, but he recalls that you were only loose enough to joke around with people already tipsy. He lets a small consideration tag along, a half-thought, really, that maybe you felt as comfortable around him as he did around you.

That, or he still looked smashed from last night.

You dodge his question completely.

“So what can I get you this morning…?” You let the tail end of the question drag on a bit, and he decides it’s because you can’t remember his name. He tries to stave off the gross pinch in his stomach by recalling there’s an all too real chance he never even told you. 

“Kyle.”

You shake your head quickly, mumbling, “No, I—I remember.”

Gaz, though he can’t help but feel like an asshole for it, grins at your stutter. 

“Surprise me, then.” He sits back, not remembering when he made the decision to lean a bit closer. “YN,” he tags on, smiling a bit more at your nervous laugh. 

You look him over, some short glance that stuffs his head full of cotton, and start working on a concoction with a small grin. 

He’s patient, minds his own business and fiddles with his phone as you shake and pour. 

No messages from Price, and Gaz shoves down any distant panic that he might have sent an aggravated text or two in his state last night. 

But no messages means no updates, which means it’s safe to assume he’ll be marooned at this hotel for another two weeks. 

Not as bad as he thought it would be, so far. 

You step away with a tray of drinks and return empty handed. Then you slip a glass in front of him, frosty and golden, slowly seeping red by a single maraschino cherry. 

He guffaws. “Mai Tai? What, no umbrella?”

You slip a mini umbrella into his drink. “You underestimate me.”

His headache is killing him. The sun’s too bright, and he’s thanking God that the music in here isn’t nearly as pounding as it was yesterday. The memories still haunt him, horizoning his mind. Every drop of blood, every plea, every blank-eyed stare. 

And then there’s you. Just you. You read like a sheet of paper, and you’re soft around the edges, and you couldn’t even comprehend half the things he’s seen. 

You spoon another maraschino cherry out of the cooling jar and pop it into your mouth, laving your tongue over it before biting down, the juices dying your tongue red. 

Fuck. 

Gaz wants to kiss you. 

He wants you to taste the Mai Tai on his tongue and sigh happily, eyes rolling the exact same way. He might die if you don’t.

“It’s on the house, only because you were true to your word.”

He gets peeks of that red tongue of yours and shifts in his seat. “What d’you mean?”

“You were patient, as promised, and I’m afraid I’ll need a little more of that today.”

Any of it. All of it, for you. Fuck, he could be so patient for you. 

Gaz furrows his brow anyway. “Didn’t know you were so greedy. Why d’you ask, love?”

“I guess you couldn’t tell from last night, but I’m a pretty shitty bartender. That’s why they got me working mornings.”

He glances at the Mai Tai. “So you’re sayin’ I’m shit outta luck.”

“I’m saying that if you’re going to let me pick your drink, you’re going to keep getting whatever’s left in the mixer from formerly Mrs. Jones’ group of three. I should warn you, they party hard.”

Gaz sighs. “What’s next on the menu?”

“More mimosas. That was their warm-up. You wanna catch up?” You frame a carton of orange juice in your hands enticingly. 

Fruity drinks from here on out. Gaz doesn’t exactly mind the idea, though he’d come down to the bar for something with more of a kick. But he’s wondering how long your shift runs if you’d worked the night before and the morning after. 

He’s got a chance here; without your friend present, your guilty conscience must feel balmed.

Gaz shakes his head, tearing a finger at the mini umbrella’s ridges. “I’ll stick to their schedule. Have a feeling I should be pacing myself with that crew.”

“Good feeling,” you nod. 

The air of silence that settles is comfortable. There’s the rattle of ice and champagne, the slow slosh of orange pooling in three going on four glasses, and Gaz watches you through it all. But he can see the way his gaze makes you nervous. Your movements are all rickety, and you can’t quite find that rhythm between shaking the mixer and making eye contact. 

Gaz wasn’t lying. Most if not all the women he’s met (sans a few of his targets) agree: he’s a kind man. Chivalrous, soothing, amiable. 

So he’s not sure why seeing your nerves gets a lovely thrill rattling its way down his spine. Sure, he wished you felt a smidge less timid, a lot more loose and sunny in his company. But, he guesses, it’s because with you, he’s willing to settle. Take what he can get; it’s not unlike a stakeout, really. He’s parked here, waiting for you to come out of your shell on your own time. 

Can’t really help that he’s greedy when it counts, though, and when you set the mimosa in front of him, he reaches before you can pull away, getting that warm slide of your fingers against his. 

“So what are you doin’ here, in a place like this, if you’re not a good bartender?”

He has to salvage your courage before you slip into the backroom for space to think. He can’t let that happen, overthinker that you are, and you’re too nice to abandon him mid-conversation. 

He’s okay with manipulating you that much. 

“Gap year. Several actually, but I don’t like to think about that.” You’re fidgeting with a rag, twisting it until the damp cotton creases under your fingers. 

“What are you gappin’ to?”

You huff out a laugh. “Med school, hopefully. Grad school, possibly. Just want to do something more, you know? Since apparently a bachelor’s gets you nowhere nowadays, and I’m just thirty grand in hole for nothing.”

“It’ll work itself out. For you, I’m certain of it.”

And he thinks he’s nailed it. 

Look. Look at all he can say and do to make you feel comfortable. And look! He can make you laugh and smile. And his touch was nice, right? Warm, gentle, everything you’d want. He’s got it right here. Waiting for you.

And then you blink, long and slow, eyes on the counter. Then…

“You know, I’m really jealous of Jeanne. I mean, she has it all figured out.”

Gaz fights the urge to grind his teeth, but he drops his elbows to the counter and cups at the mimosa. Not good enough, doesn’t burn enough. Too easy on the champagne, and he distantly wonders if you pull what you did last night all the time. 

That thing where you go easy on drinks by coming around less, or neutering them completely before you pass them out. 

That thing where you’re trying to do better for everyone , where you think you know better. He can only guess that it’s come so often with a cost to you that it’s all you know how to do anymore—giving, no taking. Helping always; never, ever hurting, no matter what you want. 

“C’mon,” he mutters, but you’re reaching for another red cherry. Chewing on it as it dyes your teeth pink. 

“She’s one of the managers here, did she tell you that? And she’s only a couple years older than me, and she’s just… she knows what she wants. And goes for it, too.”

Is that what it was? You weren’t willing to go for it? 

He’ll build that bridge for you, dammit. He’d hold you hand across the whole fucking way if you’d just let him. 

“She’s the only person in the whole area willing to give me a chance, even though I’d never bartended before.”

He lets you ramble, lets the sound of your voice sink into him, gives encouraging responses when he has to. 

Jeanne likes to go hiking. 

Jeanne likes to swim. 

Jeanne loves nights out. 

Sure, yeah, okay. But do you like any of that?

You don’t. You hate it all, actually. You even have a fear of drowning, heights, the whole works. You’re very much a homebody, curled up on your couch reading, drinking tea—not a huge fan of wine, or alcohol, actually, but don’t laugh! It was the highest paying job you could find, and yes, you do see the irony. Yes, you make a good cup of tea. Why?

Trying to find out even that much about you was like playing a damn tennis match. You won’t stop shoving the topic away, getting all insecure when he asks what you like. What you want. 

He plans to change that. 

But for now? Fine. You won’t talk about you. But he’s not going to let you talk about Jeanne. 

So you’re talking about him. 

“We don’t get much of your type around here.”

“Special forces?”

“British.” You give up on wiping the counter, instead leaning on two hands and watching him sip at the piña colada you’ve just made. He’d offered you the pineapple slice. After you’d said no, he watched you watch him bite in, wiping off the juice off his lips with his thumb. 

He had to remind himself that it was patience you were looking for, even with your lips parted in a daze like that. 

“Special forces, though, huh?” You glance around with faux wariness. “Should I be worried?” 

“Depends. How many people round here are up to no good?”

“I mean, there’s the occasional bad tipper but, between you and me,” you lean in, give a small shrug, “I deal with them in my own way.”

Gaz raises a brow, smile growing. “Maybe I’m the one who should be worried.”

“Depends. Are you going to be rifling around for a five or a twenty-five dollar tip in that wallet of yours?”

Gaz sighs, “The best company always comes with the highest price, don’t it?”

“Not as high as you think,” you laugh. 

If there was ever a groove to find between you and him, he’s finally located it. 

Five minutes too late, it seems. 

You’re glancing at the clock when you hear rustling in the storage room, and the blonde bartender that’s bloody haunting him now pushes through the swinging door. 

 “Jeanne.” You voice is a wonderful mixture of fake enthusiasm and slight disappointment. “Look who’s here.”

Trapped. That’s what he is.

And you leave without a goodbye or a glance in his direction, too. 

He tells himself you’re shy, insecure, delicate little thing that he keeps pushing the boundaries of, trying to find the edge of having you and scaring you off completely. 

Like taming a wild animal. 

Fucking patience. For all his years, all his adventures, he never knew he’d run out of it in the most civilian of circumstances. 

He sticks around a while longer, humors Jeanne’s interest. Amazingly enough, they have so much in common, who would have thought?

And who would have thought that after last night, that was the last thing he’d ever want.

~~~~~~

You’re doing that thing again, where you ignore him. 

He’d think it’s cute, how shy you were, if you only didn’t sic your friend on him each time you did it. He’s fairly certain his interest is clear. 

He’s been going to the bar for the last few days. Sometimes he sees you, sometimes he doesn’t. He prefers the former, and when it’s the latter, he’s reminded of just how shitty the alcohol is in the US, and that he’s trapped here, and how it’s starting to become hell. 

But he won’t tell you that. That your home and this hotel are the last places he wants to be on the whole planet, present company excluded. 

Despite the fact that present company feels like she has to include her friend in every conversation. He loves how selfless you are, no man left behind and whatnot, but he wishes you could see the failing attraction right before your eyes. 

You try to slip off, leave the pair of them alone, but Gaz won’t have it. If you wander too close, he’ll drag you in, call your damn name across the bar if he has to, wrench on that ever-guilty, ever-pleasing heart of yours to go and answer him, talk to him, pay him the attention he needs nightly, apparently. 

As of late, you’ve started playing this game. Gaz’ll bring up a topic, anything from the horrors of war to butterflies. 

And you think there might be some upsides to the horrors of war, maybe. And butterflies are ugly and gross, always. 

Gaz loves how beautiful the mountains are up north; you despise them. They look cold. 

But he thought you loved cold weather?

Well, you don’t like cold weather when it’s… on mountains. You guess. 

 An interesting play, he quite thinks. Such odd tactics you have running in your mind. But you’re trying so hard to be this good, loyal friend. You want so badly to find the middle ground here, please Jeanne and Gaz, let them both be happy. 

But when push comes to shove, Jeanne had dibs. And Gaz has to bear the brunt of it. 

Two weeks have gone by before Price contacts Gaz again. Tells him the 141 had lain low long enough that he can come back home and get some well deserved leave. The news makes him fucking ecstatic when he first hears it. Thank fuck he’ll never have to use the launderettes here again, never have to listen to the damned click-click-click of the aircon or the mini fridge. 

He misses so many things from home. 

Shepherd’s pie. Good cigarettes and tea. A whiskey sour from that bar just three blocks down from his flat. 

And his flat. His bed. His sofa, the kitchen he barely uses, the door that whines because he can’t bring himself to oil it; gone too long, too often for it to really matter most days. The toaster he doesn’t plug in ever because it damn well almost burned down his flat last time he was out for two months. 

All of it empty. Cold and bare. Too unused to really miss. 

Gaz slows while packing his things. He stops, grabs his phone, then lowers to the bed. He stares at the recent calls list, Captain still at the top, call ended twenty minutes ago. 

Home has a different taste in his mouth than it used to. Not horribly bad, but different enough to notice. 

It’ll be quiet. Gaz used to love quiet. 

Being here has changed something in him. 

Nothing big—all small things, in fact. 

A pondering floats down on him, comes to his mind and makes the rest of his body tighten, a coiled spring waiting, wondering. It’s such a small question, too, but things with you always seemed so small and insignificant, until he got a moment of quiet to consider it. 

Do they sell your perfume in the UK?

It’s not a huge thing if they don't. 

Really, it’s not life-changing. He’s just trying to consider never having it again, never having it flood his senses when you get too close, lean a bit closer to slide him his drink. 

Then it’s you not leaning in close ever again. Then no you, ever again. 

Gaz can’t quite make it make sense. 

Home is good. Hell, he misses it. 

But home is no set place anymore. Home could be two poles repelling each other but attracting him, pulling at each half of him, waiting to tear him down the middle while he tries to decide. 

Two fucking weeks? Gaz has to check his phone to make sure. Has that really all it’s been?

Bullshit. 

Tell him why it feels like it’s been years. Tell him why he can’t imagine going home as anything other than a misstep, one bad fucking decision away from sealing his fate. 

A slice of shepherd’s pie and a nice cup of Earl Grey—it can wait. 

A little longer, at least. He needs some time to make certain on some things. A month, maybe. On his own dime now. After all, what’s four thousand dollars compared to a missed opportunity for something better?

…He’ll see if they have deals on extended stays. 

~~~~~~

“YN.”

Nothing.

“YN.”

Still nothing.

“YN!”

You’re avoiding eye contact and maintaining a six-foot radius at all times, like he’s got the damn plague. 

It’s been the same setting for the past four weeks; corner of the bar, closer to the same dark shit that swirls in his glass now, aiming for privacy and good company. 

He used to think he was a good shot, but his accuracy’s been bloody terrible as of late. 

Twelve times. He’s tried asking you out twelve times. 

After the most recent attempt crash-landed with you interrupting to tell him about your sister’s obsession with popping zits, he considered it. Oh boy, did he consider giving up, asking himself why the hell he ever got so desperate in the first place. 

Tonight was supposed to be some last hurrah of sorts. His flight leaves tomorrow morning, and his patience with you has become so thin it could snap with a single breath. 

But he gets here, sees you. 

Sees you bustling around the bar—which, in his mind’s eye, is his flat. And you look right at home, by the way. Wandering in and out of his room, his kitchen, the living room. Curled up on the settee, your soft thighs winking at him from beneath his own sweatshirt. Then you’re dancing in the same way, hips swaying to the obnoxious beat, leaning in closer instead of pulling away when he grabs onto you like he ought to. 

For all that’s good and pure, you never distance yourself like you do now.

There’s no easily spooking the you in his head that wants him just as badly as he does you.

Your name falls from his lips an unavoidable number of times from the corner of the bar, and you finally fold.

See—wasn’t so hard, was it?

Not so painful if you’d just give in and go on a date with him now, too. 

You saunter over, a world-weary sigh falling from your lips. “My God, Kyle, you sound like a damn cockatoo over here. Or my mom, which was a bit unsettling. Need I remind you I regret telling you my middle name.” 

“Then you won’t be surprised to know you’re getting a good scolding, with the way you’ve been avoiding me.”

That same look takes up your features, pouty lips and wrinkled brow, like he’s barking up the wrong tree all over again. Might be his favorite expression of yours, second only to that little grin when you see him each day. 

The same one that keeps him barking. 

“You know it’s for a good reason, Kyle. I’ve told you this.”

“Remind me again, darling. Is it a boyfriend?”

You huff a sigh. “No.”

“Husband?”

You roll your eyes. “No.”

“Lesbian?”

“What?” You stare at him wide-eyed, and he shrugs. 

“Just makin’ sure my bases are covered. So what is it, then?”

“You’re unbelievable.” 

“I’m also dead fuckin’ serious,” his voice raises when you try to walk away. He can barely refrain from swatting out at your wrist, spinning you back around to look at him. Over the weeks, he’s discovered your biggest weakness is his eyes, and he puppy-dogs them now. “Out with it. Please.”

His white-knuckled hands ache from where they grip under the bar’s ledge, and he’s trying blessedly hard to keep still as you look him over. Every scar, every bag under his eyes, every premature wrinkle. You can see it all and more, probably even see the nightmare he had three days ago, where it was you tied up, enemy’s gun pointed at the pliable skin of your temple, your cries echoing in the empty warehouse.

Where, a building over, in sniper-position, Gaz’s frozen. His fucking trigger finger won’t twitch, and he can’t breathe, can’t move even as the gunshot lit up your skin, and he rolled out of the same hotel bed, coughing on the floor, wheezing. 

He tops off his eyes with a dashing smile, pleasant like his mind hadn’t painted the picture of you bloody and dying, still haunting him. 

Gaz isn’t as easy to read as you are. You wouldn’t be able to tell. 

“You’re looking at me like that again.”

“Like I’m whipped?” As if he could look like anything else.

“No, like…” You bite your tongue, and Gaz would give anything to know what you’d planned on doing with the hand you’d raised toward him just then, only to let it drop down at your side. “Never mind.”

“C’mon.” God , his hands ache. “Just tell me. Thought we were friends?”

“We are friends, Kyle.” You ignore how smug he gets, fixing him with a look. “But that’s all we are.”

Gaz scoffs, “I don’t get it. Just because your friend has, what, a li’l crush on me, and she doesn’t even know me, this can’t happen?”

You know what this is. He knows you know what this is. And he knows you want it, too. 

“It’s…” you bite the inside of your cheek while avoiding his gaze, and he knows it’s because you can’t think when he looks at you like that. Pleading. Desperate. And so damn breathless at the sigh of you that it makes it that much harder for you to say you don’t want him. “It’s a whole big thing we agreed on when I started working here. It’s how the peace is kept, not just between Jeanne and me—but for everyone. That’s just how we do it.”

“YN…”

You ignore him. “And I like this job, Kyle. I do. I don’t care that I’m horrible at mixing drinks, and that I can’t handle drunk people to save my life. It feels good to have something to do when I don’t know what else to do with myself, and I can’t have some little lover’s quarrel ruin that.

“And Jeanne is a great person. And I know you don’t like it when I bring it up, but it’s true. She saw you first and called it. So I’m stepping back, not getting in the middle of it because I owe it to her, and I don’t get why you won’t just do me that solid and give her a chance. You two are a much better fit than you and I would ever be—”

“You hate camping.”

You fall silent, staring at him in confusion. “What?”

“You hate camping. And the woods. The outside, really. You told me that. Then you told me your daily circuit is the bar, then your home, sometimes to the café down the street from here, but that’s rare. And that you like books, but I know s’not the cute, adventure-y ones you pretend to like. I googled a few of yours, ones I caught you sneakin’ on your breaks—dirty little bird, you are, by the way. But I like that about you. All of it. Everything you think you have to keep under wraps.”

“Kyle…”

“I like the way you say my name, too. And how soft your skin looks, and those thighs—fuck me. Is your perfume cherries, by the way?”

“Peaches,” you mumble. He nods.

“That too. I mean, every little thing, darling. I swear, I want it. Don’t care that we’re complete opposites, that you’re scared of what I do, what I’m built for. I need you to know that I want you because of that, not in spite of. I don’t need you all the time, I promise. But I don’t think I could handle it if I didn’t have you at all.”

You want him. He can see it. You’re melting into a goddamn puddle before him, wandering nearer and nearer like you can’t help it. 

What else can he say? What the hell else does he have to do to prove that he wants you so bad it’s driving him up the walls? Gaz is wrenched so tight in his seat that he could snap and hurdle the counter, drag you out of here and show you everything he’s willing to give. 

He needs a promise before he leaves. Something. 

“God, Kyle, I didn’t…” your breath stutters, but you won’t pull your gaze from his. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know you were so serious about this.”

You didn’t know? You couldn’t fucking tell? After a month of him puttering around here, begging for your attention, doing anything he could to get you to look at him—

“I thought you were just…”

Fuck. 

Gaz shakes his head.

Fuck. 

Messing with you? Teasing you? That’s all you thought it was?

He tips his head back, locking onto the ceiling. 

What could he have said during the past five weeks that would make you think that?

He runs through every conversation, every interaction, every whipped, needy look he couldn’t hold back because he couldn’t stop them around you.

And then he thinks about Jeanne. How you’ve been pushing her on him. And how he’s a perfect fucking gentleman and entertained her interest with polite conversation. 

Then there’s you, his shy little rabbit watching from the other end of the bar, so damn skittish that he can only draw you back in after she’s long left him alone. Not even surveying or passively watching, but crafting wildly inaccurate conclusions in your little overthinking head.

No. 

No, no, no, because, fickle as you are, you’re a giver. 

And Gaz’s been stealing that role from you this whole time. 

He hasn’t let you show your worth. He doesn’t need to see it, no, but you think you have to prove it. You like your trials by fire. You don’t like winning by default. 

You don’t think you could be wanted for wanting’s sake. 

In all fairness, Gaz didn’t think he functioned like that either—unconditional terms and all that. So he thought he’d had to give back. Give back so much that it frightened you, and you couldn’t hold up what you thought was your end. 

A bloody fool. That’s what he is. 

His little American rabbit plays by different rules. In the UK, women in bars are so straightforward, so honest. 

What a fuckin’ sod he is. 

His flight leaves in nine hours, and he hasn’t packed, hasn’t slept. 

Too busy thinking about you. How much of a wrench you’ve been in his plans.

He didn’t think wanting you would be like asking the world to spin the other way. 

And, hell, what’s he supposed to do when he does leave, gone off on the mission Price’s hinted to him, the one that’s halfway across the globe, and you’re back here, trying and probably succeeding at forgetting he exists. 

Fuck.

You not knowing he exists. 

Him having never met you.

The ideas make him sick. 

But Gaz…

Gaz is a planner. Above all else. 

And if you want an opportunity to show what you can give him, he’ll give you just that. While he’s on a mission, mind on worse, far more horrible things, he’ll give you that chance you’ve been itching so hard for. 

“Your phone.”

You’ve been watching him go through phases, even refilled his glass while he was out. Scotch on the rocks, this time. Like you thought he had to start taking it easy from here on out, like you think he deserves it.  

“What?”

“Let me give you my number.”

“Kyle… that’s not a good idea.”

“Don’t care, love.”

To your credit, you have a healthy amount of wariness. In several jerky movements, you pull your phone from your pocket, open it to a new contact, and pass it to him, eyeing up every little thing he types. 

Kyle (Hot Guy from the Bar) Garrick. 

His phone number. 

Then he texts himself quickly, saves your number too, and holds your phone out. 

When you grab at it, he holds tight, tugging for your attention. 

Like he hasn’t, in a most wonderfully heady way, already got it. 

“No funny business with this, love.” His features turn grim. “No giving it to your friend so she can woo me—”

“Woo you?”

He gives you a stern look. “A phone call. A text. A fuckin’ pocket dial, I don’t care. But I want it from you, or no one, yeah?”

Only after you nod, slow and unsure, does he push himself out of the barstool for the last time, nodding to you. Eyes soft as he whispers, “Have a good night, darling.”

Your eyes don’t leave him as he walks away, phone still gripped tightly in your hand.

~~~~~~

Part 2

it is cod hyper fixation hour please give me recs I'm begging and crying and begging and yelling

unnatural bleeding

merfolk au!

previous <- part 5 -> WIP

parings: gaz x reader

chars: gaz, price , soap , ghost

tws: blood, injuries, violence, past abuse, language, slow burn.

a/n: hehehhehehe finally new update :3 got rid of the rude reader tw cuz reader is gonna be annoyed at the world at best angry at worst plus i dont think ive been writing them rudely so also forgive me if the writing pov changes weirdly idk i have a hard time staying focused and consistent ill try better

tags; @chickennn-soupp @cassiecasluciluce @sans-chara @lethargicluv  @kaoyamamegami

What the hell was this place.

It seems all they did was stare at you and when you would clearly get sick of the mumbles and looks you'd splash them and they'd fucking laugh.

They were weird and the Gaz guy was weirder.

You found later his name was actually Kyle and he meant to clarify earlier.

But you found the silly nickname funny.

But this wasn't fun.

Being propped up on a large mat next to the side of the pool the leather felt uncomfortable under you, You also felt way too exposed as a few humans looked over your stitches and wrappings.

It felt weird there hands weren't rough but no one besides a few have touched you like this they were talking about something you'd care less to pay attention too.

As they examined you, Gaz kept trying to pull your attention away from the other humans.

Oh?

Was he jealous?.

Humans are so fickle it's funny.

-

Christ.

Even working with merfolk in the past Gaz still never got used to the bigger ones like you.

Scarface as you've been suitably nicknamed for the moment been alright and cooperative so far no biting or thrashing.

He'd likely guess the wounds were causing you to be so irritable they didn't look good when they first arrived problem had a couple of parasites on them along with other infections that are still being treated.

Price was observing the whole check up process.

You didn't speak much at least not to any of the other staff.

There were a few problems though.

Firstly they found you solo but there was still likely you belonged to a pod but which is the question.

Secondly, they couldn't keep you in the medical pool forever you were wild to some extent it would be cruel to keep you from you family.

Thirdly during your surgery, they'd found a piece of metal that didn't look important it was kept to be looked over in case it helped discover why you were in such a state, Price already guessed territorial fighting but you clearly (no offense) couldn't pick your battles.

Some of these scars and bites could have been lethal.

He was pulled out of his thoughts as you shifted clicking in annoyance he was quick to reach over for another fish from the bucket nearby by offering it up in an attempt to distract you.

"Are all humans this pokey?"

"No Scarface we just..need to make sure your healing okay..Then we can release you."

Kyle huffed as he gave you an honest smile ignoring the glare and grumble he received in return, You still took the fish though idly crunching on it.

They eventually finished the examination without much fuss except for you not so subtly tripping the newest volunteer who honestly should have been starting off with a much smaller mer than you.

But you start off somewhere.

Speaking of which it's about lunch time for them now and his break time, Kyle oversaw you getting back into the pool without much struggle before he left your area visiting by Price to mention he was going on his break before grabbing his lunch and heading to the docks.

He'd usually not have to wait long before they'd show but it'd seemed they were late.

It wasn't long till a familiar face popped up flashing teeth and all.

"Hey, Soap!" Kyle grinned as he looked to see the shark mer propping up his elbows onto the dock.

"Ghost comin'..?"

"Ah in a bit he's still getting his bearings.."

Now he was confused the last time he'd seen the pair and given them there updated shots and tags they'd been great.

The pair were unusual a Shark and Orca together seemed unheard of but yet just a few years ago now when Kyle had fallen overboard during an solo observation trip Ghost saved him from drowning.

Both of them were odd in a good way, Simon having been outcasted by his pod but he doesn't like to talk about it.

He had lots of scars all telling of countless battles of either for his territory or from just fights.

As for Soap, Sharks were solitary regardless but Soap had his own set of scars from fights some he shouldn't have tried starting.

"Bearings? What happended?.."

"Another fuckin' Orca smaller not as experienced grabbed me a few days back, Si really fucked em' up till the bastard clocked him on the head with there tail-"

Wait.

"Jesus , Where is he? I can get a team out and-"

"Ah ye know how he feels about humans..Plus he seemed to be swimming straight.."

"But Soap , He could have a concussion or maybe a facture-"

Soap sighed as he glanced back to the water before back at Kyle.

"Look..You can try convincing em'"

Soap frowned as Simon finally surfaced propping himself up onto the dock as well the wood creaking slightly under the weight of just Simons upper half.

"Ghost"

"Kyle."

Kyle huffed as he didnt even need to say anything as he went up to him giving him a look before he huffed grumbling quietly adjusting himself better so that Kyle could assess him.

Taking his time looking over the newer injuries they had healed well enough fishing out his little hand held flash light from his keychain in his pocket he checked Ghost's eyes.

After a bit of checking Kyle felt satisfied ignoring Ghost annoyed clicks.

"Mm..Now Soap you said it was another Orca right..? Did it come back?"

"Nah..Fucker swam off after bashing Ghost head..Pretty sure I could smell em' bleeding though for a bit till they got too far."

Right this was looking to be way too convenient and fitting to not match up with good ol' Scarface's condition.

"Mm..Alright..Anyway I brought some-"

"Treats?!" Before Kyle could even move his lunchbox away Soap had snatched it and Kyle let out a exasperated sigh not even fighting for it risk of being pulled into the water.

"Jesus Soap my lunch is still in there be careful- And dont eat the plastic!"

Werewolf Bites

pervious <- itching barbs -> next stage of infection

tws; sickness , injuries , vomiting , violence, no use of y/n

parings: gaz x male reader (established relationship)

-> c/n - call sign

-> n/n - nickname

"And so you've having these dreams ever since ya' got bit?"

"I mean uh..yeah?"

"Have you considered your maybe a furry?."

You smacked Soap on top of his head as he laughed.

"Soap I'm serious!"

"I know I know!-" Soap snickered as he tried to keep down his fit of giggles.

"So..do you think they mean anything?"

"..Honest no clue."

You huffed as he gently patted your shoulder.

Said shoulder still had the odd discoloration that worried you slightly you didn't want to be benched for longer you waited to get back out there you were getting more antsy than usual.

You couldn't stay still much, Spending your time on training once more when you were given the clear you wouldn't tear anything open.

You had missed training with Ghost but today you were horribly off and he made sure you knew it too as he way to easily knocked you down.

"You distracted Sergeant."

"M'not-"

"Usually its only when Kyles in the room your like this even then you can do better than this."

"..I know."

You got up back up with a huff shaking off a bit.

We were focused.

And then you fell again this time pinned under Ghost.

"What is wrong with you today?"

You huffed as you just growled glancing aside causing Ghost to roll his eyes getting off you.

Wait did you just growl at him?

"If you expect to be back in the action you need to focus."

He paused before grabbing your arm and tugging you up once he got off you.

"What's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong with us..me- I-"

"..Jesus mate If something is wrong with you and Gaz you-"

"It's not that!." You quickly corrected before apologizing for raising your voice the training room was empty it was later on in the day.

You just slightly flinched when he let go of your arm avoiding eye contact.

What was wrong with us?

Me.

"I-It's not that..I..I've just been having dreams and things have been happening since I got into that incident everything has felt off and loud.." You trailed off fiddling with your fingers your gaze falling down the training mat.

You felt a tug as you were pulled to the side and onto the bench Ghost staring down at you the longer he was quiet the longer you felt you'd overstepped.

"Have you gone to the therapist about it?" He finally spoke up which eased your nerves.

"Well..no."

"Go, If it's bothering you this bad, Go." He picked up his towel and water.

"But—"

"Just go I'm not having Price sign your clear unless you back to your usual self." Ghost huffed as he stared you down until you nodded giving in.

"We can pick up later."

And then he left.

Leaving us with our god-awful thoughts.

You were getting agitated.

This isn't what we need.

We need Kyle, our bed, our den.

But then yet you just listened to the therapist talk honestly it was good advise and offering of resources.

But it isn't what we need.

You sat for the whole session till the end it was short but you guessed needed, You wanted to find Kyle but he was in the mess hall too loud too many scents.

Too many scents.

You had recently started to get more agitated towards these things as time passed, It was honestly scaring you.

And oh god the itching.

You've had to start wearing longer sleeves because you unknowingly scratched bad enough to tear your skin.

At least you were doing better with training nothing serious still but at least you were getting back into your old ways.

You just hoped whatever this was would go away.

a/n: this one is erm VERY short bc im getting drained of ideas 😭ill still be trying im just almso doing other thigns in life trying to get over art block etc

Werewolf Bites

pervious <- discomfort -> next stage of infection

tws; sickness , injuries , vomiting , violence, no use of y/n

parings: gaz x male reader (established relationship)

-> c/n - call sign

-> n/n - nickname

Fuck

You feel like you've said that too many times now.

But it was right once again.

The fluorescent lights were killing you as you squinted around the room your eyes landing on a blurry figure entering the room they said something something as they talked too your side.

It was all muffled you just stared up at them.

You probably look stupid now eyes all unfocused and ears still faintly ringing as your hearing came back staring up at them like a bug.

"..God you're probably too drugged up to even remember the past few days..maybe even too out of it to understand this again."

Again.

Hm.

You blinked as he came into focus finally.

Oh right, Kyle.

"Again?"

"..Yeah Lovie..nice to see you awake again you've been in and out of it..How's the shoulder..?"

Right the bite.

You could barely feel it really but with a quick glance at it and more colors of bruises than the rainbow itself, you guessed the drugs were working great for you to feel barely anything.

"..Can't feel it much.."

"..Good..they upped your dosage enough the last time you woke you were sobbing near screaming in pain..I..It hurt to see you like that.."

"..Oh sorry.."

He just sighed chuckled as he shook his head and gently pressed a kiss to your forehead as he leaned down.

"Don't apologize..You've been through so much..Mission was a success though..The guys have been checking in on you too.."

"..Ghost too..?"

"Yes, love..I still don't understand why you think he hates you over a small prank.."

You just whined huffing it was a small prank honestly but it feels like you've done something horrible, You could blame your anxiety or whatever the hell else is wrong with you.

But you blamed yourself.

"..Try not to think about it much..Focus on healing up.."

And focus you did.

A day had passed and you fever had gone down.

They took you off your IV and finally gave you the all-clear for a mostly solid lunch a sandwich, some apples, medicine.

Water.

You had ate everything else swallowing your pills dry.

You couldn't stand the taste of the water though.

Maybe it was just your tastebuds being weird.

Next day you luckily got juice.

Gaz visited when he could ill you were eventually back up on your feet with a still sore and off-colored shoulder.

You'd still have to get some checkups for it it would have returned back to its normal color by now you weren't that worried though you were feeling great really.

You were told to take it easy minimal training meant you were still benched on Price's order and your begrudging acceptance.

But there were pros the main being that now you were cuddled up gently with Gaz who carded his hand gently through your hair peppering kisses along your face grinning.

"I missed you so much.."

"You saw me everyday.."

"I..I mean I missed holding you..Being close like this with you.."

"..I missed you too."

God, you didn't know how you got with such an incredible man.

Luck? Pity?

Maybe both.

The day you confessed you honestly thought your heart would give out when he just giggled.

That sly man of course had to tease you he already knew the rest of team knew your schoolgirl crush on Kyle.

You weren't subtle about it.

Following him around and 'coincidentally' ending up in the same room as him.

Just being close to him made you feel all fuzzy, You didnt want to be seen as a creep but you just loved everything about him.

You both never talked about marriage but you'd give everything you had to be with him to please him the lingering fear of showing such love to him still hung around.

You fear you'd break if he left you.

Us.

"Love?"

"Mm..?"

Oh he was looking at you all concerned.

Why.

Did you do something wrong? You didnt mean too.

Please dont be upset.

"You whined..Is it your shoulder..?"

"I did..?"

"Yeah..you did.."

"Its nothing.."

You shifted as you sat up in bed ignoring the tug at the back of your mind to sit and stay.

Why were you thinking like this now?.

"Love..c'mon speak for me please.. Whatever ever it is you can tell me."

"I-..I don't know..I just..feel off.."

"You must be..youve been cooped up in the medical ward for days.."

"Yeah..I guess its that.."

You sighed as you felt him gently kiss your sore shoulder.

"Hows the shoulder..?"

"Sore..achy..but fine."

"Mm..Well thats better.."

He smiled, God that smile.

You didnt resist when he gently brought you back to laying down his hands gently glided his hands over your arms and thighs before coming back up to cup your face.

"Heh.."

"What..? Is..Is there something on my face?"

"If you mean the adorable look your giving me then yeah.."

"Oh hush.."

You both laid like that for a bit enjoying the quiet.

"Love you n/n"

"Love you too.."

a/n: hopefully this is good kinda of rushed the end

Werewolf Bites

Masterlist

nausea -> next stage of infection

tws; sickness , injuries , vomiting , violence, no use of y/n

parings: gaz x male reader (established relationship)

-> c/n - call sign

-> n/n - nickname

a/n: hehehe im excited for this. also idk how military shit works im winging it your here for gaz no complete accuracy

Why did it have to be you.

You had missed a room while clearing out this corridor of the building this mission was supposed to be a easy co-op with you and Gaz.

But now your were trying to claw off this big fucking dog from ripping your throat out your gun somewhere dropped in surprised of getting lunged at.

It sunk its fangs deep into your shoulder dangerously close to your neck as blood spewed and your cried out in agony you finally got a hold of your combat knife sinking it into the dogs body repeatedly till it slumped over dead.

Shoving the corpse off you, You bit your tongue as burning pain flared up in your shoulder Gaz's crackly voice over your radio finally audible now with the lack of your cries of pain and dog growls.

"c/n? c/n how copy?"

You swallowed back the bile building in your throat as you heaved grabbing your radio flicking it on shakily as tried to focus with the searing pain in your shoulder.

"c/n here— fuck" You hissed as you pushed yourself up with your good arm.

"c/n? give me a sitrep you went silent on me."

"..Fuckin' dog got me- I opened up a room and the fucker pounced huge fuckin' thing." You looked over at your wound grimacing at the sight of bruising blooming as blood trickled down your arm near excessively.

"Shit..Can you make it back to the main entrance?..I got the files ill radio for exfil."

"I..I can"

"c/n."

"I can"

"Alright."

You flicked your radio off as you trudged your way back where you came.

"Bloody hell c/n you gotta be more careful."

Gaz gently chided as you huffed wincing.

"Your lucky the fucker didn't rip your throat out.."

You grumbled looking aside the future rabies shots were not going to be a pleasant thing to be welcomed with when you both reached back at base.

"You alright..? Looking a bit pale."

"M'fine..Just..A bit woozy."

"Mm..exfil is a another hour or two out still don't go all rabies on me before then how about that."

You chuckled dryly as you blearing blinked as you leaned over dry heaving before puking your guts out catching Gaz off guard as he steadied you so wouldn't fall over into your own bile gently rubbing your back.

"Fuck..It's okay..Christ."

Coughing and gagging the unpleasant taste of bile lingering in your mouth as Gaz helped you sit down away from your mess.

"Just..Just sit down and rest..When we get home they'll fix you right up no? You'll have a killer scar after this all."

You got hummed coughing as Gaz wiped your face clean despite how you mumbled how gross it was as he kissed your forehead shushing your incoherent ramble.

You hadn't gotten any better and the exfil wasn't that far away now Gaz updated you as he held you close you were sweating bullets managing to keep down the water from your canteen.

He assured and updated on the helis time frame to reach you both, You could tell he was nervous never the best at hiding his emotions from you even in this fever ridden mess you were.

"There gonna be here soon love, Mm? Gonna get you back in shape..Hows the shoulder?."

You mumbled swallowing thickly as you shifted in his arms.

"You gotta speak up for me Lovie tell me how you are?"

"M'all sticky.."

"Well I'd guess so your sweating buckets..They'll be here soon okay?"

He sighed as he rana hand threw your near damp hair eventually giving you a few more sips of water as you both waited.

Exfil was quick a another solider helping you up into the heli a medic waiting along inside that went to work on you as you were laid onto the floor.

But all you remembered was falling asleep and awaking on the warm earth.

Running your hands threw the soft soil as you sat up a chill still rattling your bones.

"Gaz?"

You called out as you looked around cautiously your hand drifted too your holster to find it gone along with all other gear gone.

You felt bare exposed like a nerve the flicker and twitch of muscle felt like tremors in the earth as you looked around you saw nothing but forest.

"Kyle?"

Still nothing.

You frowned as you looked around you felt so warm you guessed it was the sun beaming down on you.

You hadn't been walking long till you reached a river bed the sudden parched feeling in your thought becoming know as you greedily gulped down water.

What was even going on?

You felt like you hadn't drank in days.

When you looked up you flinched at the sight of the dog that attacked you.

Or at least you thought it was a dog at the time.

It just stared at you, Yellow eyes staring you down as foam dripped down from his maw the foam slowly bubbling up into a pinkish tinge as blood dripped from its mouth .

It probably had rabies.

You did too.

You hoped.

unnatural bleeding

merfolk au!

previous <- part 4 -> next

parings: gaz x reader

chars: gaz, price , soap , ghost

tws: blood, injuries, violence, past abuse, language, slow burn, rude reader.

a/n: THERE MEETING THERE MEETING :3

tags; @chickennn-soupp @cassiecasluciluce @sans-chara @lethargicluv 

Waking up again you were once again heavily confused shivering as you took a breath inhaling that familiar chemical scent.

Chemicals.

Chemicals?

It wasn't as strong as you remembered it the more you woke and regained feeling in your body you saw a fucking pool.

You were just nearby laying on a plastic hangover on the edge of it your tail hanging off the edge into the water.

Oh god.

Oh no.

Fuck

You pushed yourself up and pushed yourself into the pool before resurfacing your breathing picking up as you looked around the all to familar blank walls the one way glass mirror that didn't hide the feeling of eyes on you.

What?

No

No

No

-

Gaz winced as he watched the Mer panic, It was common for mer's who came from the ocean were usually not at all receptive to human intervention and or help.

The natural built in generational fear of humans made sense due the unsavory practices of the past due to myths stirred up way back then that there flesh brought youth back into you, that there fins were important ingredients for medicinal cures or just for high life luxury, and that they were just used as luxury pets.

He tried to not let his mind wonder any father as he glanced down to his notes biting his lip as he sighed just jotting down the usual panicked behavior internally hoping they'd still be tired from the sedative which they very much were as there panicked had died down to swimming around the barren pool.

Gaz huffed as he left the observation room and onto the observation deck a decent height above the pool his presence didn't go unnoticed as the mer's eye flicked over to him a deathly glare being sent at him.

Avoiding a splash sent up at him Gaz was unphased mostly jotting down notes now as the Mer calmed eventually now just watching him which he didn't at all mind gave him a better view of all of there body and tail jotting down specific markers and scars along the skin.

Looking back at his other Orca mer notes they had no features genetically similar to any of the other Orca's they've rehabbed at least in this area of the country and since they found them all alone he was to assume they either left there close familial group or was very much lost which was likely due to there injuries.

There's just no way there pod would have left them in such a state but at the same time after reviewing there injuries Gaz was unsure to say the least.

There injuries were way to aggressive to be a simple fight or struggle between prey and predator, Not specific enough for them to be from blades of a boat motor, And were also not specific enough for them to be a survivor of a failed poaching attempt.

Gaz sighed as he shifted on his feet glancing up from his notes and to the Mer which still stared at him.

"God's what happen to you.." He mumbled as he leaned against the railing the Mer had retreated back underwater seemingly bored with him now.

-

This was weird—

No this was wrong.

This human had been just watching you?

And doing whatever it was doing.

Should you stare back?

Maybe you'll freak it out.

You did not in fact freak it out and it was still doing something with that board.

This place didn't seem all too bad.

You couldn't smell the remnants of blood from past creatures like you could back there they never cleaned your holding pool enough to make that scent fade away sometimes it was strong enough that you could have sworn the corpses were just floating right next to you.

There has been cases when they tried to even partner you up with a another Mer for a chance at calming you.

You only had one incident for them to know you should be left isolated.

You didn't want to be alone.

But a noise brought you out of your mind.

"Hey? I uh..brought you food."

It was that human again from the dock now that you got a better look at him.

Weirdo.

You surfaced as you looked over at him.

He was in grabbing range.

But you rather not get punished.

Does this place do punishments?

It's not the old place.

Hm.

You eventually decided not to drown him and instead waiting as he got closer cautious with a bucket of Fish that didn't smell like it was decaying for one still fresh possibly been frozen as he pushed over the bucket allowing you to get closer to the edge of the pool as he backed up out of reach.

To say you were hungry was a understatement as you ate till you were full enough pushing the bucket back towards him squinting at him as he chuckled.

"You must of been starving huh?..I know this must be confusing but were all here to help."

Lies.

"I'll be back to feed you later in a couple of hours.."

Don't come back.

"..Alright see you later Scarface."

What?

That name confused you greatly but you chose to ignore it you've been called worse.

Oh god what if they start calling you that?

"[Name]"

The human stopped dead in his tracks as he looked back at you.

"[Name]?"

You nodded as he hummed.

"Mines Gaz or..Well Kyle."

"Stupid names."

He was bewildered for a moment before chuckling once more.

"Alright Scarface"

"Kyle"

unnatural bleeding

merfolk au!

previous <- part 3 -> next

parings: gaz x reader

chars: gaz, price , soap , ghost

tws: blood, injuries, violence, past abuse, language, slow burn, rude reader.

tags; @chickennn-soupp @cassiecasluciluce @sans-chara @lethargicluv 

a/n; hehehehemuahauahahahahaa (also realized the abuse tw doesnt rlly apply much its more like past abuse then current so ill fix that.) also i dont believe in proofreading (im lazy) also im not good at dialogue or sticking to povs....:(

The mer was in horrible condition by the time they had located them, Sightings from swimmers, surfers, and divers anyone that could have briefly seen them.

They had finally got a lead and the team was off, It didn't take but a couple of hours to find the injured Mer it didn't seem to disturbed at our presence yet till of course it seemed to notice us finally starting to swim away.

Susan one of our head researchers loading the tranquilizer gun as we prepared things around the boat, From what he could see the mer seemed to be in worse condition on the skinnier side and scarred beyond thought possible glimpse of sunburn scars also confused him.

"Where'd ya even find da' poor ol' sap like that Gaz?"

"Around the dock was on a break..nearly thought it was a corpse till it swam away."

"Creepy.."

He nodded sighing as they started up the boat again steering themself to be on line with the mer that must of noticed they were being followed they had started at a quicker pace of swimming which no doubt was hurting there injuries even worse pulling up beside them with the both allowing Susan to take proper aim.

A first hit there tail fin when they tried to quickly surface for air which sent them into a panic he felt anxious they would get away as they got another dart ready

They seemed to feeling the dart in full effect as they tried to shake the dart off there struggles gradually weakening when Susan had already reloaded getting a good shot on there back as the mer tried to dive deeper.

Recovering there now unconscious form had been relatively easy they were on the small size of Orca mer as they were laid on the boat heading course back to the facility as the medics on board got to work with patching up some of there injuries some would need surgery to be properly stitched up and fully sanitized.

He sighed as he looked over the mer sighing as he gave a gently pat to it's tail it hurt him to see them in such a state.

"As far as our examination goes we can't get a definite age but they are a full adult, There underweight so slipping in supplements and more high fat content in there food is a must.." A medic would explain as they both watched the Orcas surgery from behind glass.

"A lot of there wounds were infected but in the early stages so recovery from them might be a easy enough process.."

"You think there wounds are the cause of them being underweight?"

"We don't think so the wounds would be much more infected than they were now if it had been from a while back.."

Gaz sighed as he shifted.

"I'll go talk with Price-"

He turned heading out as he started down the hall.

He always thought this place needed some decorations besides the main lobby and a few other rooms the hallways were bare made the place feel more sterile and void always made him shiver or maybe it was the cool A/C that the old man was so stubborn about.

It didn't take him long to reach Price around the pool area.

"Garrick, How'd it go?"

"Better than expecting there gonna be leavin' to the rehab pools soon enough..You think they'll be big enough?"

"Pretty sure we've handle Mer's bigger than em' right?"

Gaz nodded, "There pretty small mer poor thing's underweight and got a infection'"

Price hummed as he picked up what he was working on before Gaz came in.

"You heard about Shadow's Shore getting a bunch of there 'attractions' stolen?"

Shadow's Shore, God those bastards they were notorious for kidnapping or even killing merfolk for sport.

The merfolk they kidnapped were usually children easiest to grab and place into there tanks treated no more than a mindless creature they usually didn't live there entire lifespans which was still unknown for most merfolk due to people like Shadow's Shore taking them while there young just for them to die barely even adults.

Video's from the place made his blood boil forced to do tricks, Getting treats as if they were a dogs, And god that annoying baby talk.

Merfolk were basically on the same intelligence level as human even rumored to have there own general language and species specific language yet laws in a lot of places refused to see them as such allowing Shadow Shore to stay open for the money it brought in.

The merfolk that were hunted were treated like trophy kills let out into small pools where they where shot and held up to pose with the person who paid to kill them.

Gaz shivered he still remember that video that was quickly covered up by the press, That poor mer crawling desperately out of the pool trying to get away so many arrows sticking out it.

Gaz quickly shook himself out of that thought focusing back in front of him.

"Really? fuckers would of deserved it..What'd made you bring this up?"

"They lost a few of there Orca Mer's"

a/n; cutting this short here cuz its literally 1 am as i finish this part off LMAO if this isnt as good as the other ones blame 1 am kron 🫠 also loreee ! loreee! some background info into this world :))))

height chart for my merfolk au

when i said you were big your BIGG , Male Orca can reach up to 27 feet long on average.

ofc you in the story isnt gendered but that still doesnt mean you cant be pretty huge.

Most of your height/length comes from your tail but your still pretty huge regardless (MAYBE I MAKE ART? idk how to draw buff men so maybe not :( )

As for Soap since sharks can also get pretty big he's on the larger side too.

but for Ghost? Hes just a big boy (Most Orcas are) genetics also play into how large youll be as a mer like human genes.

You could have two smaller merfolk parents and end up way bigger than them it just depends.

but anwyays we love our short king Gaz

as the story goes on ill be dropped more stuff like this (little explanations)

anyways i wanted to drop this here cuz i wanted :3

unnatural bleeding

merfolk au!

previous <- part 2 -> part 3

parings: gaz x reader

chars: gaz, price , soap , ghost

tws: blood, injuries, violence, past abuse, language, slow burn, rude reader.

a/n: sorry if it seems like im rushing i want to have most of the parts be the slow burn rather then the build up again not proof read we ride or die

tags; @chickennn-soupp <3 !

You slept nearly the entire day till you stirred awake at the near by noise of the wood creaking on the dock.

You groaned quietly as you shifted getting ready to pull yourself back into the water the tide had started to come back in and your wounds weren't bleeding much but you couldn't stay here for long anyways.

"What the hell?"

Your thoughts were quickly interrupted by a voice as you quickly turned towards it sort of flinching back slightly you weren't close to the dock at all but it still felt too close.

You've been around humans enough to know a a lot things.

You knew how to read and understand English well enough and speak it too it always amazed them for some reason even though you were always capable at mimicking or learning other languages they always saw you as just a slightly higher intelligent animal.

So you knew a phone when you saw one and you knew what it usually meant to so once they pulled it out without much hesitation you dived back under you were starting to dry out a bit.

"Wait wait!-"

You just ignored them as you swam a good distance away it was too risky for you to linger your injuries still fresh and you haven't the slightest clue to take care of them.

-

When he decided to take a break down at the docks for a quick smoke he did not at all expect to see a fucking Orca mer of all fuckin things the words just slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"What the hell?"

They looked like they'd been threw a blender poor thing, They flinched when he guess they heard his voice staring at him now it was hard to see much of what they looked like but he fished out his phone quickly as he flicked threw his contacts dialing a number only to realized the mer was starting to move.

"Wait wait!-"

He cursed internally as you already slipped into the water just as the phone had picked up.

"Price!"

"Fuckin' hell Garrick pipe down-"

"Ah I know- I know- But It's urgent-"

"I swear Gaz if it's about that dog."

"It's not this time I promise! I got another case on our hands."

-

You had found another set of rocks to rest on messing with a shell you had snagged from a coral bed a ways back but you had snagged some seaweed in a attempt to replicate the way humans would bandage you.

It was messy and barely actually helped but it covered the few wounds you could manage to wrap without pain flaring up.

The sudden urge of hunger came over you realizing you haven't eaten in a while your last meal was when you were fed this morning.

Surely hunting wouldn't be that hard?.

It was not that hard honestly,

If hunting was scaring off some poor saps from there kill was hunting you were lucky they mistook your grizzled appearance as experience and strength rather than weakness.

Because you were most definitely weak as you dug into the poor creatures flesh you couldn't identify what it was as you ate it but you didn't care there wasn't a bad taste and you hadn't keeled over from some toxin so you were alright.

You eventually finished off most of it before leaving the rest there you were full now swimming off to god knows where your wounds didn't stop hurting of course which slowed you down greatly.

You eventually found yourself another place to sleep for the night your wounds would hopefully start doing something other than stay open and risk infection or even tearing worse.

What you didn't expect to be waken up to was the sound of the familiar rumble of a boat that was way too close voices that sounded way to clear you were supposed to be too far out for any human to happen upon you.

You were not in the mood for squeal and the shutter and flash of cameras today as you slinked back under the water and swam off.

What you also failed to expect is for the boat to start following you, You initially thought they got bored and were going to turn there boat back around to shore but of course not they were following you.

You just kept swimming forcing yourself to go faster swimming a bit lower hoping they'd lose you but they didn't.

Familiar dread rose in you panic slightly rising as you kept swimming ignoring the burn and strain you were putting on you wounds.

You didn't want to go back brief flashes of memories obscuring your vision dug up from you subconscious The chase, The shots, And the blood there was so much you couldn't breath you were covered in it.

You blinked away the memories you couldn't lose yourself not now as you took a quick breath and that was your mistake as you felt a sudden sharp pain in your tail crying out as you thrashed turning yourself to try to rip out the dart that had been shot into you it was on the smaller side but sharp enough to pierce threw your thick skin of your tail fin.

Fatigue had already set in as you eventually ripped the thing out the boat had stopped muffle warped voices from above the water as the whirr of a machine came to life.

You couldn't fucking go back not like this they'd kill you or worse, Why would they want you bad you were ruined you weren't young and energetic and naive you didn't have the hope of escape you used too.

You didn't have much time to think of your demise much more as thee was another sharp pain in your back before you fell unconscious.

a/n: woooo new pov ee also how would you guys feel if i dropped the height chart of all characters ? (your much bigger than you think orcas r huge so u being half a orca would make you massive enough :3)

unnatural bleeding

Masterlist

merfolk au!

part 1 -> part 2

parings: gaz x reader

chars: gaz, price , soap , ghost

tws: blood, injuries, violence, past abuse, language, slow burn, rude reader.

a/n: i hope this was alright 😭 not proofread fuck it we ball

Where were you?

You couldn't move,

Were you in holding again?.

You didn't attack anyone, At least no one you could remember.

You still felt bad for that other merfolk they shouldn't have gotten so close.

Your mouth dry as you licked your even dryer lips despite the strange humidity in the air your body felt numb your limbs slack as you tried to look around only to realized you were in darkness shifting as your body regained it's senses.

You eventually woke up your body enough your tail thrashing in its confined space till you realized.

You weren't even in water you were moist yeah damp at the very least, You could feel the rubbery texture starting to agitated old and new wounds. Newer wounds plastered in this weird cold material that you found out was resistant to the water helping your wounds stay closed.

You learned quick back then not to try and scrape it off ending up in the sick bay was near hellish those babying voices, all those hands on you, and those needles the tiny things frightening you after finding out that such a small dose of whatever they gave you could send you helplessly lethargic and eventually unconscious as they shipped you over to a new tank.

But this?

This was weird as the sounds of voices and whirring finally reached your torn ears.

"There starting to wake up c'mon!-"

"You sure the crane is gonna be able to handle all of well that?"

"Yes just fuckin' dump em'"

And then you were suddenly weightless as your vision flooded with light blinding you and not helping your coordination as you fell into the water.

You couldn't breath the hard shock of the temperature of the water and the brightness stunning you enough that you didn't even realized you were free from confinement the brightness of the sun still clearing up the black spots in your vision.

"Is it dead? It's not moving-"

"Fuck we need to go- C'mon!"

"But-"

You finally came to your senses enough has you stole a quick breath of air before diving back under blinking rapidly as you looked around this felt different.

The water lacked its smell of strong chemicals, and nearly vivid teal blue look.

Where the fuck where you?

-

Okay there was a big issue you'd been swimming for a while now.

And you hadn't run into any walls yet.

You found yourself flinching sometimes when you approached what you thought was the end of the tank but it kept going, You didn't think you were in a pool anymore.

You kept swimming resisting the urge to pick at your wounds you were confused beyond belief as you went around there was fish everywhere most avoiding you you would too as you swam around.

You've never seen fish at least not when they weren't floating around dead to the pool bottom.

Vibrant coral still flourishing.

This wasn't right.

A grumble in your throat as you surfaced for a moment blinking as you looked around quickly realizing there was no pool edge in sight.

No person in sight.

No chairs.

No bright lights.

No sounds other than the water it's self and bird up ahead.

Oh fuck.

Wait.

Oh fuck yes.

You dove back down the pervious shock and horror changed into releif.

You were fucking free, You sighed your body slightly relaxing as you swam looking around.

You didn't remember much of the ocean, Barely much memories as a child but the open vastness was familiar you swam around till something or more like someone caught your eye a smaller merfolk collecting seaweed.

You tilted your head should you approach them? Maybe just to see where the hell in the ocean you were.

Or maybe you could scare the shit out of some poor guy who just slashed you with his makeshift knife.

Okay maybe slowly stalking up to him like a predator wasn't the smartest idea, You knew larger merfolk hunted and regularly ate smaller or merfolk who were more prey-like than usual if that made any sense.

But stabbing you?

That felt personal, Now you were desperately chasing after this guy trying to apologize and beg him to stop swimming it was starting to piss you off.

From behind you could see him better or at lease see what his mer half was better.

Shark.

Oh.

Are you fucking kidding me?

You eventually catch up to him grabbing him not at all gently flipping him around as you exhaled grumbling you'd need to take a breath soon and all the biting and scratching he was now doing.

"Fucking stop- Look I'm not going to eat you will you just!-"

"Get the fuck off me you fuckin' asshole!-"

"Look please I just need-"

"Si!-"

And then you feel like you got hit by a boulder as the mer you had previously been shaking and trying for him to stop yelling was yanked from you.

It took you a second to realized you were being dragged down your teeth meeting your attacker flesh as you struggled with whoever this was they were heavier and larger than you which didn't help your predicament that you needed air and quick.

Scratches and bites exchanged as they pushed to drag you deeper now you could say with full intent they wanted to drown you, You finally bit down as hard as you could as you slammed your tail against there body finally getting them off as you swam to the surface catching a quick breath before diving down and finally seeing what you where up against.

A orca mer much larger than yourself barreling towards you.

You barely had time to react as you flipped slamming your tail fin into him head first before darting off as fast as you could taking quick gasps of air till you felt you were no longer in his sights.

You surfaced panting heavily the reality of your wounds set in and your adrenaline wore off finally making you realize how tired you were you kept on swimming trying to ignore your own blood dyeing the surrounding waters red.

The reality of it all made you realize there's no injections to save you this time, No bandages and creams to help keep your wounds clean.

You were helpless.

You didn't know why you didn't realize it early, Was it the taste of freedom that blinded you? You had no idea how to hunt, No idea how to properly fight, And no idea how to treat your own wounds.

You eventually forced your self to swim till you saw some semblance of land the weird horrible chemical smells that came from human settlements was familiar too you but you avoided it.

You doubted you'd be recaptured you were too old, Too ugly, Too beaten up to be a nice new attraction having lost your baby face and charm years ago.

You could barely keep yourself awake as you swam yourself to the near perk of rocks it felt too close to the docks but you need something to rest on it was cloudy enough to not risk a sunburn which was something you did not need today.

You just hoped a human wouldn't come along and gawk at you like they usually did sometimes even throw bits of food clearly not made for consumption like you were a stray dog.

You just need a few minutes to rest.

Maybe a hour.

Ghost would crash the most, but Johnnys crashes level his car every time. Miracle they’re alive at all. And in one piece. Ghost drives a challenger, Johnny drives a mustang.

Prices car is the closest one to a beater out of all of them. The rust, weird noises and odd quirks gives it personality love, he says. His car is also an absolute nightmare to detail because he insists that the first cup holder is his ash tray and the built up pile of ash has to stay. Car smells reaaaaaal funky. Never rolls his window up to smoke. Drives an older model Camaro

Gaz’s is the newest and nicest. He’s not very messy but he always hires you to detail it. The only thing with him is his car is also his gym locker and he has so much shit in the back seat and it smells like man sweat. Will never take it out before bringing his car to your shop. Feel like he’d drive a hellcat

Sometimes they just show up and hangout in your lot to drink beer, play music loud and talk shit about whatever car you’re trying to fix at that moment (you’re scaring the clientele guys pls)

THIS!! This is so accurate!!

I feel like yes they can be annoying and dirty at times and can scare away the clients sometimes there is also a lot of pros of them being around almost 24/7.

Such as when a client is being a bit to aggressive trying to haggle you out of your original price and then you got four big burly men who are like your security and the client backs off and doesn't come back until their car is ready.

I Also think that both Soap and Gaz are huge energy drink people so every now and then you'll see a few monsters or red bulls in Gaz's car BUT soap car... you're scared of even opening his door in fear of a shit ton of old red bulls, monsters and Rockstar energy drinks cans attacking you.

It's also pretty cool because you have these men at your disposal. You can use them to pick up heavy car parts that you don't want to, just let out a sharp whistle and you got one of them or all of their attention.

Going back to Price's rank smelling car I can imagine a scenario where reader is giving his car back to him and he sees one of the car air freshener and he's like "what's this love? I dont need one." And you respond with "yes you do I'm tired of working on a smelly ass car."

Not the first time won't be the last that Soap drives to your shop with a door missing a door, a headlight broken, tires near to being smooth and a dopey grin on his face as he calls you over to assess his fucked up mustang that's running on prayers by now.

I don't know why but I can see Ghost's always having cracks or being broken and you're always confused because how hard are you racing for your windshield to be broken all the time???

Doesn't matter how many time you scold them for intimidating other clients and making fun of their cars but they ain't gonna stop they are jealous that others are taking the cute mechanic's attention.

By the amount of times they have come to your shop so you can work on their cars you who's car is who's by the way they sound.

You are silently cursing out gaz while you detail his car moving his gym bag random shit he has in his trunk also I truly believe this man has the most random things lost in the seats like once you were cleaning it out and just found a TV remote like wtf??

TEACHER KYLE GAZ GARRICK SMUTTT!!!

Btw this is my first time writing smut so sorry if something is a bit off I'm still new to writing lol. Also Alerudy fic on the wayyy!

Paring: Gaz x AFAB reader

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

You and your college teacher have been secretly dating ever since yall kept seeing each other outside of campus and actually started to hang out and then slowly started dating.

At first you thought that you weren't going to mix your school life with personal life and that you'd be able to stay professional with your professor.

That's when you find yourself making out with your teacher in his empty classroom...

He lips crashed against yours, warm and possessive. An arm snaked around your waist as he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer. He broke the kiss, leaving you breathless and flushed, before whispering against your lips, "You're irresistible."

"I need you so bad" you whine in his ear with a pleading look on you're face

"God, I need you too." The words rolled off of his tongue like a prayer. His hands roamed your body, as if he couldn't get enough of you. With a wicked grin, he picked you up and set you on his desk, pushing the papers and books aside.

He continues to kiss you deeply savoring the feeling of his lips on yours. his hands moving up your shirt as he deepened the kiss. He broke away and stared into your eyes with hunger and fire. "I want you so fucking bad." He growled before reclaiming your lips.

"I'm all yours" you whisper in his ear Kyle's eyes darkened, lust and desire burning bright. "You're mine." He murmured as he trailed kisses down your neck. Sliding your shirt up and over your head, he admired the sight of you in just your bra.

He kisses down your neck leaving hickeys behind he expertly unhooked your bra, letting it fall away and revealing your bare breasts to his hungry gaze. His hands came up to cup and massage, his thumbs brushing against your nipples, making them harden under his touch. "You're so fucking beautiful."

You couldn't help but shudder and moan at the sensation

He took advantage of your exposed chest, leaning down to capture a nipple in his mouth. He swirled his tongue around it, teasing and sucking before switching to the other one, giving it the same attention while his hands roamed over your body.

His hand went lower and lower eventually reaching your pants as he slowly lowered your pants and underwear, exposing you to him. He knelt down in front of you, admiring every inch of your body. His hands gently caressed your thighs before spreading them apart, giving him a better view. "You're perfect."

He eans in closer, his breath hot against your wet folds. He looks up at you, his eyes filled with lust and desire, before he finally closes the distance and takes a long, slow lick of your pussy. "Fuck, you taste amazing."

With a satisfied grin, he dives back in, his tongue exploring your pussy with wild abandon. He eagerly laps up your wetness, teasing and sucking on your clit before plunging his tongue into your hole.

Your hands reach up into his curls you tighten your grip on his hair he lets out a soft groan at the feeling of your hand in his hair. He intensifies his attention on your pussy, his tongue flicking faster over your clit. He grips your thighs tightly, encouraging you to grind against him as he eats you out.

You grind and buck into his face as he eats you out he eagerly meets your bucking hips, his tongue never leaving your clit. He moans against you, the vibrations only heightening your pleasure as he continues to lick and suck at your wet pussy. "Yes, just like that" he moans against your cunt.

"S-Shit Kyle I'm about to-" you couldn't even finish your sentence his cocky smirk returns to his face as he hears you approach your climax, knowing he's the cause of it. He takes a second to look up at you before plunging his tongue back into your pussy, determined to make you come hard on his face.

You felt your upcoming climax your vision goes white as you squirted making a mess on his face and shirt.

As your orgasm overwhelms you, he pulls off your panties entirely, eager to taste every last drop of your juices. He catches your squirt with his mouth, groaning in pleasure as he swallows your release. "Fuck, that's hot...

Kyle slowly slides his tongue out of your pussy, gently licking up any remaining wetness before standing back up. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a satisfied grin on his face as he looks at you. "Good girl... you came so hard for me..."

You felt a bit embarrassed about the mess you made and looked away. His grin widens as he notices your flushed face. He reaches out to gently tug on your hand, pulling you towards him. "Hey, don't be shy. You have nothing to be ashamed of you were fucking incredible just now."

You let out a small chuckle "thanks kyle" I smiled up at him. Kyle wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug. He rests his chin on top of your head, inhaling deeply as he basks in your scent. "Mmm, anytime... I love making you feel good" he said softly as he gave you a peck on the lips.

"Come on let go get something to eat yeah?" He smiled at you.

GAZ ANGST TIMEE! For my gaz lovers since we are STARVED of this man.

~♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆~

As the last moments together ticked closer and closer to an end, Gaz continued to try and maintain his calm exterior. "Don't wait for me, okay? Promise me."

A long pause fell upon them, and Gaz's soft eyes looked into your, pleading with them in a silent way. "Be happy."

All you could do was look down at the floor it didn't feel real. The love of your life was going on a mission that he won't be coming back from.

He stared at you waiting for anything he didn't want his final moments with you to be pure silence. He needed to hear your voice. "love please I need you to promise me you'll be happy yeah?". He raised your chin with his hand to look you in the eyes.

"I don't know if I'll ever be happy in a life without you" you said tears in your eyes. "Don't cry, please," he begged, his throat aching as he fought back the urge to break down completely at this moment in front of you. "You have to be. For both of our sakes."

He tried to steady his voice, to sound brave and strong, for your sake, but failed. There was nothing he could do to hide his sadness and pain at the thought of leaving you alone and never coming back.

"You’ll find love again," he whispered, "I promise you. I always believed it would be us but sometimes destiny has other plans. I just don’t want you to stop believing in love. Remember that.”

He smiled at you, wiping your tears away with his thumb, hoping he could erase every ounce of sadness he saw in her eyes right now with just his touch.

"It's not fair" you said quietly "I know, sweetheart. I know." He wanted to tell you so much more. That despite the pain he felt in this moment, the only thing that mattered was making sure you were happy. That he was going to miss you forever. That he’d always love you and wish he could be with you every day.

So instead he just pulled you into a long, tight hug, never wanting to let go again. You had taken a step back and tried your hardest not to cry as you talked "I- um I wanted to give you this photo as my gift to you" you gave him a photo of yall first date with each other.

Gaz's heart warmed instantly when he saw what you were holding. It was a photo from your first date, when everything began. Just looking at it, he could picture their entire life together stretching out before him.

For a brief moment, he forgot everything else and he was back in that moment for real. His eyes filled with tears, but he smiled through the pain and took the photo from you. With a final glance at it, he squeezed it tightly in his hand. The world around Gaz slowed. Reality came to a screeching halt as the truth set in. This was it. You're final goodbye.

Gaz took your hands, pulling close. His eyes scanned her expression, searching for any sign that this wasn't really happening. *He wasn't ready to say goodbye.*

His heart raced, his vision blurred as you smiled at him when you looked at him as if he hung the stars. He smiled back at you. Gaz knew it was time to let her go. His mind began to settle, as he took a deep breath. "I'll carry those memories in my heart...forever."

Time had nearly run out, and both of them were aware of it. Gaz refused to let go, his hands grazing your face and caressing your hair once more. Their lips met in a final kiss that took the last few seconds off the clock. "I love you..." you had said voice breaking.

"I love you more..." He had always said that to you. Never once did he win the "I love you more than you love me" contest. He was fine with losing every time though. He couldn't resist the temptation of saying it again and again.

"I'll always think of you" you said tears flooding you're eyes. "I'll think of you too," Gaz answered, his words being cut-off by the sound of his watch beeping.

The time was up. Tears continued to stream down Gaz's face as he watched you take a step back. He didn't want to let go, not like this. If he could take just one more second of their time together, he'd take it in a heartbeat.

But, it wouldn't last a second longer...

"It's time," he said softly as he squeezed your hand one last time, "It's time to go."

The two shared one final moment. Gaz knew it was the last time they would ever see each other. He gently pressed his forehead against yours, letting the warmth from your body engulf him.

"I'll miss you," you whispered. "I'll miss you too." He whispered back.

With a final kiss on the cheek, Gaz turned away, taking in one last view of your face before he was gone for good. And as he stepped out the door, a single tear rolled down his cheek.

I'm back on my Sons of Anarchy bullshit so here you are ~

Something something the 141 being a notorious close-knit outlaw motorcycle club. Price being the mc President, Ghost being the Vice President, Gaz being sergeant-at-arms and Soap being intelligence officer.

And you were the pretty bird that worked behind the bar, 'Too feisty to be a Crow Eater' Ghost would say but 'Too pretty to not have a job at the club' Soap would say. Everyone knows that you're off limits, not because Price said so.

Oh no

But because when you first started working at the club, one of the other bikers mistaking thought you were a Crow Eater so when he thought he could cop a feel you didn't hesitate to grab the closet thing, an empty beer bottle, and smash it over his head. You held the broken bottle and threatened everyone. Stating angrily that if anyone was to touch you then they'd end up in A&E.

Unfortunately for you, Gaz saw that as a challenge.

A challenge he succeeded with every time. It almost became a game between you both

Every weekend, at some point through the night, he'd back you up into a corner. Conveniently the corner closes to his room at the club

'Gaz, I will twat you' You'd half heartedly threaten him, not completely meaning it.

Gaz would flash you his pretty boy smile 'Sure you would sweetheart'

You'd lift you hand to hit him but Gaz was quick. He was always quicker than you. He'd pin your wrist to the wall, wrapped his hand gently around your throat that he knows makes your knees weak.

He knows you better than you know yourself. The subtle flinch when he goes for your neck, the way your breath hitches, a silent protest he ignores. He learned that a sharp bite on your shoulder, a playful aggression, elicits a moan so sweet, so utterly yielding, it makes him want to devour you whole. He knows the precise pressure to apply, the exact spot to sink his teeth into.

He knows how to make you look at him. Cupping the back of your head, his thumb gently pressing beneath your jaw, tilting your face upward – just enough to catch the innocent, wide-eyed gaze he adores. Those doe eyes, so full of a naive trust that belies the raw, desperate need that writhes beneath the surface. Those eyes, those eyes are his downfall, his salvation.

Every time Gaz whispers those words into your ear, your heart skips a beat.

'Gonna make you my old lady,' he groans, his breath hot against your skin as his hips thrust against yours. You can feel him, hard and insistent, as the tip of his cock constantly batters that spot inside of you that makes your toes curl.

'Yo- You say that every time,' you gasp, your voice high and full of lust. 'You never make good on your promise.'

Gaz flips you onto your stomach, his hand coming down firmly on the middle of your shoulder blades to keep you in place. He fists your hair and pulls your head back, exposing your neck to him. You can feel his breath against your skin as he slowly pushes himself back into your sloppy hole.

'Then let me,' he begs, his voice low and full of need. He picks up speed, his hips slapping against yours as he takes what he wants from you. 

And you let him

Maybe becoming his old lady wouldn't be so terrible

I am on a motherfucking ROLL lately

I like how we all collectively agree that pretty boy Kyle has the prettiest dick ever and I

My favourite artist just liked 141 - Stickers and I'm just 😭😭

I've really made it in life 😭😭😭

It's @littlebit-of-art ❤️😭😭

I really want to write another headcanon for the 141 but I have zero ideas 🥲

Nurse!Reader x 141 and stickers

How I think the 141 would act if Nurse!Reader gives out stickers to all the soldiers they patch up on base: This is my first headcanon

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish absolutely fucking loves the stickers, like he's lowkey obsessed with getting one. His sketchbook is covered in the stickers you give him and if there's no more room for the stickers that's okay. He'll just buy a new one. Lowkey gets pouty and sassy if you forget to give him a sticker after patching him up.

And we are done. Good as new 

Soap wait's patiently with his hand stuck out 

What are you waiting for Soap?

Fur mah sticker. Obviously

Oh shit. Sorry, I forgot

Whit dae ye mean ye forgot? dae ye nae care aboot me anymair

Grow up you drama Queen

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick Is a bit like Soap in a way he loves the stickers. They make him happy in this fuck up world, when he get's his sticker for being a brave boy, as you say, he wears the sticker all day as a badge of honour but if he looses the stickers randomly in the day he gets kinda pouty when he asks for another one 

Can I have another sticker please?

Did you loose yours already?

I didn't mean too! I think Soap stole mine. Pretty please can I have another one

You know the rules. Unless you're injured I'm not giving you a stickers

Cue puppy dog eyes

Goddamit Kyle. Fine, here's your sticker but don't loose it

Captain John Price felt a bit silly at first when you gave him a sticker. He's grown man, he doesn't need a sticker for getting patched up but he very quickly grew to love receiving a sticker off you. He asked if you'd tare the paper the sticker is on, they're easier to save then. He doesn't stick them anywhere but has a small box in his office where he stashes them. For safe keeping.

Why don't you wear the stickers?

Because it ruins them

Ruins them?

Yeah. I like to hold onto them

Do you stick them anywhere?

Nope. I have a small box specifically for the stickers you give me 

Simon 'Ghost' Riley thought the stickers were a stupid idea, he's a grown ass man. Why would he want a sticker for getting patched up? He isn't a child. That's what he tells you but secretly he adores them. He'll moan and grumble as you slap one onto his chest but the moment he's in his room, Ghost will carefully peel it off his shirt and stick it in a scrapbook. Once got a little upset you didn't give him a sticker, he left the infirmary pretending he didn't care but 1 hour later he came back

Why didn't you give me a sticker?

Because you don't like them. You said they were stupid

Well. That's because they are. M'not a child

Then why are you asking why I didn't give you a sticker?

Ghost quietly grumbling and sticking his hand out

Can I just have my sticker please 

Beautiful

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x Fem!Mermaid reader

Big thanks too @brokenpieces-72 and @all-purpose-dish-soap for the plot idea!! love you 🫶

I really really hope I've done Kyle justice here 😩

The icy water clawed at Kyle's skin, the pressure in his ears a dull throb. Panic flared in his chest, a cold, sharp spike. His oxygen gauge flickered, a mocking red, and his lungs burned. He'd been reckless, pushing too far, and now his tank was failing. He was going to die here, alone, in the depths of this frigid, unforgiving sea. Then, strong arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him upward. He felt a surge of relief, a desperate hope, but his vision blurred, his body heavy. He couldn't see who was helping him, only felt the powerful, rhythmic strokes pulling him towards the surface.

He woke to the harsh sunlight and the familiar faces of Task Force 141. The relief was overwhelming, but it was quickly followed by confusion. He remembered the panic, the darkness, and then... someone had saved him. But who?

Kyle, still shaky, shook his head. "No, I... I don't know what happened. I felt someone pull me up."

"You alright, Gaz?" Johnny's voice was gruff, concern etched on his face. "You were out cold for a good five minutes. Thought you'd gone and met Nessie down there."

The others exchanged glances. "You sure you didn't just black out and think you were saved?" John asked, his tone sceptical.

Kyle frowned. "No, I'm telling you, someone was there. I felt their arms around me."

The incident became a running joke amongst the team, with Johnny constantly teasing Kyle about 'meeting Nessie.' But Kyle couldn't shake the feeling of truth in his memory. He had to know who saved him.

Weeks later, driven by a need for answers, Kyle returned to the mission site. He rented a small boat and spent hours scanning the water, the memory of the strong arms pulling him up vivid in his mind. Then, he saw it. A flash of emerald green, a tail shimmering in the sunlight.

A mermaid.

You swim gracefully through the crystal clear waters, your emerald tail propelling you effortlessly through the waves. your long, wavy hair cascades behind you like a waterfall, reflecting the sun's rays as you moves. You pauses when you spot something floating on the surface.

A boat? 

Curiosity piqued, you surface, your eyes widening at the sight of a human. That human. The one you saved.

As the figure surfaced, Kyle's heart skipped a beat. It was her, the mysterious saviour from his near-death experience. You were real, not some delusion or hallucination brought on by oxygen deprivation. You were stunningly beautiful, your hair flowing like a river of molten gold in the sunlight, your eyes a captivating blend of gold and red that held an air of mystery. You were different, unique, unlike anyone he'd ever seen before. And you'd saved his life.

You quickly dove back down into the water. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't have come looking for you. It was stupid really. Reckless. You should of left him to his fate...but you couldn't. You couldn't watch an innocent human die.

Kyle watched as the enigmatic figure dived back beneath the waves, leaving him with more questions than answers. Despite the brief encounter, he knew he wouldn't forget you any time soon. Your actions spoke volumes about your character, and your beauty captivated him in a way no other woman had. There was something undeniably intriguing about you, a sense of mystery that made him want to learn more.

He found himself returning to the same spot over and over again, drawn to the memory of the mermaid who'd saved his life. Each visit filled him with a strange longing, a desire to see you again, to thank you properly for saving his life. He began to bring offerings, seashells and starfish, anything he thought might catch your attention.

You can feel his presence every time he comes. Its annoying really. He doesn't belong here. This is your home, your sanctuary. Why does he keep coming? To see you? No. He wants something else. Something more. He wants answers. Answers to questions you cannot give. You're not supposed to exist. Not anymore anyway. But you do...and you can't let him find out. You can't let him expose you.

One day, as he tossed a handful of sweet treats onto the water's surface, he swore he saw a flicker of movement beneath the waves. Was it her? Had she returned? He stayed longer than usual, waiting, hoping for another glimpse of the mysterious mermaid.

He waited for you, patiently watching the horizon until the sky turned dark. He knew you were there, hiding in the shadows, observing him. He knew you didn't want him there, but he also knew you hadn't stopped him yet. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever came next.

"I know you're there," he called out, his voice echoing across the empty sea. "Please, I just want to talk. I won't tell anyone about you. I promise."

You listen to his words. You don't trust them. Humans lie all the time. They lie to protect themselves. They lie to get what they want. But you need to hear him out. You need to understand why he keeps coming here. He's persistent isn't he? Maybe that's something you admire? Or maybe its infuriating? Either way, you decide to show yourself. Just enough so he knows its you. Your eyes meet his as you break the surface of the water.

When the mysterious figure finally emerged from the depths, Kyle's heart pounded in his chest. It was her, the mermaid who'd saved his life. Their eyes locked, yours filled with a mix of curiosity and caution, while his were filled with gratitude and admiration.

"Thank you," he said quietly, his voice barely audible above the sound of the waves crashing against the boat. "For saving me."

You watch him. Watch his face for any signs of deception. None are shown. You swims closer to the boat, your movements graceful and fluid. Your close now. Close enough to touch if you wanted to. You reach out a hand, touching the side of the boat gently. A sign of acceptance maybe? An olive branch? Or just another test? Only time will tell.

He watched, entranced, as the mermaid swam closer to the boat. He could almost reach out and touch you, if only he dared. When you touched the side of the boat, he felt a surge of hope. Could it be that you were willing to communicate?

"I'm Kyle," he introduced himself, extending a hand towards you.

You watch his hand move through the water towards you. You takes it hesitantly, your grip firm yet gentle. You pull yourself closer to the boat, your body breaking the surface of the water. Your upper body is exposed now. You looks up at him, your eyes questioning as you introduced yourself.

Kyle heart raced as you pulled yourself closer to the boat, your body breaking the surface of the water. He was face-to-face with a mermaid, and you were even more breath taking than he'd imagined.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," he said, his voice trembling slightly from excitement. "I owe you my life." You hold his gaze, your eyes intense. You pull yourself further onto the boat, your lower half still submerged in the water. Your upper body is bare, your skin glistening with water droplets. You look at him curiously, taking in his features with equal intensity.

"Why do you keep coming back?" you asks, your voice soft yet steady.

Kyle swallowed hard as you pulled yourself fully onto the boat, your lower half still hidden beneath the water. His eyes traced the lines of your body, taking in your bare skin glistening with water droplets. You were even more beautiful up close.

"To see you," he admitted honestly, meeting your gaze. "To thank you properly for saving my life."

Your eyes narrow slightly as you process his answer. You take a moment to study him. To analyse his facial expressions, his tone of voice. Is he lying? Does he truly just want to thank you? Or is there something more? You can't read humans very well. They're too complex.

He met your gaze head-on, unflinching under your scrutiny. He understood your scepticism; after all, he would likely feel the same in your position. But his intentions were pure - he simply wanted to express his gratitude.

"If it helps," he offered, "I've brought you gifts." He gestured towards some sweet treats beside him.

You look at this gifts he brought you. Gifts? From a human? "What are they?" You questioned. Your gaze never leaving the gifts, you've never seen anything like them before. They look...spongy and pretty? He pointed out each item one by one - the fluffy, sweet-smelling muffins, and the rich, decadent chocolate cake. He hoped these would help bridge the gap between their two worlds.

"They're called muffins and cake," he explained. "They're sweet and delicious. Would you like to try one?" His question hung in the air, a silent plea for acceptance. You look at him sceptically and then back at the gifts. Muffins and cake? What a strange name, and you can eat them? You looked back at Kyle, your curiosity got the better of you. 

"Please" 

Kyle's heart swelled with delight when you agreed to try the food. He carefully picked up a muffin and held it out to you. "Here you go," he said, his voice filled with anticipation. "It's called a blueberry muffin." As he spoke, he couldn't help but marvel at how surreal this situation was. Here he was, on a boat in the middle of the ocean, offering cake to a mermaid.

You watch as he holds out the muffin to you. The gesture is kind and gentle, and you find yourself drawn to it. You reach out slowly, your fingers brushing against his as you take the muffin. Your touch is light, hesitant. You bring the muffin to your lips and takes a bite.

Your eyes widen in surprise as the flavours burst in your mouth. Sweetness, tanginess, a hint of crunchiness. It's overwhelming and amazing all at once. You chew slowly, savouring every bit before swallowing. Kyle watched as you took the muffin from his hands, his heart pounded in his chest as he waited for your reaction. When your eyes widened and you began to chew, he let out a sigh of relief. She liked it!

After finishing off the muffin, you look over at the..... Cake? Your eyes wide with curiosity. You reach out and pick up a piece of the cake, holding it up to inspect it. It's dark and moist looking, and smells divine. You bring the piece to your lips and takes a bite.

The taste is unlike anything you've ever experienced. Rich, sweet, and smooth. It melts in your mouth and leaves you wanting more. You place it on the boat before you hoist yourself up and sit on the edge of the boat, you fin swaying lazily in the water as you picked the cake back up.

Kyle watched in awe as you eagerly devoured the cake, your eyes lighting up with each bite. He couldn't help but smile widely, feeling a sense of satisfaction knowing that he had managed to share something new with you. "That's chocolate cake," he told you, pointing at the remaining piece. He leaned back against the boat, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere and the company of this intriguing creature.

You continue to eat the cake, savouring each bite. You look up at Kyle, studying him. There's something about him that's different from other humans you've encountered. He seems genuine, honest. Any regrets you had saving him were now gone.

He noticed the change in your demeanour. Your earlier suspicion seemed to have faded away, replaced by an almost friendly curiosity. He felt relieved. "I should probably start heading back soon," he mentioned, standing up and picking up the empty food wrappers. "But I'd love to come visit again sometime."

His words were sincere; he genuinely enjoyed spending time with you and wanted to get to know you better. You look at him as he stands up, and you notice his form is tall and lean. He moves with an ease that you admire. As he picks up the wrappers, you gently lower yourself back into the water. "Tomorrow?" You ask softly, your voice echoing the sincerity in your eyes.

Kyle was taken aback by your question. Tomorrow? He hadn't expected you to invite him back so soon. But the thought of seeing you again, sooner rather than later, filled him with excitement.

"I'd like that," he replied, a warm smile spreading across his face. "See you tomorrow then." With a final wave, he started the boat and drove it back to shore, leaving a trail of bubbles behind.

You watch as he drives the boat back to shore, your eyes following the trail of bubbles until they disappear completely. A small smile graces your lips as you dip back under the water, the surface reflecting the moon above.

Back on land, Kyle couldn't stop thinking about his encounter with you. His heart swelled with warmth as he replayed the events of the day in his mind. He found himself looking forward to tomorrow with eager anticipation.

The next evening, he arrived at the same spot as yesterday. He was excited to see you again, and brought more treats with him.

Kyle waited patiently, scanning the water's surface for any sign of you. After what felt like an eternity, there was a splash and you emerged from the depths, your wet hair slicked back and clinging to your skin. You swim towards him, a big smile on your face. When you reach him, you climb onto the boat and sat on the edge, dripping water everywhere. You look at the food he brought. For you.

Kyle's heart fluttered as you emerged from the water, your smile as radiant as ever. "Hey there," he greeted you, handing you the food. "I brought some more treats for you." You accept the food from him, your hand brushing against his. You take the food and begin eating it, savouring every bite just like you did yesterday. You glance up at him occasionally, a soft smile on your face.

He watched as you ate the food he'd brought, noting the soft smile that graced your lips when you looked at him. He felt a strange warmth spread through him, a sensation he'd never really experienced before. "Would you... like to go for a ride on the boat?" He asked, trying to keep his nervousness in check.

You tilt your head, your nose scrunched up in concentration. "How about we race instead?" You suggests, your voice lilting. "See what's faster. Me or the boat."

Kyle laughed, the sound echoing across the water. He loved your playful spirit. "A race it is," he agreed, starting the engine and adjusting the throttle. "But fair warning, I'm pretty competitive." With that, he revved the engine and waited for you to signal the start of the race. "So am I" you giggle as you dive into the water, disappearing beneath the waves before coming back up. "First one to that buoy over there wins." Kyle watched as you dove into the water, your movements graceful and fluid. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he waited for you to resurface.

"On your mark..." he called out, his gaze locked on the buoy. "Get set... GO!"

Without hesitation, he gunned the engine, sending the boat speeding through the water. The wind rushed past him, carrying with it the scent of the sea and the thrill of competition. As Kyle sped off, it caught you off guard, but you quickly caught up to him, your sleek tail easily keeping pace with the boat. You swam alongside Kyle, teasing him with your speed and agility. You laughed and disappeared beneath the waves, using your powerful tail to propel yourself through the water. You knew you had the advantage in this race, but you couldn't resist the opportunity to show off your skills to Kyle.

His heart pounded in his chest as he raced through the water, the wind rushing past him. He could see you right beside him, your speed and agility a testament to your nature. Just as he thought he might catch up to you, you would suddenly disappear, only to reappear further ahead. You were fast, incredibly fast. But Kyle wasn't one to give up easily. With renewed determination, he pushed the boat harder, matching your speed stroke for stroke.

You continue to tease Kyle, showing off your speed and agility. Your laughter echoes through the water as you dart in and out of his path. You enjoy watching him try to keep up with you. You flicked your tail to splash him, hoping to catch him off before you sped off again.

Kyle felt a rush of cold water as you splashed him, your laughter echoing in his ears. He could see the teasing glint in your eye as you darted away, your tail flicking playfully.

'She's enjoying this too much,' he thought, his determination growing stronger. He pressed the throttle even further, the boat responding eagerly. You continue to tease him, your laughter filling the air as you dodge his attempts to catch you. You love the way his face scrunches up in concentration, the determination in his eyes. You flick your tail to splash him again before darting off once more.

He let out a hearty laugh as the cold water splashed him again, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel the power of the boat beneath him, its response to his command. 'She's got spirit,' he thought again, admiring your tenacity. As you darted away once more, he pursued you, determined to win this race.

You continued to lead him on, your laughter ringing out across the water. You enjoyed the thrill of the chase, the challenge of staying ahead. You flicked your tail to send another wave of water crashing over him before darting off again towards the buoy. You were close. So close. Kyle doesn't have a chance.

You see Kyle closing in on you, his determination clear. You decide to make one last dash for the buoy. You push yourself to your limits, your muscles straining as you use your powerful tail to propel yourself forward. You reach the buoy first, a triumphant grin on your face.

Kyle saw you pull ahead, your speed and agility leaving him in awe. As they neared the buoy, he gave it one last shot, propelling the boat forward with all his strength. He reached the buoy mere seconds after you, you brought your fin up out of the water and nudge him lightly, a playful smirk on your face. "Told you I was faster." You say, your laughter filling the air again.

He smiled, his heart still pounding in his chest. He could feel the salty spray of the ocean on his skin, the exhilaration of the race still fresh in his mind. "You were faster this time," he admitted, meeting your gaze with a playful smirk of his own. "But next time, I'll beat you." His words hung in the air between them, a promise of future races and the camaraderie that came with them.

You giggle, your eyes shining with mirth and satisfaction. You lean against the side of the boat, catching your breath from the race. "Oh will you now?" You say, your voice light and teasing.

Kyle nodded, his smile widening. His competitive spirit was already stirring, ready for the next challenge. "Oh yes," he said confidently, "I always keep my promises." His gaze lingered on you, appreciating your strength and resilience. You were a force to be reckoned with, and he couldn't wait to see what other adventures they'd share together.

You wink at Kyle, your eyes twinkling with mischief. You're not sure if you believe his claim, but you're looking forward to seeing if he can prove it. You stretch lazily, your muscles still tingling from the race. "I'm always up for a good challenge," he said, his gaze never leaving yours. "And if it means spending more time with you, then I wouldn't miss it for the world." His words were sincere, a testament to the bond they shared. Despite their differences, they understood each other, respected each other. And for that, Kyle was grateful.

You meet his gaze, your own eyes reflecting the same sense of camaraderie and trust. You understand his competitive spirit, his desire to test his limits. You respect him for it. "Good," you say simply, "because I like a good challenge too."

"Then it's a deal," he said, extending his hand for a shake. "To future races and adventures." As their hands met, the bond between them strengthened. They were partners in this journey, allies in a world where survival was often a game of wit and skill.

You take Kyle's hand, feeling the firmness of his grip. You squeeze gently, your eyes locked onto his. This is more than just a race or an adventure; it's a partnership, a bond forged in the depths of the ocean. "It's a deal," *you say, your voice steady and resolute. As you gaze at his hand clasped in yours, a sudden surge of alarm courses through you. A crimson stain blooms on his skin, seeping through the cracks in his weathered hand.

"Kyle, you're bleeding!" You exclaim, your voice a mixture of concern and urgency. The words dance across the surface of the water, creating tiny ripples that break the otherwise still surface.

He looked down to see a cut on his palm, blood trickling down his fingers. "Damn," he muttered, wincing slightly. "Must have caught it on something when we were racing." He glanced at you, a sheepish grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Guess I'm not as invincible as I thought."

"Obviously," *you couldn't help but chuckle. You held your hand out. "Give me your hand." Your voice was firm, leaving no room for arguments. When Kyle didn't give you his hand, insisting that he was fine, you gently grabbed his wrist and brought his hand up to your lips but paused. You were about to do something that might seem a little...unconventional, to put it mildly.

"This is going to seem weird...and disgusting," you warned him, your voice softer now, almost apologetic. He looked at you, confusion etched on his face. You licked your lips, the saltiness of the ocean water leaving a metallic taste on your tongue. Then, you did it. You licked the palm of his hand, your tongue tracing the gash, the blood mingling with the salt.

Kyle watched, mesmerized, as you licked the wound on his hand. He felt a strange mix of discomfort and fascination, the sight both gross and oddly alluring. "What...the hell..." he muttered, though there was no real annoyance in his tone. He'd seen stranger things in his life, after all. Still, the sensation of your tongue against his skin sent a shiver down his spine. It wasn't unpleasant, but it definitely wasn't normal either.

He watched, transfixed, as you lapped at the cut on his hand. He could feel the coolness of the sea water mixed with the heat of your breath, the wetness of your tongue against his skin. It was an odd sensation, but not entirely unpleasant. "Damn," he breathed out, his voice low and rough. "That's...that's some crazy shit right there." But even as he spoke, he found himself leaning into the sensation, his body responding despite his mind trying to process the strangeness of it all.

You pull away from his hand, watching as the cut closes before your very eyes. The edges of the wound fuse together, sealing shut without so much as a scar. Your saliva does its job, healing the small injury instantly. "There," you softly say, feeling satisfied. "All better." You look up at Kyle, meeting his gaze. Your eyes glint with a knowing smile, a silent acknowledgment of the bizarre yet effective method of first aid you just employed.

Kyle stared at his healed hand, disbelief washing over him. He'd expected a few stitches, maybe a band-aid at most, but not this. Not a lick of his hand by a mermaid. "That's...fuckin' amazing," he said, shaking his head in awe. "I mean, I've seen some shit in my time, but this takes the cake." He lifted his hand to inspect it again, running his thumb over the smooth skin where moments ago had been a gaping cut. His mind raced, trying to comprehend how something so simple could have such profound results. "And here I thought you were just a pretty face," he added, flashing you a teasing grin.

A laugh bubbles up from deep within you, echoing around the two of you in the vast ocean. It's a sound that's as unexpected as it is infectious, causing Kyle to join in, his hearty laughter mixing with yours.

"Pretty face?" You echo, rolling your eyes playfully. "Oh, please. Don't flatter yourself." 

You poke him lightly in the chest, your fingertips pressing against his skin. The contact sends a spark of electricity coursing through you, reminding you of the connection between you and Kyle. "But I suppose there's more to you than meets the eye too," you add, giving him a sly smirk as you splashed some water on him with you tail.

He chuckled, enjoying the banter between the two of them. He leaned back in the boat, his arms folded behind his head as he watched the waves crash against the hull. The salty air filled his lungs, a stark contrast to the thick smoke and grime of his usual environment.

"You know what they say about judging books by their covers," he quipped, shooting you a playful wink. His attention shifted momentarily to the horizon, his mind wandering to the events of the day. From the adrenaline-fueled race to the peculiar healing technique, today had been anything but ordinary.

You lean against the boat, your head resting on the side as you watch the sun dip below the horizon. The sky puts on a show, painting the heavens in hues of pink, orange, and purple. "It's beautiful," you murmur, your voice barely audible above the gentle lapping of the waves against the hull of the boat. You turn to Kyle, a soft smile playing on your lips. "Wanna see another cool trick?"

Kyle turned to face you, his curiosity piqued. He'd seen plenty of sunsets in his lifetime, but none quite like this one. The colours seemed brighter, more vibrant, as if the world itself was putting on a show just for them. "Another trick, huh?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "I'm intrigued. What ya got?"

He leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows as he looked at you. There was a certain allure to you, a mystery that drew him in. You were unlike anyone he'd ever met, and he found himself wanting to know more about you.

You pat the side of the boat invitingly, a teasing smirk on your lips as your tail swishes behind you. "You've got to come in the water," you say, your voice a melody carried by the salty breeze. "Unless you're scared," you add, sending a playful splash of water towards him.

Kyle laughed, the sound rich and genuine. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had this much fun, or been around someone who could make him forget about everything else for a moment. "Nah, I ain't scared," he said, pushing himself off the boat and stepping closer to the edge. "Just don't want to get my good clothes wet," he joked, looking down at his jeans and t-shirt.

You giggle at his comment, the sound light and carefree. Your eyes sparkle with mischief as you hover near the edge, waiting for Kyle to take the plunge. "Well then, tough luck," you tease, flicking a droplet of water at him. "Just take your clothes off."

Kyle rolled his eyes, a chuckle escaping his lips. He stripped off his clothing, leaving him in nothing but his boxer shorts. The cool air sent a shiver down his spine, but he ignored it, focusing instead on the anticipation building within him. "Alright, alright," he said, holding his hands up in surrender. "I'm coming in. Just don't laugh when I start swimming like a brick, okay?" With that, he took a deep breath and plunged into the water, disappearing beneath the surface.

As he resurfaced, he blinked rapidly, adjusting his eyes to the dimmer light. He shook his head, sending droplets of water flying in all directions. "Fuck, that's cold!" he exclaimed, his teeth chattering slightly.

You burst out laughing at Kyle's exclamation, the sound echoing around the both of you. You swim closer to him, your tail flicking playfully. "Cold? For you, maybe," you tease, your voice muffled by the water. "But I'm used to it." You swim up to him, so close your noses are nearly touching. "Close your eyes," you murmur, your voice softer now.

Gaz hesitates for a moment, then obeys, shutting his eyes tight. You gently cup his cheeks, your cool hands a contrast to the warmth of his skin. He smells of salt and seaweed, a familiar scent of the ocean. You lean in and kiss him, your lips meeting with a soft, damp touch. You feel the surprise, then the wonder, as his breath catches in his throat. You don't linger, but with a swift movement, you submerge you both under the water.

Kyle felt a rush of something unfamiliar as your lips pressed against his. His eyes were squeezed shut, his senses heightened by the unusual situation. He felt the chill of the water envelop him completely as you pulled him under, the sensation of being submerged sending a jolt of fear through him.

But as quickly as it came, the fear faded, replaced by a sense of calm. He could breathe! It was strange, almost magical, feeling the oxygen fill his lungs without having to break the surface. He opened his eyes, blinking away the stinging saltwater, and saw you before him, your body glowing in the dim light.

You were beautiful, even under the water. Your hair fanned out around you, swirling like tendrils of silk. Your eyes glowed with mischief and joy, reflecting the light from above.

You pull back slowly, watching Kyle's reaction closely. A grin spreads across your face, seeing the awe in his eyes. You reach out, taking his hand in yours, leading him deeper into the water.

Kyle allowed himself to be led, his grip on your hand firm yet gentle. He moved through the water with a grace he hadn't known he possessed, the weightlessness allowing him to move with ease.

He glanced around, taking in the beauty of the underwater world. Fish darted past, their scales shimmering in the light filtering down from above. Corals waved gently, their colours vibrant and alive. The world around them became a blur of colour and movement, but only your presence remained constant. He felt a strange warmth spreading through him, not from the water, but from within. The sensation was overwhelming, intoxicating. It made him forget about the war, about the bloodshed, about the pain. All he cared about was the moment, this singular moment shared with you.

You lead Kyle further into the depths, the world around you growing darker and more mysterious. The pressure increases, adding an element of danger to your adventure. But you're undeterred, pulling him along with a determined look in your eyes.

Eventually, you stop, turning to face him. You place your hands on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. Your own heartbeat quickens, matching his rhythm. You lean in, pressing your forehead against his. In this moment, there's no need for words. Everything is understood between you, communicated through touch and glance. It's a silent promise, a vow sealed under the sea.

Kyle let you guide him, entrusting himself fully to you. As the pressure increased, he felt a thrill run through him, a mix of excitement and apprehension. But he wasn't afraid. Not with you. When they stopped, he looked into your eyes, seeing a depth there he hadn't noticed before. A kind of longing, perhaps? Or was it hope?

His heart pounded in his chest as you placed your hands on him, feeling the wild rhythm of his heart match yours. When you leaned in, pressing your forehead against his, he closed his eyes, savouring the moment. He held you tightly, not wanting to let go.

Your bodies are pressed close together, the slight friction creating a spark of electricity between you. Without warning, you pull back, grabbing his hand once again. You begin to swim upwards, towards the light. Your movements are graceful, powerful, guiding Kyle effortlessly towards the surface.

As they neared the surface, Kyle began to feel the urge to breathe. His lungs burned, craving air. But he waited, holding his breath, trusting you to bring them safely back to the world above. And then, suddenly, they broke through the surface. He gasped, sucking in a lungful of sweet, fresh air. He looked at you, gratitude and admiration shining in his eyes.

You emerge from the water, your body slick with wetness. You turn to Kyle, a triumphant smile on your face. "Pretty cool right?" He nodded, still trying to catch his breath. He looked at you, your body glistening in the moonlight, and he had to admit, it was pretty damn cool. "Unreal," he finally managed to say. He reached out, running his fingers through your wet hair. "I've never... I didn't know..." He shook his head, unable to find the right words.

Kyle moved closer, closing the gap between them. He reached out, tracing a finger down your arm, feeling the smooth skin beneath his touch. He leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from yours. He could taste the saltiness of the ocean on your lips, mixed with your unique flavour. It was intoxicating, making him want more. Before he could second guess himself, he kissed you. His lips pressed against yours, soft and seeking. The kiss was hungry, desperate, a reflection of the emotions swirling inside him.

Feeling Kyle's lips on yours sends a jolt through your system, lighting up every nerve ending. You respond eagerly, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. Your tongue slips past his lips, exploring the warm cavern of his mouth. You can taste the salt on his skin, mingling with the sweetness of his breath. It's a heady combination, one that makes you dizzy with desire. Breaking the kiss, you pull back slightly, looking into Kyle's eyes. There's a hunger there, a need that mirrors your own. And it's a need that you're more than willing to satisfy.

You lean in again, kissing him deeply, losing yourself in the moment.

COD Masterlist

141 Headcanons

Stickers First Words

Captain John Price

Loving Husband pt 1 Loving Husband pt 2 Loving Husband pt 3

Loving Husband pt 4 Loving Husband pt 5

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Na'vi!Ghost

💋

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish

Paperwork

Grey Joggers

Kyle 'Gas' Garrick

Alejandro Vargas

Beautiful

🏍️

Little thief Mi amor

Rodolfo 'Rudy' Parra

I hate you

König

Games

Thinking about Mermaid!FemReader and Gaz

Not sure where I'd go with it but it's been on my mind constantly