#kyle thoughts

"kyle?" you sniffle. his background quiets a bit. you hear a door close, and then he's a bit louder.

"hey, love. what's wrong? you sound upset."

"my water broke," you hiccup. "a-and i...i was in the bath...i-i..." you close your eyes. "i can't get out of the tub."

"jesus fucking christ." you whimper, but kyle just hums. "not you, baby. hey, you just relax, alright? you said you were in the bath. just relax, and i'll be there soon."

"kyle--"

"don't be scared," kyle chuckles, and you whine a little. "hey, you're gonna have a baby. you've been waiting for this, yeah? haven't you?"

"y-yeah..."

"aren't you excited? you always tell me how much you can't wait, right?"

"yeah..."

"don't be scared," kyle repeats. "you just relax. be happy. she's coming today!"

you smile, wiping your face a little, and when kyle hears your giggle, he sighs.

"good girl. you sit tight."

so you do. you lean against the side of the tub, and you rest in the warm water as you stare at your phone screen.

he won't answer the phone. he hasn't read your texts. he's not coming.

you hear the front door open and close, and then there's a gentle knock on the bathroom door. when kyle comes in, you try to cover up, moving your hands over your tits, embarrassed, but kyle just goes to look for a clean towel to help you out.

"it's okay, love, i won't look," kyle tells you. he smiles at you, cupping your face gently, and you look into his dark eyes. "you look so pretty. you're glowin', y'know that?" you smile through gentle tears, putting a hand over your belly, and you try to move, but it's no use. kyle drops the towel, kneeling, and you shake your head.

"i-i can't get out--" you gasp, and kyle rolls up his sleeves over his thick forearms, putting the towel over his shoulder before he reaches for you.

"it's alright. i'll get you out. i'll try not to look, okay?"

"i'm so embarrassed...i'm so sorry, kyle..." you sniffle.

"don't apologize, love. i got it. give me your hands, put 'em around me."

you lift up your wet arms, wrapping them around his neck. you press your chest against his, and he picks you up as you stand, helping you to your feet. as you cup your belly, he wraps the towel around you, covering you, and then he holds your hand as you step out of the tub.

"alright. now where's your bag, darling?"

kyle grabs your bag and supplies as you get dressed in your room. as you pull your socks on, kyle comes up behind you, smoothing your hair down your back before he starts to braid it. he used to braid your hair all the time when you were kids--he always said he wanted to practice for his sisters.

"you got the car seat, kyle?" you ask as he holds your hand, and he nods.

"mhm. in the car already."

"a-and the diaper bag?"

"in the boot."

"my extra clothes? and my...my stuff?"

"mhm. i got it, love. and whatever you forgot, i'll get it for you. alright, up, buckle in, that's a girl."

he holds your hand the entire way. you groan softly when a particularly painful contraction hits you, but when you squeeze kyle's hand, all he does is squeeze back. you take deep breaths, leaning your head back, and he hums.

"you're doing so well, love. so well."

"why..." your eyes water. you squeeze his hand again, and when you look down, your vision is blurry from your tears. "why didn't he answer? w-why...why doesn't he...w-why would he..."

"don't worry your pretty head about tha', love," kyle interrupts you gently. "only thing you need to worry about is you and her. i got it."

"o-okay."

she's beautiful. she looks more like you than her father, and kyle counts that blessing. she's got your eyes, your nose, your hair. her cheeks belong to her father, but she might as well be your twin, and when kyle takes her from you later that night, rocking her gently, he can really see up close how much she looks like you.

in the middle of the night, kyle holds your hand as you get up to go to the bathroom. your entire body is tender and sluggish, but kyle keeps you upright as you walk, kissing your head gently as he helps you take a seat on the toilet.

he even gets your underwear set up for you, with the big pad and everything, and he helps you step into it and slips them up and over your hips. you're a tearful mess as he does this, but kyle just presses his forehead against yours.

the look in his eyes, you will never forget it. the intensity. the commitment. the stability. every time you pick up the phone, kyle answers, and sometimes he's thousands of miles away. your own boyfriend can't even have the decency to answer when you're nine months pregnant--what did he fucking think the call was going to be about?

back in your room, kyle fits into the bed with you. he lets your rest your head on his chest, and when you ask him if he's going to go home, he tells you this is close enough.

in the morning, kyle's sitting outside your room with the baby. he's holding her, touching her little nose, letting you sleep in. you had a rough night, and when he found you still with your eyes closed that morning, he figured he would let you keep sleeping, just for an extra hour or so.

you deserve it.

"is that her?"

kyle's head turns with a snap. standing there, hands shoved deep in his pockets, is your pathetic excuse of a boyfriend. not man enough to answer the phone when you most needed him, not strong enough to do the right thing and marry you, and not wise enough to realize all he had to do was take care of you, and the world would be right again. you're not greedy. you don't ask for anything. all you want is to love and be loved, and kyle doesn't think that's too much to ask for, kyle thinks you're one of the most selfless women he's ever known, so why does this fucking bastard of a man get to call himself this girl's father?

kyle looks back down, fixing the blanket over your daughter's neck carefully. he thinks he did pretty good swaddling her this time, but you might have an opinion on it.

"i'm gonna say somethin', mate," kyle says lowly. "'n after i say it, y'r gonna do some thinking, real thinking."

he laughs a little, shaking his head.

"why don't you give me my baby, and get the fuck outta 'ere?"

kyle looks up and snickers, shaking his head. he gets a better grip on your daughter, sitting back, and he fixes your ex with a sinister smile.

"and what if i don't? you gonna take her from me?" kyle chuckles. "i'd love to see you try."

he stands, raising a brow.

"listen here, and listen close." kyle takes a step closer to him. "you're a right pile of shit comin' here thinking that you can just waltz right in and be daddy of the year, alright? what kind of man are you, eh? your girl in need, callin' you, and you don't even have the fuckin' balls to answer her? take a good look at your kid, mate, cause it's the last time you're ever gonna see her."

"no, i have the right--"

"to fuck right off," kyle snaps. "if i see you near her or her daughter ever again, i'll find you, and i'll make it worth your while, mate. make you feel real sorry finally, y'hear me? 'n when i take her back home, all of your junk better be out the flat. otherwise, i'll fucking burn it."

"kyle?"

your voice pulls him away. kyle adjusts the baby in his arm, going back inside, and he shuts the door behind him, finding your eyes. you reach for the baby, arms outstretched, and kyle easily sets her down in them, watching as you cradle the tiny thing into the crook of your neck and stroke the back of her neck.

the nurses come in and drop off a few papers. one stops, looking at kyle, giving him a big smile.

"congratulations," she tells him, and he smiles back at her. she takes a seat next to him, holding out a clipboard. "do you think i could get a few details? i just need to know mum's name, baby's name--"

kyle gives it to her. your birthplace. your birthday. your name. your baby's name. then she flips a paper over, putting her pen down.

"and dad's name?" she asks.

kyle sighs, leaning back in his chair. they don't give out birth certificates right away. you have to request it. you won't find out, not just yet, maybe he'll even pick it up for you. you'll be much too busy being mummy dearest.

"kyle," he tells her, flashing her that big smile. she blushes a little, writing it down. "kyle garrick."

he looks back at where you are, your eyes on him. you smile shyly when your eyes meet, and kyle leaves the nurse to come up to you and drape a hand behind your head. he strokes along your hair gently, thumbing at your temple.

"i heard you outside, kyle."

"did you?"

"and i heard you just now."

"mm."

you blink, reaching for the edge of his shirt, and you pull him down, further, until his face is nearly against yours.

"i guess i shouldn't be surprised," you say softly, reaching up to smooth a a few knuckles down his cheek. he leans into it, licking his lips, and you bite your lip. "you've always had a habit of...taking what doesn't belong to you, huh?"

kyle laughs. always the pretty boy, ever since you were little. one smile from him--kyle could get away with anything. anything at all.

he tells you that always, even if he doesn't think so. your gun to a target's significant other, your blade slicing through someone's finger, it's you that's dropping a target onto their back and waterboarding them for answers. you have nightmares where they don't stop screaming, but the look of approval on price's face—fuck, you can't stop chasing it, can't stop running towards that warm feeling that settles in your belly whenever he looks you up and down and nods in that way. the same lidded look he gives gaz. the same knowing, the same acceptance, it's all you've ever wanted—someone to look at you and tell you that you did good.

y'r perfect. just perfect. that's it, what you do saves lives, don't fucking look at them, look at me—you did good.

it's the same attitude they all embrace. ghost going hand-to-hand more often than necessary; you've watched one too many times the way he rubs his fingers together when he gets the blood of his targets on his hands, the way he studies how it runs as if it fascinates him, what blood looks like on the outside of someone. soap has that sparkle in his eye when he's clicking detonators and watching limbs fly. and gaz—takes too much pleasure in getting his hands dirty. he likes when no one's watching, when no one is telling him what to do. he likes hiding in his captain's shadow so he can do what needs to be done, protocol be damned.

he tells you the same in his bed. your captain is holding your hips at an angle, grunting under his breath as you grip the edge of his bed and use it for leverage as you grind back down on him. his cock hurts to have inside at first, a little thicker than you're used to. it's making you hiccup every time you sink back down on him, and he's caressing your ass with a curse.

"easy, love," he breathes, and he hisses as you wet his cock. you're such a slick girl, taking him so well, just like he knew you would.

was gaz easy? did he do this good for you? is he like me, do you like me more, am i better?

you cry when he grips the back of your head and forces your eyes on his, a faint smile on his face as he gets you onto your back and fucks you straight into the mattress.

"that's it," price grunts when your knees fall open, cunt tight as he hisses against your jaw. "good girl you are, love—that's right—"

good girl you are.

good girl, good girl, good girl.

you are good. maybe you're better. you can't sleep at night, and their screams follow you everywhere, but it's worth it to mean something to captain price, doesn't it? this matters. this is what matters.

you let your finger swipe over the whipped cream from captain price's dessert later that night, and gaz watches with a twitch in his eye as price says nothing, doesn't acknowledge it, permits it.

you meet gaz's eyes as you lift your thumb to your mouth, satisfied smile as you lick it off your finger and hum.

"sweet," you say softly. smugly. gaz licks over his teeth, rolling his shoulders back.

gaz — super into it. he's all smiles, all giddy, and he's warm all over thinking about it. knows the perfect angle, too. he props up a pillow at the end of the bed and lays the phone there. he throws your legs up and presses your thighs down, and gaz is buzzing when he checks the footage after. it's just the perfect shot of his cock ruining you. the smack of your skin is so nasty, and gaz finds himself already cupping under his cock when there's an insane shot of him pulling out, globs of his cum spilling out of you. oh, but no, that's not good enough, we need another angle. he loves the POV shots the most, where all the focus is on you. he loves panning from your swollen pussy to your bouncing tits all the way to your open mouth, and he loves it even more when he moves the camera closer to get a shot of you sucking on his fingers all wet and heavy. pretty, pretty, pretty...

soap — 100% down, but he's so bad at it :( you're always so wet and whiny when you fuck. you can't help it — johnny is so hot, and you can't get enough of him. he makes you downright stupid when he's inside of you, so you relied on him to film everything, but he's so bad. the camera is shaking as he tries to film, and you get motion sickness watching it back. the audio is quite nice—johnny's grunts are hot, but you really wanted more footage of him absolutely splitting you. the best you got was a blurry shot of your tits when johnny spit on them to keep you crying. oh well, maybe next time :(

price — he's old-fashioned, he doesn't get it. he has a couple polaroids of you back in his locker, and that is always good enough to get him off when he's away from you. you're not even fully naked in those pictures, and he's cumming across his stomach just fine, so he finds it really odd that you want to film. he doesn't say no, but you can tell he finds it strange, so you simply point the phone between your thighs and bring his hand between your legs. john stares over your shoulder into the phone as he watches his own fingers slip inside of you. he leans in a little, watching, licking his lips as he finds it mesmerizing to watch you become wetter and wetter and wetter. soon, it's a wet slap of his palm against your pussy, and you're crying with relief as you come, flooding his hand and wrist and crying through the overstimulation. the audio alone is enough for john to forward it to himself for later use.

gaz — doesn't freak out, immediate soother. he's nuzzling his nose against your cheek, picking you up under your thighs and hugging you close. skin-on-skin contact as he murmurs soft things into your ear and mouths at your wet jaw. "'s alright, love," he'll say, "don't cry, baby, 'm right here." gaz loves giving the princess treatment. "felt so good, huh, love?" he'll coo. when you nod, whine, he just smiles, gripping your jaw tight so he can kiss you straight on. romantic, soothing, babying you in every way as you try to breathe easy and come down from an insane place of euphoria and pleasure. you like when that happens, though. you like when he treats you that way, when he fusses over you and says nice things and takes care of you. it's dizzying, the kind of love you feel.

soap — freak !!!!!! he fucking loves it. the first time it happens, his eyes are sparkling with glee. he laughs, not mockingly but in disbelief. he leans over you to press just that much further into you, forcing your back to arch at a sharp angle as you blubber and cry from overstimulation. johnny reaches a thumb out and wipes your eyes, and you sniffle and whine when he sticks that thumb in his mouth to taste your pretty tears. "fuck...ye look so lovely," he pants. "a wee angel." definitely tucks you under his arm after and babies you, but he's smiling and hot with a nasty sense of satisfaction as he holds you. "y'r so pretty when ye cry, bonnie. give it ta ye good, don't i?"

price — honestly, john doesn't consider your orgasm worth it unless you do cry. your first blissful orgasm over his fingers, satisfying but not good enough. then against his tongue, on your tummy as you push back against him—fucking lovely, but it isn't what he's looking for. no, here is where he has you. you're on your back, thighs up, ankles by his ears, and he's dropping his entire weight on you to make you see nothing but spots. you beg, you plead, it's too much and not enough, and now he's yanking on your hair and grunting into your mouth, telling you, "give it ta me, fucking give it to me, sweetheart," cause why the fuck would committing war crimes be worth it if not to fuck a pretty pussy afterwards? what's the benefit in keeping england safe if it means he can't feel his girl aching and wet and squirting like a pathetic, eager little girl? the tears are warm against his cheek as he lays his against yours. you wrap your arms around his neck, panting, little sobs as you come down. "atta girl," john murmurs, tucking you into his chest. "that's it."

gaz — well, jesus, talk about intimidating. the hottest guy for sure that you've ever dated; buttery skin, brilliant smile, always smells good, takes care of himself in such a healthy, mature way. when you saw him without a shirt for the first time, you nearly felt sick, and you've only ever had sex in the dark cause you're so self-conscious about what you'll look like next to him, but he's never done anything to make you feel like he cares about what you look like or has thought you were anything but absolutely beautiful. you want to do something special. so on the couch, during the movie, you unbutton your blouse and drop it suddenly, showing off the intricate lace set you've got underneath, and gaz can do nothing but stare. his jaw falls before he can catch it, and you swallow hard. "do you..." you clear your throat. "do you like it?" he wants to see the full fit, of course, and you drop your shorts and give him a spin when he asks. if you had any doubts, they're gone once you tug his sweats down. his cock has never looked better.

soap — fortunately, johnny was very, very upfront about how he felt about your figure. he never said anything outright, but he was always touching you. smoothing his hands down your sides, cupping your breasts, smacking your ass when he passed behind you. he wasn't satisfied unless he had his hands full, and he's got a sick smile on his face when he sees you in bright red lingerie for the first time. man doesn't even takes his time with you—he just rips a hole in the crotch of your lace panties and fucks you right through it.

price — a man of taste and refinement, john has always been adamant about what he wants. he wasn't interested in dating any woman except for you, and he made you understand that as soon as date number three. he was all in, and that meant full access to being price's girl. money, good food, and the best sex of your entire life. john likes a good blast from the past. he still remembers the novelty of a pin-up girl in a military locker, and you give him that when he comes home one day. naked except for heels and fishnets and a garter belt, perched up on his couch just waiting for him to devour. the heels are red-bottomed, the fishnets are handsewn, and the garter belt you wear is french lace. the record playing was just the nail in the coffin—when you count the days back a few weeks later, you definitely think it's the night he got you pregnant.