#learning writer | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

justsomestuffreally · 7 months ago

Text

I think the Batkids reaction to a Bruce who isn't de-aged to 8 but rather 29 (pre-Jason death, post his adoption) would be fascinating.

Their reaction would vary wildly:

Dick: Oh. Bruce is soft again. Bruce calls them ‘chum’ and ‘buddy’ and gives head pats for no reason. He still isn’t perfect, his communication skills are still a work in progress, but compared to his future self? Without actively dying Dick is hugged plenty. Bruce asks him to go to the zoo, unrelated to any case, just to spend time together. Dick is hit with more nostalgia and longing for the past than he knows what to do with.

Also notable: his dad is younger than him. That is something. Second, holy existential crisis Batman, his dad is younger than him and already one adult and one teenage kid??? Dick is not ready to feel this old yet. Third, Dick has absolutely no idea how Bruce managed to stay patient through his no-pants years. He is going to thank reason every day from now on that Damian wears full protection.

Jason: After his death and League he clung to an image of Bruce. One many tried to beat out of him, but he still kept it somewhere close to his heart, buried deep enough even he couldn’t see it. When he came back Bruce wasn’t like this idea of him. How stupid of him to believe the mind of a traumatized kid. Trying to create one good thing before the kid drew his last breath. Making up memories that never even existed.

But they did. Every smile and hug and even his words reflect the image tugged safely against his still-beating heart. His dad very clearly, very deeply loves him. Which is so much worse. Because he can understand why a Bruce, who never cared, didn’t kill the Joker. But he cares. So why the fuck did he not kill the Joker?

Tim: The reason he joined the family, the reason why he became Robin in the first place was because he saw a problem when Bruce started self-destructing and thought ‘Someone needs to fix that!’. Therefore he went and collected Dick, who didn’t seem keen on fixing it. So, the job fell to him to fix it.

He thought he did a good job, he thought he fixed the problem. Except now he sees who Bruce was, and he knows he failed. Their Bruce is less soft, less affectionate, less like he was before. Batman needs a Robin and Tim didn’t manage to be good enough of one to save him.

[Or: Tim has a guilt complex a hundred miles wide and blames himself for things that aren’t his fault part 52]

Steph: Jason and she are very similar. Both come from the Narrows, both have a mother addicted to drugs and a shitty father. The differences start when Steph keeps waiting on the roof of their apartment for Batman to whisk her away, while Jason tries to steal the tires of the Batmobile and is taken in.

When Steph started out as Spoiler Bruce tried to keep her off the field, and obviously this one would too (even if he would probably be less paranoid about it), but she knows this Bruce would have also taken her in. This Bruce would be the father she always wished for when she sat on their roof and couldn’t see any stars.

And she didn’t get to have this because Jason went ahead and died. (Of course, she knows she isn’t fair to the guy. Dying isn’t fun… And she knows the only reason she lived is because he died. When Batman rescued her from Black Mask she was in such terrible shape that Leslie managed to convince the World’s Greatest Detective that she died. If Jason hadn’t died Bruce wouldn’t have been as paranoid, wouldn’t have noticed her missing so soon, wouldn’t have been as urgent in his response. Would have been just a minute slower, a minute which would have killed her. Just as it had Jason.)

For her, this Bruce is a distorted mirror into a past which never was.

Cass: This Bruce and B are not the same person. They don’t move the same. In a fight, this Bruce is younger, faster, stronger. Doesn’t compensate for a previously broken spine. Less experienced. Still one of the most experienced she knows, but less.

He still moves differently, outside a fight, less pain. More likely to engage in physical affection, more likely to hug and pat and talk. He talks more than B. B knows what she means without words. This Bruce doesn’t.

She likes this Bruce, warmth, and softness. But not as much as B. He knows what she means, when she wants a hug, when she tells him ‘I love you’ without words. B doesn’t need words. This Bruce doesn’t know her, doesn’t communicate like her. She wants B back.

Damian: At first, when this version of his father seemed uncanny and oddly familiar, he assumed it to be due to the stories of his mother. After all, she always told him tales about his father. He simply did not have the frame of reference to understand the kindness she spoke of. Clearly, the clash between the ideals of the League and the ones of his father causes these feelings, just as they did when he first entered the manor.

He presumed this to be the case until one day on patrol Batman laid a hand on his shoulder and told him he did a good job after no particularly impressive fight and he nearly called him ‘Grayson’. Because the stories of his mother may have painted the picture of this version of his father, however, it wasn’t what made it familiar; no, he knew this kindness. These hugs and compliments one would bestow upon a child. Compliments which, despite the indignity, still warm him. Because Grayson learned how to be a… caregiver from his father.

His father used to be like Grayson, used to be until his grief hardened him. Damian could have had this. Damian could have a brother and father who would- But he doesn’t because of Todd. He loathes Todd. Loathes him for ruining the life he could have had.

Why did he die anyway? Damian certainly wouldn’t have a problem escaping bonds created by the Joker, Damian would have disarmed the bomb in time, Damian would have never thrown this life away like he did.

[Or: Damian is a child who was raised by assassins and has unreasonable standards for fighting abilities and also is a child who needs to focus his rage on someone.]

Duke: He was neither there before Jason died nor in the aftermath [according to my math he was around 4 when Jason died] he joined the family when Jason was already back for 4 years or so. He mostly skipped all the drama. For him, Bruce is the way Bruce is because he is Bruce. It’s weird to see him so different, to see how grief shaped parts of Bruce which Duke assumed were just Bruce things.

He’s glad this Bruce is brighter, or not because it just highlights how much that light will dim? Who knows, certainly not him.

What he does know is that, with their Bruce, he has a distance which, with his parents still alive, he appreciates. With this Bruce, he can understand why Dick struggled so much whether he wants to be his ward or son, how he doesn’t want to replace his parents but still have this Bruce as a dad. It definitely explained the ted talk Dick tried to give him after Bruce officially took him in as a ward.

He likes this Bruce well enough, but he doesn’t necessarily want him to stay this way. Yes, their Bruce is less happy, less open but he did heal, he did grow. Duke met a Bruce who tried to learn from his mistakes, learned to communicate better, and learned when to pull and when to push. For Tim, Damian, Dick, and certainly Jason there is too much baggage, too much history in their relationships, it’s difficult for them to ever move past- anything really.

Sure, when Dick and Bruce are on the same page they are essentially invincible but then the past catches up again and they don’t talk to each other for months. And honestly? Apart from Cass, Duke’s pretty sure he has one of the best relationships with Bruce simply because he got to know him at a better time.

Duke doesn’t mind this Bruce. But their Bruce loved Jason, cared for him so deeply the scars still show to this day. And he still chooses to open up again even if just a bit by bit. Even if just Duke can see it. He is used to being the only one that can see.

And maybe knowing this care extends to him, this love even grief can’t shake? Maybe it makes him feel just a little bit safer, a little bit warmer, a little bit brighter.

1K notes · View notes

arabellasfvv · 14 days ago

Text

MDNI 18+ switch!Kyle also kinda angst, friends to lovers a little, but they dont actually say it? Im on the verge of losing it, so you will have to take this mess and focus on the good in it, thank you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

"You ever sub?" The questions is followed by you clearing your throat immediately, realising how raspy your voice had gotten over the past hours. Kyle hands you a cool water bottle, condensation running down the plastic that slicks your palm a little, before anything else.

He's as curious about the question as he is confused. He'd never shown signs of submissions with you... had he? "No," he hums confidently, "Don't think I could." His eyes stay on you. Watching the way your throat bobbed when you swallowedm the way your lips wrapped around the bottles opening— bringing back just the right memories.

A sound of protest leaves you once you pull away from the bottle and place it aside. "Everyone could," you argue. Eyes now flicking from the playing cartoon to your best friend. "Might not be your thing, sure. But don't knock it 'till you try it, right?"

He shakes his head. "Love, I'm a lot. But I'm not submissive."

"You're a soldier." Both his eyebrows shoot up at that. His expression twisting as he tried to understand your point. You shrug once you caught the hint to elaborate. "You listen to orders all day, no? Getting told what to do and when, 'n stuff."

"First off," his voice holds way too much sass for a man his size, "I'm a sergeant—"

"There are ranks above you, still." "Sure, yeah. But I ain't some grunt who just gets told what to do the all the time," he ignores the skeptical expression on your face. "Even if, there's a difference between submitting to hierarchy on a job that, y'know, pays me, and submitting in a sexual setting."

You stare at him in that way he despises. The way that makes him feel all exposed, like you're sitting right on his brain and digging around, as if his sould is bared to you. He knows you can't actually read people that well, unfortunately that doesnt make your stare any less unsettling.

Kyle tries to change the subject, starting to blabber about God and the world. But you're not listening. Too focused on your imagination, how he'd look splayed out, panting and dripping with sweat, brain melting out of his ears.

There was nothing that could convince you he wouldn't look absolutely beautiful out off control for once. Just a desperate mess under your command.

You understood his hesitance. You rarely fully submitted to anyone either, not unless they had fucked you absolutely dumb. And his past girlfriends... well, what to say about them? It may have been personal bias, some underlying feeling that gnawed at you, but you never felt they were right for Kyle. He never seemed truly lovestruck with any of them. So of course, the kind of trusted needed for him to submit was never built.

But you weren't them. You were his best friend. His best friend he fucked, too often almost. You two had seen eachother in all kinds of vulnerable in the many years you'd been friends. Submission wasn't outlandish that to think about, was it?

"Why not try?" You interrupted, head tilting to empathise the question. "Scared you'll like it too much?" Your lips tugged up into a little smile, knowing that if you'd get too serious with your questions, force him to be vulnerable, he'd just shut down.

He huffs, deflecting. As if he could ever like submitting. But before he can protest you speak again.

"You just wanna be good, no? Keep your hands clean while fighting to keep the world clean, too?" Nevermind sparing his feelings. You knew you hit, hell dropkicked onto, a button when his face pinches together. His tongue wetting his lips, dragging along his lips that, he's contemplating, you know.

"This would be so much easier. You'd just have to let me make you feel good to be a good boy. No responsibility."

You adore how you can get to him, how his Adams apple bobs when your words echo in his mind. No responsibility. He hates to admit it, but its what he needed. Some deep, neglected part of him just needed to give himself away. He wasnt sure if he could allow himself that though. With everything he'd done, did he really deserve to relax?

Did he deserve to lie atop soft sheets bed while bodies lay in the cold earth because of him?

Did he deserve to let go of the guilt while leaving rotting corpes wherever he went?

Did he deserve peace when his actions buried families beneath rubble, when he was at fault for turning loving homes into places of mourning?

Did he deserve to feel the security of knowing while children sat on their front steps staring into the distance with wide and eager eyes hoping to see their daddy again?

Did he deserve someone loving him after hearing the screams of lovers as he ripped their partners away from them, after he'd walked away from their mourning with no apologies?

He was snapped out of his train of thought by a familiar weight settling on his lap. A soft palm resting against his stubbly jaw, turning his head upwards to meet eyes that held no pain. That held no anger against the things he'd done.

And by that voice that haunted his gentler dreams. "You're doing it again, Kyle. Getting lost up in that pretty head of yours."

"That's my line," he whispered, trying to pull away from the guilt that was trying to pull him into a dark abyss.

He melts a little, the smile you give being a reassurance of its own. You were a good person, you had morals. Fuck, you were like an angel walking on earth, born to look past the evil and make the best of things. The fact you weren't disgusted by him was like forgiveness.

Not enough to truly be at ease— that was a dream he'd given up on long ago, true peace would never wander into his life— but enough to make him feel something other than pure disgust at himself. This shell of the boy he once was.

"Let me make you feel good. You can say no, I'll stop whenever you need me to. But give me a chance?" You weren't sure where this enegry came from. You'd finished round six, maybe seven, with him barely half an hour ago. But seeing him withdraw into his mind, into those thoughts that only got spoken out loud when he was intoxicated, those thoughts that left his body tight and tense, his eyes casted anywhere but your own, made you want to pull him out so desperately.

He nods, and in that same breath your lips press against his own. Your free hand comes down to rest against his chest, feeling how his heart was drumming against his ribcage like a little humming bird. His own hands don't find their place.

He's usually so confident, every touch almost methodical, planned to guarantee to make you fall apart beneath him. Now that you weren't the focus he was confused, a fish out of water. His lips just reciprocating, not taking.

You allow him to breathe once you realise how choked up his breaths were coming out. Though, you barely pull away, lingering with your nose bumping against his own. Your lips parted just a hair away from his own, neither of you is really getting oxygen with close you are, just panting into eachothers mouth without actually touching.

"You're okay," you promise, you swear.

"I'm okay," he repeats, not entirely convinced. But he wants to be, needs to believe.

"You're in control." He's not, not really. He has to power to shut it all down, to escape. But nothing more.

"I'm in control." He knows he's not. Especially not with how he shudders when your lips start to place kisses against his jaw line. It feels silly when his finger hooks into the waistband of your panties, like he's trying to keep you from escaping. But you don't comment on it, just smile against his skin in silent amusement.

"I'm not going anywhere." Your promises are overwhelming. No, you won't go anywhere, that has always been a silent acknowledgement between the two of you. But hearing it out loud was different. It was so simple, and somehow it made his mind go hazy. Your lips wander against his neck, and he doesn't take more than a second to tilt his neck to give you more access.

But he isnt satisfied by that for long. Your lips on him are heavenly, making his body twitch and grow impossibly hotter. The little nips and licks you add in between make him dizzy, and kyle prays to whatever God is out there that you're biting hard enough to leave marks on his skin. But needs your taste again, needs his lips to have purpose. So he's tugging at your neck, not wanting to say the words, but still needing you to understand.

And you do, somehow. Coming back up to connect your lips. You swallow down your own desperation, that need to just do anything. This was about being in control, to allow Kyle to come undone. So when your hand palmed his growing bulge, giving it a squeeze and his lips part in a suprised groan your tongue pushed past them and into his mouth.

So this is how it feels for you, huh? Normally he's the one with his tongue in your mouth, and he tries to turn it around for a moment. To get that usual feeling of your tongue pushing against his. But you dont let him.

You taste both yourself and him on his tongue. Hints of your slick and his spunk from when when he'd eaten you out with fervour earlier making you moan into his mouth. The familiarity of it the most delicious thing you've had in a while.

His hips are bucking up, trying to find you, grind the growing ache inside his boxers away.

You've never seen him so sloppy and uncoordinated, drool slipping past the corners of his mouth, hands just fumbling and tugging around your body. "Please," he needs more, so clearly, and the fact you still seem composed is infuriating.

You pull away far enough to see him, breaking the string of spit connecting the both of you. It's just like you imagined, needy as usual. Pupils blown and unfocused, lips reddened and inviting. But he's looking up at you now. Waiting for direction.

He grips your body tighlty the moment you try to get off his lap. You can't leave. Where do you wanna go anyway? He's right here and he needs you, "Stay."

"I told you I'm not going anywhere," you assure again, gently prying his fingers off you until they were loose enough for you to slip out of his grasp. Kneeling down infront of the couch, waiting for him to shift so you could sit between his legs.

The impulse to tease him was there, to just lap at his cock until he couldn't take it anymore. Watch the exact moment he'd lose it. But that impulse was overridden by the desire to make him feel good. You'd make him fall apart, and while your first plan was doing it through far too much teasing, now you just wanted him to feel good. Tugging down his boxers, humming a "Good boy," when he automatically lifted his hips to help you out, you threw them somewhere to his side.

He was already rock hard (again), light drips of pre-cum gathering at his flushed tip. Your tongue extended to lick them up, inching closer until your pretty lips could wrap around the head.

Taking the rest of his aching cock into your hand, not really stroking it. Just letting your fingers trace along the bulging veins. When his hand comes to rest on the back of your head and he tries to thrust into your mouth, you pull off. Leaving him whining and pouting. "None o' that, sweetheart. I'll give ya what you need. You don't take it, yeah?" He has to take a few deep breaths to process your words. "Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am."

You nod, happy he's listening. You take him back into your mouth, this time taking every inch you can. You gag when your nose hits his pubes, but the sound he lets out is worth it. You let your tongue follow the veins around the length when you pull back. But when he tries to push your head back, you hold back against the touch. And all you have to do is look up, let your eyes meet his, and the pressure on your head is released. "I'm sorry, fuck— I'm sorry, love. You just... please. Please, your mouth is so good."

Good enough. You let him rest in your mouth for a moment, tongue doing its best to swirl around the girth and lap up whatever his dripping tip had to give. Slowly you start to push your head back onto him, moving it back and forth while hollowing out your cheeks.

And Kyle could come just from that sight, the goddamn vision you were. Swollen lips stretching around his cock, the way your hand rests on his thigh, thumb stroking calming circles around the muscles, your throat bulging to accommodate him. He tenses when your other hand sneaks up his thigh, nail polish contrasting against his skin, because he knows what youre about to do.

It's not fair, he's still sensitive, and the way you're forcing his mind to be a mess is torture. And now your hand was fondling his balls, lightly tugging at them every now and then. His head falls back against the couch, eyes screwing shut. He can't look at you without coming too quick.

Unfortunately for him, with his vision gone everything else gets worse.

Suddenly he can smell your perfume lingering in the air of his apartment, the fading smell of sex that the open window can't fully get rid off. The wet sounds of your mouth slobbering up his cock, the little sounds you let when he gets too deep and you gag, he swears he can hear every tiny shift of your body. And all he can taste is you, that goddamn kiss.

His thighs start trembling underneath your palm, his dick starts to twitch in your mouth, and when you look up you see how tense he is, how hard he is trying to hold back. You pull off, wrapping your hand around him and stroke— you didn't want to take him away from the edge after all. "Let go, darling. This is for you." You encourage before taking him back into your mouth.

It was embarrassing, what your voice did to him. It always sounded right, settling over him like a cozy blanket. And underneath the comfort of it, the echo drilled into the deepest corners of his mind, scratching itches he didn’t even know were there.

It was familiar. It was safe. The voice he wished for every time he was with someone else. Because no one had ever made him feel quite like you did. No one ever would.

Once his whimpers turned into choked up moans, and his balls started to tighten and twitch underneath your palm you took him deeper. Sliding the length across your tongue until it hit the back of your throat, cheeks hallowed again, tongue lapping as best as it could in the confines of your own mouth.

The moan came from the both of you when his warm, salty spunk started spurting down your throat. It was over quick, since most his spunk had ended up in your cunt a earlier, but it was just as good.

You pull off with a pop once his dick stops throbbing. Smirking at the way he squirm away when you clean him up with your tongue.

You want more, so much more. Want him sinking deeper into the couch, his voice raspy and barely comprehensible. Needed to see him go dumb, and pliable under your control.

Once he managed to lift his head again, eyes blinking open, you stand up. And you're so fucking ready for round two nine, that ache between your legs stronger than ever.

But he's not ready. You can the sense of post nut clarity that hit him. The way he sits up wasn't fatigue from his orgasm, it was something that sat deeper within him. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling your standing form closer so he could rest his head against your chest.

This went far from what you had in mind, the opposite of how you wanted him. But hell, he was your best friend, and you'd rather die than not comfort him. There was always time to try again.

One hand went to rest against his shoulder, a firm touch keeping him, or attempting to keep him in this reality, in the current here and now. The other cradling his head, holding him close to you, letting him hear your rapid heartbeat.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't start that. You ain't done nothing wrong, pretty boy." Pretty boy, he hated that name. It made him feel like some soft thing instead of the trained killer he was.

You stay like this for a while, letting him try and come down from whatever feeling had gripped him so fiercely. Your fingers massage along his scalp, a habit at this point. And he wishes this could go on forever. That he could just carry your touch with him, carry it in a case like he does his cigarettes. Something gentle to soothe his sould. Instead of the poison that takes over his body, and makes your nose crinkle in disapproval when he mentions it.

But alas, your body was worn from the night. Standing too long was starting to have effect on your legs, so you grip his head a little firmer to pull him away. Making him look up at you like a kitten scruffed against its will. "How 'bout we take a shower? God knows we both need one." Kyle's lips already parted to protest, to argue about staying this way just a little longer.

Until the words hit. We take a shower. WE.

That's not something you'd done before. You two had fucked, cuddled, went out together, and gotten into all kinds of trouble. But showering and bathing together always seemed a step too far, a step too intimate.

Which is exactly why he wasn't gonna turn it down, jumping up hitting his head right against your chin. Making you wince. "Shite, fuck, im sorry, love." His calloused palm quickly cradled your face, looking you over. Fuck, your chin was already growing red, and you'd probably bitten your tongue too. He's such an idiot! And he feels so so so bad. "Didn't mean to do that."

You just laugh him off. Yes, that hurt like shit cause that man has a head that is definitely harder than normal. But you'd been through much worse. Placing a quick peck against the corner of his mouth you start to tug him along into the bathroom.

The sound of the shower starting fills the small bathroom, you're tripping your clothes, well, your panties and socks off. And Kyle is just staring. He'd seen you naked so often, could tell his mates about the exact placement of every mole and scar on your body just from memory. But this wasn't nudity out of lust... it was out of intimacy?

Thats what he was convincing himself off. Maybe you just saw this casual, maybe you'd done this with plenty of men and just stopped caring. But he didn't want this to be the case,he wanted to be one you could be that vulnerable with him. Gulping down his own saliva was like choking down a rock once he saw you step under the steaming water—

Bloody steaming? There's no way you actually showered that hot. Fuckin' hell. He's careful when he steps in after you, his hand dipping beneath the hot stream and he immediately pulls away with a hiss. "No, way. No ma'am. Nuh uh."

Your eyes crack open at his protests, "Can't handle a bit of heat, sergeant?" You tease, your voice so light it floats right to his head. "I can handle bloody heat. I can't handle water that's trying to boil me alive!"

You chuckle at the dramatics, but turn down the heat nonetheless.

And that fills him with guilt all over again.

You’re so perfect. So pretty. So nice. You move around his needs without complaint, without hesitation, like it’s easy. And he knows he’s done nothing to deserve it.

He’s gruff. Scars littering his body and sould. Blood on his hands. He felt like a walking bad omen. He had no right to pull you into this life, no right to keep anyone close, not when everything he touches either breaks or leaves. There’s a reason he's alone more these days. A reason he’s single, a reason every woman before you eventually walked away. His only friends are his teammates. And you. Fucking you.

You’ve been there so long, it almost terrifies him. Sometimes he really wonders if God sent you down just for him. Why else would you stay? If you had a choice, you should’ve left a long time ago. So maybe you didn’t. Maybe you couldn’t. Maybe you were tied to him, sent onto this earth for him, by some kind of divine being that knew he'd need saving before he ever did.

He's once again snapped out off his thoughts by you. By who else? Being tugged under the, now tolerable, water. Brown eyes landing on your wet body, it had to be divine intervention. Theres no way a human could look this... lovely under shitty bathroom lightning with the steam curling around them, skin glowing.

He suddenly grabbed you. The fear of you being unreal taking over, he just had to feel for himself.

He wanted to cry. He wouldn't, no he'd choke that down until it was physically impossible. Your skin was so supple, so soft underneath him. It was so right. So— "Too tight, kyle." His eyes snapped to yours, and everything crashes down again. He's on a wild rollercoaster of emotions right now, its enough to make nauseous. The way he keep snapping from one to another.

You don't allow him to apologise, or pull his hand away like you knew he wanted to. Your hand wrapped around his wrist, making sure it stayed on your body. His touch didn't automatically meant harm, he'd gripped a bit too tight, not ripped your damn bones straight out, it was okay. And he needed to know that.

And maybe he doesnt know, he probably can't actually believe it. But he accepts it, because you make the laws. If you allow him to feel, he will feel, and if you stay his touch is allowed, ten he can touch. But he remains careful when he pulls you close, cradling the back of your head to let it rest against his shoulder while his other arm firmly rests around your waist.

You took a second to adjust your head so you wouldn't feel like drowning under the water stream with him, before hugging him back. Arms wrapped around his torso, letting one hand rub up and down the length of his wet back.

"Your water bill is gonna be high if we stay like this yanno.." "Shut up, love." You smile against his skin but does as he says.

"Let me make you feel good?"

The words come so out of the blue it throws you off. The man was on the verge of crying a minute go and now he wants sex again? Man, oh man. "Kyle," you sigh, ready to protest. You'd rather have him open up about his emotions than deflect his way.

To him it wasnt a way of deflection. It wasn't to distract him, but to deal with the inadequacy he felt torward you. Higher beings had the right to be to worshipped, to feel good at all times. Instead of dealing with big ol' messes like himself. "Please."

Goddamn those big, brown eyes. You could say no if you really wanted to. But you'd be lying if there wasn't still a small ache between your legs, and if he was just short of begging.. why deny yourself? "One round."

"Thank you." And God knows he's truly grateful when the hand on your head let's go and slips between your bodies. "You're so beautiful, love..."

He relishes the way your body arches against him when a calloused palm cups your breast, squeezing the malleable tissue to watch it spill out between his fingers. His firm grip switched from the left to the right, pinching and rolling your nipples between his fingers.

Until youre squirming under his appreciation. The arm holding you close won't let you pull doesn't allow you a moment of respite. Forcing you to just feel as he forces your nipples to grow hard and sensitive. He's pressing a kiss against your head when you start to whine, his silent way of praising you for enduring it. As if you had any choice.

Kyle's hand doesn't once leave your body as it starts to wander down, knowing the moment he wasnt holding on his hand would start to tremble and itch to have you back, to have your skin be a grounding presence again.

"You're so good fo' me, baby. You're so damn good." He whispers against your hair. The fact his fingers had slipped between your slicked up folds, gathering your dripping arousal so he can coat your clit in it, doesnt match the tone of his voice. It's broken, like he's on the verge of an emotional breakdown.

"Kyle..." you know he won't pull away, he can't. Your hips jerk when his fingers apply just the right pressure, find the perfect rhythm against your clit, and the rest of your sentence falls flat. You shift as much as possible so you could press your lips against his shoulders and neck, blanketing the bare area in your unspoken love. Love you'd never come to terms with and yet expressed so freely.

His fingers curl tighter around your waist once you do. Part of him wanting to beg for more, beg for your lips all over his skin, cover every inch in your adoration. And the other wants to plea for you to stop, wants to tell you how much he doesn't deserve it. How you don't deserve to be ruined by his rotten self.

He did neither, opting to bite his lips and shut his eyes instead. Ignore the thoughts and focus on the feeling. Especially the feeling when his fingers slipped lower again, searching for your sticky entrance that was as eager as ever to take his fingers. Two of them slipping right in without issue, causing you to pause for just a second. Automatically you try to grind down on them, make them hit the spot.

Suddenly you're pressed against the still cold tiles of the shower, making you let out an undignified squeak in suprise. And Kyle's body is no easier to get past than a wall, so youre left with no choice but to rest against the tile whilst his fingers start intently curling inside of you.

"What's this earth done to deserve you? What have I done to deserve you? Huh?"

"God, wh— a-ahhh fuck.. what's up with.. nghh— with you tonight, man?"

It's starting to be confusing, but you're not looking for an answer. Not really. Not when you think about whatever heavy thing is running through his mind. He's seen things. Done things. The kind you could barely process when they were brought up, and then would go on to haunt your dreams. You're not sure you're ready to hear what it is about.

You’re not sure you could handle it if it were you.

If he had fallen for you. If he did think about you when he was with other women. If you really did haunt his dreams, the way he’s been haunting yours for far too long. But that… that just couldn't happen. So you stay quiet, only letting the moans slip past your lips while digging your fingers into his broad shoulders, and hope. Hope he won't give you an answer.

He wants to tell you. Needs to tell you its you. Its always been you.

Always will be.

But you were right, it just wasn't something that could happen. So he only responded with a, totally unrelated, kiss. Forcing his lips onto yours with pure desperation, swallowing up every moan you let out when his fingertips brushed against that gummy spot inside of you again and again. Pushing his tongue into the heat of your mouth as his other hand came down to play with your clit.

This was better, familiar. That sense of control was back, and he realised once again how good it felt to take care of you. How much better he felt when you were receiving the pleasure instead of him.

Spit was starting to pool in both your mouths, so he took that opportunity to pull back, just for him to shower you with praise. "Good girl. You're so bloody perfect, love. Shit, loot at that... so gorgeous." But the breathy whispers only sate him for so long before he has to claim your lips again. Going on until you're breathless again.

"Too good for this world, I swear," he mutters as he watches the string of saliva break when your head falls back against the wall. You're glad the words don't fully register in your mind, too focused on all the different touches he's laying on you.

You still grab his neck to pull his lips back to yours when he stays away for too long. And he's eager to comply, closing his eyes so your taste and sounds could take over his mind.

There was no reward quite like when your lips would fall open, not even trying to kiss back anymore too focused on his fingers findind the perfect rhythm together, but youre not pulling away.

Your brain stops for a moment when your orgasm crawls up on you, unable to do anything but pant against him needy whines slipping past, while your hips grind down, trying to get there faster. Chasing the inevitable.

Your hand slams against the fogged up shower door, fingers curling, dragging down letting your trembly hand leave an imprint. The shower's steam clings to your skin, mixing with the heat already flooding your body. You're burning from the inside out, sweat and condensation sliding down your neck, dripping down between yoir breast, and it only makes everything worse. Maybe better. You're not sure anymore.

You're close, right where you need to be.

The heat low in your belly coils tighter pulsing with need. The pressure builds but you stay right there, on that damn edge. You're trying to push yourself over it, try to make that knot rip that's sending goosebumps all over your body. But you can't.

Cause you're thinking about it. Kyle knows. Of course he does. He starts to pull away to focus his lip on your jawline instead, kissing and nibbling on the skin, listening as your whines grow more desperate. You just needed to come so bad, huh? Sweet thing, he'll make sure you will.

He licks into your ear in a way you can't tell if its supposed to be teasing or intimate, either way it makes your hips jerk. "Kyle— Kyle— ah aah.. please. C'mon, please."

"I know, I know, love. Stop thinking, dont focus on that pretty head while you're feeling this good." Damn his voice— because it works.

Your mind stops thinking about wanting that orgasm, instead focusing on the heat of his breath against your ear. The way it shifts to the crook of your neck when he nuzzles his face against it. You focus on how full his fingers alone have you, how his thumb is so perfectly applying pressure where you need it the most.

And how nice his presence is. Despite everything he's always been a safe place. A quiet place. Where no judgment, and no expectations loomed. Just you two being you. Yes, the darkness clings to him, lingers in the air. But he never allows it to come close enough to burn. Never strong enough to swallow you both.

And you think that does it, that sense of security. Or maybe not. It didn’t matter. All that matter was that rushing feeling in your body, sending every tingly feeling to your core. Your body is presses tighter against the wall, because Kyle wouldn't want your trembling legs to be the cause of you falling.

He spills out some praise, but it goes in one ear and out the other. Everything is muffled, thank God because the sound of pleasure you let out could not have been dignified. He's groaning at the feeling of your pussy, hot and slick, clenching around his fingers. And he swears he can feel that little pulse your clit gains, and its fucking delicious. Biting into your neck hard enough to leave his teeth imprinted before decorating it with a purple hickey as his hands slow down. Making sure to match your movements and let you down gently from the orgasm.

"Just like tha'... shhh, you did so good, love, so good." You slump against him when he finally pulls his fingers off, face burying itself into his shoulder. You don't see, but you hear his fingers coming up to his mouth, tongue flicking out to lick up the milky substance that was starting to coat your inner thighs as well.

"Thank you..." "Not for that."

He pats your back gently while contemplating. He knows you said one round. But it doesnt feel enough, a woman like you could have enough pleasure in his mind. You deserved so much more. So the moment your legs start to be steady again he's on his knees. Soft brown eyes looking up at you for permission, firm hands already working on spreading your thighs a little wider for him.

"No, please," you whimper, tensing a little because you'd gone at it so often today. There had to be a limit.

But fuck. You know how good he is with his mouth, and really, you never did get enough of him. The way he's looking at you, flicking his eyes torward the wetness between your legs like its life's fucking essence... yeah, you're not sure if you're no really is a no.

This was supposed to be way longer. But I cannot anymore.

#let me remind y'all im not a writer #im learning #TRUST #cod x reader #call of duty #cod mw2 #gaz x reader #fem reader #gaz x you #kyle gaz garrick x reader #cod smut #cod angst #kyle garrick x reader #gaz garrick #gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick the man that you are #kyle garrick x you #brain spunk

297 notes · View notes