people (gaz) said johnny was the filthiest one when it comes to sex.
you expected a sex dungeon at the highest form of degree of nasty, slutty filth, and the lowest being a bit of public sex. you were ready to embrace it all, you were curious and needed that pussy fucked after a long while of dickless nights so whatever degree of sexification experience johnny had in store, you were ready to take them.
however, after dragging him into your bedroom after a days- no- months of him being away and kissing him with all the courage your body can muster, you were embarrassed to admit that you didn't need to be dicked down to weep underneath him.
oh he was a sweetheart and every word that left his lips sounded like a sweet song.
'you missed me tha' much?' you mewled and hid your face in your pillow as he kissed your cheek, 'i missed you too.'
his hands were doing wonders and as you shut your eyes tight you were seeing stars.
his palm smacks against your cunt, wet, filthy, and sloppy sounds echo along with your sounds of pleasure.
'you feel so good around my fingers' he groans softly against your ear and his sound sent tingles across your body, 'you're so pretty,' his fingers slowed and curled against that damn sweet spot and you wept, 'joh-johnny-'
'i know, i know' its that damn tone, that sort of babying and mocking tone- he knows what he's doing to you.
your back arches as your mind spins and spins, tummy curling-
'come for me, bon. come for me.' oh you did, you spilled and soaked his hand. sticky and wet with your juices, he brings his hand into his mouth and tastes you.
he hums at your flavour, gently caressing your thighs as you catch your breath. he chest rumbled with amusement as you wipe your eyes with the back of your hands with a pout.
'why're you lookin' at me like tha'?' he teased and you rolled your eyes. if him shoving his fingers in your cunt was enough to have you in tears, one can only imagine once his cock stuffs you full to the brim. you might be hysteric (although preferred, you can't become a brainless little slut when it comes to johnny...it would be embarrassing).
his touch soothed your breathing to a calm rhythm and before you can focus on how damp your legs were with cum and sweat you tugged his shirt.
'off.'
he raises a brow and instinctively you mumbled shyly, 'please...'
he closes the space between you and kissed your cheek, 'good girl' he gives you that cheeky grin before pulling away to unbutton his dress shirt.
he was putting on a show, hands carefully popping buttons with a delicate touch. the slow reveal of the curtains pulling back to his picture perfect body.
how did you even get to move in with a military guy? you can't remember.
you stared, stuck in an embarrassing trance as he lets the shirt drop behind him. if he stunned you just like that who knows what else he'll do to you.
by the time you blinked back to the current state of your reality johnny was knelt between your legs, thigh propped on his shoulder as he nuzzled against your flesh, 'bonnie~, you alrigh'?'
you pouted, 'what are you doing?'
his hand caressed your thighs delicately and pressed a kiss against the space close to your dripping cunt, 'ah think you know' his gaze lingered to that dripping slit and he was in a longing gaze, 'bonnie, can i get a taste?'
fucking hell.
he tears his gaze away from below and he meets your own flushed expression, eyes weak and pathetic and silently begging, yearning, to hear a 'yes' from you.
you nodded, 'please..'
it was like christmas day the way his spirits lifted along with his shoulders as he gently pulled you closer. he brings his face close to your pleasure and pressed both thumbs around the fat of your slit. wetness leaks more out of you and he groans from such a filthy sight.
'so pretty' he leans close and pressed a kiss on your cunt.
tingles ran as a shiver across your spine and as he pulled away to lick the traces of stickiness on his lips he parted his mouth and you hated how you quickly fall apart beneath him .
'o-oh my-' your breath cuts short when you feel him spread your puffy lips apart and he delves in like he hasn't eaten in days.
this was heaven... or hell- whatever it is johnny was taking you places you didn't realize you could even reach. he pleasures you greatly that you feel tingles run through your blood. your brain was turning to mush- thoughts weren't present anymore- just pure euphoria to dull your mind away from worries.
you'd lean forward, tugging on his hair and he doesn't stop (though not like you wanted him to), it only seemed to drive more of his desperation to eat you up even more. the vigor of a starving man was terrifyingly delicious, especially when you are on that platter.
'sensitive-' you mumbled through pathetic cries and as he opened his eyes to meet yours your stomach coiled, his thumb pads the hood of your clit and your orgasm crashes instantaneously.
johnny eats you up, prolonging your orgasm like he wants to have every last fucking drop.
tears of pure ecstasy blurs your vision, 'hold on- waitwaitwait!-' what were you even saying? your thighs were crushing either side of his head and he can't leave and as though a natural response he pushes his face further into you, left hand pushing the back of your thigh further into your chest, tongue flattening and sucking until his lips glistened.
wet slurping noise echo throughout your bedroom and your sheets were starting to dampen under you-
'johnny for -fu-fucks sake!-' your body was weak and you pat his head desperately, 'off! off!-'
he pulls away instantly and if your brain wasn't so high up in the air you would have caught the way his eyes were wide with worry as his palm wrapped around your thighs. the leg pushed up against you rests against his own, his other hand rubbing your waist as if to ease the upcoming ache your joints will be feeling from being folded in such a position.
'i need to-' someone get a doctor, 'catch my breath-' your chest heaves and you throw your head back on your pillow trying to calm your mind yet again.
'was tha' too much bon?' you nodded and you feel that glossiness from your eyes itch to leave your eyes 'mhm-' you take deep breaths and wipe the tears that dared to roll down your face, oh he was just that good youre crying?
'bonnie? im sorry.' his voice was rough with worry, 'are you okay?' you peek to read him and he sat there patiently like an obedient little thing. bright blue eyes gazing down at you with those pure puppy dog eyes like he didn't just eat your pussy out you saw the clouds. '-i told you to wait!-' you kick his side lightly, 'oof'
you feel the warmth of his palm and you push yourself up from your elbows as you begin to slowly regain your breath. he caressed your thighs softly, back and forth, back and forth.
'i'm sorry bon..' he takes your hand and pressed his lips against your fingertips, 'how can i make it up to you?' he nuzzles his face into your palm, his weak blue eyes constantly on yours as sweat and the flushing burn of his blood rushes to the surface of his skin.
your brain short circuits and you were embarrassed to hear that right after that you fainted.
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After Johnny “Soap” Mactavish gets discharged from the hospital after recovering miraculously from a bullet wound to the head, he is honourably discharged from the SAS and now is forced to live the life of the people he saves when night falls, a civilian.
By applying for a job as a waiter at a French restaurant called La Perle, he learns to adjust to his new life through the journey of his new job and the relationships he makes.
What he doesn’t realise was how his already shifting world would go upside down when the restaurant’s head chef returns from her trip to France would indulge him in her culinary world.
[Inspired slightly from the K-Drama, Bon Appetit, Your Majesty (2025)]
tw: breaking and entering, violence (choking and verbal threats), murder, death
When people hear tragic stories of others going through traumatic experiences like robbing a bank, witnessing firsthand murder, or vice versa, the majority of the time in the minds of the listeners they’d say they wouldn’t experience such catastrophes in their own lives using excuses like ‘the neighbourhood is safe!’ or ‘that story happened five years ago. The system has improved!’ but then life pulls a 180 and says, sike! Here’s a traumatic experience, packed with character development that fills your entire already fucked up persona with more what the fuckery.
Well, here I am, strapped to my own couch, bound by a stranger’s leather belt, mouth gagged with some clothes I left drying outside, a lovely core memory to remember accompanied by one of my many traumatic experiences. I sure hope the character development I get from this doesn’t make me a psychopath, that is if I even make out of this one alive.
My heart was pounding out of my chest, like it was trying to escape me. Am I really going to die? Am I going to die before I even turn twenty-five? Before I get married and settle down with a husband in an apartment that isn’t infested with roaches and ants, and with ceilings that don’t make you think it could be made with ingredients for the G-virus?
A well of emotions creeped through my heart and I sobbed. Fat ugly tears rolled down my face while I wept and the brutal truth that I will just be another statistic. That I will just be another Christopher Miller, a dead life to be remembered by strangers within a few days then disappear just as fast as I appeared.
My face was hot with blood and my sobs were as continuous as a river.
Are these the kind of thoughts the dying think of before they die?
The masked perpetrator with orange tinted goggles sat on the couch opposite where I sat. He was hunched over, legs spread with his elbows on his knees while his gloved hands fiddled with that knife I bought with my dad when we went to Japan. I couldn’t see the man’s eyes, those stupid goggles have a glare from the lights that makes me blind to what his eyes could be noticing, but fuck, he’s terrifying. While he toys with the knife his goggles were directed to me. I can just feel the way the knife would cut my skin with how his gloved fingers grazed the blade of the knife. It’s like he’s done this before, I just know it.
Once he was done fiddling with the knife he drew the blade in my direction, waving it lazily from its helm, “Where’s my phone?” I threw him a confused look, brows furrowed and all before realizing that phone with cheese stickers and wafflefrogs must be his. I glanced down at the living room table where I last left it, and it wasn’t there. My body only riles up further with adrenaline, I felt cold and hot at the same time.
He got up, the knife flipped to the stabbing position and my body rattled in anticipation of my skin meeting the blade. The murderer reached for my face, and I braced my end with shut eyes before I felt a rough tug of the belt off my teeth. A painful and aching sting spread throughout my jaw and I moaned in pain.
My kidnapper didn’t seem to spare any look of concern for my sudden pain but it’s even a surprise from me to even expect such empathy from someone who barges into your home with the most probable intention to kill you.
“Tell me where it is.”
“It,” My heart was lodged in my throat, my tongue slack in my mouth and I gulped for strength, “It’s in the-“ his hand reached for my neck again and I let out such a pathetic whimper, “Louder.” His fingers were gentle at first but slowly he eased it to a vice grip. He’s going to crush my windpipe because I didn’t say where his phone was. Is this how screen addicted this generation is? “Under the table! Under the table! Let me go please!”
He heeds my request, and I gasp for air. I didn’t realize how much of my breath was knocked out of me when he gripped my throat. I caught my breath as I watched this man bend down like a dog to check under the table and the couch for his phone. He uses the knife’s blade and swipes his phone from under the couch, out slides some of Root's dog toys and his phone.
Once he spotted his phone, he grabbed it and stood up at such a hasty speed the man’s hood whips to his back and there goes some details I can tell the police if I’m spared. I’ll tell them a dog loving, twitching and stuttering five eight-foot man with a rough mid-range tone in voice bound me with his belt. Should I also tell them that he shops at Levi’s for his boxers?
I struggle against my binds as Roots with his lack of safety hobbles over to my kidnapper while holding a ball in his mouth.
Are you fucking serious?
“Roots! Get away from him!” I hissed and Roots just glanced up at me then up at the man's face and whimpered. He whimpered because I said he should get away from the damn kidnapper who tied me up and threatened in subtext to kill me.
This dog with his very own eyes just witnessed his owner get threatened and bounded by an attacker and not once did he think ‘hey isn’t that kinda rude? Illegal maybe?’ not even with my face slobbered with tears and snot did he think was the predicament I was in such a huge issue. No, he went off playing with some dog toys that desensitized his sense of danger and maybe even empathy for me.
Now, when I show my disdain and restriction in Roots’ opportunity to play fetch with the damn person who gripped my throat like a wild hose, he whimpers and gets a hissy fit.
This dog might actually be the death of me.
The brunette took the ball from Root's mouth (don’t ask me why I suddenly felt jealous of my dog sharing his affections to my possible murderer) and whipped his face to me, “You named him after a plant?” Now I’m being pressed by the kidnapper for the name I chose for my dog.
“You don’t get to judge what I name him in my house.”
A heavy muffled breath leaves through the fibres of his mask, his heavy steps bring his looming figure over to me before he squats in front of my face and shoves his mask down his chin. The twitchy killer breaths out some air, and internally I thank you for your services, if you spare me, I can spare some more details to tell the police, like how pale your skin is and the scar over your lips that stretched closely at the base of your nostrils, and how you twitch so much like the kid from my high school…
The news from years ago flashed in my mind and my stomach bails out. There is no fucking way he is real. They all said his body was never found and theories of his body burning to ash from that housefire was the best and likely reason. Everyone at school said so, they all said Tobias Rogers died from that house fire after murdering his own father. It was all pure speculation.
This must be revenge. It has to be. Before he was homeschooled he was ostracized by everyone because of “His tics” the teacher said. I never really cared enough to properly understand then. I hardly knew the kid.
The man leaned close to my face, the flatness of the blade dragging itself cool against my skin and the fear was sunken from my own revelation. Looking at him now, his thick brown curls, pale skin, dead and blank eyes behind the goggles. This was him. Oh my god this was him. It’s Tobias Rogers.
I can’t believe he’s alive.
I can’t believe this is the path he is taking.
He’s become a monster.
His shoulders jerk and the familiarity of his gritting teeth and tics from science class hits me. I can’t feel the blade against my neck anymore as I sat frozen beneath him. “I can kill you.” His words dragged a bit when he said ‘you’ it sounded a bit like he just learned to talk after an intense surgery.
There’s no doubt in my mind. This was truly Tobias Rogers from high school.
He lifts the knife away from my skin and pulls away, tugging the mask over his lips as he pets Roots who barked from behind him and started running around the apartment like he heard me say the word walk, “I’ll keep your dog once I’m done with you.” He leaves the knife at the very end of the table and begins tossing the ball up in the air before throwing it across the house, Roots hops and runs after the ball with an excited bark.
What happened to you, Rogers?
His back pocket began to buzz and he sighed, muttering a brief “For fucks sake.” Before pulling his phone out to answer the call.
“What?”
The man from the phone began to howl in maniacal laughter, “TOBY, TOBY, TOBY, YOU ARE SO FUCKED. ASS TO FRONT.” Roots padded quickly by Tobias’ side, ball in his mouth as he pawed his jeans for his attention. He bends down and takes the ball from Roots mouth, rolling the slobbered tennis ball against his thigh before tossing it across the house again, “What the-the hell do you want?” His shoulders jolted, “I got your knife if this is- wha-wha- what it's about.”
The caller on the other end tuts, “Someone snitched on your twitchy little ass.” This persons voice was light with amusement.
Tobias’ expression hardened and his glare was directed to me. My mind began to spin. His ticking seemed to become dangerously slow, the world was shaking with each terrifying step he took to my bound position. I want dad. I need dad.
His gloved hand clamps over my mouth and my body is running cold, “Mmph-” I shake my head, as if attempting to persuade him to think about this, for him to hear me out, to free me this once and I will swear he will have no one after him once this is done.
“Was it Tim?” Tobias asked.
The caller hummed with amusement, “You know he has the weakest mind between both of them.” laughter follows and Toby ‘s hand drags slowly from my mouth down to my neck, his hold was firm, not tight to kill and suffocate, just there to remind me of what is to come.
I don’t say anything, rather I wonder what will happen after this, what dad will do with the money I saved for his fifty-fourth birthday surprise trip to Bali. I wonder when I last told him I loved him and how grateful I was that he was my father. I can't even say goodbye. My chest hurts.
I want to wake up back at home from this fucking nightmare. My heart is mixing along with my resolve of acceptance of my last evening.
Tobias scoffs, “I’ll be back once I’m done here.” He taps the end call button and shoves his phone in his front pocket before grabbing the knife from the table. There was no beat of silence to dwell in his rushing and rising anger and that meant I had no time to think about how I would plead for my life once his grip on my throat tightened. I writhe and struggle in my binds, I can’t breathe, I can’t move. I can’t do anything!
“hCK!-” So this is how it happens. This is how I die.
Somehow the binds of my legs loosened and for once I am fighting for my life, I flail and kick and do what I can to make him keel over in pain but it was no use. I’m weak. He trapped my legs with his own as he pushed me flat against the couch, his goggles gleamed with hunger to shed blood and the knife he raised above me was going to be the last thing I’m going to see before I die.
My legs try and try to kick him off of me and nothing works.
I struggle to breathe through my mouth, “Please- Please don’t do this!” I wheezed breathlessly, voice cracking, face snot and tear filled but shame and embarrassment is not in my cards if it means to survive even just a little bit. “I want- I need to see my dad!” I wailed but all he hears is nothing. My watery eyes trained to his goggles, please somewhere in there can he find mercy to spare just this one measly life!
Tobias was focused, his grip was crushing everything in my throat and as I choke trying to chase for air or even a voice all I heard were my ugly wheezes and squeals.
I try again.
“To- Tobias-” His grip on my neck weakened before tightening even more and my vision began to spot with darkness, my body was weakening.
“Please-”
There is nothing more I can do anymore. A flash of silver crosses with the light and I feel pressure on my chest.
Roots barks in the distance and as I shut my eyes, darkness greets me.
tw. mentions of smoking, paranoia, grief, breaking and entering
Roots is an adorable dog; I love him to death and walking with him is one way to ease my mind from Christopher’s death. My mind can’t stop replaying the newscaster’s voice, echoing about how he was murdered, and it sends chills down my spine. I dig into my bag to reach for a cigarette and lighter.
Roots barked at the action, and I immediately shove the lighter back in my bag. I forgot this labrador didn’t like me smoking in front of him. According to the vet, the smell of cigarettes and drugs reminded Roots of the slums where he was found. Now I’m guilty, am I making Roots feel unsafe with me smoking? I really need to quit. If I keep this up, I might begin to start to sound like dad. Yikes.
Though I know deep down I won’t.
“Sorry boy,” I bent down and started rubbing behind the flap of his ears and smothered his fluffy face with kisses. The labrador barked once again and nuzzled his little face in my hands. My heart squeezed itself and I felt all flushed with adoration for this cute pupper. “I love you, Roots. No one will ever reach my number one as easily as you. Not even Matthew McConaughey.”
After coddling and roughing up my dog’s fur for a few minutes, I let him explore the park by unclasping his collar from the leash. Roots didn’t waste time and bolted once he heard the clink! Of the clasp from his collar. His paws padded around the green grass, his tongue rolling out and his tail wagging so fast he could probably helicopter his way to space. I could die happy seeing Roots all happy.
Hm, I should make that my reason to quit smoking.
I reached for my phone and started taking pictures of Roots running across the field, his interaction with other dogs and his exploration of plants.
My shoulder tenses once I feel a grip at the back of my waist, “Uhm, excuse me miss. Is this yours?” A young boy hands me this beat up phone and I awkwardly receive it, “I’m afraid not, but I can hand this to a police station’s lost and found.” I inspected the phone and flipped it back and forth. The screen was filled with cracks, it’s a miracle it's still functional at all and the back has plenty of stickers of cheese and wafflefrogs, the camera had a small crack at its edge, but it should still work.
The boy looks back and forth from me to the woman a few feet behind him who I can only assume is his mom. “Uhm, my mom and I need to go now... Make sure to give it to the police, okay?” I smiled and nodded, “Sure.” What a kind kid. I’ll make a mental note to drop this off at the station once I’m done buying groceries later. I shoved the phone in my bag.
══════════════════════
Who knew killing someone so irrelevant would cause the police to start patrolling the neighbourhood, let alone the house that the irrelevant lived in. Well, used to. I should have asked Brian to come with me, but his face was too beat up for the police to not notice. I can just tell they would stop him and start interrogating him with questions about Christo-fuck’s murder. Maybe even ask him if he was jumped by the murderer.
Then again, it’s not like I stood a chance with Brian. Just because I have CIPA doesn’t mean I have unlimited strength.
Leaves and gravel crunch against my feet as I trekked around Christo-fuck’s house, trying to find an opening where cops aren’t trying to actually do their job. Once I did, I hurried over to climb over the fence, cutting my ankle before I tumbled down the ground.
The backyard is as generic as any home you’ve ever been in, white picket fence with tall grass so green you’d mistake it for paint. I took a deep breath and relished the smell of dew after the rain, the smell was just wet grass, but it felt calming. I rip my gloves from my twitching hands, and I feel through the strands of grass emerging from the ground. It tingles against my skin, like fluttering pages of paper that don’t give me papercuts.
I scanned the area, and I’m reminded that I shouldn’t stay here longer than I intended to stay. I need to find that phone fast because I know skinny boss will rip my head off once he finds out that I lost the only device I could use for communication (stealing aside) to do his ridiculous jobs.
Starting from one corner of the yard, I used the lawnmower method and made a line feeling the grass for my phone while I crawled on the floor like a dog. Speaking of lawnmower, I should have let Chrissypants mow the lawn first before stabbing him, the grass is too damn long. I can’t find my phone in these conditions.
I feel more of the grass as my gloves and knees start to dampen from the moist ground while I crawled forward, my arms doing windshield wiper movements on the ground for maximum efficiency but as I neared the patio, it dawned on me that I might have left it on the crime scene. Nice one Toby, you’re so smart, leaving evidence of your existence in the place of your victim with your DNA plastered all over it.
I feel a buzz on my ass, and I reach my back pocket for Tim’s phone which I’m currently borrowing.
Dickhead is Calling…
Appropriate name for Brian, Tim. I swipe left and bring the speaker to my ear as I continue my windshield wiper movements.
“You find it yet?” His voice was gruff, some of his pissed offness from last night is still evident in his tone. Better not make him too mad since he gets mad pissy anyway.
“Nah, I think-think it’s in the house.” I glanced at the door I left ajar a couple days ago and peeked inside. They took Chris-Cross Applesauce’s body. I sure hope I didn’t shove my phone in his pocket, cause that’s a fuck up I will take to the grave once boss find out.
Tim sighed, “It’s not in the house Rogers.” He used Rogers, he’s really pissed. Shit, I fucked up big time, maybe I did put it on Chrizzler’s pocket. I stayed quiet and got up from my shameful position as I started wiping the grass off my damp knees. “Is it close-close by?”
I hear Tim take a breath from his cigarette and a satisfied groan leaves his lips, “I sent the address.” I hum and check the messages, sure enough an address was slapped on there along with which room the phone is placed. “You owe me a ton of favors, Rogers, I had to ask BEN to trace your phone for you.” He isn’t dropping the Rogers thing, isn’t he?
“Whatever.” I ended the call before looking out the fence for cops.
══════════════════════
“Sit! Sit, Roots!”
The labrador walks a circle before sitting himself perfectly on the ground, “woof!” I toss him a treat and he crane his neck to the side just enough to catch the dogfood with his mouth. A crunch like noise stills the air with Roots little grunting noises as he chows down the treat.
Apparently, grocery shopping with a dog would be more difficult than I thought. I’ve had Roots for several months now and despite me bringing him to the park, I somehow forgot that it’s written in Roots doggy DNA to constantly explore everything and anything. Happily, may I add, his adorable tail would helicopter crazy fast when he explores things. He is by far the friendliest and most airhead of a dog I have ever met, he has no sense of danger, and I know for sure that he is unafraid to approach anyone, even a murderer, which is ironic because he used to live in the streets but oh well.
While I tried getting eggs, a bag of rice, and orange marmalade off my shopping list. Roots thought that the leash was optional to his free will, so out of nowhere, he would drag me to places he would sniff and stare at. For example, a can of Milo was in someone’s cart, and he started sniffing the cart, circling it and just bared his teeth as he barked to play.
I got him to calm down in the baby section where they have those baby piano’s that have number’s one to five in different colours and three button instruments on top which play a tune from whatever instrument is pressed. Roots was enamoured, so enamoured he pawed the keys and when the voice from the toy said “Colour Red! Do you know other things coloured red?” he would bark out an answer like he understood the question. It’s adorable but I knew this was setting me up for a trap.
A trap that I gave in to.
“Colour Orange! Do you know other things coloured orange?” “Woof!”
I bought the toy.
I got down on the ground with roots and laid myself flat on the living room carpet, my lobes prepping themselves for what could most likely be the worst purchase of my dog mom journey and stared up at the ceiling.
This apartment is ridiculous, not because of the very obvious safety hazards like the tangled electrical wires at the electricity pole next to my apartment or the continuous growth of mould in my kitchen cupboards or the fact roaches and rats are creeping through some parts of the washing machine. No, I can handle those, I just hate the damn popcorn ceiling, it looks so horrendous. The fact that my intrusive thoughts want to touch them and pop pre-existing air bubbles with moistness that could spark up a new version of the G-Virus from Resident Evil is making me go crazy.
“Roots, what do you think about moving downtown? I know we won’t be closer to your favourite park bu-“
Roots claws scrape against the piano buttons, “Colour Red! Do you know other things coloured red?” Roots eagerly barks and I continue with my ramble, “-but living conditions would be better than here. And cost effective too.” I run my hands through my hair, “I can’t stop calling a plumber every time I flush the toilet every few weeks because some fat rats got stuck and clogged the toilet.”
I grimace at the memory, what an unpleasant thought.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes, feeling air leave through my nose. I wonder how Christopher’s family is doing. I never really met them but I’m sure no matter what kind of relationship he had with his family they should grieve him.
Grief. Yesterday, I grieved Christopher Miller, my high school sweetheart of my last year in high school. What did I even grieve about? Memories of our relationship together? His existence as someone who gave me an introduction to dating? Or did I grieve the loss of life? Not specifically the life of Christopher Miller but the loss of a human being’s life. I think I grieved on what could have been Christopher’s future. His dreams, his career, his family.
I guess I grieved more on what he could have done and experienced in his life. It makes me upset, the upset where you hope others don’t experience it too.
My phone buzzes from inside my bag and I suck in a breath as I wipe my face with my hands. It’s Rivka, she called me late last night to check up on me and see if I’m okay. I should actually tell her I’m feeling better. The rattling buzz in my bag seemed to get louder the longer I laid down on the carpet, so I gathered some strength to reach over to my bag and pull out my phone.
It’s not buzzing anymore. I wrapped my hands around my phone and pressed the power button to see my notifications list full of Rivka’s messages.
Rivka
I hope you’re okay.
Talk to me if you’re sad!
I’m praying for his family!
https://www.facebook.com/millerfundraiser
his family is doing a fundraiser for his funeral on facebook.
Im thinking of sending his family a message
Should I ask to attend his funeral?
I tense at the question. Despite knowing Chris for just a year and grieved his death in the span of 37 hours, that question felt too straightforward. Was knowing him for one year a good enough reason to even attend his funeral? Did I even have the right?
Maybe I should go out of respect…
I unlocked my phone and sent Rivka a reply.
You
Let’s go for it.
I’ll ask the family first if we’re permitted to go.
I don’t think they’ll be comfortable with you asking to attend the funeral first though especially when you only knew Chris through second-hand accounts.
Rivka
Okay!
Then I heard another wave of buzzes that didn’t come from my phone. I got up and rummaged through my bag and it felt like an anvil dropped on me.
I forgot to bring the phone to lost and found.
I quickly rip the device out of my bag and check the caller’s name.
Tim Tam
Is this a kid’s phone? I swipe left and bring the phone to my ear.
“Hello?”
Silence on the other end, no breathing, no ASMR crunching, absolute quiet. I put the phone on speaker and asked again, “Hello? Are you the owner of this phone?”
Then the call ends. Totally not eerie, not like it’s a scene ripped out of a horror movie. I looked down at the beat up phone, the broken screen frames my face in its cracks. It felt like a bad omen. The hairs at the nape of my neck are standing up, I need to cuddle Roots right now.
The phone suddenly buzzes in my hand and a message notification pops up on screen.
Tim Tam
You got my phone?
I wanted to reply to the owner, but he forgot that he placed a seven-digit passcode on his phone. So, I can’t get access to his messages to send a reply that said yes, a trustworthy person has your phone and actually wants to give it back, free of charge, unfortunately, I can’t tell him that since I haven’t even gotten past the lockscreen.
So, I waited for a call so I could answer and tell him where I could drop his phone off. Certainly not my house, it’s too beat up, plus the owner of the phone could be some evildoer. You don’t know what human beings are capable of these days, he could be a stalker for all I know, maybe even a crackhead.
I left the phone on the living room table and headed for the kitchen to make cereal for dinner. Roots seemed to have fallen asleep so the diegetic sounds in my house, my neighbourhood is loud in the silence. The trees dance from the wind’s song, the sounds of my light feet pervade the air in light thumps against the creaking floorboards.
My ears are perking up at any noise from outside the house, like crunching footsteps, knocking against the windows and walls, chattering voices. I made sure to be perceptive of the world around me. That call was far too eerie for me, I feel like there are eyes everywhere despite the majority of the curtains in my apartment drawn shut. I’m getting paranoid. I need to call Rivka.
I hobbled around the house, rattling doorknobs back and forth to make sure the doors were all locked, especially the backdoor. I’ve seen enough horror films to know that being that kind of stupid is what gets you killed.
Once I felt like I was safe enough, I sat myself in the living room to call Rivka, maybe ask her to come over or stay on call. I should call the police, but is that enough evidence? Just one measly phone call with no signs of crazy on the other end? Maybe the owner of that phone has poor reception from where they’re calling. Maybe this Tim Tam dude called the owner of this phone assuming said owner still had it but once he heard my voice, he just ended the call because it would be super awkward to talk to a stranger. Or maybe this was an elaborate ruse by a serial killer trying to add more statistics in his roster?
I’m overthinking this. I skim over the floor where I laid with Roots, “Where’s my phone?” I felt a hole cave in my belly. Did Roots swallow my phone? No, is there someone in the house? No, I locked all the doors, so I don’t have to worry about that. Are they going to pull a Scream movie kind of thing by calling the dead apartment phone?
I feel a figure looming behind me, and I know it isn’t Roots because it’s a gloved human hand wrapped gently around my throat. My blood runs cold.
“You forgot to lock-lock the windows.”
My chest felt weighted with bricks, I can’t breathe.
I craned my neck up to see my attacker and before I could say anything I heard a dreadful sound.
“Colour Blue! Do you know any other things coloured blue?”
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It’s rare for me to kill people like that. I’m blaming it on the dog.
My hand tugged back on the handle and pried the knife away from her chest and slipped it in the gun holster slot I stole from another victim. The heat from whatever life is leaving out of this woman’s body seeped through my worn-out gloves. The cicadas outside chirp their songs, sometimes I imagine these songs are for every soul I robbed from the very husk they thrived in or they are songs for the dead so at least for a second if they strained their ears hard enough they would hear something peaceful rather than the blood in their ears pumping the last of their measly lives.
My fingers are damp with the warmth of her blood giving it a shade of darkness than it’s worn out grey. I spare this girl another glance and I see the line I drew on her chest deepen with red. As always, there was so much damn blood. My hands itched, to reach out and palm her chest to stop the never-ending gush of blood from her neck, maybe to preserve her life.
I don’t do it though, my life is dependent on the death of others and even if I don’t feel the rushing cold of my body when the boss fucks with my head to try and make me kill myself, I know I still want to live. I wipe whatever blood leaked from her and for a moment I feel this annoying coil in my stomach. The kind of coil where you stop to breathe, the kind of coil where you have to sit next to the dog and listen to everything, kind of coil.
Regret.
I’m human, it’s natural for me to feel this way. That’s what the internet said. I guess I’m just absorbing the fact that this feeling returned to me after I burned my house down, mom was devastated. I can still hear her wailing screams begging me why I killed dad, why I did what I did. Her body had layers of burns, and some patches of her skin bled. Her face was stained with tears and soot from the fire, she looked miserable. More than the time we heard the news from the doctors that they couldn’t save Lyra. I hated how she cried. I hated that I was the one that made her cry.
But I don’t regret killing dad. He can stay dead forever, in the depths of hell where he belongs where he’ll burn for so long that he won’t believe in a God anymore. When I die, I only hope to be in the bits of hell where I don’t see him. I might kill him again and bring him to another afterlife worse than hell.
I remove my gloves and settle myself next to this girl’s spot on the couch. The gloves left stranded on her thighs. The dog, Roots (that’s his stupid ass name, right?) barked at me then rolled a ball toward my feet.
Wow this dog doesn’t give a flying fuck that I just killed his owner.
My hands feel the familiar fuzz of the tennis ball and I stare at the way the blood on my hands leave a mark on the ball. I can ramble on about philosophical thoughts, kind of bullshit my brain concocted looking at it, but I had to get home soon.
I leaned my head back on the couch and looked up at the popcorn ceiling. I threw the ball in the air a few times before giving it a big throw across the apartment.
Roots barks and gives chase for the tennis ball and his heavy form shakes the floorboard with his steps. I push myself off the couch and stretch my back before reaching for my gloves and I stop. Her face was calm with slumber, lashes shut across her eyes, eyebrows that lost the knit of panic from earlier and face damp with tears and snot. Aside from the tears and snot she looked like a porcelain doll now.
I slipped my gloves back on and loosened the binds I wrapped around her.
I’ll take care of your dog for you.
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Death, an ending for all of us that we can never stray away from. No amount of protection from the strongest police force or talismans from a shaman who can speak to the immortal Gods or sacrifices to an evil hell spawn can stop us from meeting our end.
I guess that’s why geriatric seniors or office job workers are so hell bent on the saying of “Live your life to the fullest.” Risks and all, make sure you make your dreams happen no matter what and suddenly when you try and make that dream happen you get cold feet and realise maybe stealing money from the bank wasn’t the best highlight of the process of having to make your dreams become reality. Then as your face is slapped on the hood of an officer’s car you’d think ‘There goes my vacation plans to Fiji.’
Kidding aside, “Memento Mori”, ‘remember you must die’, is the basic gist of that saying if we rip out the hopeful aspect to “Live your life to the fullest.” You only have one life to live so release your inhibitions and so be ambitious. If the endgame is the dust and dirt we’ll become anyway, might as well fuck it and ball, who gives a damn if society built a set of rules on how you should live your lives, at that point that isn’t living, you’re just following a recipe that doesn’t fit the cards for most people.
I can’t believe I’ve only begun to realise this when a psychotic killer gave me a stabby stabby on my damn chest. There is no way I’ll survive something like this. I just hope I get reincarnated as a ghost so I can haunt Tobias-Fucking-Rogers days. Ensure my wrath is stuck to him and have him do double takes at every dark corner he sees.
Twenty-three years on this plane and yet I still feel like I wasn’t ambitious enough. I should’ve done more with my life. I should’ve sneaked out of home to go to Chris’ party to drink, maybe even have sex with him which I’ll regret in the morning because I overthink that even with a condom on, I’d still think I’d be at risk of getting pregnant. I should have told my dad that I didn’t want to do hospitality, that I wanted to become a businesswoman because I wanted to open my own café. I should’ve taken more hours at work so dad and I could travel to Italy and make his dreams of seeing the Colosseum come true. I should have made more friends during college.
A minty swirl in my chest stretches through my veins and around me. The place where I last felt the cut shrouds me in cool ice before I feel a stretch of my veins from my chest to my throat. The pain is unbearable like the clash between fire and ice is raging to fight for control over my body. My throat felt like it was being ripped from the head and body and at the same time as it was being dug by the claws of an evil creature. The gap from where I think I was cut seemed to be sewn shut by this entity, and I wondered for a moment how my soul is being sewn. Isn’t my current consciousness my soul?
The pain was never ending, it felt like things were only heightening and worsening, my ears ache with the ringing of bells, my eyes can only see nothingness yet everything at the same time, my chest expands and expands as I’m trying to gasp for air, I feel my belly dip from my desperation to breathe.
I gasped and my eyes sting from the bright light.
My bones tingled under my skin and the pain from before dissipates. I felt real, like I was existing again.
When my eyes adjusted to the blinding sun, I raised my arms before my face, and I observed the bumps of my skin and the hairs on my arms. I could see the ridges of my fingertips and the small cut I got from years ago that left a scar and almost as if I forgot, I realized that this was my body. I knew from my manicured nails that Rivka did for me, the ridiculous uneven layer of polish that took her an hour to do.
I palm my body, feeling the warmth, the life, the perks of being alive like my beating heart and the loudness of the world.
I’m alive?
I looked out the window and it was morning now. Despite the blinds drawn shut the edges glimmered in the sun’s rays.
Was last night a dream?
I shakily bring a hand to my neck then down my chest, feeling the bumpiness of my skin and underneath my fingertips I feel a long line stretching from just below my collarbone and down to the right side of my chest. The world rings and my soul rattles in my skin once it occurred to me that the stain on my hands was coated with dry blood. My body numbs in fear once I realise that my entire torso is drenched with blood, my blood.
I can’t move. I can’t breathe.
Last night, Tobias came to my house and tried to kill me.
I didn’t know what to feel. I didn’t know how to feel. I just felt overwhelmed but grateful to be given a chance to live again.
I cried so much that day.
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Roots was gone.
Tobias took him away from me. Maybe he killed Roots and turned him into some parts of a barbecue or sold Roots to an illegal auction with a pitch that probably runs along the lines of ‘Dog with no empathy, but he loves to play catch!’ I don’t even know Tobias well enough to gauge whether he’d do something as stupid as that but I wouldn’t put it past him either. The world is his oyster after all.
The house is quieter now, I don’t hear the panting and padding of Roots' silly little feet running across the hallway to the living room anymore. The lights are dimmer now and when I sit on the toilet, I don’t hear him running into the bathroom with me to just paw at my leg and stare at me with his big black eyes as if urging me to shit faster so we can go on a walk. When I look at his dog bed and his dog bowl with his name I sharpie’d on it, it just dawns on me even more that I will never see him again.
Those photos I took of him running at the park was the last I ever took of him.
He’s such an asshat of a dog when Tobias stabbed me but even then. He saved me from holing myself up in my apartment when I was struggling to pay for dad’s medical bills when he crashed into a stop sign or the time when a customer yelled at me for forgetting the foam on her coffee. Despite how shit he was with empathising with my life or death situation I still love that little bastard.
Right after I calmed down, I realised that my phone was flat and dead. So I left it to charge in my room while I took a merited and well deserved bath. The bathroom floor was dark with red and brown and the metallic smell stung my nose. While I showered I wondered what I was going to do with the blood soaked couch then tossed that responsibility for tomorrow me to worry about.
Once I was done and wore some better fitting clothes, I reached for my phone and pressed the power button. The screen flickered with life and as the logo filtered through the pixels then disappeared my phone buzzed and rang with the symphony of what could have been never ending notifications.
Rivka
You coming to work today?
Missed Call
Where are you?
Are you okay?
Missed Call
I’m getting worried, no one is answering the door.
Missed Call
You changed address right?
Missed Call
Missed Call
Please answer me.
I scroll down the long list of notifications.
Dad
Rivka says you’re not answering your phone
Missed Call
Where are you?
Missed Call
Missed Call
Missed Call
Missed Call
Answer my calls, (Name)
I checked the date and time.
It’s been five days since that night. Wait, what? How did that happen? I bring a hand up my chest and I feel a bumpy and lengthy scar stretch across my left breast. The bump was jagged and messy, like the healing process was done with the sheer desperation to survive this attempted murder.
How did I recover so quickly? Why am I still alive? What kept me alive?
I’ve never had an injury so bad as this that had me recover so quickly. I need to call dad. I need to call Rivka. I need to tell them what’s going on.
I rip my phone from the charging cord and take my keys from the dining table before heading out to drive down to my dad’s house. A forty-five minute drive in the dark that I’m willing to take, I just need to see him right now. Right after my near death experience and losing Roots forever and meeting Tobias Rogers face to face after so many years.
The drive was quiet and cold. Frighteningly and weirdly cold. The darkness of the night along with my headlights casted shadows amongst the trees and houses of the neighbourhood making it seem like the shadows are running after me, tracing and chasing every step of the way of the direction of my travels. Every dark shadow has my mind racing, wondering, who would be emerging from the shadows, if Tobias will slip out like batman and ram himself into my car, smashing the windows and taking another breath of life from me again.
Reaching a red light, I turned the radio on and switched some stations until a pleasant music channel came on. I need to keep my mind from worrying about what might be after me. I glanced up at the rearview mirror and all I saw was the flashing and beaming lights of the car behind me. I can’t bear looking back at the mirror again so I focus my attention back on the road then the brick wall of this old building that's up for lease.
Scattered across the wall was a series of posters and advertising materials. There was even a poster advertising a new sci-fi movie coming to the cinemas. The guy next to me noticed my staring and he looked back at the wall I was looking at then back at me. His face paled and as soon as our eyes met he tore his attention away and ran the red light.
What was that about?
I glanced back at the wall and my heart stopped. The sounds of the beeping cars behind me blurred along with the ringing sound of this deep bellyful drop.
synopsis. kyle has plenty of secrets that he vows to keep buried, though his biggest secret is something he vows to never admit to you.
wc. 3.3k
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Kyle “Gaz” Garrick is a man with many secrets, it’s all a part of the nature of his job as a SAS soldier. Within every treacherous moment during those days of grueling tests upon his grit and sheer will to bend the convictions of enemy forces, he was a witness to the harsh realities of the underground world. He witnessed how greed and desperation can guide someone to lose parts of themselves in order to live on and survive and unfortunately he too dabbled in those reigns in order to do right and good.
Ever since he started working as a member of Task 141, he took roles that made him a monster in the eyes of any normal human, though he never really did live what the world would define as normal ever since he took the oath to protect the world from the doom of darkness.
Yet, he still did try to live much of his life as mundane and as normal as possible as a way to not lose himself in the shackles of regret from the atrocities he committed to foes or allies. He hid the blood in his hands with a smile on his lips as he laughed at his friends' jokes. He masked the nightmares that haunted his mind by helping the woman across his floor, Mrs. Adley, who continuously insisted he didn’t have to while she welcomed him to her home for a cup of tea as thank you. If what he did made him a monster he only prayed that the bits of kindness that he shared with the world, even if they are so little, would grant him mercy when the time he walks the line between heaven or hell would arrive.
Kyle was twenty-nine now, still carrying the weight and burden of his work and still hiding them through acts of kindness. He fought and vowed to keep these secrets buried along the dirt where he will be buried, either on the battlefield or the shores of his hometown. This was his weight and burden to carry until the end of his life.
However, there is one secret he kept that he never told anyone. A secret he never shared with anyone on the battlefield, a secret not even Task 141 knows about that would have him regurgitate just by the thought of it. The ironic part was it was the most humane secret he ever hid from everyone. There was no evil mastermind he had been secretly seeing to share government secrets. He didn’t play Judas and turned his back against his own team.
If he were to share this secret at any time at all, no one would come after him, but his conscience would crumble at just the thought of sharing this with anyone. He rather had a bullet run through him than share it with anyone. Especially to you. Mostly you.
This was the most humane thing Kyle “Gaz” Garrick had ever felt since he first felt the warmth of his first kill.
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Years before, at a time when he was off duty he attended a dinner hosted by a friend of a friend and there he locked eyes with you. It was brief, enough for him to share a small smile as a greeting to you and enough for you to nod in acknowledgement with a small wave, ‘hello’.
Throughout that dinner Kyle noted how your voice never reached the pitch like his friend Andrea, you speak to those who want to hear you and you shrink slightly when drinks are cheered with sharp clinking sounds of glasses banging against each other. When jokes are shared between the tables you nodded and smiled faintly (though Kyle did have a hunch you only smiled respectfully from not getting the joke).
You were quiet, a wallflower with no intention of being seen but rather felt through the atmosphere. You were decoration that was unnoticed until someone pointed it out, like lights at an empty backyard or the certain hatches of shadows of an artist’s sketch. You were a complement to the space you filled and that was enough for you.
It was strange, Kyle truly didn’t know why he felt a certain attraction for you that night. He summed it up as just a natural reaction from his body from not having any sexual interactions from another human being for a long while.
Yet when he gets invited another day to have lunch at a winery, his eyes never fail to always catch yours when he didn't intend to and when you weren’t looking he admired you gently. Appreciating the quiet and alluring nature of your presence when you listened in on a conversation you were in. You laughed softly at jokes you found funny and his breath got caught in his throat when you smiled at him when it was his jokes you found amusing.
The way you grinned, it wasn’t bright to look imposing, never dull to look pretentious. It was absolutely just right. Enough to make him discard the thought that his attraction to you was fueled by his lustful mind and enough to make him like you.
One way or another and he had the chance to book a private dinner with you at some restaurant Johnny recommended. You were quietly blooming then, you took things from him you didn't intend to, like his breath and his attention, and mostly his heart. Kyle would happily sacrifice them all to have you look so radiant like the warmth of the sun.
After that date, he invited you to another, and another, and suddenly your things were in his apartment. Out at the balcony, your work uniform was clipped on the clothesline. Your books filled up the empty shelves next to his TV, recipes on the fridge were clipped by a magnet that he never bought before and when he closed his eyes he could smell the faint scent of that tea you liked to drink every morning.
He was yours and you were his. To him everything between you felt balanced, he was your shoulder to cry on and you were his piece that grounded him to the present when his mind aches with flashes of painful memories and haunting ideas.
Then something happened. Three years following the start of your relationship Kyle noticed how it seemed as though nothing changed since your relationship with him started. He noticed how quiet you are with everything. Everything between you felt like whispers and just like whispers, sometimes they are muffled and can't be heard.
When he comes home after long painful months of being deployed, you welcomed him like he was always there. A small chaste kiss on the cheek and a brief embrace before you headed back to the living room to finish the book you were reading after making him some tea.
Until now, Kyle had always been calling the shots, he always made the move to go forward with you, always taking responsibility for dates and future plans and he realized he never heard your side. Did you even like the pace where your relationship is at? Does it ever bother you that he is deployed for long grueling months that has his chest aching to be next to you? Do you feel unloved by him?
This doubt was present during those three years and he always asked if he loved you enough or if you ever felt afraid to bring up your interests with him and all you said was "I like where we’re at, Kyle.” Which made him lose his mind.
You always answered his questions. He liked that but it's like you didn't even know what you wanted, saying that as an excuse instead. Now he wonders if you even love him. If you were with him out of pity because he was the one that asked your dear friend for your number.
Sometimes these thoughts keep him awake at night, enough for him to even go on a nightly jog he rarely takes and return home next to your spot on the bed where the distance between him and you seems to grow greater and vast like the endless sea.
Kyle never brought this up. Rather his eyes started to notice everything.
You were just too quiet. Never initiating physical contact and affection. Never even saying 'I love you' unless he says it first. Yet your memory looms over him like a shadow when the night gets too quiet when he rests.
He remembered calling you at miraculous free hours during his deployment,
"I love you." He would say.
"I love you, Kyle."
Those words felt haunting to him then.
Right then and there he decided to do something about this one sided relationship.
When he entered the doors of your shared apartment, you walked right up to him and like always, just your usual charm, you smiled softly and pressed a kiss on his cheek before heading to the kitchen to brew some tea. Kyle felt the gloss from your lips on his own and his fingers were trembling from loving you too much and he doesn’t recognize if you even felt the same way.
The words he wanted to say whispered in his head like a song that would never leave. He even wrote the words in a letter tucked in his breast pocket if he were to cry shamefully in front of you while his lips wobbled at such words.
Kyle swallows the words, he needs to time this correctly, where his heart isn't hurting.
He headed to the living room and dropped his bags on the floor. The living room looked just the same as when he left, the most changes he spotted was the new book you were reading on the table and some crumbly biscuits that were scattered across the tiny saucer.
Kyle sighs and runs his fingers through his hair as he hides his face in his hands. The words in his head were straight forward and simple, all he had to do was look you in the eyes without crying and say,
"I think we should break up."
What would you say? How would you react? Does it even matter? Knowing you, your quiet nature will not press for questions, you never really did ask questions about him did you? A part of him cracked and his eyes were stinging with the reality that you don't love him. Maybe you never did.
It was difficult to properly breathe with how much his chest ached. He doesn’t want to hurt anymore knowing you don’t love him.
He thought about it on the plane ride back home, he can leave you the apartment and he’ll take his things, move in with his mother in the meantime while he scouts for another apartment to live in. He wonders how his life would turn out to be once he leaves you, it will be tough to look at books the same way knowing how much you loved to read, it would sting to look at the fridge and know it will barely have anything inside since you used it mostly to hold ingredients for recipes you’re trying out.
He breathed out shakily and when he opened his eyes, a warm steaming mug of tea was set before him.
You stood there, eyes weak and smiling softly, "Have some tea, Kyle."
This hurts too much to say. So he reluctantly took the mug and you sat next to him, knees tucked together like a princess as you angled yourself to face him. He refuses to meet your gaze, instead boring his eyes into the steaming warmth of tea.
"I missed you." You said and he stiffened before nodding, "I missed you." he choked slightly before bringing the mug to his lips. He wonders if your words were true.
Silence settled for a while and Kyle could hear the calm thrums of the cars moving out on the street tonight. Your tea fills the air and life buzzes slowly though the atmosphere. If he were a stranger of this very moment, everything would have looked fine.
He didn’t feel fine though.
You quietly shuffled closer to him, “"Our neighbour, Mrs. Adley stopped by last week."
Kyle just smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes, "What did she say?"
"She said to tell her when you come back so she can have us over for dinner." Your voice was always soft at times like this and it always lulled him to dive into your arms for comfort but he restrained himself.
You placed a hand on his knee, "Every night I prayed that you would come back to me safe and sound so that we can fulfil Mrs. Adley's request." Kyle, for once turned to look at you and a part of him lurches to kiss you, but he made up his mind hasn't he?
Your eyes met his and you reached out to cup his face, "I'm glad I did."
Kyle places a hand over yours and he leans in, briefly kissing the palm of your hand. "Thank you." He muttered quietly.
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He never said it that night though he mustered up the courage to ask if he could sleep over at his mothers house and you nodded silently, "Make sure to say hello to your mum for me." Was what you said before he exited those doors, not even hitching a breath to beg for him to stay just one night with you or ask why he suddenly wanted to sleep over his mothers house.
The day after he returned, he stopped by a B&Q to get some boxes to move his things. When he told his mother the night before she was livid, "Kyle, you need to be honest about how you feel with her. I know you still love her, sweetheart." Though he insists that this was for the best.
He brought those boxes and let them sit outside your door. He unlocked the door with his keys and as he entered he saw you standing just right outside the door, car keys in hand and slipping on your shoes.
When he saw you there his stomach lurched, his mother told you.
"Kyle," a relieved smile etched on your face and you pressed a kiss on his cheek, "Your mother said there was an emergency- are you okay?" He shuts the door behind him, "I'm.. I'm okay." His voice felt weak.
You had that look on your face, then you shook your head, "I made some quesadillas for lunch."
"That's specific." It was unconscious but he reached out to hold your hand, even if it had to be one last time. You reciprocated the hold and squeezed softly.
"When you called you said you were craving to eat some when you come back." You muttered and his chest aches, "You remembered?" You nodded, "I thought you'd like it since you were upset yesterday." He felt as though he was falling for you all over again but the doubts weighed much heavier on his heart.
You slid a plate of warm and fresh quesadillas, "I followed a recipe on Youtube since I never made one before, so I hope you like it."
This can't go on any longer, he thought. "I'll eat it later..." You nodded, suddenly your eyes evaded his own as you gently wrapped the plate with cling wrap, "Okay." You hummed to yourself.
Your back faces his direction and he only wonders what expression you're making.
You were always so quiet.
You turned the kettle on and took a mug from the cupboards, "Will you be over at your mum's today?"
He nodded, "Yeah..." You hummed and he realized he couldn't figure out what you were thinking, "Mum asked how you were doing, and I told her you were doing well."
You nodded and like the night before, silence settled. Kyle debated whether he should say it now and bring in the boxes he stashed outside the door. He could hear everything clearly and his hands were getting palmy from anxiety to say it. If he listened through the doubtful whispers in his mind he would have heard the hammering of his heart against his ribcage.
"I'm so grateful to be with you."
He froze, "Where is this coming from?"
You still haven’t turned to face him. You tapped and drummed your fingers against the kitchen island, as you awaited the kettle’s whistle.
“My friend. She told me to break up with you because you're always away." Kyle froze.
You smiled at the memory fondly, and Kyle could hear it through your voice, "I'm so proud of myself that day because I told her that you were the man I could see a future with, and I don't know what my life would be without you in it."
The kettle whistles and you pour yourself some tea, "She said, ‘he is hardly home with you. How can you keep trusting his word? What if you’re not the only woman he’d come home to?’” You shook your head and turned around, “I said, ‘I trust him, he’ll tell me’.”
Your eyes softened as you evaded his eyes, and you breathed out a shaky chuckle, “Sorry… I was just-” Your words stumble, “I’ve been worried about you since yesterday. I know how hard you work for your job. I just-” You pursed your lips and set the mug on the table, “-I just want to remind you that I love you and that I’m here for you, always.”
Kyle had never felt such a relief course through him before. He has never felt more love for you than ever before and he wondered why he was so blinded by his doubts when you clearly loved him. How could he be so stupid? Why did he convince himself so much that you were with him out of pity? Why did he fail to study how you loved so loudly through the quiet?
“Kyle? Are you okay?” Your hands cupped his face and he realized that tears were flooding his vision, your thumb wiped away the tears and you rushed quickly by his side to embrace him.
God did he melt into you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and hid his warm face in your shoulder and wept for being so ignorant with how you loved him. Kyle held you tight like this part of you were to disappear but you weren’t going anywhere, you wrapped your arms around him and gently ran your fingers through his hair, then gently patted his back. Fuck, you are everything.
His breath shakes as he sobs into you and you lingered, never pulling away, always by his side, quiet but a looming presence none the less that complements his space, his apartment, his life.
“I thought you- I thought you didn’t love me anymore.” His breath hitches as he tries to catch his breath but he fails, “I’m sorry- I’m sorry”
You pursed your lips and your chest stung from his confession, “It’s not your fault-” You wiped his tears and pressed a small kiss against his lips, “I’m sorry for making you feel like I don’t.” He leans into your touch, heart aching faintly, “ I love you so much, Kyle.”
He pressed his forehead against yours, “I love you so much, (Name).” He sniffled.
You embraced each other once again, this time his heart felt lighter, His hands ran through your hair and he lulls himself into you without stopping himself.
“I’m a little hungry…” He confesses.
You laughed softly, “Let’s heat these quesadillas then.”
Kyle pressed a kiss on your forehead before he let you go to heat up what you made.
Kyle “Gaz” Garrick had plenty of secrets but the darkest secret he ever wanted to hide from you was thinking to give you up when his mind wrecked havoc against himself.
— + — + —+ — + — + — + — + — + — + — + — + —
I picture that following this, Gaz and (Name) would talk things over on how they both can show their love and appreciation for each other because both of these lovebirds want to be a part of each other's future.
hope you guys like it its my first time writing cod stuff :))
fingering | blowjob | my attempt on satoru being a brat
dom suguru | sub reader + satoru
wc. 2009
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“Fuck, ’Toru quit being a brat and be patient for fuck’s sake.” A smack against Satoru’s pale thigh echoes your sour mood through a prominent red handprint against his sweet luscious skin.
Satoru just rolled his eyes, face coated with rouge as he thrusts his hips up towards you, practically coaxing you through the gentle rock and sway of his hard cock, “Touch me alreadyyy” He rocks his hips upward again and this time you made sure to keep your eyes off his cock and into his cerulean eyes, “you are taking so damn long!” He cries, lips pouting and eyes gazing up at you with his filthy eager eyes that did nothing to hide the way he wants to fuck his cock in your mouth while Suguru took you from behind.
Your hands shifted from under you and you gripped his thighs flat on the bed to stop his pathetic attempts of seducing you with his cock, “We have to wait for Suguru you fucking whore.” You hissed, Satoru just gleamed, quite happy with your reaction and attention in itself added with the fact that you haven’t been able to touch yourself for the last month, “He’s taking forever- suck it already-” He grips his cock and rubbed the tip softly with his thumb and he groans, “-Look there’s so much pre-cum already.”
You sighed and looked behind you towards the open door, Suguru, nowhere in sight. Your attention returns to Satoru’s glistening cock, how it stood with the ache to be touched by you, the tip painfully angry and red. Oh the damn sight has your core uncomfortably wet and sticky. Every shift of your thighs from left to right has you feeling the string of that gluey texture of cum slowly seep out of your slit.
“You want me to beg? I’ve been begging for-” You interrupted him and swatted his damp hand off his cock, a decision made as you angled your face to hover over Satoru’s pelvis. Satoru’s eyes darkened with ease, “Suguru will be so angry if we started without him.” You muttered before rolling your tongue out to drag a stripe from the base of his cock to the tip and Satoru breathes out a shaky pleasured sigh, “Stop talking as if you didn’t sta- Hah~” He rolls his head back into the pillows, “-Fucking finally~”
The way you gently dragged your tongue up his cock then wrapped the raging tip with your warm mouth has Satoru slowly built just to fall apart. You revel in the way Satoru falls pliant in your hands like putty.
He sighs and glances down at you, where you sit in between his legs on your knees pleasing him the way he loves it. Your tongue flattens alongside the tip and you give it a long and slow draaag of your tongue and he shivers at the wet and filthy sounds echoing out to the world. Satoru’s lips pursed, “Inside your mouth- I wan’ it inside your mouth please-” He whispered and you heed it like a good girl. You didn’t waste a breath for air and immediately pushed his rather large cock in your mouth.
Fuck, it didn’t matter how often you sucked his dick because your throat still struggles to take him whole. Your mouth aches at the girth and Satoru just groans at the way you whimper from not being able to take him to the base.
“C’mon-I know you can take it whole sweetheart-” he gasps and keels over to gently push your hair back, “-you were able to take the entire thing like a champ a week ago- oh fuck me- yes like that.”
A pair of footsteps follow behind you and before you could pull away to explain what is going on to Suguru (though an explanation isn’t required) he just clicks his tongue, disappointed.
“I was gone for a few minutes and both of you just can’t help but whore yourselves out when given the opportunity, don’t you?”
You tried to pull away from Satoru’s cock to protest but Suguru was a step faster and he held your throat from behind, restraining your movement and only taking Satoru’s cock in your mouth. “Ah,ah- who told you to stop mittens?” His fingers curled around your neck just enough to ground you that Suguru was there, “Keep sucking,” You close your eyes as you feel Suguru press his lips at the nape of your pretty neck, “I want you to keep sucking until Satoru is asking you to stop- you can do that for me, right mittens?” You hum and bobbed your head around Satoru’s cock and you started sucking with newfound determination.
Satoru whines, “Suguru you took so fucking lo-Oh shi-” He mouth goes slack for a moment and he looks up to Suguru for mercy, well he’ll have to keep praying for it and maybe Suguru will concede his request.
You continued your hardwork, eager to have Satoru fall from his high seat of pleasure by bobbing your head up and down and pushing yourself further and further around him.
Suguru smirked behind you, gently parting more of Satoru’s legs to help you further as he kissed the nape of your neck. “Look at him, mittens..” He pressed another kiss under your earlobe, “He’s speechless, like a stupid dog.” Boy was Satoru speechless, he was in another place, your mouth was putting in all the amazing work to have him throw his head back in the sheets as his eyes fluttered shut.
Suguru’s delicate hands gently pulled away from your throat and slowly used them to trace the shape of your beautiful body making sure to praise every perfect imperfection, like the dip of your hips and the shape of your back, “Keep at it Sweetheart,” His fingers deftly slipped under the fabric of your panties, gently massaging the moist mound, “I’ll do the work in making you feel good, m’kay?”
He cups your breast with one hand while the other teases and plays with your wet core, the stickiness coating all his thick fingers in its clear mess and not long he pushes a few fingers inside to stretch you for what's about to come. The sudden entry has you gasping for a moment before rumbling out a muffled moan against Satoru who quickly reaches out to grab your hair again and you instinctively move forward feeling the tip of his cock meet the back of your throat, “Fuck- fuck- I’m gonna cu-” He pats your head, “Almost there pretty- “ He gasps and his body shivers before he cries out, “-cumming!- I’m cumming!”
He spills in your mouth and you take it all all all. Even as it leaks and flows and flows out at the corner of your lips but you are such a good girl that you take it all and make sure nothing goes to waste.
Before Satoru could catch a break and before you could take a breath, Suguru pulls your body away from Satoru, your body colliding with his own where your head rests on his collarbone, “I’m so proud of you mittens,” He cups your face and kissed you, your body eased into his perfectly as you melt in his affections. He pulled away and pressed his forehead against yours, “You did so well, taking Satoru’s cock whole like a champ..”
You nodded with a layer of exhaustion, “You think you can do it again for me? Or do you want a little break?” Suguru fixes the angle of his fingers inside you, gently bouncing you up with his thigh that has you whimpering from the way his fingers flexed ever so slightly, “Break…” You muttered and he hums, “I’ll do a bit of work for you then,”
Suguru then proceeded to thrust his fingers inside your squelching orifice with fever, the filthy sound of schlk! schlk! schlk! Echoes throughout the empty apartment, it has you dizzy. His thumb flicks to the sensitive nub under the hood of your pussy and your body is writhing and shaking like never before. You were sobbing with euphoria. Wet tears and cries of Suguru’s name were all you could muster without further overstimulating yourself by accident, the uncontrolled judder of your hips to meet Suguru’s palm were of no help.
Suguru other hand reaches towards the enamoured Satoru (who by now caught his breath and felt a familiar stir of his cock to life at the display of your open legs and Suguru’s skillful hands) and without missing a beat wrapped his fingers around Satoru and proceeded to rub his cock.
Satoru’s eyes shot wide open like dinner plates and he hastily (and unsuccessfully) attempted to pry Suguru’s hands away from his sensitive, leaky friend.
“Suguru- WAIT A MOMENT-” Satoru protests but it was too late, the wave of overstimulation hits him like a train and the glory of Satoru falls pliant and weak once more only this time he was being pleasured to punishment.
“Why do I have to ‘wait a moment’ when you didn’t even follow my instructions?” His silver hair rocks and bounces with every attempt to lift his head off the bed to shake his head but to no avail, he was weeping.
“You took forev-ahh shit!” His lips wobble with his cries for mercy, “Look, you even brought (Name) into your mess.” Suguru feigns disappointment and glances towards you, where your thighs are shaking as they are forced apart with his legs. You were babbling incoherency as your hands were tucked at your sides, palms forced to a weak fist. Suguru returns his attention back to Satoru, “I was just quickly getting the package from the delivery man, with strict instructions to not move” Suguru’s thumb glosses over the leaky tip of Satoru’s cock and he writhes “Suddenly I come back to both of you disobeying me…”
Suguru immediately speeds his hand and Satoru’s body rattles as he pleads and begs and cries to: “Slow down!-” and “ D’nt make me cuhm yet!” Oh Suguru was being mean, he just had to especially to Satoru who doesn’t seem to know how to listen, but he will listen after being reprimanded by him again.
He chuckles at the way Satoru cries, his face damp with the endless flow of tears. It was always those who are prideful that get punished, Satoru should know this yet he never learns. Maybe he does like the fact there are repercussions after his actions.
Suguru speeds both of his hands and without a word you arch your back and thrust your hip outward with a yelp, “Suguru!” and you squirt and cum all over the floor and Suguru’s hands. He pulls his fingers out of you and gently caresses your thigh, “Good job Mittens…” He gently lays you against his chest before prioritizing Satoru who was shaking and flailing. His body is between reaching for Suguru and pulling away from him and he was so damn dizzy.
“You have favo- oh my go–” He attempts to squeeze his legs together but Suguru forces them apart, “What did you say Satoru? C’mon say it-” He chuckles at his plight, “-I’m sure a bit of stimulation won’t stop the way your mouth just can’t shut up.”
Oh this was a challenge now? Satoru can do it with a bit of trial and error. He props himself up his elbows and tries to speak, but every single damn time Suguru would speed up his hand.
“You have favoritism Suguru– Oh fuck fuck stop! Wait-” Satoru’s hips judder like before in uncontrollable fits, his skin damp with sweat and cum and as he reaches closer to his peak he wails with his hands gripping the sheets.
Spurts of cum dribble down Suguru’s fingers and he lets go temporarily to give Satoru a moment for air.
“You are si-sick, Sugu-” He whimpered and Suguru just smiled, “I’m not done with you yet Satoru.” Suguru takes your shaky hands around Satoru’s wet, twitchy, and sensitive cock.
