Would you ever write more about Kyle "Gaz" Garrick and his fwb girl? Like where she finds out he’s lying so she goes and fucks soap and gaz walks in or she just stops fucking with him all together
We should look more into fuck boy Kyle and his crazy fwb that he's leading in circles.
Previous
Pairing: K Garrick x reader and introducing my new baby daddy Mace.
You're not one for revenge fucking. But with the way the girl in the video is grinding up against your Kyle, you feel more than green with envy. Then again, he isn't really yours. He's for the streets, the pavement, and community dick as far as you're concerned. You had followed the profile 'Dawn Dish Insurgent' after figuring out it was his roommate Johnny. It was a private Instagram, and he didn't recognize you, and you were suddenly aware of how played you were.
"Fuck his boss." Your best friend told you. "You can probably get him to trick on you."
"Fuck the dude in the mask." Another friend suggested, "I bet his dick is bigger."
You wanted to, if for the sake of getting back at Kyle Garrick. But you didn't want to ruin his relationships with his friends in case you and him worked it out...fucking pathetic but you held out hope.
It was your aunt who laughed and said "Fuck someone who is better than him and make it known."
And fuck if the next guy wasn't better.
You met him at a bar while out with your friends. He introduced himself as Mace, just Mace, and that should have been your first red flag. He was tall, broad, dark, and handsome. Rugged in the way a man that is definitely bad news is. He wasn't covered in tattoos, but neat raised scars. When you traced your finger tips over them, he smiled over his glass of brown liquor and explained that they were crocodile scars.
"I have more in other places." The smile he gave you made you temporarily forget the whole point of why you were there, and that was to get your lick back.
The only lick back you ended up getting that night was Mace throwing your back out at your place. He was right. He did have the scars in other places. Across his chest, down his back, it was a fine gradient of scarred skin to smooth skin at his hips. His dick had practically impaled you and knocked the good sense from your head. Each kiss he left on your body was like being branded with fire.
And when he folded you in half, his hand gripping your neck and pressing down, he was at his worst. Whispering what had to be filth in whatever native tongue he spoke. His thumb kept your mouth open as he dropped a glob of his spit into your mouth and followed it with a kiss.
You felt possessed after that move. Your screams and cries of pleasure mixed with the chanting of his name. Ankles around his shoulder dangling uselessly as you gripped the sheets for dear life. When he finally came, he didn't pull out, he pressed his hips closer as close as possible to you.
"Ungowam ngoku." He grunted.
You didn't know what that meant, but you only nodded too tired to ask.
Kyle hadn't heard from his girl in three days. Normally, by now, she's blowing up his phone, sending messages, asking for him to carve out an hour at least to come by and fuck up her insides. He could have skinned Soap alive when he found out she had seen his Instagram and, by extension, the video of him with some girl dancing...in a not so appropriate way. It didn't matter. He would swing by her place with some flowers, and honestly, coupled with a few nice words, she'd be putty in his hands.
It takes longer than expected for the door to open after he knocks on it. When it swings open, you're standing there, in muscle tee and basketball shorts that he does not recognize. He doesn't wear muscle tees and finds them ridiculous for guys to wear them. You don't rush to hug him, pull him into a kiss despite the knowledge of him being with another woman. You lean against the door frame and stare blankly at him.
"Yes?" The way which there is no sweetness to your voice makes him wince a bit, and he knows he's probably in the dog house.
"Bae," he leans in to kiss you but is shocked when you turn your head and the kiss lands on your cheek. Oh, he really is in trouble, "I missed you."
You take in the flowers, regular run of the mill compared to what is sitting on both your vanity, living room, and kitchen table. "Did you now?" You scoff and roll your eyes so hard, it's amazing how they don't fall right out of your head.
"Yes, I did. Now, can I come in or-" He pauses dead in his sentence when the front door opens up a bit more. The anger is almost instantaneous, the heat of that and embarrassment swirling together at the sight of another man - shirtless no less - in his girl's house.
You feel absolutely smug and over the moon at how speechless Kyle suddenly is. Eyes wide as they flick between you and Mace. You fake concern in your voice, "Oh Kyle, meet Mace, my friend. He's in town for work and is just visiting." You glance at Mace with a loving smile, the kind you always give to Kyle, "Finish getting ready. When I'm done with this conversation, we can head out Sugar."
Mace keeps a very stoic face but nods his head, "Don't take too long." He gives Kyle one last look over before leaving.
"What the fuck?" Kyle hisses immediately, eyes narrowing. "What's this shit about? Why does my girl have some fuck in her house and wearing his clothes?"
"Your girl? Please, " you sigh, and there's an evil glint in your eyes when you say this, "Don't be weird about this. He's just a friend that's visiting." It's similar cadence and words that he's said to you before in the past.
There's a sick satisfaction swelling in your chest as you watch Kyle storm off. Flowers he got you tossed aside. You hope it's the same feeling inside of him that eats him alive that has bothered you non-stop.
Vanta Note: 👀 what next? Also special thanks to @umber-cinders for mentioning off handedly about the idea of Mace speaking Xhosa and a special thanks to @demothers-empty-blog for introducing me to Mace who on this blog will be called '#ego boy'
I was thinking about Queen and her husbands and well here you go.
Title: Six Days and Counting
POV: K Garrick
CW: suggestive
collection list
Kyle couldn’t stand it anymore—day six of staying with Mace, Erik, and their wife—and it was painfully obvious: he was suffering. Not because anything was wrong. No. Queen made the house alive. Cozy, warm, homey. Cas and Dottie were a riot, and the way they threw themselves into their extracurriculars actually impressed him. Somehow, he’d been roped into giving Cas boxing pointers—and somehow survived Mace and Erik teaching the kid to grapple and spar like a recruit. Queen’s scolding eyes followed him the whole time, and it only made him sweat more.
But Kyle wasn’t suffering because of training.
He was suffering because of her.
Every single look Queen gave him shredded his composure. Sweet smiles. Grins when he stumbled over his words. Teasing smirks with eyebrows arched like weapons. And if her looks could melt him, her body was a full-blown death sentence.
She floated around the house in Ivy Park leggings and oversized shirts, hair wild, a force of chaotic grace. Or she dressed like a CEO who could end countries: pencil skirts, pant suits, red-bottom heels that made her legs unfairly lethal.
Kyle noticed everything—the subtle brush of her perfume on her neck and wrists, the scent she left on everyone she hugged. She was generous, always holding Mace’s hand and kissing his bruised knuckles, cradling Erik’s head with soft, almost tender kisses. And him? She didn’t give him that closeness. He was just the friend—the visitor. A man who shouldn’t be craving a married woman.
But he was craving her anyway.
And right now, this Thursday morning, it hurt the most.
Erik had taken the kids to school despite their whining. Queen’s voice had echoed through the house like a drill sergeant: “Cas and Dottie, school or if you stay home, you’re cleaning!” They bolted. Erik had offered for Kyle to tag along, but he was hungover—Hennessy on a Wednesday criminally illegal, but Chloé made killer cocktails and Queen and Erik’s puppy-dog eyes were lethal. Mace just sighed, muttering about Liquid I.V., and left Kyle to his suffering.
“Kyle, good morning!” Queen called from the kitchen.
She was at the island, watching Mace knead dough for bread (again, the guy didn’t look like a baker). She wasn’t dressed to go out—she was in a thin mumu, hair wrapped up in a matching scarf, face bare, glowing like sunlight. No bra. No visible panties. He tried not to look—but he did. He noticed the curve of her ass, the way the fabric barely clung. Effortlessly gorgeous. And he was dying.
“Uhm…good morning,” he coughed. His voice cracked. He wanted to look away but couldn’t. His eyes caught faint hickeys along her collarbone.
And then, his mind flashed to New York.
The weekend trip. Manhattan. Sightseeing. Stupid souvenirs for his mates back home. But the suite…oh God, the suite. It was practically an apartment, and he had almost died when Queen stepped out of the shower in a towel that barely covered her ass. Water clung to her skin, and she glanced over her shoulder with that little surprised laugh. Blood rushed south in record time, and Kyle had to excuse himself before passing out.
He hadn’t recovered.
And here he was, staring at fresh hickeys that reminded him of that towel and everything that followed in his imagination.
Mace noticed, of course, and shook his head with that knowing smirk. “Kumkanikazi, uya kumbulala,” he said, chuckling.
Kyle had been thrown headfirst into Erik’s “Mandatory Language Immersion” on day four—everyone spoke Xhosa, only switching for Dottie. He’d picked up the essentials: “Erik shut up,” and “Erik fuck off.” Mace used them daily, and now Kyle did too, silently cheering his small victories.
“Andiboni uthando,” Queen laughed, bright and musical. Her head tipped back slightly, exposing the column of her neck—fading kiss marks contrasted beautifully against dainty gold necklaces on her brown skin.
He’d give anything to trace them with his tongue. Bite gently. Taste her. Bask in her.
I’m going to hell, he thought. Coveting my friend’s wife. Definitely going to hell.
“You think she’s pretty?” Mace asked.
Kyle choked on his spit. “Huh?”
“My wife. She’s pretty, right?” Mace repeated with teasing lilt, eyes on his dough, not Kyle.
“I mean…uh…” Kyle’s brain short-circuited. He didn't want to give the wrong answer just in case this was some sort of test. He's seen Mace snap a man in half like a glow stick during that four month long mission, he's not trying to find out what that feels like. “Yeah.”
“Mae, love, don’t—” Queen began.
“He’s not blind, and you’re not innocent,” Mace cut in. “You’ve been giving Mamba’s dick blue balls ever since that towel in New York.”
Kyle’s face caught fire.
She gasped, hand to her chest. “Mace! Now why would you say that?”
“What? The truth,” Mace shrugged. His gaze slid to Kyle. “If you’re too shy to get your dick up, you can always watch one of our movies.”
“Mace! Kyle doesn’t want—” she started.
“I wouldn’t turn down the opportunity,” Kyle spoke without even thinking, heart hammering. “…Especially to guest star.”
She sputtered. Actual, gorgeous sputtering. His chest swelled at the flustered, vulnerable side of her that he rarely saw.
Mace leaned in, wicked grin in place. “Take her on a date. Negotiate a kink contract. The Queen also doubles as a pocket pussy if she’s fucked dumb enough.”
Kyle’s knees threatened to buckle from that alone. Mental images flooded his brain. He groaned internally.
“And Erik says,” Mace continued, voice sliding playfully degrading, “it’s fat enough that her panties fight to hold both lips.”
Kyle braced for a scolding. But instead…she crossed her legs, shifted, eyes downcast. Silence. She liked it.
The tension thickened, a warm, electric weight. Every sound—the hum of the fridge, the faint creak of the floor—was magnified.
Then the front door slammed.
“Miss!” Chloé barreled in, work bags in tow. She froze at the kitchen scene. “The board is meeting! Your father said—bring your black ass on before these white people think we don’t take them seriously!”
Queen snapped out of it. “Shit—I thought that was later!” She bolted after Chloé, leaving a flash of vulnerability behind.
Mace shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t even know why that man wants to work with her company.”
“What company?” Kyle asked, trying to sound casual, dying to know.
“Some weird-ass Shadow Company. Don’t know the details. That kid keeps pressing her wrong. Never liked him since she became CEO.”
Kyle froze. He knew the company. Price hated them.
“Why would she work with them?” he asked.
Mace laughed, shaking his head. “Oh—we never explained, did we? We met Queen through work. She’s the CEO of Children of Maasai.”
“I’ve never—” Kyle started, confusion all over his face. He makes it his business, thanks to John to know most if not all private military companies.
“By design,” Mace said knowingly. “Anyway—if you want to take her out and get to know her, do it. She doesn’t make the first move. Only entertains men who are intentional. You’ll get lucky though—Erik and I had to fight in ritualistic combat just to date her. Her mother’s picks almost killed us.”
Kyle blinked, overwhelmed. And completely, utterly gone.
Vanta note: I have like two other chapters and two other head canons written. I just wanted to post something. Won't be posting unless it's WTTS or just fun little blurbs as work and holidays pick up, but I'll try tho.
Mace and his little brother in everything but blood Erik who grew up in Oakland. Stayed in the same foster homes and such and aged out together and joined the military together. They immediately start making a name for themselves, rumors about them keeping track of their kill counts via ritual scarification. They only really trust each other because that's all they have had for a long time.
Until they both meet Kyle Garrick.
It's because they were hired to work with the 141 team, and face it, the job was in the middle of Africa. They knew those terrains and gorrilla groups well and Kyle was supposed to lead up this operation but Kate wanted him to have experts in tow.
Mace does not care. He just wants the check to clear because he, unlike most guys in the profession, actually uses his money for legitimate shit. He doesn't even pick up his gun until the pay advance hits his bank account.
Erik takes a liking to Kyle. He thinks it's fun to tease the "colonized" black kid on the team as he puts it. But Erik is always the first to tell others to shut up and listen to his little brother. Yeah, he's adopted Kyle, and Kyle is floored but doesn't complain because he finally has someone to talk to about certain things.
Turns out Kyle actually likes Mace and Erik. He knows they are more radical, he understands. But he really appreciates how real they are and how they say what they mean and mean what they say. He earns their trust and when after the mission they are on comes to a close and Price dismisses them for leave, Mace asks Kyle if he wants to come back to his and Erik's home.
"It's nothing weird. Just updating the score board." Mace shrugs.
"Wait you don't do the actual marks?" Kyle blinks in astonishment.
Erik grins wolfishly, showing off his gold fangs, "Nah, nigga. Our girl does that. She's gotta light touch and steady hand." He punches Mace on the shoulder playfully, "Unless you want this heavy handed nigga to do it."
"Watch it, kid." Mace grumbles, but he isn't annoyed. He actually sounds quite fond of the teasing.
When Kyle comes back from leave after 4 weeks his team is surprised and concerned about the 6 new scars that are healing on his arm.
Collection of blurbs, stories, one-shots following Kyle Gaz Garrick as he gets the glow up of the century and his misadventures with his second found family.
Each work will be tagged with warnings that apply.
Blurbs/ h.c.
Initial idea
Idea #2
Kyle and Erik parachuting
Kyle used to be police ✨️new✨️
A prank gets played on Kyle (tiktok head canon) ✨️new✨️
I'm sorry because 😂I have to send this to you so everyone can picture the nonsense that would ensue. But the way this would be Kyle visiting America or even hanging out with Erik 😭😭😭😭
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rc2rT2eAOWk
Erik: (running down the hallway) THE BRITISH ARE COMING THE BRITISH ARE COMING
Kyle: (walking after him) 🙄😒 really nigga?
Mace: (holding back his laugh)
Mace: yall want Chinese food tonight?
Kyle: yeah that'd be great!
Erik: we in America, we don't got none of that green and brown gravy over a chippy and 'fried rice'. Nigga the options are steak and cheese or a 12 piece lemon pepper with hot sauce fried hard with fries.
Kyle: how is that Chinese food?
Mace: the corner store is owned by a Chinese family and has been for generations. It's Chinese.
