#cat x gabe

[booknerdinglasses]

I know that he started out as an ass and then turns into an ass again… but I loveeee early season 2 Gabe.

#gabe lowan #gabriel lowan #cat x gabe #batbcw

[kiruvry]

H.ello ljttle gay people in my phone........................................................................................................................................................................ + extra doodles :]

#hgey what if gabe ljke. started talking to jack the way cat owners do #thjs came to me in a moment of half awake bliss #and it managed to produce this somehow #soldier 76 #jack morrison #reaper #gabriel reyes #reaper 76 #yeehan #mchanzo #what is this pairing name. help #dva x kiriko

[bloodis-fuel]

heyyy :3

scooting in here quickly….

would I be able to request a gabriel stimboard with like. cats [white cats specifically, since I don’t think there’s flame points unless I’m dumb], wings and swords….. 💪

-> 🌟

gabriel stimboard with white cats, wings, and swords requested by: 🌟 anon

yea i gotchu gabe

credit: x | x | x x | - | x x | x | x

#🩸; words of the machine #🩸; request #🩸; 🌟 anon #fictionkin #ultrakillkin #ultrakill kin #gabrielkin #gabriel kin #stimboard #white stim #gray stim #animal stim #cat stim #feather stim #wing stim #sword stim #the swords i chose look out of place imo but eeh #too tired to actually care

[coolprettyleo]

fit my poems like a perfect rhyme - everything has changed au

wc: 3k

tw: talks of sex. angst. drinking. lmk if more!

gabe perreault x oc

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

rachel summers was a girl everyone around her was drawn too. she was the cool it girl who seemed to be blessed, in just about every aspect of her life; she was.

she was born and raised in california, where her hobbies included surfing and hanging out with friends. in high school she was the popular girl who dated the star quarterback, and of course they won prom queen and king.

she even had her two best friends, that too the average eye; were her minions. together they were the hottest trio in school, it was iconic in a way. sadly, those minions chose to have a mind of their own, and stay on the west coast.

whereas she did not. Rachel. who of course went by the name 'summer', committed to a school on the easy coast; boston college.

she had flowy blonde hair that fell to her shoulders and a heart of gold that made her easy to love by just about anyone who met her. so when she moved into a new city, knowing no one but her beloved cat, she wasn't all too nervous.

"no I dont want to know who he got with tonight mary" rachel rolled her eyes as she face timed one of the minions, who she wanted to call a friend, but wasn't. mary was across the country at college and it happened to be the same college as said quarterback boyfriend, who was now her ex.

mary felt the need to update summer on just about everything he did. of course including the fact he got with a new girl every night.

at least he's finally getting what I couldn't give him.

"i'm not telling you this to be evil summer! I'm telling you this so you don't feel guilty, to go live a life. don't be a nobody, its gross" mary's voice said on the phone seeing as she was in thought. she had a bit of a point.

"I dont feel guilty to go out!"

"then go out!"

rachel thought for a moment, she could go out.

she had a neighbor, who seemed to love going out. that is, if she had been observing right, her neighbor would go alone? maybe she wouldn't mind a companion? they seemed to be around the same age and she seemed cool.

"anyways, I gotta go. love you babe" mary said before kissing the camera and hanging up, not even waiting for summer to mutter a goodbye.

it's like mary only called her, to rub in how much fun college had been going for her. summer on the other hand, was going through a nasty breakup for the beginning of it.

I do need to enjoy it

rachel was left nervously juggling the idea of whether or not she should ask her neighbor.

what do I even say

"wanna join me for drinks?" summer practiced pacing in her living room.

"hey! were neighbors can I join you?" too forward.

"lets have a blast tonight!" what's wrong with you?

what if her neighbor liked to go out alone? or what if she didn't go out alone, and just met up with friends? no summer was sure of the fact she did these activities alone. maybe she's just an alcoholic.

she decided to man up and shake off the nerves and just ask. the worst that could happen, would be she says no, and they go about their lives.

while we awkwardly avoid each other for our rest of co-existency.

summer decided to just go ahead and knock on her neighbors door.

"in a minuite!" she heard rustling and things knocking down on the other side for a minute, before the door swung open and there stood a brunette girl with going out boots. she is going out

the girl seemed to be surprised and confused. summer deciding start the conversation, before the girl thought she was just some creep.

"hi! were neighbors, my names rachel, but like everyone calls me summer" she nervously smiled.

"yeah! I've like seen you in the hallway and stuff sometimes" the neighbor nervously rambled.

"yeah me too. look, I don't know if this is weird or anything, but I was wondering if you would be down to get some drinks some time?"

yes summer! you sounded cool and chill!

the neighbor had not been expecting that. she had thought she was going to open the door to her situation ship , ending things with her, for the crap she pulled last night. but when she opened the door to find summer, she thought she was going to get confronted for the fact she had sex in the middle of said hallway last night. she wasn't proud of that fact either.

"oh! uhm. yeah, that sounds nice! -actually, i'm going out right now, did you want to join?"

"yes!- I mean- yeah sounds cool. super cool" summer cringed, realizing she scream 'yes' and seemed far too desperate.

"let me just get changed real quick" she added.

"okay slay! wear something cute! oh! and by the way my names frankie" the brunette smiled.

"sick name!"

"thanks I was gonna say summer's sick too!" the two girls told each other excitedly. this really felt the start of something new and good for the both of them.

____

the two girls hit the town with a sense of belonging. frankie had been searching for the feeling of a girl friend since she moved in, and summer was the ultimate coolest person you can find.

summer was finally happy she built up the courage to talk to her neighbor, that frankly intimidated her.

"wait so that guy from the beginning of the year wasn't even your boyfriend!?!" summer exclaimed as they got off the uber. she remembered seeing a tall boy in the hallway alot.

"nope. i thought he was gonna fall in love with me over time, news flash, I was wrong"

"he's a douche and love is fake"

"got that right" frankie said smiling.

"so... you got a love life?" frankie asked curiously, she was excited to have the bond of girl hood.

"not really, its kinda dead at the moment. I had a boyfriend, but college happened and everything" summer said kinda sadly.

"im sorry, but I mean we can get you laid?" she smiled wiggling her eyebrows.

summer wasn't the type of girl for hookups. she knew frankie was, she often saw them, but she didn't know if she could throw all her eggs in one basket like that. no-hate but she didn't even let her ex-boyfriend do anything to her till it was the summer of their senior year, ad even that didn't go all too well.

frankie saw her in thought and rewinded.

"oh my god! are you a virgin? i'm sorry. we'll find you just love, then!" frankie said hoping she didn't weird out the poor girl.

"no- I mean- well... kinda. its complicated" summer said, red in the face.

"you dont have to tell-"

summer cut her off by whispering something in frankie's ear. something that made her eyes go wide.

"your half a virgin!" frankie whispered yelled.

"oh shut up franks" summer said as the girls got giggling and gave the bouncer there very fake ID's. frankie knew they were going to be a duo.

___

the bar was frankie's favorite and summer soon understood why. it was a cool vintage bar that kind of resembled a dive bar.

the girls ordered themselves some shots and quickly downed them, needing to feel the feeling sooner than faster.

"oh my god, the boys hockey team just walked in" frankie said, turning and facing away from the door.

"why does that matter, their kinda cute" summer said tilting her head as the filed in sipping on her vodka cranberry.

"the douche guy is a hockey player" frankie told her.

"ohhhh. now I get it"

"I also have a little thing with one of his friends" frankie guilty told her.

"the guy from last night?"

"you saw that!" frankie said, embarrassed as hell.

"please. your not exactly quite either" summer told the girl as frankie wanted to die.

"it's not the guy from last night" frankie told her overall guilty as summer gasped.

"I slept with a BU guy last night. but I mean ryan keeps saying were not anything" frankie said shamelessly as summer had her hands over her mouth.

"do the guys know you" summer asked seeing as alot of them kept looking over at the two.

"yes" frankie said scared to ask why she was asking that.

"oh god four of them are coming over" summer said to her wanting to run away. she hated confrontation.

"your staying with me" frankie said grabbing her shirt before she tried to leave her.

"frankie! missed you at the game tonight" will said being petty, they were pissed at her.

frankie turned and looked at all of them, and by the look of their faces they were mad at her. ryan's face made her want to crumble. they weren't together, he made that very clear, but a girl like frankie had needs.

"it was meaningless" frankie told them, avoiding eye contact with ryan.

"he brought it up on the ice" ryan said to her, frankie now noticing he had a light black eye and busted up lip.

"ry-"

"we need to talk" he said, looking the most serious frankie had ever seen it.

frankie turned to look at summer who saw how frankie wanted to fix things between them. she wasn't going to get in the way of that, just because she was afraid to be left alone.

"go" summer urged her. as she gave her a sorry look and walked out behind a fuming ryan, leaving her with three boys.

"well that was uncomfortable" summer joked to the three boys. all of them eyeing her trying to figure out who she was, frankie didn't have friends.

"i'm her neighbor by the way, summer" she added, not wanting to seem like some nosy person as they nodded.

"jacob" a ginger haired guy said

"will" the blonde one said.

"gabe" a boy that summer found unbelievably handsome said.

"you go to BC?" a gabe asked.

"yeah... I know you guys do, good game today " summer said. she had been watching it on ESPN before she went to frankies apartment. they all smiled and thanked her as they got to talking. even though they looked intimidating they were overall nice goofy guys.

"you think lenny's letting up?" jacob asked as he noticed they were still outside.

"I don't know, he was pretty pissed" will said looking at the door.

"did he get in a fight over her or something" summer asked feeling like she was missing out on something.

"yeah. she has him on a leash and they're not even dating yet" gabe said chuckling.

"well they're not official" summer defended.

"they basically are, they hang out everyday" will said

"she said he's made it very clear, that they're not together" summer said.

"that doesn't give her the green light to sleep with other guys though" gabe argued.

"guy. just one. i think you guys are just mad it was with a BU guy" summer said to them.

"I mean obviously! before the champion ship game is crazy too. he was just trying to get in our heads too, especially lennys. hughes is smarter than that" will said while the other two nodded.

they have to be full of themselves, for them to think this is about them!

"all that over... hockey?" summer said confused. hockey was the not a big deal in the oc, where she grew up. but then again, she remembers the quarterback from the cross town rival school, claiming to have her nudes; he didn't.

so I mean they could be right... but that seemed very high school to summer; this was college.

"why'd you say hockey like that" gabe said to her, not liking she said 'hockey' with a tone of disgust.

"I just don't think it's all that serious" summer said, trying to not offend them. obviously still getting under ones skin though, specifically gabe.

"hockeys not important?"

"no! I mean it is for people like you guys-" summer said trying to save herself but failing horribly.

"like us? what's that supposed to mean?" gabe said. he felt summer was some stuck up girl and even though he had found the girl to be quite attractive he didnt know if he liked her all too well.

"not like that. i mean it's important to hockey players and stuff, but like its not someones whole life, you know?" summer didnt even know if she knew exactly what she was trying to say.

"so now you think we have no life?" gabe said honestly just wanting to pick on the flustered blonde.

"oh my god, im just going to shutup" summer said taking a sip out of her vodka cranberry as will and jacob laughed. they decided they liked the girl, gabe not so much.

"do you even know anything, hockey related?" gabe asked still wanting to bicker with the girl.

"not really. I honestly forget its like a real thing out here" summer said.

"you don't think hockey's a real sport" gabe said as will and jacob rolled their eyes. they knew their friend and if they didn't know any better, they'd say he was flirting?

"who doesn't think hockey is a real sport!?!" frankie said, as her and ryan rejoining the group, seemingly on good terms. gabe pointed to summer.

"nice! I knew I liked you!" frankie said giggling as the boys rolled their eyes.

"I didn't even mean it like that, its just I grew up in california. and over there, the closest ice rink is probably three hours away"

"isn't there hockey in california? they have three NHL teams" jacob asked.

"californias big. where'd you grow up?" ryan asked the girl as he had an arm wrapped around frankie.

"the oc. newport beach" summer answered. god she missed her hometown.

"can you surf?" will asked her,

"yeah, pretty well actually. when I was sixteen i got a silver medal for it too" summer answered casually.

"OMG! you have to teach me I've been trying to learn for so long now!" frankie said excitedly, remembering the memory of her and her brothers failing miserably. it wasn't like wake boarding on the lake.

"you guys are free to join us anytime. my parents are traveling across europe, for like a year, so the house is just sitting there, its on the beach too" summer told them as the boys and frankie agreed.

gabe on the other hand just couldn't stop his thoughts of thinking summer was some stuck up girl. everything that came out of her mouth, just now, wasn't helping either. 'its on the beach by the way' who says that! gabe thought.

the night went on, frankie and summer unknowingly becoming the best friends they've always needed, ryan finally happy that him and frankie made it official, and the other three boys creating a friendship with the two girls, it was all just so college.

right now though, the night was close to finished and the boys were taking the two very drunk girls back to their apartments. girls who thought everything in that moment was the most hilarious thing in the world.

the group stumbled on a large hill and it didn't take long for the two girls to want to roll down it.

"frankie and summer don't you dare!" ryan said speeding up, seeing as the boys had been walking a couple meters behind the two girls.

the two girls ignoring his please and giggling. ryan turned his head to look at his friends as if he was giving them the mom look for help. gabe huffed and went to help him, with summer.

"one-" frankie started off as the two girls sat side by side holding each others hands

"two" summer said giggling

"GO!" frankie screamed seeing as the boys were right behind them.

the girls began to slide as ryan missed his attempt to lunge at frankie, while gabe not so much. he attempted to grab summer but lost footing and down he went along with them.

only causing the girls to laugh ten times more, at gabe. summer was laughing loudly, a sound that gabe didn't know if he hated or loved.

"you good gabe?" she said as she held a hand out to him, trying to hold back a giggle.

gabe obviously holding his pride, ignored her hand and got up on his own.

"you are absolutely insufferable" he huffed as he walked past her.

"c'mon perreault! don't be mad at summer! she's just a girl" frankie said as she saw gabe began to walk back up the hill towards the group.

"yeah! its not my fault you ate shit!" summer said, before the two girls unleashed laughter, once again. both taking breaks as they walked up the hill.

"you guys pissed gabe off, him and jacob left back to the dorms" ryan told the two as will began to hold summer up.

"I don't think he likes me very much" summer told them.

"well, your lucky I like you enough to help you" will said as she began to slump herself onto him.

"gabes just being like that because he thinks he's flirting" frankie said against ryans back as he decided to haul her up over his shoulder.

"ewwwww" a drunk summer let out. as the group laughed.

it had been a great night for them, except gabe of course.

#nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey fic #ryan leonard #gabe perreault #will smith hockey #bc hockey #frankie x ryan #gabe perreault x reader #gabe x summer

[jungle-angel]

The Little Bookworm (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: You and Bob can't get enough of your kids being obsessed with books

It was the gloomiest of fall days with the skies over Montana having gone darker than expected, almost as if night were setting in at lunchtime.

Auggie had been perched on the little bay window seat in the living room, the rain battering the diamond paned windows while the woodstove in the living room made the house warm and cozy. Bob didn't particularly like having the tv on all day, but The Nightmare Before Christmas seemed like the perfect background noise on a day like this and with Halloween fast approaching, it made it even better.

Bob smiled a little seeing his little mini-me completely engrossed in one of the books you had gotten him. Auggie had always loved pulling books from the shelf, no matter how big or how small they were and loved making up his own stories to tell you, Bob and the rest of the family.

"Auggie, come and eat," Bob called from the kitchen.

Auggie giggled and shut his book, running right for the kitchen and seating himself into his chair. Bob had definitely outdone himself this time, grilled cheese with bacon, a side of kettle cooked potato chips and a kosher dill pickle on the side.

"Whatcha reading buddy?" Bob asked him.

"Um.....I dunno," Auggie chirped with a big grin on his face before taking a bite out of his sandwich.

"You don't know?!" Bob questioned, pretending to be shocked.

"It's about these three guys and a bad guy who doesn't like them so they've gotta stop him," Auggie explained.

The more Auggie chattered, the more Bob couldn't control the broad smile on his face. The Three Musketeers had been one of his favorites growing up, one that his father had grown up reading as well. Now that Auggie was reading it, he was proud beyond words that his love of the book had been passed down to his son.

As soon as lunch was done, Bob took a look at Auggie's bookshelf and made a list of other books that he didn't have, noting that they would most likely be his Christmas gift that year. He made his way upstairs while Auggie scooted back to his little corner, hoping you were still up in your shared bedroom and sure enough, you were.

"Still working away Mrs. Floyd?" he asked, scooting in next to you.

"All I can do Bob," you told him.

You had been needle-felting all day as a movie played out on the tv that was mounted on the wall. Bob felt awful that you were on strict bedrest, but after the last ultrasound appointment, you both knew it was what you and your baby girl needed. Luckily Reagan and her husband, Elijah, lived close by in case anything came up, but it still made Bob nervous whenever you got up in the middle of the night to pee.

Yet he was in awe at the Halloween decorations you had made for Auggie's kindergarten class, little pumpkins that looked like fairy houses, witches in their pointed little hats and little brooms in their hands, fuzzy little bats with googly eyes and silly looking little spiders, black cats with slinky little tails, ghosts with their mouths wide open and even two little figures that turned out to be Jack and Sally and even a little Zero from The Nightmare Before Christmas.

"Did you do all this while I was downstairs?" Bob asked, picking up the soft, fuzzy little figures.

"Yep," you answered proudly. "Kay told me that while the kids were outside playing in the yard, Auggie, Gabe, Nicky and Pete were all collecting sticks and wanted to bring them home. I figured I could use them to make a little Halloween tree."

Bob remembered having been a kid at that type of school and having had Kay's mother for his kindergarten teacher. They were wonderful days, learning how to make fresh bread and soup for lunch, playing with his friends, listening to stories and plenty of playing outside. Yet they had been tough too. Bob remembered some days when his father had gotten a deployment notice. He would hide out in a corner of the classroom and cry until Kay's mother had to gently coax him out. Bob had made damn sure that Auggie, Patrick and any other children you might have, would never have to go through that when they started school. But luckily, Bob and the rest of the Daggers had been fully and honorably discharged by the time Patrick had been born.

"You've gotta teach me how to do this because I'm curious now," Bob chuckled.

"Believe me I will," you told him. "I need a partner so I can keep from getting bored."

Up the stairs came those familiar little feet you heard running through the house day after day on the weekends. "Daddy, Daddy," Auggie chirped again. "Can you read to me?"

"C'mere buddy," Bob said, lifting him up into the bed with his book and putting him between you both.

You rode out the rest of the rainy afternoon, reading The Three Musketeers and the adventures they had lived. Auggie was practically jumping with excitement whenever Bob read the swordfight scenes, the both of you happy and proud that he was your little bookworm.

#top gun maverick #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #dagger squad

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠.

main masterlist

pairing(s) — JT COMPHER x reader (main); TYSON JOST x reader (side); COMPHER x JOST (brief) wc — 14k synopsis — what's a reunion without some groveling?

note — this takes place a few of years after part one, go out with a bang (post-college/college au — tyson and kate are now out-going seniors!) sorry not sorry for the length of this behemoth, i got carried away per usual <3 there are more parts to come, and i would absolutely love to hear any theories/predictions if yall have any!

specific content warnings listed below the cut.

cw — cameos on cameos on cameos, we're at a party so drinking and mention of dr*gs + yacking (no description), drinking games, sorority terms/processes, me getting too invested in multiple subplots and potential background ships, soft!service!dom!JT makes my peabrain go brrrrr, everybodies a bit masochistic because i, registered heathen, am masochistic, reader’s wearing a short skirt for plot reasons, slight compher x josty, oral (reader receiving 2x), unprotected piv (i know, i know, i know i need help), me letting my brat self take the kink reins, praise baby praise, angst AND IM NOT SORRY, + happy fluffy bits... possible cliffhanger??? 

Staring up at the Alpha Chi house is like stepping back in time. 

Like trying on an old pair of shoes you found while deep-cleaning your closet only to find their once-perfect fit gone. Growth is funny that way; you never realize just how far you’ve come until it pinches you.

You’ve outgrown this place, though not from a lack of love or any great tragedy. It occupies a different place in your mind, just as you’re a different person than you were three years ago. 

Your younger self would balk at this development, wouldn’t believe it’d one day feel too small. You can’t fault her for that near-sightedness. In college, your whole world existed on one street. You had everything you needed then between two stop signs.

But your world is bigger now, and your needs are different too. 

Still, it feels good to try on your past for the night. Even if it's a tad ill-fitting. 

The drive between your new life and your old one hadn’t been too bad, but that’s probably because you didn’t do much of said driving. JT got the engine going before you could even make a grab for the keys and, despite spending the last year in the literal trenches of clinical rotations and shelf exams, refused to switch at the halfway mark. Yet, your boyfriend is practically vibrating with excitement as you cross the all-too-familiar threshold hand-in-hand. 

“This is so weird,” JT remarks, his lips low to your ear. His musky cologne, warm and woody, does its best to soothe your nerves.

As you survey the crowd, you nod. 

He didn’t need to elaborate further for you to understand because you were already thinking the very same thing. Watching students, the vast majority as unfamiliar to you as you are to them, milling around your old haunt stirs an odd, uncanny feeling akin to a surreal dream. You’re well-acquainted with the setting, almost to an uncomfortable degree, and you don’t think you’re all that different, but everything still feels foreign.

All the right pieces are there, and you’re sure you’ve put them in their proper places, but the image won’t behave.

You quickly realize the only thing that’s misplaced is you. Grief hangs from your back like a wet blanket. 

“Look what the cat dragged in, boys!”

A burst of riotous laughter shakes much of the gloom from your system.

Gabe Landeskog barrels into your boyfriend like an overgrown puppy. Gray-blue eyes twinkling under the rainbow of LEDs, he embraces you both in a warm hug, not minding that the spontaneous act of affection has just cost him an entire Solo cup.

“Compher and the missus,” the blonde addresses you both with a wide grin and a big palm to a cheek each; he gives JT’s a quick pat but merely cups yours. 

His breath still smells of spearmint and something spicy, an imposing combination your eighteen-year-old self could never find comforting. Just another thing that's different now. If you could package the scent for all the little moments of nostalgia, you would. 

“I was starting to think we’d have to drag you from the city kicking and screaming, but alas! You've left the cozy, vanilla bubble of your own volition for a weekend of debauchery with your favorite degenerates.”

JT’s affectionate eye-roll is big and dramatic even in your periphery. The levity brings a smile to your face. It grows wider and wider, enduring until your cheeks burn. If anyone deserves some light-heartedness, it's your sleep-deprived, perpetually-stressed boyfriend.

“A night, Landy. We’ve got to be back by tomorrow night to relieve the dog sitter,” your boyfriend amends with a pat to Gabe’s flushed cheek, returning the favor. 

The older man groans like the overgrown boy he is and will always be. “Look at you, Mr. Responsible. All domestic and shit. With a fur-baby and everything. I bet it’s as well-trained as your firstborn.”

Your eyes follow the line drawn by Gabe’s strong chin past the entryway through to the room used for table-top drinking games.

Half-kneeling on the rickety table you helped customize a few years back is Tyson Jost, head tilted to the sky as he guzzles down the center cup. More beer spills down his chest than into his mouth, effectively turning his white tee sheer. The crowd is comprised mostly of giddy sorority girls who don't mind a bit. 

Free booze and a free show—lucky them!

Once the plastic cup is empty, he crushes it in his palm before sinking the balled plastic into the basketball hoop on the adjacent wall. The converted dining room swells with hoots and hollers so quickly you would’ve thought Tyson emerged from some mythic quagmire, blood-soaked and victorious. But there are no winners in Rage Cage; everybody loses.

Tyson’s loopy grin falters when he registers you and JT on either side of Gabe.

You would like to say nothing’s changed between the three of you over the past couple of years. That you’re just as close as you’d been in college, that distance hadn’t done as much damage as it has.

You'd be lying if you did. 

You tried your best to keep him in the loop; you really did, but that didn’t end up mattering much.

JT hardly had time to socialize with you most of the time, and you’ve practically lived together since graduation. He, like you, tried, but at some point, his bandwidth could no longer accommodate Tyson’s sporadic texts and calls. Many of which came in the dead of night, when your boyfriend’s head was either buried in a textbook or in the pillow beside yours.

Whenever you could, you invited the forward to spend the weekend in the city with the two of you. You even went so far as to offer to put him up in a hotel between your and JT’s respective apartments, knowing your adult salary could stretch further than the Atomic tips he was splitting with Tyler. He always had something conflicting going on, and it didn't feel like your place to question the authenticity of his reasons, so you just kept extending the invitation, hoping things would align eventually.

After finally taking the leap and signing a lease together, you decorated the guest room with Tyson in mind. He’s yet to see it, still.

Your little Kate, on the other hand, needs a frequent flyer program.

A small part of you felt this shift was inevitable once JT went from best friend-slash-unrequited crush to full-blown, live-in boyfriend. Despite Tyson’s insistence on you finally hooking up and “putting everyone out of their misery,” his smile didn’t meet his eyes when JT broke the news that it wasn’t a one-night thing.

Maybe his “little crush” hadn’t been so little after all. 

If that’s the case, you can't blame him for avoiding your slice of grown-up love like the plague. It just would've been nice if he hadn't left you in the dark, wondering where and how you fucked up enough to get iced out.

Tyson responded to every third or so text of yours, so you mostly kept up with him and his life through Kate, who briefly dated him between ill-fated Gunnar stints, and social media. You weren’t sure how often he spoke to JT; after several attempts that ended with your boyfriend clammed up and irritated, you stopped asking.

Judging by how tense he is beside you right now, you have a pretty good guess.

“Yikes,” Gabe drawls. “Trouble in paradise?”

You remain carefully quiet, allowing your boyfriend to decide what, if anything, to share. This—whatever it is —feels like it's more so between them two than Tyson and yourself.

JT clears his throat so hard it cuts through the music blaring through the packed house—some remix you don’t remember learning the words to. “Trouble? Nah, Josty’d have to give us the time of day for that.” 

Gabe laughs, but you know JT isn’t trying to be funny. You can taste the undercurrent of bitter resentment. It’s impossible not to without an artificial buzz.

There’s no time to dwell because a flurry of red hair darts through the crowd dispersing out of the dining room and straight into your arms. A fresh, but faintly-candied scent tickles your nose as the cool metal of a bracelet digs into your neck. 

Kate.

“Fuckin finally!” The almost-grad squeals directly into your ear.

Definitely drunk. Or high—or both. 

“Don’t look at me,” you say, beaming when she pulls back. “I wasn’t driving.”

Kate swats JT’s chest with her open palm. “And this is why we don’t let you drive anywhere, Grandpa.”

The playful jab makes your smile deepen. His driving made her tardy to a ZBZ charity gala one time over a year ago when she made the mistake of hitching a ride with you, and she’s probably brought it up a million times since. Kate pretends to hold a grudge, JT pretends to find it aggravating, and you get to sit back, enjoying the warm camaraderie overfilling your cup.

The pair have been friends almost as long as you've been friends with either of them, but since your graduation, they’ve settled into something more serious and more genuine. Where your connection to Tyson wilted outside the conveniences of college, your relationship with Kate matured and flourished. She’s more than just your chapter-appointed Little Sister to JT now, having become more of a true sister than anything else. Hence the juvenile teasing.

“Well, we’re here now. Alive.”

Your little snatches your hand in hers, tugging you away from JT, who feigns offense.

“And now I’m stealing your girlfriend in retribution for making me wait. Go do… whatever it is you two heathens used to do at parties. We have a pong title to defend.”

“Excellent idea, Madame President,” Gabe declares, hands roughly massaging the male ginger’s shoulders. He tosses a wink in Kate’s direction.

Before the other ginger can drag you away for good, your boyfriend catches your free wrist, pulling you back to him so his lips can find your ear. Breath hot, he drops his voice an octave, “President’s bathroom. One hour. Nod if you understand.”

Your chin dips, quick and subtle confirmation.

“Good girl.”

As your respective keepers separate you, JT shoots you a wink of his own. Then, you lose him in the crowd.

Kate leads you through the sea of party-goers to the living room, her grip on you tight and comforting. Her thumb rubs small circles on the inside of your wrist as you approach the table, almost as if privy to your worry. Kate is incredibly perceptive; she can read someone’s mind without even looking at them. With you, her Spidey senses transcend county lines, so it’s no real surprise she deduced your current condition from no more than your erratic pulse thumping against her palm. 

When you reach the bustling folding table commandeered for the BP tournament, Kate does all the talking.

It’s not too hard to get on the bracket despite the late entry with two newly-minted Alpha Chi brothers manning the post. The absolute last thing they want to do is get on the bad side of the president of their sister chapter (Kate) and the girlfriend of a legendary former chapter president (you). The pairs for the current game are only a couple of throws in, so it’s going to be at least ten minutes before it's your turn.

“You, my dear, look thirsty,” Kate declares through a mischievous grin.

You let her pull you towards the kitchen across the hall but have more difficulty than you expect actually getting there. Every few steps, someone stops either you or Kate. Mostly the latter, but she’s quick to show you off to whoever’s trying to seize her attention. Apparently, Kate’s been building quite the mythos of your time on campus, and it’s very… dizzying, to say the least.

“Kit-Kat!”

Kate abandons the poor freshman boy shooting his shot (and missing fantastically) in favor of the feminine voice sliding into the conversation.

In the blue-ish hue washing over the small space, you’re having a hard time placing her, but she seems very keen on making your acquaintance.

“Blake Meyers,” the newcomer announces, extending her hand with a smile.

You take it, giving her your name and a matching expression in return. The flattened vowels are distinct and recognizable, as is the last name. 

“Meyers?” you ask, attempting to work it out.

“Ava’s younger sister,” Kate interjects. “And one of our best steals this past recruitment.”

Blake blushes so brightly her freckles disappear.

You remember that feeling. What it was like to have an older member, especially someone as established and accomplished as an outgoing ZBZ president, go out of their way to make you feel special. You have zero doubt Blake will be walking on air for the foreseeable future, any of the common little doubts about whether or not she made the right choice vanishing.

“I was really hoping I’d get to meet you tonight,” the freshman tells you bashfully. “Kate gave the most beautiful speech about you and your legacy on Preference Night, and when she told me you might be coming with your boyfriend, I had to put a face to the name. And Jenny was the one who pref-ed me, so it seemed like—I don’t know, a non-negotiable?”

Jenny is one of the twins Kate took her junior year, and she couldn’t have picked better. It gave you peace of mind knowing your Kate would have good people around her once you couldn’t physically be there for her.

You won’t be surprised if Jenny takes Blake as her little. Kate pref-ed her, and before that, you pref-ed Kate. It’s basically a family tradition.

Not long after you thank Kate for her generous words and Blake for her kindness, Thomas, one of the new initiates in charge of the beer pong table, flags you down for your game. Not ready to end your conversation, invigorated by the breezy, jovial chatter your new life lacks, you tug Blake along with you.

Between exceptionally beautiful throws (if you do say so yourself), you learn more about Blake and her roommate and fellow ZBZ spring initiate, Emory. They pepper you with questions: about your first-year college experience, advice on getting the best room possible on the sophomore floor for mandatory live-in, whether or not you got anything particularly valuable in the various leadership positions you held, and what fraternities to steer clear of. You’re more than happy to answer them all. Kate sprinkles in comments and jokes occasionally, but she mostly defers to you so she can celebrate the end of a smooth second term as president.

Once Kate and you have successfully defended your title, you pass the torch to the future of your chapter. Blake and Emory make quick work of the first challengers and are close to a similar sweep with the second pair when your little remembers her earlier mission: refreshments.

This time, you both keep your heads ducked as you speed through the dancing bodies and make a beeline for the dinged-up lockers propped against the wall. You can’t help but smile when you see her reach for the lock—your old lock.

Every upperclassman (and a few select friends of the chapter, like Alpha Chi Sweethearts such as Kate and, once upon a time, yourself) is assigned a secure, personal locker in the oversized kitchen for quick access to personal items. During parties, they essentially become personal coolers. At your very last formal chapter meeting, you will-ed the hunk of metal down to Kate, along with the more sentimentally valuable items you wanted to leave behind with her.

“Wait, can you even drink?” Kate asks you from where she’s kneeling. Sarcasm scrunches her brows together.

“Hilarious,” you reply with a playful glare. “And before you loudly ask about the non-existent fetus like the devious bitch you love being, don’t. Unless you want to give JT an aneurysm."

Kate fishes out two slim, chilled cans as she grumbles about how boring you two have become in your “old age.” She shoves a ratty sweatshirt—an old favorite of Tyson’s—back into the small locker, quickly refastens the lock, and scrambles the dial. Then, she returns to her full height beside you.

“So, do you want to tell me what that wink from Gabe was about?” you ask, brow cocked.

“Do you want to tell me what your horndog of a boyfriend whispered in your ear?” Kate counters.

“Touché.”

Kate cracks open a Spindrift Spiked and slots it into your waiting palm. She taps the rim with her own, then sighs back against the cluttered kitchen island. She’s going to crack, you know it. Kate, even when she has a secret she wants to keep, never stays quiet for long. Especially not when you’re the one doing the asking.

“Okay, so, d’you remember how Tyson was, like, completely apathetic after we broke up right before Heaven & Hell last Halloween?”

You nod, recalling how irritated she was over FaceTime while you helped her pick a costume out of your box of hand-me-downs. You did your best not to laugh because Kate was clearly distressed, but it was kind of hard not to when she was buried in a heap of red and white feathers, wearing a too-small tutu dotted with rhinestones.

Kate takes a sip of the spiked strawberry lemonade before elaborating, “Well, I was understandably pissed—Don’t give me that look, okay? I know I broke up with him, but he shouldn’t have been that blasé that soon—so, I hatched a plan.”

You shake your head, laughing. Kate and her schemes.

“I wasn’t planning on taking Gabe as my date, but when I ran into him at Atomic the day before… I don’t know; I just couldn’t resist. I mean, Tyson worships the man. If anyone’s getting a reaction, it’s Landy. I had to.”

“And?” you prod. 

“And…” she stalls, eyes darting around the kitchen in search of pesky eavesdroppers, cheeks lit up like a Christmas tree. “…we might’ve done it in the backseat of his truck.”

“I’m scared to ask where.”

She buries her face in your shoulder. “The venue’s parking lot.”

Your eyes bulge so hard you, for a split-second, worry they’ll pop out of your head onto the sticky hardwood and land amongst the discarded cans.

“And I didn’t tell you because I was so scared you and JT would hate me,” Kate moans into your skin. She shifts to peer up at you, hesitant. “You don’t, right?”

“I don’t think I’m even capable of hating you, Katie-Kat, let alone for something as silly as banging a hot blonde,” you giggle, and she’s quick to join you. Lowering your voice, “Especially the hottest of hot blondes.”

“I’m so telling JT you said that,” she teases, pulling away.

You shrug and take your first sip. “Go ahead. He’ll agree.”

“And this is why you’re my favorite couple,” she says, bumping her hip against yours. “The worst part is Tyson didn’t even care about that either! At the post-game, when he saw my lipstick smeared all over Gabe’s neck, he high-fived him. Tyson fucking high-fived him for screwing me. His ex-girlfriend! How supremely demented is that?”

“I wish I had an explanation for you, but I don’t. I’m starting to think I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did.”

Kate takes hold of your unoccupied hand and squeezes it three times.

“I’m guessing things haven’t gotten any better?”

You shake your head, eyes downcast like there’s something super interesting between the floorboards. “I know he’s busy, and we’re busy, but he’s acting like our friendship meant nothing.”

“Not to start a therapy session in the middle of a rager, but did you... did you ever actually talk about That Night? I know you said JT whispered, but how positive are you that Josty didn't hear him?"

A few months after That Night, your guilt was on the brink of hemorrhaging. It was only a matter of time before the other shoe dropped; you broke down in the middle of Talladega Nights. Fucking Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby. All fat tears and snotty, incoherent spiraling, your chest heaved as JT rubbed your back. He was quiet, more concerned than confused, until you calmed down enough to explain what’d been weighing on your conscience. 

Then, your boyfriend looked clueless—because he was. JT didn’t remember his heat-of-the-moment pseudo-promise to taint Josty’s image of you.

After a scene or two, you broached the subject you’d both been avoiding since getting together. You wanted to apologize, and not that you needed JT’s permission, but you felt it wasn’t entirely your amends to make. He agreed but was adamantly opposed to operating on assumption alone. If Tyson was truly upset by the pillow talk he overheard, JT reasoned, he was old enough to be frank about it.

You found yourself agreeing, but also not? On the one hand, you could see this being an instance of your anxious mind making a mountain out of a molehill, finding fault where there’s none. But you knew Tyson, and you knew how sensitive he could be. 

Something shifted that night. You’d known then, too, even in the hazy afterglow. His despondency wasn’t subtle, and it wasn’t uncommon for his dejected expression—his forced smile dipped in feigned nonchalance—to visit you in therapy sessions or in your nightmares.

But every time you typed and re-typed one remorseful novel after another, every time your gun-shy thumb hovered over his contact, every time you nearly drove out to your alma mater to track him down… You couldn’t get yourself to see it through. 

At first, it was the nerves, the fear of hearing his pain and seeing his anger. Then, it was your own temper, stoked by indignation, that rose with every sign of withdrawal. Now, it’s just plain, garden-variety sadness.

It was—is disappointing how cleanly he severed ties. There one day and gone the next, no blow-out fight or melancholic hear-to-heart. Tyson was there; he was within reach, but at the same time, not at all. The casual dismissal is worse than outright rejection; the door ajar but wholly uninviting.

"In the moment, I was certain he didn’t. Now? Fuck, the percentage drops every time I replay it in my head,” you murmur, remorse bogging down your confession. "I know you made a point not to bring it up when you were together, but did he ever, I don’t know, say anything?"

Kate shakes her head. "No, sorry. But it's not like we actually did much talking anyway."

You snort despite your woes.

“Alright, that’s enough doom and gloom for one night. How’s my nephew?” Kate asks, bright smile chasing the blues away with all its might.

It’s a distraction and a good one, too. She listens intently as you prattle on about the bi-weekly training sessions you’re starting next month to help with the leash pulling and the ridiculous pet parents you’ve met at the dog park near your apartment. She inquires about the fluffy lamb she brought over the last time she stayed with you—it lasted all of a day in his over-excited grip—then gushes over another variation she saw last week while getting litter for Salem, her diabolical tuxedo cat.

By the time Kate has your phone in her hand, swiping through the designated album and asking more questions than each picture really warranted, you’re feeling a bit better.

Noticing the clock, you stumble through a totally-not-suspicious excuse to venture upstairs—alone. Kate shoots you a knowing look but doesn’t give you a hard time. To be honest, she’s just glad you came tonight. Instead of a witty jab or half-hearted guilt trip, she slips a gold foil square into your unsuspecting palm and sends you on your way with a supportive swat to the rear.

Access to the second floor during parties is typically mediated by two to three gatekeepers, depending on the scale and projected rowdiness of each gathering. Three’s the magic number tonight: two up-and-coming juniors and an outgoing senior. They grant you passage with little more than a nod of acknowledgment.

“What? No riddle this time?” you tease over your shoulder.

The senior, an engineering major with a penchant for brain teasers, answers with a hoot. Cale Makar shakes his head, both amused and flattered you remembered his signature move. His puppy crush on you is an open secret. “I was given strict instructions to ‘keep the shenanigans’ to a minimum with you, Your Majesty.”

“JT?” you venture a guess, hand paused on the paint-chipped banister. He’s the only one who still sprinkles in the silly nickname these days.

“Landy, actually.”

Well, close enough.

You shouldn’t be surprised. It wouldn’t be the first time the former chapter president enlisted Cale, his little, to assist in your and JT’s more salacious antics.

As soon as Gabe had the defenseman under his wing, he was putting him to work. Not that the younger blonde particularly minded, as his affinity for creative, slightly devious schemes rivaled that of Kate’s. It was Cale, you later found out, who ran interference during Semi Formal… while you were defiled on the balcony.

“Still doing his bidding, I see.”

He counters with that lopsided “Get Out of Jail Free” grin. “What can I say? The man puts up a mean bribe.”

As if cued, Cale’s companions, who you now recognize as Alex Newhook and Bowen Byram, step into view. In Alex’s raised grip is a case of Labatt Blue, and in each of Bowen’s, a bottle of bottom-shelf cabernet. You doubt the trio would notice or mind the subpar quality, though. Between their happy heads, Cale fists a bottle of champagne you know he’ll misplace before he can polish it off.

“Jesus, how drunk is he?” you tease, the follow-up to an exaggerated gasp.

Sure, the quality’s shit, but their haul is far more valuable than your appraisal of their job; it’s a frat house, not Buckingham Palace.

“Not drunk enough to not see you here with us.” Cale’s voice tapers off, his pale eyes tracking someone stalking down the hall before nervously flicking up to the ceiling, “…and not up there with JTC.”

JTC — Talk about a blast from the past.

An anticipatory tingling erupts between your inner thighs just knowing he’s up there right now waiting for you. This is the part of your “homecoming” that excited you most and had been since the moment your boyfriend pinned the invite from the alumni association onto the fridge.

As blissfully domestic as your life together has become, it lacks the spontaneity your college life had been brimming with. Your sex life could never be categorized as mundane or clinical, but you’re finding it difficult to replicate the adrenaline rush stealing secret moments inherently provided.

Sometimes, in your more (admittedly) desperate moments, you’ve caught your fingers moving beneath the sheets to mindlessly chase the thrill of those fleeting intimacies, despite how awful the constant wondering and wallowing felt then or, maybe because of it, pain and pleasure are uniquely human indulgences sought in equal measure. When intertwined, they’ve been known to satiate masochistic cravings the way a sad movie or a sprawling, high-speed rollercoaster might.

However, this time, your risk-spurned euphoria will be at your own hand. The newfound agency—the ability to choose when, how, or if any risk is involved—has you darting up the stairs with a fire under your soles.

Before you round the corner and disappear down the hall, you make sure to call out, “Thank you for your service!” accompanied by a two-finger mock salute. You don’t stick around to catch their responses, though.

As you make your way down the dim corridor, you run smack into a very giggly Sarah Jones, just shy of your destination. Eyes distant and wide, she attempts to apologize for something—Something about sabotaging the Big-Little pairings your senior spring?—but it’s more bubbles than actual words. You nod along, still not quite sure what you’re accepting an apology for but too antsy to forge ahead to play detective. Your purposeful strides went unnoticed in her cloud of intoxication and nostalgia, but Erik Johnson, who’d been JT’s vice president, mercifully ushers his inebriated fiancé out of your path by the shoulders.

You offer him a faint smile of gratitude as they head in the opposite direction.

Over the music, you faintly hear Sarah begin chattering on about something unrelated, your reunion long forgotten already. You can’t help but chuckle a little on behalf of your younger self, who would’ve gawked at snobbish Sarah Jones drunk and voluntarily slumming it in a ramshackle house on Greek Row. And sporting a rock from a Degenerate on Ice (her nickname for your brother fraternity, not yours), too? That would’ve been the icing. But, the older, more mature, once-weekly-therapy iteration of yourself is happy she’s happy.

Thoroughly amused but happy nevertheless.

As you reach for the tarnished doorknob of the president’s suite, the rickety door flings open to reveal your boyfriend, all flushed cheeks and frenzied eyes.

JT pulls you inside, lips easily taking possession of yours, the heel of his lived-in/loved-on sneaker nudging the door shut. The hinges groan in protest to the rough treatment. Still fussy as ever. This house is a goddamn time capsule, you muse. Neither of you has the patience for benevolence. If it jams, it jams. That’s a future-self problem. Diligence now would only slow you down.

And would a prolonged stay on memory lane really be all that bad?

Your boyfriend cages you so close that when he manages more than panted praise between hot-and-heavy touches, the words barely fit in the gap between your mouths. “I was beginning to think you stood me up, sweetheart.”

The light-hearted accusation is semi-whispered, somewhat hoarse, in the way his voice always sounded when he came home from a long shift at the hospital downtown or post-game at the height of his collegiate career. JT isn’t a hard person to read—downright wolfish when he’s homing in on a target—but the low, raspy tone makes his intent glaring.

Your body thrums with anticipation.

“Never,” you croon back. A breathy moan sweetens your voice, courtesy of the calloused hand inching up the back of your bare thigh, bypassing the hem of your skirt with no effort or resistance. Arms looping around his neck, you make an inquiry: “Is there a reason we’re in your old bedroom instead of, I don’t know, the king-sized bed in the honeymoon suite you insisted we spring for?”

Tufts of faint copper tickle your cheek. Your boyfriend lands a kiss on your crowd-warmed forearm. Then, much to your displeasure, he steps out of the tight embrace.

“Y’know, I remembered something earlier when I was downstairs,” JT supplies in an apparent non-answer.

He guides you, as understanding rises in your mental periphery, through the barely-lit space toward the Jack-and-Jill bathroom between this room and the next. Then, he flicks on the secondary light, the dimmer of the two, before tugging you over yet another threshold. His fingers twitch at his sides, lascivious.

You stare back at him expectantly, vision tunneling as you wait, wait, wait.

The latch might as well have been a starting pistol; the subtle click ringing in your eardrums like the sonic crack of a live round; his breath a plume of smoke from a charged muzzle well beyond its flash point. Pent-up, needy tension burns hot and burns brighter. Residue from the night prior aflame; you, a moth seduced.

JT drives forward. Stalking, like a cat on a bird, until he’s pinned you to the door. His dash was easy, made short and hasty by the starting block eagerness in your dilated eyes.

Mouth descending on your sensitive neck, hips grinding his want into your squirming form, harsh belt buckle nudging just right with each sharp rut.

“There’s still one thing left on my college bucket list.”

He sinks the candor in with his incisors. Not hard enough to break the skin, but that was never his intention. The sting is a reminder. Of your shared past, of his unwavering desire—of who is in charge.

Message received. Loud and clear.

JT leans away to admire his handiwork. One big hand poised at your jaw, and the other braced beside your head, keeping your shyness from blocking the perfect view; you’ve never been able to hide from him and never will.

His curious thumb deviates from the original objective to caress the skin, now splotched violet and angry. Softly, at first, like he’s committing the damage to memory. Then, emboldened by a sudden piercing hiss forcing itself from your throat, JT pushes down on the tender spot. The cruel, unexpected pressure pulls pitiful bleating cries from your undulating chest.

This is no longer an expedition to gather intel; it’s a primal instinct.

For a few moments, he just holds you like this. A cloistered existence made worthwhile by him occasionally digging deeper into the column of your throat, the pressure taking on a raptorial quality. Your boyfriend wears his herald grin at a rakish angle. It unfurls with refined delicacy, an effective diversion for his next endeavor. Breathe like a precision instrument; the sharp phantom-edge fans across the sucked-raw skin with unhurried ease.

There isn’t enough alcohol in your system to dull the twinge — and you’re glad for it. It’d be a crime to dilute a burn this good, this all-consuming. You crumble between him and the door, your world only this big. His name tumbles out with a pulled-candy moan, completely devoid of dignity.

JT’s chest rumbles beneath your clammy palms. “You gonna be a good girl and help me tie up loose ends?”

His strawberry-blonde crown dips to nuzzle your cheek. Hot tongue tracing an experimental line, JT groaning as it does. The muscle trawls for tears you didn’t realize you shed, humming through the pursuit. The low-pitched moan sends a chill straight down your spine right to your toes.

The hand gripping your jaw lowers so his fingers are able to coil themselves around somewhere more advantageous — your neck. Your eyelids flutter, woozy. His firm squeeze, just enough to make everything spin and keep you still, has become blissfully familiar over time, but your breath still hitches like it’s the first.

“Hm, sweetheart? Don’t be rude. I asked you a question.”

Your lips part, a barbed retort to his condescension on your tongue, but all you can push out is the strangled yelp of a wounded animal.

The hand by your temple no longer rests against the door. In the fog, it snuck up under your skirt; JT never meant to get an answer out of you; he just likes to watch you squirm. Likes to have something to reprimand you for.

His nimble fingers dance over the thin, sodden material pulled taut over your heat. Less touching, more hovering. Small, lazy movements that betray how well he can play your body. They float above the tingling bundle of nerves, further movement pending, contingent upon your obedience.

“P-please,” comes your pouted whimper.

“Focus for me, pretty baby. Tell me what I want to hear. Come on, let me make things easy for you. I can feel how badly you want to — and you aren’t in a position to be difficult, are you?”

You give in, and though the words you babble are largely unintelligible, JT’s ultimately satisfied.

“Such a good listener I’ve got myself. But you’re always to eager to please, aren’t you? You might throw stones from behind that tough girl act, but it’s just that: an act. I have a puddle in my hand to prove it.”

His frankness sears your face.

You’ve acquired a tolerance for his raunchy silver tongue through months of close proximity, but the mechanism is shoddy at best. Stalls and misfires galore. Against all odds (said “odds” being his fingertips toying with the edges of fabric between your thighs), you summon up a tawdry retort from the growing arsenal. “Don’t l-let it go to waste, Compher.”

It's not your best work, but much better than the slurred gurgle that preceded it.

He loves how you manage to be any sort of cheeky with him, even with your head swimming, stuttering and all.

“I don’t think it matters, sweetheart. I know there’s no shortage. Plenty more where it came from.”

With your knee, you nudge his hard-on and supply some honey-tongued snark of your own. “Is that your ego, or are you just excited to see me?”

Your boyfriend chokes out short-lived mirth. Then, with an accompanying smile, his tongue presses to the inside of his cheek. Amused, but by the sting of the remark’s undeniable truth, not your cleverness. The protrusion moves just below his bottom lip as he swipes the muscle over his teeth, a half-second sardonic gesture. It calls attention to your impudence without dignifying it with a verbal reply.

His brow lifts to negate any confusion, feigned or otherwise. “Are you going to keep being a brat, or are you going to let me fuck you with my fingers?”

You gulp down your ready-mixed wisecracks.

“Nothing to say now?” JT taunts. “Funny how that works.”

Fuckin’ wisenheimer. His voice is so haughty you have to bite your lip to keep your foot out of your mouth, unwilling to jeopardize your impending pleasure for short-term gratification.

Your boyfriend’s smugness—and your subsequent annoyance—becomes irrelevant when your panties are roughly pushed to the side, and his thick finger slips past your taut entrance. Tip to knuckle in one succinct trust; your startled gasp drowns out the noise rising up through the floorboards.

Hips bucking forward—you just can’t help yourself—you're in search of some friction to marry with the blinding stretch. He’s made the tensile opening accommodate far more in length and thickness, but not like this. Rarely does he create space where there is barely any, having forgone tenderness. Slowly widening a gap with gentle pressure, not demanding room like it’s already his to occupy.

Your surprise drips down his hand.

The bliss—the relief, is palpable. Your head dips into the crook of his neck, and the gravity of the situation felt for the first time.

Before, you didn’t see any substance in a tipsy frat bathroom hook-up. The older you got, the more pointless it seemed, especially with an established, long-term partner. The novelty wasn’t lost on you, of course, but that’s all you’d written it off as.

Countless collegiate nights were spent imagining one like this one. A moment where your inescapable feelings for him would be matched outright. When the pressure of his stifled emotions would build too fast to keep them from boiling over, too mighty in stature. Suddenly overcome by unrequited feelings of his own, unable to uphold all the ridiculous unspoken platonic conventions with the same authority he commands now.

This is important. For your past and present selves. The significance of this overdone, soapy teen drama scenario cannot be overlooked because it underscores the progress you’ve made together. Years of dancing around one another, the unconventional catalyst and nontraditional timeline, every hushed conversation in the wee hours before responsibilities wake, the sleepless nights and the snooze-filled afternoons—this ostensibly clichéd moment is an amalgamation of it all.

One thought rises above the frenzied rest: Was this here all along?

Is this what was waiting on the other side of the aimless pining and the confusion and the hurt?

The journey might’ve been fucking hell, but the view from here is pretty damn heavenly.

Overwhelmed by your epiphany and his dexterous motions, you moan into his skin far louder than your pride would’ve otherwise allowed outside your shared apartment.

His arrogant laughter grates before it really registers. Venom secretes from your salivary glands when it does, but the melted retribution never makes it past your lips. His second finger robs it of the opportunity, and the third sends all thoughts out your ears. The light circles over your clit cloud your vision, nails digging into his jersey-clad back—I’m feeling nostalgic, he’d said. In more ways than one, apparently.

“S’good—wanted this for so long, Compher—k-kept wishing it was you that night, not Miles.”

JT seethes at the admission, curling his fingers until your knees buckle and you’re entirely reliant on him to keep you off the floor. Even as your mind slips further and further away, your hips manage to move in time with his hand. Meeting each stroke with equal hustle and vigor, a clear end goal on the horizon.

Then his thumb drops away, his hand coming to a halt, and he steps back. 

Away.

Frustration pushes the amassed tears waiting in the wings down your cheeks. Emotion runs down your face; a heavy spill indeed.

“I don’t ever want to hear another man’s name outta your mouth when it’s my fingers buried in your pussy.” His jealousy is well-polished. Manicure-smooth, like he’s been maintaining its luster in preparation for this very occasion. "—'specially not the motherfucker that made sure I heard all your pretty sounds through the walls.”

You’d grin if you weren’t so miserable.

That’d been your intention. It wasn’t anything Miles had or did that made him different from the rest of the chapter (who all, at one point or another, tried their luck with JTC’s hot best friend), just simply when he decided to shoot his shot. The only reason you’d been out in the first place was because you reached your breaking point, no longer able to stomach what you felt for JT, and you made sure Miles knew this before you let him call an Uber.

Despite playing for the same team, the pair shared a touch-and-go rivalry. You never knew if the intensity would result in a sweeping victory or an in-house, all-out brawl. If they ever saw eye to eye, you’d of never known. Miles needed no convincing to push JT’s buttons.

There was some heavy petting, nothing more. The only time Miles saw you undress was to change into the pajamas he lent you before knocking out on his futon, leaving you to take the bed. But JT didn’t know that. If sitting in their chapter house’s kitchen at 5 o’clock the next morning didn’t raise suspicion, the non-Compher borrowed t-shirt and ruffled hair certainly did.

Back then, he refused to ask. Even though you could see how badly he wanted to pry. Miles didn’t have anything he worth sharing, so JT was left to fill in the blanks.

You’d tell him the truth later, but right now, you wanted to see what milking his assumptions could get you.

“Did you like what you heard?”

His jaw ticks. Your hips push against his with a knowing simper.

You lean forward, closing the space he forced, lips barely brushing his ear, “Did you get off on it? Fuck your hand picturing yourself in his place… wishing it was my pussy instead?”

You hear the thud before you feel your head against the door or his hand back around your throat, his fingers deep between your walls again. The everywhere-throb makes you laugh. Giggle, really.

He squeezes until you’re no longer capable of mockery. His pace hastens, leveling out only once your thighs have started shaking around his wrist, knees cutting off his circulation elbow-down. Somehow, he keeps going despite the icy tingle. His determination overrides physical discomfort, knowing how close you’re getting. Feeling it in the distinct fluttering around his digits, seeing it in your trembling, swollen bottom lip.

“You’re so full of shit.” His mouth twitches at your throaty moan. A defiant hint of levity circles his pupils; he never stays riled up for long when it’s you yanking his chain. “You’re lucky I love you.”

You kiss him then, messy and crude, love-drunk. He tastes like your chapstick and gin, with a biting citric aftertaste —Grapefruit, maybe?—and you suck it in like you haven’t had a drop of water in days. And, in turn, he drinks down every choked sob and nonsensical half-thought you babble, every drop shooting straight to his loins.

He drives into you with fervor, humming as his tongue slips against yours, iron bulge omnipresent. The hand around your neck loosens but never leaves its post, thumb stroking your pulse point. I know everything about you, his movements whisper. Over and over, in and out. He, just as much as you, gets lost in the repetition.

“Don’t want him, never wanted him. Jus’ you—Always you.” It comes out slurred, mushy like your head, like your heart.

JT’s cock isn’t immune to affirmation and twitches through his too-tight jeans. Groaning, “Go on, sweetheart. Scream my name. I want every single person in this house to know exactly who’s fucking you this good.”

You do just that, writhing on his hand, eventually burying your face into his warm neck when it gets to be too much. He continues fucking you, and you continue crying for him, the pathetic little whimpers muffled now by his body.

JT guides you through the rest of your orgasm, as he always does. He watches your face carefully on the comedown, searching for any sign of regret or discomfort. When he finds none, he cradles your shaking form against his solid chest, the hand that, only moments ago, tore you apart, soothing you back down to earth. Once you’ve settled, he walks you back and away from the door.

A startled yelp falls from your lips when you feel the chilly edge of the countertop. You pull away from your boyfriend, brows furrowing with confusion.

His hand taps the outside of your thigh. "Up."

You’re having a hard time keeping your eyes open, let alone stringing thoughts together, so the command is met with inaction. Impatient as ever, JT wordlessly hoists you where he wants you and sinks down to his knees, big hands cupping yours.

“What’re you doing?” Strained, barely above a whisper.

He stares up at you with dopey, lovestruck eyes. “Come on, Compher. You can gimmie another one, can’t you?”

You aren’t an idiot. Often sleep deprived beyond belief and, more often than not, fucked-out on JT’s… Well, anything—but definitely not an idiot. You knew exactly what that loaded gun of a pet name implied the moment he used it. It first slipped out during a frantic supply closet rendezvous midway through your company’s holiday party, then a few more times in the months after.

It hasn’t lost its sparkle. It does make you more and more impatient each time he flashes it, though.

Fuckin’ tease.

Your fingers burrow in his hair, tugging from the root until his eyelids flutter prettily. “As long as you let me return the favor after—need to taste you so bad.”

“Deal,” he mumbles into your skin a half-second later.

His hands push your already-short skirt up, bunching it atop your hips and out of the way. Your boyfriend takes the time to remove the fabric barrier this time, and you don’t miss the way he tries to slip them into his back pocket without you noticing. Likely because it’d normally be a tease-able offense.

But not tonight, not right now.

Instead, you let a shiver speak for itself. The risqué gesture reminds you of the pair he used as a pocket square when his parents took you two to a celebratory dinner following his white coat ceremony. The rumble of his chuckle tells you his mind went there, too.

JT leans in, big eyes never moving from yours, his warm exhale fanning over your swollen folds. The tooth-marked bruise forming on the side of your throat pricks in tandem response. The action, a repeat of your boyfriend’s earlier antics, naturally yields similar enough results. He catches on, inching forward to—

Something bangs against the door.

His face falls; your heart seizes.

“Occupied!” your boyfriend barks, hands paused but gripping you tightly. He looks like he’s on the verge of exploding.

A full, lilting sound barrels into the door—too-good-to-be-true laughter. His breathy timbre is an unsteady balance of cocksure and skittish; a preference for one side or the other is blurred by the wood in its way. “It’s me, dickhead.”

Then, the curtain is lifted. A pocket of silence ushers in a stillness that cracks like a bolt from the blue.

Shocked doesn’t even begin to cover how you feel right now. You most definitely suffered a concussion somewhere in all JT’s reprimanding; you’re hallucinating right now. That, or the singular seltzer in your system magically turned psychotropic after consumption.

Waiting in the threshold is Tyson Jost. A quarter-drunk fifth of Jack in one hand and that goofy, irrepressible smile plastered on his face. Almost frozen in time—good-humored, untouched. As if nothing’s happened, nothing’s changed. Suave, and standing there like he hasn’t ignored you for months on end, like your and JT’s absence in his life wasn’t felt the way the Tyson-sized void in yours was.

Idle and morose, his eyes are the only defectors to his blasé demeanor. Timid and downturned, akin to a kicked puppy, they beg you and your boyfriend to assuage his guilt. An olive branch, a white flag in the wind. Amid their vulnerability, they still manage to cut into you in a way that feels too intimate, too honest—too much.

The worst part of this charged maelstrom is knowing Tyson isn’t capable of being cruel on purpose, then or now. It's bittersweet.

Careless or callous, it hurts all the same. It’s difficult to sift through the muck and decide which feelings should guide your actions when there’s no easy place to lay blame.

A gnarly, muddy morass of emotion climbs out of your gut and fills your throat, threatening to make an appearance each time you dare to exhale. You’re nervous and confused, elated and optimistic, angry and reproachful. The burn of betrayal rushes up your neck and across the bridge of your nose, but all the words you’ve stockpiled for this rainy day stick to your tongue like tar. Dark, thick, and flammable—your silence is probably for the best.

Bronze eyes, somber beneath the fan of flaxen lashes, adopt a strange aloofness that doesn’t suit his face. Lacquered just so as to protect the gooey softness beneath, the finish does nothing to obstruct or disguise his desirous longing or a brand of blues you’ve never seen in him before.

The intensity of your braided gazes is sanguine at best, duplicitous at worst, but disorienting all the same.

Anxiously, you chew on time; you’re trying your best not to swallow minutes and hours in big gulps. Your attempts to savor their confounding guilty-pleasure flavor are as futile as hoping the animosity would dissipate on its own. Or wishing the distance was just a nightmare you were on the verge of waking up from.

JT’s pulse races against your skin. He’s just as affected, just better at hiding it.

“Took you long enough,” is what JT says in greeting from the floor, dry words flung over his shoulder to curb the growing tension. Blithesome and biting and far more hospitable than you imagined.

All you can do is blink, slack-jawed; there are pieces you’re missing.

JT chuckles at your expression. He pecks your inner thigh to regain your attention. “Fuck now, talk later. Sound good?”

His words crack any and all inhibitions. Like opening the door to a cage, his reassurance grants your mind and heart the permission to succumb to the wave of emotions—lust overtaking the pack with ease.

Eyes still stuck on the ghost in the doorway, you nod your head in agreement. It’s as if you’re afraid your voice might rupture the bubble.

“Figured you’d be a little parched, baby.” Tyson, voice becoming jocular as ever, wags the bottle as he shuts the door behind himself. His tone might be light-hearted, but his gaze is anything but. Starved is the only way you can think to aptly describe the shadow. “And we can’t have that, now can we?”

You barely register JT vacating the prime real estate to accommodate his best friend, and subconsciously, you scoot closer to the edge. You knew you missed him, but you underestimated how needy you’d become if he ever stood before you again.

Both men notice.

Grinning, Tyson takes hold of your jaw. His hand emits a small tremor of unease, hesitant where JT had been demanding. The accidental brush of his fingertips over your boyfriend’s trailed claim rattles free a melancholic whimper. Your eyes glaze over, watering as your neck cranes up at him. He gently tilts your face to the side to assess the damage. You can feel his eyes raking over the marred skin, a sensation akin to your boyfriend’s weaponized breath. Goosebumps rise in their wake.

In reference to the Neanderthal surveying you over his shoulder, Tyson sniggers. “Filthy bastard.”

Charming as ever.

“She deserved it.” JT’s nonchalant shrug is more dismissive than his verbal nod.

Wicked eyes twinkle. “Oh, I don’t doubt that.”

You pinch his side, offended. Nevertheless, you purr at the certitude dripping from his husky vibrato.

He yelps and bats your hand away. “Got you good, didn’t he?”

You nod.

The baby talk-adjacent voice is demeaning, but with your only shield burning a hole in your boyfriend’s back pocket, lying about the effect it's having would be pointless.

Propriety is becoming increasingly moot, as this conversation circling around you carves space for new possibilities.

“Poor thing,” Josty hums, his thumb coasting back and forth over your jaw. His breath is smokey-sweet, honeyed. “M'gonna make it all better. Open up, baby.”

It’s something straight out of an early aughts raunchy teen comedy, the way he holds your mouth open to pour whiskey straight down, doing so without the lip ever touching either one of yours. The thin stream drags slightly as it goes down, but you’d never know watching the pillowy spirit disappear into you. You’re too eager to impress them both to give in and react—to the burn in your throat or the circumstances of this affair. You guzzle the oaky vanilla-clove flavor, smiling dumbly at the toasted aftertaste, all too happy to take anything and everything you’re given.

Still, either by virtue of Tyson’s lingering tipsiness or your inattention, some of the amber liquid escapes over your bottom lip, dribbling over your chin and down in between your cleavage. There isn’t enough time to consider wiping it off; Josty’s mouth is sucking you clean before the bottle even hits the counter beside you.

“Would be a shame…” Tyson starts, briefly interrupting himself with a succession of wet, open-mouthed pecks he’s decided to spoil your décolletage with, “…to let it go to waste.”

JT’s begrudged scoff cuts through the trance. “Jesus, kid. Where’d you learn that? What the fuck have you been doing? Or should I be asking ‘who' you've been doing?"

Tyson flinches at the coarse overtone the questions carry. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it sort of reaction only you’re close enough to feel. He just laughs into your neck rather than humoring JT or feeding into whatever he’s implying.

You’re too woozy to toss in your two cents in favor of either side.

Cold countertop lapping up your wetness, the burning palm cupping your face to aid the pursuit of sugary lips, the memory of his tongue gliding over your sticky skin—your boyfriend a few paces away, watching. That’s more potent than any liquor, mixed or straight. It doesn’t take long for you to pull away, in a there-but-not state of mind, to slouch against Tyson’s chest. Head heavy, warmed and spinning.

Happy.

“Somethin’ special, aren’t you?” Tyson muses as he kneads the tender spot where your hairline meets your neck. You peck his forearm.

“As sweet as this reunion’s been, you came up here for a reason. Get to it; we don’t have all night. I imagine La Tornade will be wanting his bathroom back eventually.”

You whimper at the sharp edge of his voice, even though you weren’t the intended target.

JT’s dark drawl was laden with protective affection for you, his devotion hardened by a hue of discontent reminiscent of a paternal chide. An outsider looking in might not see beyond the mediator-in-shining-armor ruse, mistakenly pruning away JT’s thorny pain and rotted grief, but you know better. The situation and him. While genuine, his defense of your bruised feelings is a trojan horse for his own. He’s conveying his rage how he can: under the guise of selflessness.

Tyson gulps, eyes downcasted, then nods. He understands as well as you do. When he finally looks up, the shadow’s fallen over his face once more, cloud drooped low overhead.

“You’re scaring me, Josty.”

This makes him laugh, his mood brightening a tad. “If anyone should be scared, it’s me.”

In your periphery, you catch JT urging him to continue with a stiff glare.

“I-I’ve been such an ass. I—I just care so damn much. About you. About Compher, and our friendship. When you graduated, m-my whole world changed. Like someone gutted my life, scooped out all the good, comfortable stuff and left me with the shell. I felt like I lost my people. Like I was left behind. And then I had to watch you two get closer than ever—without me. It fucking sucked, and I didn’t cope well. Didn’t cope at all, really. Kate’ll tell you, she took the brunt of my tailspin.”

You can’t help but snort despite the thick emotion welling up behind your eyes. The boys smile, too. Things look up.

Tyson takes your hand in a tight squeeze; his pulse jumps into your palm. “But that’s no excuse for what I did—didn’t do. How I treated you. You were trying so hard, and all I did was punish you for it. For constantly reminding me you guys are there and not here. For moving on with your life like you’re supposed to.”

He claims JT’s old spot knelt between your parted knees. “And I’m sorry. So deeply sorry, baby. Please let me make it up to you—let me apologize properly.”

Tears of his own shine up at you from his flushed cheeks. Gently, you take his face in your hands, rubbing away the spilled emotion with the soft pads of your thumbs.

A silent pardon.

The walls throw back the echo of his low, audible content—of relief.

“Is this okay?” His voice is barely a whisper, dwindling to a hush as the question tapers off.

Too determined to quiet his audible fear of rejection—and to have his mouth on you as fast as humanly possible—to bother with words, you nod immediately.

“With how much she’s been dripping onto the counter since you walked in, what do you think?” JT interjects, mood vastly improved.

Your cheeks and neck heat just as he intended.

The younger forward chuckles, hands massaging up and down your sensitive thighs, gripping them as if holding himself back from lunging too soon.

A predator lurking in the brush, lying in wait.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything. Didn’t want to embarrass her.” He winks up at you, confidence rising to the surface once more. You have to fight to maintain eye contact; he’s that stupidly attractive. “ —was try t’be a gentleman.”

You’re a flurry of butterflies, a whimpering mess.

Tyson wants to tease your body; it’s in his nature. But he won’t. Namely, because he can’t. No matter how good some old-fashioned edging would eventually make you feel, he’s already on JT’s shit list as is.

Besides, he’s only been fiending for a taste since you introduced yourself to him. And there's no time like the present...

Your guttural scream—an appropriate, albeit mortifying reaction to his baby pink lips enveloping your swollen clit—pumps his chest full with pride. Tongue flat, he charts the length of your heat with a gentleness you hadn’t thought your collective excitement would allow for. His hands coast over your legs, syncing with his mouth, until he physically cannot wait any longer. One final pass, one so agonizingly slow your greedy hips thoughtlessly vie for more of anything, brings his wistful, fidgeting digits to rest at the apex of your thighs.

“Pause.”

JT’s clipped command is a bucket of ice water.

Your vocal annoyance is matched by Tyson’s, but you both know how delicate a game you’re playing.

With his thumb still lazily swirling to your clit, Tyson’s inquisitive head begins to turn around. Before he gets anywhere worthwhile, it’s swiftly spun back into place by your boyfriend’s firm hand.

You can’t even convey how hot you find JT’s fingers casually twisting in his friend’s curly mop—just the way you love; all you manage is a warbled, mostly airy cry. Your distressed state worsens watching the show unfold between your lax, parted knees: reluctant, fluttery lashes over neon cheeks; a rosy, glistening bottom lip sacrificed to cage mousy whimpers, his ragged breathing betraying all effort toward feigning indifference to JT’s self-assured manhandling.

Your boyfriend snickers at your expression, a fish lingering open-mouthed for a surface sip, an ill-attempt to supplement a natural mode gone inadequate. No matter how much oxygen your widened jaw draws in, it never feels sufficient. A bottomless pit, a balloon with a fatal puncture wound. Gone before your depleted brain could make use of it.

“Have to make sure he does it right, don’t I, sweetheart?” JT’s voice is smooth and low, charring by the second; he’s enjoying the view as much as you are.

Tyson rolls his tawny eyes. Half-hearted annoyance. “Controlling much?”

“I know what my woman needs.”

The look you share with your friend is unequivocally feral.

And the growl JT hurls back, a low-pitched rumble permeating the tight space with little effort on his part, is just plain mean.

His attitude could not be more arrogant. The cavalier persona makes you shiver, and Tyson’s breath hitch. Humming, your boyfriend tugs on his curls until the two’s eyes are locked. Inescapable. The brunette gasps as he tries desperately to hold his eyes open, waiting with bated breath.

JT licks his lips, triumphant. “Open her up for me, will ya?” Mischief catches in the light as quickly as it falls into your boyfriend’s lap. His grip tightens, and Tyson whimpers like a naughty puppy caught red-handed. “Don’t screw around, ‘kay? She needs all the help her tight pussy can get, and we don’t have all night.”

Panting, his nod is the only affirmative he can muster up. And the only one his limited range of motion will allow for. Smug and pleased enough, JT all but throws his friend into your fire, his nose bumping where you’re most sensitive. 

You actually yelp.

Holding your torrid gaze, Tyson dips his marriage and middle into you. You groan out what you meant to be his name—But who knows? And who fucking cares?—unable to control yourself while he’s finally touching you like this. Finally back.

Tyson finger-fucks you at an even pace, steadily pushing you up the hill. His satisfaction is tangible when he pulls out and away, so very delighted by your wonton hiss of annoyance. Even more so when the volume hikes up in response to the slippery pads of his fingers circling your clit. Your lewd whines harmonize with your audible arousal as he works it back into your fragile skin, playing with your wetness, utterly fascinated.

“What d’ya think, baby? Think you’re wet enough to take another finger?” JT’s tone is as cocky as his stupid rhetorical question. He, however, made no move to conceal his growing impatience.

“Mhmm,” you murmur, head like a rubber ball hitting the pavement. Still, you remember your manners. “Please—c-can I? Can I have another?”

His smile is pure adoration, dreamlike.

JT’s reverent eyes stay with you, but his words pour down over the eager man on the floor as he coaxes you halfway to heaven. “You heard her, kid. Give the lady what she deserves.”

Kid—Tyson hates when people call him that, but he especially loathes JT's usage. There’s barely an age difference, but with the way everyone acts, it might as well be decades. It seems like no matter what he does to prove himself, he’s still the baby. Every additional candle is like an annual slap in the face, a mockery that won’t end.

He can feel anger and frustration curdling low in his stomach just thinking about all the attempts that fell flat, and he decides to put the grumbling to good use. The vibration is red-hot and deliberate against your responsive, slick center, irritation like lighter fluid.

He gives you more than just three fingers. He splays all three—wide. Even as they stroke your soft inner walls, Tyson keeps you stretched so as to leave no slack. Your boyfriend wants you open? Tyson will fucking tear you apart, happily. (Yes, spite is a factor.)

Highly sensitive and spread to the limit, you ascend far quicker than usual. Fisting a bushel of golden-brown curls, nails digging rapt half-moons, you guide his willing face to the necessary places to see yourself through. Every slight adjustment has your entire body jerking haphazardly as it struggles to process the rocketing shockwaves.

JT’s hand retreats—only slightly—to make way for yours, to give you more leverage to fuck yourself through it. Less than a foot away, your boyfriend’s chest heaves in time with yours, his eyes pits of lust you dive into with clumsy enthusiasm.

During one particular, delicious pass, the tip of Tyson’s tongue catches your strained entrance, and when you unexpectedly gush against his mouth in response, he begins lapping over and around your carnal connection.

“Holy shit — Ty, I-I’m — I’m — “

The denouement of your climax is nothing short of glorious, as rude of a sentence interruptor as it was. Half-mewls and purred praise rain down from your loosened lips, eyes screwed shut.

Tyson melts over the way you take control of your orgasm, so unabashed and authoritative. You go after what you want; he respects that majorly. And getting to feel and taste what makes you tick doesn’t hurt either.

Neither do you and your pretty, throbbing walls cutting off blood flow while your boyfriend tugs his hair from behind.

“Just like that, keep fucking her through it. Did so good—doin’ so good for us.”

JT’s praise sends the brunette’s unoccupied hand right to his bulge.

This is the best he’s felt in months.

There’s the mythical balance of bliss-to-tension to key up his senses, shooting white-hot tingles of want from his head to his feet and flaming between his ribs, affection for you. You forgive him, JT forgives him, and, most importantly, he forgives himself.

He feels buoyant with his face coated in your climax, so much so that it runs down from his chin to his neck, staining the collar of his beer-soaked tee; he hopes you might return his favor later.

Josty’s guilty hand is knocked away by a firm toe.

“Y’haven’t earned it, bud,” his mentor chides.

The delinquent appendage flops lamely at his side for a split second, then lifts beside his nose to join its partner at your slick core. As if remembering there’s work to be done, a goal to attain. Beneath this new asset, your achy, spent clit pulses, egging him on with every thump, thump, thump.

Tempting him to do something, to take it further…

He thinks about it. Fuck, does he think about it—you can see the tape winding in his eyes.

JT can read Tyson’s mind through his skull, apparently. “Don’t even think about it, kid. Her last one’s mine, but you’re more than welcome to watch from right here.” —Your boyfriend points to the remaining space between the sinks, knowing it’ll be close quarters for you both— “Just remember: I only said watch. This is groveling, not a treat.”

And Tyson does. Without question or complaint, he’s just fine sitting next to you, sitting pretty.

He’s always been the perfect teammate. Always willing to do whatever it takes, regardless of the role. The only difference is he no longer wants his anxiety to be the sole motivator behind said selflessness.

Finally ready to play fearless.

JT helps you down; Tyson hops up.

Immediately, your attention fractures. Split between messy brown curls and lust-blown pupils and your own disheveled appearance: smudged makeup, knotted hair, mauled neck, and spit-stained, bruised lips. Thank fuck you’re graduated and gone. Otherwise, you’d never live this down—Kate might treat you to a taste of would-be campus humiliation later if she’s feeling particularly charitable, though.

Your boyfriend’s grip is heavy on your hips. Happy to have you back. You feel one hand coast over your lower back and down to grope your ass as if trying to keep you in the palm of his hand. White-knuckle hold withstanding, JT presses his chest flush to your backside and uses his free hand to yank every remaining hindrance to your navel.

He wants you on display.

Your gasp is rivaled only by Tyson’s pitiful whimper and twitching, touch-happy fingers.

The ginger’s chuckle is molten and deep, mouth barely a breath from your ear, his eyes pinning Tyson still.

Your mind rewound back to when he made this proposition, wondering how the hell you got from there to here.

“Bend over, sweetheart. Arch that back nice and pretty so we can show Josty what a good girl he’s been missing out on—what a filthy thing you’ve turned into.”

As soon as you’ve done just that, your boyfriend drives home. It’s fast and dirty; primal. He knows there’s no need, but JT marks his territory anyway.

You watch Josty’s mouth part like he’s about to ask you something. Staring through his eyes as if ducking into his pesky daydreams and up-too-late musings, all specifics watery and indistinct.

Ultimately, you wind up disappointed by silence. But, with the slow return of your boyfriend’s bare cock between your soft inner walls, it dawns on you; JT had used a condom last time. Even made Tyson retrieve it for him. The depth of your relationship is sinking in; that’s what you’re now watching. He’s mulling over the information, caught somewhere between wanting to swallow his guilt one go and choking on his own assumptions.

JT follows your charged concern, performs a similar triage, and then gives you a concise nod through the fogged-up mirror.

I’ll handle it.

At that, your walls noticeably ease, and he shudders, groaning as even more of him sinks deeper to occupy the newfound space. He gets a few strokes out before Josty slots his body between your palms to lean in. Here, he does something that collapses the simple but effective status quo. 

“Fuck, kid. K-Keep doing that.”

Keep rubbing your clit.

Keep playing with you.

Keep being an accessory to his pleasure. To yours.

Be present.

Be here.

“Such a fucking mess, baby. Don’t know how Compher gets anything done with you there, sweet and ripe for the taking.”

The two halves of Tyson’s demeanor are antithetical, and infuriatingly so, a saccharine smile split open by filth. It paints a sordid picture that must stand for itself, as you find it impossible to pluck out of thin air any coherent thoughts.

Be that as it may, your friend did not set out for a reply. At least not one other than the befuddled stuttering you’re doing.

A familiar palm shoots to your raw neck—tender, inside and out—lightning quick. You're yanked up before you can blink. JT mercilessly nips at the gaps in between his tight grip, hips pushed just as firm against the swell of your backside.

Still, he furthers their madcap banter. “I dunno either, Josty. And, believe me, the little vixen sure as hell doesn’t make it any easier. Sometimes I think she’s tryna milk me dry for good.”

If Tyson Jost were ever going to cream his pants—post-pubescence, it would be now.

Like, right fucking now.

The proclamation of your third orgasm is wondrous. Proud. Grateful. One of your hands flies back to catch the nape of JT’s neck to steady yourself as he continues pistoning in and out of you. Tyson's generous touch stays, too.

Your back arches this go around, head rolling against your boyfriend's shoulder before slipping back down towards the counter, free palm absorbing the impact of the abrupt sway. Too much, too much—it’s all too much for your tender muscles and soupy brain to handle. You surrender to the plethora of sensations, each more overwhelming than the last—half-collapsed back against into your boyfriend, half-crumbled forward into his best friend’s damp, tented lap.

“Not gonna last, sweetheart—y’feel too damn good, s’tight and warm, always strangling my cock—know you’re close, too. Gonna give me what you promised, Compher? Please, pretty girl—need to feel your perfect pussy squeezin’ me dry.”

It's refractory; your world goes from washed-out to vivid and back, over and over, as though impatiently flipping between channels.

You’re a tangle of sticky limbs and physical reverie, blanketed by a warm afterglow and cleared air. Body scaffolded by muscular forms on either side, your mind gives your body permission to slacken at last. JT’s arm winds around your midsection when it becomes clear the all-consuming exhaustion is giving way to the relaxation that eluded you for so many months. Tyson massages your arms, your hands still cemented to his knees. Your head drops to his shoulder, too heavy for your bruised neck.

For a long while, no one says a thing. Not intentionally or for fear of disturbing the peace; there’s simply no need. No words exist to shoulder that much weight, none able to capture precisely what emotions swirl between you. Silence says enough—silence says it all.

Banging cuts through your sex-drunk stupor. Again. The abrupt sounds function like metaphorical smelling salts, restoring consciousness and rousing decorum laid dormant. Your mutual, unadulterated bliss circles the drain in the absence of a psychological plug, ripped free, half-baked.

JT reluctantly leaves you empty and dripping, tucks himself away, and cracks open the door—only as wide as is necessary. Behind his imposing physique, you remain hunched over Tyson, waiting for your boyfriend to make the problem go away; you’re too tired to take any initiative.

Golden hair and familiar grey-blue eyes fill the gap, shining in your periphery. Barely a sliver, that’s how much of this your boyfriend’s willing to share with the world. You like that, and judging by his lopsided grin, so does Tyson.

“Paging Mrs. Compher!” Gabe hollers over JT’s head. “Clean up on aisle ‘Kate.’”

Just hearing her name puts you back in action. Damn you, maternal instincts.

You scramble to right twisted fabric and smeared makeup to a soundtrack of expletives. It’s pointless, though, because nothing settles how it should. No amount of smoothing, brushing, or tucking seems to help. Hazy vision and the legs of a newborn fawn don’t exactly lend themselves to effective primping.

And it’s not like you’ve got a hickey-remover magic wand stashed in your purse, either. 

Accept your fate, you acquiesce with a sigh.

Tyson does a piss-poor job muffling his laughter, which lands him a crisp swat to the chest.

As you stumble over, you catch the end of your boyfriend’s irritation. “—and you’re sure there isn’t anyone else to hold her hair back? Why can’t you do it?”

The gears in Gabe’s skull clank so loud you can hear them over the audible chaos seeping into your haven—he’s intoxicated, not stupid.

“CupKate wants her mommy.” The blonde winks at you over JT’s shoulder. His tongue gives a knowing click of approval at Tyson’s equally disheveled state. “And what do you care, Compher? Smells like you three already made your express trip to Pound-town, USA. How was it? I hear the weather’s hot and steamy this time of year.”

“Real mature, Landy, real mature,” JT scoffs.

The sound just revs him up. “Says the fucker who’s locked in a frat house bathroom with his girlfriend and his best friend. One of whom, might I add, looks like they got mauled by a hormonal freshman after a high school dance.”

“Can you two go measure your dicks, I don’t know, anywhere but in the way? I have a child to tend to.” 

You almost have to laugh. At the situation and at the words coming out of your mouth. At Kate, sick to her stomach like a kid who ate too many sweets on a holiday. 

Years have passed, but you’re all still the same.

“Me-yeoh!” Gabe sing-songs while miming what you assume are claws scratching at nothing.

Again, his drink is the sole casualty of his jubilation. A golden wave sloshes over the rim and onto the floor. The spray makes JT’s jaw tick.

The former winger offers a sheepish grin in repentance. “Whoops?”

Your boyfriend steals a glance to check that you’re decent, then side-steps out of your way with an exasperated sigh. His dilated gaze flits over your ruffled appearance, shamelessly drinking in the state of your throat but tripping over the questions dancing in your eyes.

He juts his head in Landy’s direction with a sardonic eye-roll. “Go on. Save your damsel, Mother Hen. I’ll fill you in on in the Uber back to the hotel.”

“Meet you out front?” You ask, and he nods.

You dart back to Tyson, plant a chaste peck on his flushed cheek, and then repeat the gesture with JT and his peeved lips. It’s faint, but they instantly soften for you.

Before they know it, you’re slipping out the door. Gabe gets an affectionate pat on the shoulder as you squeeze by him before you disappear in the direction of the Girls Only bathroom; no significant differences, only marginally cleaner and occasionally stocked with helpful accouterment—chivalry isn’t dead!

Lingering in the wake of your departure, Gabe sways like an inflatable man on the curb of a car dealership. A smirk twists his lips. “Nicely done, boys. Nicely done. Can’t say I thought we’d see the day—or that either of you had it in ya—but I feel like a proud father.” He wipes a phantom tear, the final straw. “Makes you wish you listened to Daddy Landy sooner, huh? Think of all the lost ti—”

JT slams the door in his face. Through the wood, Gabe cackles.

The two men slip back into sync as they wordlessly scrape themselves back together with the time and privacy you were not afforded. 

As JT yanks his jeans back into place, his belt clanking around like a bell’s hourly chime, a black velvet box tumbles to the floor, and Tyson’s stomach along with it.

The air shouldn’t, but it turns on a dime. Their progress is seemingly more fragile than expected.

“If—uh, wow.” A crunchy, anxious bark of a laugh cuts his thought in half.

JT doesn’t interrupt; he holds space for the blossoming discomfort.

Tyson rubs the tense knots along the back of his neck as his eyes drill into the floor. “If I’d known this would be our swan song, I would’ve tried to enjoy it more. I don’t know—savored it, I guess?”

“This,” JT says, scooping up the dud he hopes isn’t hanging fire. “— is what I wanted to talk to you about earlier.”

Before they got into it in the garage, before they’d been forcibly separated by Erik and Nate. Before they, punch-drunk and drunk-drunk, teetered between tears and anger in the shadowy, too-quiet backyard.

They spun in circles until they had nowhere to move but on. To make amends, to stumble through chary half-apologies that mean more than they say.

JT’s alleviation was short-lived; his calm trepidation squashed before it could fly. Tyson now understands why.

Tyson balks. “Me?”

Your boyfriend sighs through his nose, pinching the bridge. He’s bidding time. Digging for the right words but knowing there are none.

“I love her—and I know you do, too. I’m not upset; she makes it hard not to fall for her.”

Tyson’s head hangs lower, chagrined.

JT continues, “I’m going to ask her to marry me, but I didn’t want to do it without talking to you. Without making sure you’d be okay. Eventually. The last thing I wanted was for you to be blindsided or to feel even more left out.”

Tyson can’t help but snort at the sheer absurdity. “Left out… God, how pathetic am I? Getting all butt-hurt over a relationship that isn’t even mine.”

“Pathetic was going AWOL.”

Josty winces. He doesn’t argue because he has zero ground to stand on.

“But feeling something? Far from it.”

“I didn't—don’t want to take her from you. You have to know that, Compher.” The hurt’s been hammered from his voice. Left behind is softened sincerity.

JT’s smile is just as downy. “I do, and you’d be wasting time by trying.”

Josty chokes on an unforeseen bubble of laughter.

You love JT Compher so openly and ardently it might as well be a neon sign plastered to your forehead. He’s always been it for you. There’s never been any competition, Tyson Jost included.

“Thank god we got this ironed out before the wedding,” the older forward chuckles as he leans back against the counter.

They’re side-by-side, as they should be.

“Why’s that?”

JT digs into his other pocket and pushes something into the palm of his best friend, whose cheeks flame tout de suite in response. With a bump of his shoulder, your boyfriend tacks on, “Something to remember tonight by.”

Tyson shoves the memento into his own pocket, then raises a quizzical brow.

Your boyfriend grins.

“The best man pining over the bride while giving the groom the cold shoulder would make for an awkward wedding, don’t you think?”

⤑ to my inbox💌

⬸ back to the catalog

⬸back to the main blog

All of the stories and fantasies written or discussed on this blog by the owner or by followers are purely fictional and are not intended to offend any parties.

©2024 @holy-pucks, all rights reserved. I do not give consent for any of my work to be copied, re-posted, or translated here, on Tumblr, or on any other platform. Reproduction of any content from this blog is considered plagiarism.

#in conversation: go out with a bang #in conversation: swan song #in conversation: sharing is caring #sharing is caring verse #jt compher x reader #jt compher smut #jt compher fanfiction #jt compher x reader x tyson jost #jt compher x y/n #jt compher x you #tyson jost x reader #tyson jost smut #tyson jost fanfiction #tyson jost x jt compher #hockey romance #hockey smut #nhl smut #hockey rpf #nhl rpf #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagines #nhl fic #hockey fic #nhl players x reader #*ೃ༄ by holy pucks

[dear-buttercup]

Okay, okay, hear me out:

Spy x Family AU, except Marinette is Loid & Adrien is Yor.

Marinette & Loid both have this alternate self that is very calculative & has the urge to plan out every possible outcome of a situation so they're not caught off guard. Not to mention that both of them have this very strong sense of justice and, each in their own way, are trying to make the world around them a better & safer place. However, both of them also have this other side that is gentle and kind and, essentially, a softy (though this shows more in Marinette bc, well, she hasn't been through the things Loid has been).

Then we have Adrien, who, like Yor, is outwardly sweet & cheerful and doesn't have a clue what to do with Life (TM). But he also has a dark & deadly side, which makes him absolutely consider dirtying his hands if he thought he was protecting the ppl he loves (*cough* derrision *cough*). I can totally see him become an assassin if it was the only thing he could do to protect his loved ones & bring food to the table, esp if he was taught to do that from a young age.

Also, some of my other headcanons for this AU (and pls beware of possible spoilers for sxf if u aren't caught up or want to watch):

- Emma would be Anya, obv, and like Anya, she has telepathic powers and can read her parents' minds. (Side note: I was considering making Emma a creation of the peacock miraculous & for that to be the reason she has her telepathy powers, but then I realized the miraculous existing in this AU might not make much sense, so I'm putting it on the backburner. If anybody wants to explore that, though, be my guest!)

- The plushy u see in Emma's hands in my drawing is Tikki, which is the equivalent of Mr. Chimera in the anime (however, alternatively, The Handler could be Tikki & in turn, The Shopkeeper could be Plagg. But going with my initial idea...)

- The cat in the picture, then, would be Plagg, who is the equivalent of Bond. However, unlike Bond, Plagg is a little shit & he knows it & therefore gives Marinette a lot of grief. But he's very cute when he wants to be, and Emma is very set on keeping him, so Marinette resorts to silent psychological warfare with him. Surprisingly, Plagg is pretty chill when it comes to Adrien to everyone's surprise.

- Just like Bond, Plagg also has psychic powers. However, I can just see him hissing in annoyance everytime a vision pops up. :D

- Adrien is secretly an assassin who exterminates traitors with his special dagger(s) that he calls 'Cataclysm'.

- Marinette is a spy who is tasked with getting close to her target, Chloe Bourgeois. She has a customized gun that she prefers to use that she calls her 'lucky charm'.

- Also, the same as the anime, Marinette's agent name is 'Ladybug' & Adrien's is 'Chat Noir'.

- Chloe is Marinette's target (I know Desmond & Gabriel are crazy similar, but I think it'd be pretty weird to have Gabe & Adrien in the same universe & for them to not be related).

- Chloe has 2 children: a twin son & daughter who r attending the same prestigious school. The daughter (which I haven't chosen a name for) is the equivalent of Becky & the son (which I also don't know the name of) is the equivalent of Damian.

- Chloe's daughter lives with her father (who I imagine is Luka bc it's a guilty ship of mine, but eh), but she also pays for her child support and education, so her daughter was raised like a princess and therefore has the same princess tendencies as Becky.

- Chloe's son is still pretty much the same as Damian, so not much to add there. (Yes, exactly like Damian. If you know, you know :) )

- Lastly, I will leave you with this out of pocket notion: Felix as Yuri and Kagami as Fiona (and yes, I very much ship them, even in this AU :) )

Here are the individual characters separately as a treat for making it till here!

#yes i chose anya's creepy grin as reference for emma what else was i supposed to use? ;) #i'm so excited for this au :) #anyone who wants to jump on the wagon hop on #spy x family #spy x family au #ml fanart #miraculous #ml #miraculous ladybug #ladybug #chat noir #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #love square #ladynoir #adrienette #ladrien #marichat #Tikki #Plagg #emma agreste #chloe bourgeois #luka couffaine #felix graham de vanily #kagami tsurugi

[aria-ashryver]

Breakfast Roast

Book: Immortal Desires

Pairing: m!Cas x m!Gabe x nb!MC (Luca O'Rinn)

Ratings/Warnings: General, language

Words: 1K

Summary: Gabriel can't resist teasing Cas and Luca over morning coffee.

A/N: I got this super cute ask, and as I was thinking about how to answer it, somehow I blinked and a little fic happened? So here you go! Someone once told me the Starlight trio was the Idiots to Lovers trope and I couldn't agree more. This is just a little slice of Starlight Idiot Hours / Fluff in a nutshell, set a few years after the events of SICSIG

Tagging: @choicesficwriterscreations, @lilyoffandoms

Things were going alarmingly well for a Monday. Gabriel had completed his morning jog in record time, there hadn’t been a queue at the coffee shop, and he’d come away from his early-morning grocery run with a couple of unexpected little gifts in tow.

Cas was hunched over a bowl of cereal when Gabriel arrived back home, scrolling idly through his phone. He shot Gabriel a sleepy grunt by way of greeting as he set the bags down on the kitchen counter. The morning sun slanted cheery and gold through the open window, bringing with it the smell of fresh spring pollen and the droning buzz of bees.

Content, Gabriel stole a moment to inhale the sharp scent of the freshly roasted coffee beans he’d picked up. He flipped the coffee machine on to heat, and began to unload the groceries.

‘They were out of hot sauce, darling.’

‘Fucking again? Arson.’

Gabriel shook his head in fond exasperation. ‘They said it’d be back in stock next week.’

Cas grumbled, low in his throat like a churlish cat. ‘…Less arson.’

Gabriel laughed. He loved hearing Cas like this; all snarly and husky, his voice deep and gravelly with sleep, yet light and unburdened of anything but the most mundane of trifles. Cas deserved mundane. He deserved domestic and peaceful and happy. Gabriel could listen to him grouse about grocery stores forever.

Even after years of waking up next to Cas, it never got old.

Huh, Gabriel thought, bemused. That’s vampirism for you.

Mellifluous laughter filled the room as Luca bounded in from the hallway.

‘Less arson, huh? However will you cope?’ Dropping a kiss on Cas’s cheek as they passed, Luca skidded into the kitchen, their threadbare socks slick against the linoleum, sliding along until they bumped cheerily into Gabriel’s side. ‘Good morning gorgeous!’

‘Good morning to you too, mi corazón.’

Gabriel dipped his head to meet him; Luca’s kisses tasted of peppermint toothpaste and pure adoration.

‘I come bearing carbs,’ Gabriel said, handing them a greased paper bag, laughing at the muffled “oh my god, I love you” he managed to decipher from a mouth somehow already crammed full with an over-ambitious bite of cinnamon roll.

Luca leaned against the counter, eyes sinking closed in sugary delight.

‘And gifts!’ Gabriel added, eyeing his two loves carefully.

Cas was barely awake, slouching about in his favourite sweatpants and one of Gabriel’s bathrobes, knuckling the sleep from his eyes. Luca’s hair stuck up at awkward angles, a smear of frosting clinging to their lip.

The pair of them were far too cute not to tease.

‘I got you a little something,’ Gabriel said carefully, casually, his mouth twitching at the corners. ‘Just there on the counter.’

He nodded at a small white box he’d set down on the counter, tucked between a potted plant and a carton of eggs. Cas shambled up to join them, slumping into a seat on the barstools with a jaw-cracking yawn. He stole a bite of Luca’s cinnamon roll as they plopped down beside him.

‘Wait, “you”, who?’ Luca asked.

Gabriel shrugged evasively, already enjoying himself far too much.

Cas’s eyes narrowed. The pair shared a suspicious glance, before Cas flipped the box open, pulling out the white ceramic mug inside.

He barked a laugh.

‘“Cute but dumb”?’

Luca snorted. ‘Well, that’s obviously for me,’ they said, reaching for the mug.

Cas jerked it out of Luca’s reach. ‘Well, hang on just a goddamn minute, O'Rinn. Who’s to say it’s not for me?’

‘Since when have you let anyone call you “cute”?’

‘Wha— I’m cute,’ Cas pouted. ‘I’m fuckin’ adorable!’

‘Cas, you’re six foot three, you’re covered in tattoos, and you threatened to fistfight a vending machine yesterday when it chewed up your dollar.’

‘Exactly.’

When Luca broke into a peal of derisive laughter, Cas cocked his head.

‘What makes you the default cute one in our relationship, huh? Being two foot tall?’ Cas crossed his arms, fixing Luca with a smug grin. ‘I’m surprised you can even see over the counter from all the way down there, New Kid.’

‘Oh! Short jokes now!’ Luca snarled. ‘Very funny. Ha ha.’

‘Yeah, I thought so.’

‘Won’t be laughing when I headbutt you in the dick,’ Luca muttered.

‘Woah, hang on a minute.’

Cas set the mug down, raising his hands in gentle placation. Gabriel allowed himself a small moment to be impressed — Cas, done with goading Luca after a bare few minutes?

That had to be some kind of record.

‘…let me find you a stepladder first.’

‘Oh, fuck you, Harlow!’

Ah. Apparently not.

Gabriel sorted some lettuce and avocados into the vegetable crisper, stowing away groceries while Luca attempted to shove Cas directly off his bar stool. He turned and fixed Gabriel with a bargaining look.

‘Gabe. Tell him it's mine. You think I’m cute, right?’

‘Of course I do.’

Gabriel’s smile turned coy as he poured the fresh coffee beans into the grinder and flipped it on, plucking up another bag of groceries to unload. The kitchen was quickly filled with the aromatic, chocolatey smell of his favourite arabica blend.

‘I think you’re both cute.’

‘Ha!’

‘Yeah, but— oh, shut up, Cas. Oi!’

Luca smacked Cas’s arm as he tried to steal a triumphant bite of their cinnamon roll.

‘But,’ Luca pressed, ‘out of the two of us, only one was so invested in a conversation they were having this morning in their own head, with themself that they walked head-first into a fucking doorframe, ergo—’

Luca snagged the mug, holding it proudly next to his face.

‘—I have clearly achieved peak idiot and this mug is mine. Hey!’

Gabriel stifled a laugh as Luca gaped at their now empty hands. He hummed idly to himself as Cas and Luca sprang from their seats, wrestling with each other in a desperate bid for "Cute but Dumb"-mug-ownership rights.

He passed a pleasant few minutes as the coffee brewed and Cas tried to stuff Luca inside his bathrobe — he was usually more of a tea drinker, in all honesty, but as this morning was proving, sometimes it was nice to indulge in the things that made you smile.

Love burgeoning in his heart, Gabriel finally deigned to unpack the second mug he’d purchased that morning, right as the coffee was done.

‘Gimme the mug,' Luca hissed.

‘No.’

‘Ass. Gimme the mug!’

‘Fight me!’

Gabriel cleared his throat, his expression carefully neutral. ‘Coffee, anyone?’

Cas and Luca froze mid-grapple, eyes locked on the second mug on the counter.

“Cute but dumber”.

Moving in tandem, they rounded on each other, challenge on both of their faces.

‘Well that one’s obviously for me!’

#SICSIG #choices immortal desires #immortal desires #cas harlow #cassius harlow #gabe adalhard #gabriel adalhard #luca o'rinn #cas x gabe x mc #playchoices fanfic #choices fanfic #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #cfwc lgbtqia+ #🏳‍🌈🏳‍🌈🏳‍🌈

[angelsnkisses]

your Gabriel fic was the best I've read (even though I only read two because I couldn't find any more) so I'm here to ask for another fluffy where Gabriel notices that reader is neglecting her own problems and focusing only on his issues, and he helps her with this burden she's been carrying alone

Not Your Responsibility ♡ - Gabriel x gn!reader

💟 sfw 💟

summary: gabe reminds you that you should be taking time for yourself, and helps you unwind and relax <3.

warnings: mentions of mental illness, lack of self care

You sat down on the couch, a heavy sigh leaving your lips as you set your keys on the coffee table. Work was long, and all you wanted to do was sit around and do nothing for the rest of the day.

You hadn't been taking much time for yourself lately, and it was really starting to affect you. You were exhausted, mentally drained, and honestly, a little lonely. It felt like you couldn't talk to anyone about it, especially when your boyfriend had his own problems.

You loved Gabe, he was the best thing in your life, and you trusted him more than anything. But it had been a year since he pulled that stunt with Alice, and you were still scared he might do something irrational again.

You were constantly giving Gabe all your attention and love, trying to compensate for what you couldn't help him with. He never asked for anything from you, but you just felt like you were responsible for making up for everything he had been through.

"Y/N? Hey!" you hear him say, snapping you out of your thoughts. You smiled tiredly, your eyes landing on Gabe. He had on a long sleeved, navy blue shirt, paired with flannel pajama pants.

"Hey, how was your day?" you asked, scooting over so he could sit next to you on the couch. He settled in next to you, one of his arms slinging comfortably around your shoulders as he shrugged.

"Fine, I went to the diner," he mumbled, and you hummed gently in response, your eyes fluttering shut while you laid your head on his shoulder. He shifted to look at you, a quiet sigh leaving his lips when he saw how tired you looked.

"Y/N.. can you be honest with me for a second?" he asked, and you opened your eyes to look up at him. "What? Oh, yeah, of course I can," you replied, a little more alert now. Was something wrong? Was he okay? Did you fuck something up? The anxious thoughts consumed your mind while you waited for him to speak.

"When's the last time you ate something?" he asked, and you paused. That was a good question, but you had no idea.

"Uhh.. fuck, maybe Tuesday? I don't know, I've been so busy," you mumbled, embarrassed.

"Tuesday? Baby, it's Thursday, you need to eat something," he said, giving you a concerned look. "You need to take care of yourself, too, you know? You haven't been sleeping much, I can tell," he added, and you looked down in shame.

"I'm not your responsibility, Y/N," he suddenly said, making you look up quickly. "I know you feel like I'm gonna lose it any moment, but I'm not. You don't have to focus all your energy and time on me, you gotta take care of yourself," he reasoned, and a pang went over your chest.

You didn't even know you were crying until his hand brushed the tears on your cheeks away, angling your face up at him. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before smiling warmly. "Come on, why don't you go shower and take a nap? I'll order food when you wake up," he said, and you couldn't help but smile through your tears.

"Thank you," you whispered, leaning up and wrapping your arms around him. He hugged you tight, holding on for a little longer than usual before pushing you back gently. "You're welcome, now go. I'll clean up the house a little," he assured you, and you couldn't be more grateful.

**

He made good on his promises, of course. When you woke up from your nap, clean and refreshed, he was sitting on the couch, the cat in his lap and a quiet sitcom playing on the TV. The house was tidy and smelled fresh, and there was a chinese takeout menu on the counter next to your landline.

He turned to look at you when he heard you, smiling big. "Hey, just in time! I ordered some food, come sit with me," he encouraged, and of course, you did.

"Thank you for all of this, Gabriel.." you mumbled when you were curled up at his side, but he just shook his head. "You deserve it, don't thank me."

You guys ate and talked when the food came, catching up on work and such. He was attentive and sweet the whole time, making sure you were okay. He knew damn well that he was a lot to handle sometimes, and he wanted you to know that it wasn't all about him.

"You know I love you more than anything, right?" he asked as he cleaned up the takeout, catching you a little off guard. You beamed, feeling so much better now that you got some time to take care of yourself.

"I love you, too."

**

A/N: AHHH this ones so short. but i had a blast writing it, thank you for the request anon! sorry if it wasn't quite what you were looking for. hope you enjoyed <3!

#rory culkin #angelsnkisses #mdni #gabriel 2014 #gabriel #culkin cult #gn!reader

[legends-of-apex]

Gashes To Gashes | Robbie Reyes x Reader

Rating: T (for non-sexual intimacy, undressing, mentions of injury, tooth rotting fluff, mild spoilers for AoS S4)

Word count: 1.7k

Summary: Robbie comes home one night and finds you already asleep on the couch. He decides he can’t sleep without you and takes matters into his own hands. Reader is gender neutral, no use of y/n

A/N: I miss him so much okay 🤧 I know there’s not a big audience for him or anything but someone’s gotta feed the few that are here! Enjoy <3

When he found you sleeping on the couch, the clothes you were wearing that morning still draped over your form and crumpled, he knew you’d had a bad day. Usually you’d be changed into pyjamas or one of his shirts by now. Although it was well past midnight, you were usually still very much awake when he came through the front door. But here you were, fast asleep on the couch in your daytime clothes. It was an adorable sight.

Two empty plates cluttered the coffee table in front of you. He knew there would be a cellophane-covered plate for him sitting on the kitchen table too if he cared to look. But he couldn’t have cared less about food right now.

Robbie hadn’t been home yet that day. Instead he heeded the Rider’s demands and went out on the hunt from the moment he finished work. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the hook by the door next to yours and Gabe’s. As the jacket slipped from his tired shoulders, the stress of the day did too.

Now, finally, he was home.

In the darkness, he relied on the deeply embedded memory of the house's layout to stop himself from bumping into anything. So many night sneaking out from beneath his uncle’s nose as a teen had prepared him for this. He knew each floorboard that creaked, each piece of furniture he might stub his toe on. All of this too avoid rousing you or his little brother from slumber.

He risked waking Gabe just to make sure he was alright. He twisted the bedroom door handle and let it open just a crack, there he saw his baby brother content and sleeping soundly. Golden street light streamed through the blinds and illuminated his soft face and the floppy hair that rustled in the breeze of his sleeping breath. His wheelchair sat at the bedside, piled high with school books he must’ve cleared from his bed in a rush of sudden drowsiness. Content, he closed the door behind him with a soft click and then turned his attention back to you.

He was glad you hadn’t waited up. He didn’t want you losing sleep over him. But the position and clothes you were in had to be uncomfortable. You’d definitely wake up cold and with a sore neck if he just left you there draped over the couch cushions. That’s what he told himself to justify gathering you into his arms and carrying you through to bed. In reality, he just couldn’t sleep without you - without knowing you were there beside him and safe.

Your very presence was a comfort and an anchor to him and he knew he’d miss you too much to sleep, even if you were just in the next room. He would never forget just how cold the sheets felt after the first night you’d spent there in his bed all wrapped up in his arms. It wasn’t just the company of another that he adored but also the way you snuggled into him like a stray cat to a rug beneath a roaring fire. Your soft touches were fresh air to him. The next night he spent alone, his bed suddenly felt too big, too empty and so painfully cold. Since then, he’s never been able to sleep well without you and despised the thought of even having to try.

“Robbie?” You croaked, feeling that distinct, unmistakable warmth radiating from him and seeping into your skin. “You okay?”

You stirred just as he pushed the bedroom door open - awakened by the hinge’s unoiled creak. After bringing a curled fist to rub your eyes, it was impossible to distinguish his features in the darkness but you knew him by his demeanour and touch alone. No one else you’d ever met smelled so distinctly like ash and motor oil or moved like he carried the weight of a thousand struggles on his back. No one else felt like home the way that Robbie did to you.

“Yeah, baby, I’m alright… better now I’m with you. Are you alright?” He answered softly with a press of his lips to your forehead followed by the gentle scrape of the hair on his upper lip. When you made a sound of disgruntlement at his question, he faltered, “Long day?”

“Longest I’ve had in a while. Can’t believe I fell asleep before you got home.” Usually your worry kept you up more than anything else. No matter how many times he came home in one piece you always worried.

“Lemme kiss it better then we’ll get you back to sleep, huh?” He set you down on the mattress and you yawned as soon as your back knew the plush mattress below.

You hummed. “I should probably get out of these clothes first.”

“I can help with that.”

He started with your shirt. Each undone plastic button exposed a fresh inch of your skin to the cool night air as he went. He let his eyes close as his warm lips pressed against your bare shoulder, the base of your neck, then the centre of your chest. His lips were void of all except appreciation and care. You laughed quietly as he undressed you so gently. Usually Robbie shimmying off your trousers meant an entirely different ordeal to this. But tonight he was just trying to get you comfortable enough to be able to rest with him.

He barely bothered kicking off his own trousers before getting into bed, much more concerned with wrapping his hoodie around your shoulders when he felt your slight shiver. He lay down beside you and in the dark you reached for him immediately, to feel his warm skin on yours. His arm wound around your waist then curled up your back to press you close to him. You found his cheek and he leaned into that precious, treasured touch. Being home with your hands on him after a night letting the Rider take over was the best medicine he could ever ask for. He thought it was more than he deserved.

“Mmhmm. I missed you.” You threw your arms around his shoulders and hugged his head close to your chest.

“I missed you too.” He replied, enjoying your embrace for a moment. You tried to enjoy it too but as you swiped your thumb over his cheek you felt the unmistakable raised and bumpy ridge of a gash entrenched into his skin.

“What’s this?” You questioned.

“It’s nothing, baby. Let’s just get you back to sleep.” His hand covered yours, turning your palm to press a single chaste kiss to it.

He needed so desperately to calm your worries but he should’ve known that wouldn’t work. Tiredness radiated off him in droves; It thickened his voice and weighed down his limbs. He just wanted to let the mattress swallow him whole, to rest here with you forever, but you had to know he was alright.

“Robbie…” your voice held a tinge of warning.

He sighed, knowing you wouldn’t let it slide and he couldn’t blame you for that. If you came home with so much as a scratch on you he’d want names and addresses - and that was even before he was possessed by a spirit of vengeance. His stomach knotted at the memory of Quake only a few hours ago. How she’d all but begged him to kill her but the Rider didn’t seem to think she deserved to pay her penance just yet. “Some powered chick was snooping around Canello’s looking for the charger. We had a uh…disagreement, and she punched me in the face.”

You broke out of his grasp and flicked the bedside lamp on to get a better look. Harsh light flooded the room and you both winced at the sudden brightness but the irritation at the bright light was soon replaced with worry. “She did that? With one punch?” You asked, examining his battered cheek.

It was just a small gash with some bruising surrounding it. Nothing to worry about, really. But the fact that it had yet to heal was strange and more than a little concerning. Robbie bleeds just like anybody else but the blood he came home covered in wasn’t ever usually his own thanks to how quickly the demon heals him. That woman must’ve packed one hell of a punch. It was nothing like you’d ever seen him recovering from before. You had yet to see a scratch on him that wouldn’t fade within an hour until now.

“Yeah, she was strong. But vida, you should go back to sleep. It’s late. You don’t ever gotta worry about me.” He's whispering so as not to startle you any more, thumb running over your chin as he looks up at you with his deep, endless brown eyes that almost pleaded with you to believe him.

"I always worry about you,” you replied honestly. Because of course you did, how couldn’t you? He might have been invulnerable by any reasonable standard but you dreaded the day he encountered something that the Rider couldn’t heal. “Are you sure you don’t need anything?"

Robbie swallowed thickly and shook his head before telling you something that almost made your eyes water.

"Nah. Just you."

All he wanted was you here in his arms and in his bed. With the softness and desperation in his eyes, you believed him. You flicked off the bedside lamp and settled back down in his arms. He thumbed your hip and tugged you closer with a touch so soft for such well-worked hands. You all but melted into him, into his chest, into the faint smell of burn and blood, and the comfort that he brought.

You let your hand rest on his chest as you often did. It was a sweet habit of yours, one which Robbie loved. But tonight things were a little different. You slid your hand down the soft burgundy cotton of his shirt before letting your fingers dive beneath the hem and graze just above his belly button. Your palm splayed out, rising with each slow breath he took. He wasn’t sure what comfort you derived from touching him like that but the touch grounded him, brought him back to Earth again from wherever he was floating that night, untethered. He needed your skin on his as tree roots needed soil and sunlight. That touch made him feel human again, like maybe the weight he carried wasn’t so heavy after all.

Robbie Reyes tag list:

@icy-spicy

I’ve lost the rest of the tag list for him yall I’m so sorry 😭 Please let me know if you’d like to be added!!

#robbie reyes #robbie reyes x reader #ghost rider #ghost rider x reader #AoS #agents of shield #marvel #fic #fluff #mywriting #mine

[yourlocalmerchgirl]

Okay, I was thinking Robbie Reyes x Reader. Where Reader was coming home from work and she heard tiny meows along the way. She finds two kittens, one with orange eyes with black fur and brown eyes with tan fur. She brings them home because she doesn’t want to leave them. She walks into Robbie’s house quietly because Gabe and Robbie are sleeping. In the morning. Robbie and Gabe are in the kitchen for breakfast till they heard meows and they freak out till they saw the kittens. Robbie confronts them and she begged Robbie to keep them. Fluff :)

Thank you so much for this request!! I’m so sorry it took be a little while to get it done but I enjoyed doing it.

No warnings. This story and prompt are pure love and fluff

Tagging my fellow Robbie ladies @kalllistos and @spikershoyo

Robbie hated when you worked closing shifts, because him and the rider knew all to well the evil that lurked around in the shadows. Which to be fair you didn’t see well driving at night so you hated working late just as much he hated you doing it.

The last couple weeks you were picking up a couple of overtime closing shifts. Gabe’s birthday was coming up and you wanted to surprise him with a trip down to San Diego to this sports center that opened up for wheelchair sports.

Your big heart is what made Robbie fall in love with you. You treated Gabe like your own since the moment you two started dating, so the fact that you were willing to work extra to be able to make Gabe’s dream to go there possible made his heart swell.

As you’re approaching your car in the dark dimly lit parking lot you hear what sounds like faint meows. You think nothing of it at first, figuring it was just the wind. But as you approach your drivers side door you notice a little shadow under your car followed by more meows.

I swear if I get kidnapped trying to look under my car for a cat I’m going to be so pissed.

As you get down on the ground to look under your car you notice not one but two tiny kittens, fishing them out from under your car you sit with them trying to figure out what to do.

I can’t just leave them here…

You loaded them into your car and drove to the bodega around the corner. The lights on the outside of the store finally giving you a good look at the kittens. One was all black with a little triangle of white fur on his chest with orangish colored eyes, and the other one tan with big brown eyes.

“Hey chicka, I never see you out here this late”

“Hey Javi, yea I picked up a couple of extra shifts”

“Random question, do you guys have like cat food and litter boxes and stuff?”

“Yea the pet stuff is back in the corner…wait you guys get a cat?” Javi asks as he points back to the stuff.

“Not exactly, I found two kittens on my way to my car tonight and I couldn’t just leave them.”

“Oooo chicka Robbie’s gonna kill you” he teases

“I know, but Gabe will love them. We’ll gang up on Robbie and he’ll let us keep them” you chuckle as you put the supplies up on the counter.

When you arrive home Robbie is still out working for the rider and Gabe is staying at a friends. So you bring the kittens inside and set up a little play pen in the middle of the living room with every extra pillow you can find. You set them in it while you get a little water dish and food bowl ready for them, who knows when their last meal was. Your eyes begin to grow heavy as you lowly drift off to sleep watching them settle in.

Robbie notices the soft light of the living room on when he walks in, it wasn’t unusual for you to try to wait up for him at night.

“Baby are you up?” Robbie calls out while he’s taking off his shoes and jacket.

He hears the faint meows in response. What the hell is that?

He peaks his head into the living room and melts when he see you passed out on the floor of the living room, your head resting on a fortress of pillows containing two tiny kittens.

Robbie kneels down on the floor next to you, gently rubbing you leg.

“Baby what do you have here” he softly chuckles.

“These two kittens were huddled underneath my car, I couldn’t leave them there. They were so hungry and cold.”

“Oh baby your big heart never ceases to amaze me”

Robbie lays behind you his chest flush again your back, nestling his face in your neck, watching them with you.

“We can keep them if you want, I know you and gabe would love them”

#fanfic #request #reqs open #robbie reyes x f!reader #robbie reyes x reader #soft!robbie Reyes #robbie reyes #gabriel luna

[montcumbry-gaytor]

Goodbye Agony

Reaper/Gabriel Reyes x AMAB!Reader smut

A/N : this was the third prompt so I'm very close to being done with the prompts I made for overwatch but if y'all want definitely request shit of ur own cause I will write it

A/N : PRONOUNS FOR R ARE HE/HIM

FEM ALIGNED DNI || MALE ALIGNED CENTERED

TW : Orgasm denial, Violence, Mentions of sex for Intel.

You had spent who knows how long hunting down Reyes, Having to do questionable and unreasonable things for information on his whereabouts, seeing as he moved around frequently for talon missions.

Talon infuriated you, Everyone in it provoked such rage that your jaw could almost be stuck clenched.

But finally, after getting an informant inside talon, using tactics you weren't happy with to get the Intel you needed, you shuttered as you wandered the rainy streets.

He was here, according to the informant and the file of the virtual meeting talon had now stuck neatly in that basement that had your work messily displayed inside.

You needed answers, Reaper- Gabriel, had ruined you, had you both being amazing partners in the early days of overwatch, both in combat and romantically, that care for him diminished; for the most part.

Why did he leave? Why did he choose to turn to talon? What fucked up thought did he have made him turn to their ways?

It perplexed you, it dug a cave in the back of your skull, you haven't felt the same since, even turning down Jacks offer to come back to the refounding of overwatch, it just.

Hurt.

Hood up and head down, you shook off that ache, that inkling of sorrow could screw over everything if you found him.

Smoke, swirling in odd footsteps, You had found out it was the cause of an early type of Dr.Zeiglers Revival Tech, It always permeated some sort of dislike for her in the end.

You carefully followed after the footsteps, those heavy clanks that were all too familiar made you shudder.

Strapping down the electric knuckles to your hands, you held the trigger button, assuring yourself it'd work long enough to cancel out the technology that lets him control the wraith form.

He was there, holding a man neatly against the wall, seemingly interrogating him, it felt like in a flash you had his arms pressed tightly against his back, the electric current running through his body like an EMP.

His ghastly cackle made you grit your teeth, eyeing the man Gabriel had, who stared in shock, you nodded away from the situation and he took off, disappearing into the streets.

"I need answers, Reyes, I'm sick of cat and mouse."

"Bold of you to assume I'm the mouse."

He hummed out, grunting as you triggered the knuckles into the center of his back.

"Shut up, Why the fuck did you go to talon? What crazy idea is in your fucked up head that made you think that was reasonable?"

You spat, brows knitted together in irritation.

"What? Are your feelings hurt?"

"I have no feelings for you, not anymore, Gabe."

His tense shoulders dropped momentarily, he did that a lot, he wasn't one to express when he was upset, but his shoulders would always drop, you tried to shrug off that hurt forming, but it was too late.

He had you by your neck, pressing you uncomfortably into the structure of the building, claws digging into you, in a attempt, you brought your knees in, kicking into his abdomen, his back landing into the wall of the alley as he staggered.

It gave you just enough time to kick around his head, that god forbidden mask clattering to the ground as blood poured from his noise, bless those many moments you had in training.

"You were always a pain in my ass."

He huffed, rolling his neck, grabbing his shotgun, pushing it into your chest and holding you back to the wall, cursing yourself as you found no opportunity to strike him off guard, you had to stay on the offensive.

His eyes flickered at your neck, frowning at the sight of a hickey tainting your skin, the irritation on your neck from his choking making the bruise worse.

"Don't act like you care how I got the information on your whereabouts, Gabe."

You hissed, keeping an eye on his every move as his non dominant hand came to press at the hickey, his thick brows furrowed.

"How long have you been trying to find me?"

"Since you left, I don't know how long that's been."

"I hate you, so much."

You said, your voice cracking into a whisper, hanging your head down at the concrete ground, eyes shut as to avoid it all, you hated it even more when claws grazed your chin, bringing it up to meet his lips.

You didn't resist, but the mix of pain and sadness pooling in your chest fought that inkling of happiness it gave you, it felt like old times, before it all went to shit.

"Gabe, Why are you doing this?"

"-Because I hate you more than anything, but I still care."

Gabriel sighed, pressing his forehead to yours.

"I place, temporarily."

"I'd do anything to get out of here right now."

You whispered, pulling the metal off your hands, flexing them as you watched Gabriel pull down his hood, a configuration of hair and purple smoke pooling the top of his head.

"I wish I could fix what happened to you."

"It hurts, but I'm better this way."

"You were better when you weren't half alive."

You sighed, leaning into him as he guided you down the back streets, his mask tucked neatly into that coat of his.

"This reminds me of when we were younger."

Gabriel hummed in response, though you couldn't tell if it was in displeasure or happiness, you made it to a building, following alongside him into the hotel building, as soon as he opened the door he had his hands on you.

"Gabe.. "

You shuddered, gripping onto his coat for some sense of stability, unwillingly pulling off of him to strip of your clothes with Gabriel's help, shying away from his touch as his fingers grazed over more hickey's on your body.

"I wish you didn't have to see me like this.. i wasn't really expecting you to see me naked.."

You said, averting your eyes, quickly sealing them shut as Gabriel shucked off his gloves, his fingers coming to trace over the unpleasant bruising.

"I wish I didn't have to either, but you're beautiful even like this."

Gabriel sighed into your neck, you couldn't help but breath in shakily, 'just like old times', Gabriel no longer talking like he wasn't human, he was like himself before the fall of overwatch.

"I chose to be in talon, because they had offered to help the pain, Moira, she's been helping with this."

He said, shrugging off his coat, pulling his shirt up to expose his stomach, several scars, bullet holes, but more importantly chunks of flesh replaced with the otherworldly smoke, his skeleton piercing through it's darkness.

"Fuck, Gabe.."

You huffed out, catching your bottom lip in your teeth to hold back your tears.

"Has it helped?"

"Almost."

Dragging him into a hug, your heart sunk as he loosely wrapped his arms around your waist, defeated by his actions.

"Ive never felt better, though, I doubt anyone in overwatch could do something to fix what happened."

He muttered, pulling away from the crook of your neck to look at you, dark eyes that were so swallowed by that darkness, somehow still had that lively light in them that made the hazel color come out in them.

Bringing your lips to meet his, he easily reciprocated, pulling off the coat you were wearing and dropping it to your side, letting it crumple to the ground.

You could only focus on him, what was left of him, his body perfectly mesh with yours, like a long lost puzzle piece.

He easily lifted you from the ground, letting you hook your legs around his waist as he carried you to the his bedroom, laying you neatly in the center of the mattress.

It was a sight, watching him strip of his constricting clothing, his dark skin toned with muscle and freckled with scars, the ghostly swirls of smoke somehow looked good on him.

You kicked your boots off into the floor, letting Gabriel climb overtop of you, kissing your lips, down your cheeks and into your neck, leaving hickey's over the ones the informant left on you, hips grinding on yours, his bulge prominent through the fabric of his pants.

"Oh.. fuck.. just fuck me already Gabe."

You moaned out, gripping onto him for a sense of stability, running a thumb over bullet scars that had swirls of smoke spilling out of them.

"Only for you."

He sighed, tugging down your pants and underwear in quick succession, tossing them to the side as he admired the sight of you sprawled out beneath him, the moonlight peeking through the window to provide little lighting to your body.

He wasted no time pushing fingers into your mouth, commanding you to suck, which you complied, coating his fingers in saliva, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as he pulled them out, pushing them into your ass.

You let out a pornographic whine as they curled towards themselves, pressing against your prostate with ease.

"Gabe- holy shit.. haha.."

You laughed a little through your moans, eyes meeting with his as he raised a brow at your giggles.

"I think it's cute how you still remember how to get me fucked up.. ha.."

you hummed out, reaching out for his free hand, who intertwined with yours.

"I should be punishing you for letting my objective get away.."

His voice rasped, biting at the inside of your thighs, leaving you to gasp at the mix of pain and pleasure.

"Can you blame me.. I wanted to find you.."

You whined, squeezing his hand, he hummed against your skin, his breath flowing over your cock, which twitched in anticipation.

"Gabe.."

"You have a point, but I still think you could've let me get my Intel first.."

His hand slipped away from yours, his fingers slipping out of your hole as both hands coming underneath your thighs to raise your hips.

Without warning, his tongue slipped into your hole, your back arching at the sudden sensation.

"Gabe- ah! Sto—p ah-"

You whimpered out, clawing at the bed, a pit forming at the bottom of your stomach.

Despite your struggles, Gabriels grip never faltered, though his right arm game down on top of your thigh, his rough hands coming you stroke your twitching length that dripped with precum.

The coiling pleasure in your stomach threatened to snap as his tongue pressed against your walls, whining as you felt empty as he pulled himself away from you.

The unbuckling of his belt prompted you to lean on your elbows, panting as you took in the sight of Gabe, his cock slipped out of his pants, stroked by his experienced hands, thick veins coiled around his length.

"Fuck gabe... You're as sexy as you were when I first met you.."

You said with a cheesy grin, reaching out for his hand, squeezing it as his fingers intertwined with yours, it felt like you had unlocked a part of you that had been missing.

"You ready for me, Amor?"

He hummed, the 'R' rolling off his tongue, you would be lying if you said that didn't make your cheeks flush.

"As I'll ever be."

You replied, keeping your tight grip on his hand as he pushed into you, it wasn't entirely foreign, considering the things you did with the informant, but his sheer size was much more, leaving you huffing out thin breaths as he eased into you.

"Breathe, Cariño."

Gabriel hummed, pressing his free hand gently on your stomach, a light bulge poking through your skin.

"I can feel you there.."

You sighed, looking up with bleary eyes, unknowing that what you said was all it took for Gabriel's self control to shatter, his hand traveling to the right of your hip and digging into the blanket as he forced his hips in and out of you.

"Ga—be! Slow down-"

You whined, curling upwards to grab at his shoulder, his lips meeting yours but his pace never faltered, tip slamming against your sweet spot with ease each time.

"Ho-ld on Gab- ah!"

Pornographic moans spewed from your mouth, your brain not caring for form words as you were fucked mercilessly, drool falling from your irritated lips as your mouth hung open.

"Sorry Cariño, you feel so tight.."

Gabe hummed, his free hand coming to grip your thigh, so tight you were sure it'd leave a hand sized bruise tommorow.

His pace faltered as he grew closer to his release, his roughness didn't fail to bring you closer to your climax, clinging to him as he slammed his hips into you, the sound of skin on skin filling the room, echoing under the sound of your moans.

"Please- I'm gonna cu—m~ I'm gonna cum- oh fuck-"

You whined, gasping as Gabe's thumb pressed over your slit, denying your release.

"Not yet amor, be patient."

Gabriel said through ragged breathes, smoke seething from his mouth as he gritted his teeth.

Harsh thrusts left you gasping for air, your body shaking as Gabe's thumb left your tip, your orgasm crashing into you like a bus, cum spilling on your stomach.

It took little time for Gabe to take his final thrusts, groaning as he came, riding his orgasm out, the thumb of his clasped hand stroking yours, you sighed as he pulled out of you, a smile reaching your face as he leaned down to kiss your face.

"I love you, but I'll hate you tommorow cause my back is going to hurt like hell."

Gabe chuckled at your comment, crawling fully into the bed with you, covering the both of you up.

"Hate me all you want."

A/N : GABRIEL !!! RAGH!!! GAY !!!!

#gabriel reyes x male reader #gabriel reyes #reaper x male reader #reaper #Overwatch #smut #overwatch smut

[plaqying]

sweetheart headcanons

sweetheart headcanons bc im relistening to milo's playlist for the hundredth time

sugar mommy/daddy/parental figure. they are definitely rich, and constantly buys stuff for the pack

raging mommy issues, but has the worlds best dad (basically the opposite of milo)

knows how to pole dance. dont even ask

enjoys horror games like mortuary assistant, silent hill and dead space, but loves games like sally face, fran bow, undertale, ddlc (they are yet to trick milo into playing this), omori and nso (idk what horror genre youd call this)

asked marie for help when they wanted to get better at healing

was 100% a fandom kid, specifically ddlc and undertale (self-projecting rn)

was a "pleasure to have in class"

is still scared of losing milo after inversion, which is why they like listening to his heartbeat cuz it reminds them that he's still there (someone commented this on the sleep aid vid and i cried)

was so happy when they met sam cuz it meant they werent the only empowered non shifter at pack meetings/solstices there

good at every single video game except minecraft. angel tried to get them to play it and they immediately fell off a cliff or something

gifted kid burnout

can only cook mac n cheese. other than that theyre almost as bad as asher

their mom was allergic to cats and they were never let near any, and got very excited when they met aggro since he was one of the first cats they had seen in a long time

always covered in cat fur

david is scared of them and they find it hilarious

the only one of the mates who actually met gabe (this is actually canon but whatever)

sometimes they'll explain empowered stuff to angel and babe, like how the department works and stuff

fully explained the covert thing asher got in trouble for to babe (they didnt explain how his name mysteriously disappeared from DUMPS list tho)

they kick absolute ass with babe playing just dance

contantly takes the piss outa milo and sams accent

really tall (same height as ash)

thats all i can think of rn, ill probably come up with more and post them separately, but i just wanted to get these idea out quickly before i forget about them

remember to not take any of this seriously, and that its all just my opinions and thoughs

luv u x

#redactedverse #redacted audio #redacted milo #milo greer #milo #redacted sweetheart #headcanon

[magical-characters-tourney]

ROUND ONE BRACKETS

Are these brackets even readable? I dunno. Either way, here’s the bracket!

Matchups (randomly seeded) under the cut to make them easier to read. Each matchup will last a week.

The winners of each bracket will face each other in one final match to discover who is the ULTIMATE magical boy.

Criteria used to decide who got in: 1) Use magic, or 2) Have a transformation sequence, or 3) Fight with the power of friendship (and sometimes that gun they found on the sidewalk over there) or any of the above combined.

edit: Magikal Nuko Len Len has been disqualified due to the only picture being available being disgusting. Sorry for making people uncomfortable by being ignorant and bad at observation.

edit 2: I have been provided a better image of Magikal Nuko Len Len. I’ll be setting his poll back up. Sorry for the confusion, everyone.

Riku Amami (World Embryo) vs Schubert (Classicaloid)

Jio (Magical Crash) vs Kousuke Nitoh (Kamen Rider Wizard)

Tatsuhisa Kamijo (Yu-Gi-Oh Sevens!) vs Black Pepper (Delicious Party Precure)

Taishi Manza (Cute High Earth Defense Club Happy Kiss) vs Judar (Magi)

Cure Kagura (Dancing Star Precure The Stage) vs Cure Lock (Dancing Star Precure The Stage)

Saiga Arata (Dear Magi -Mahou Shounen Gakka-) vs Takuto (Mahou x Shonen x Days)

En Yufuin (Cute High Earth Defense Club Love!) vs Dark Magician (Yu-Gi-Oh)

Mozart (Classicaloid) vs Haruhito Sugiyama (Mewkledreamy)

Chiaki Nagoya (Kamikaze Kaitou Jeanne) vs Io Naruko (Cute High Earth Defense Club Love!)

Gabe Travolt (Magical How) vs Garnet Heart (Magical Warrior Diamond Heart)

Yue (Cardcaptor Sakura) vs Takuto Tsunashi (Star Driver)

Kairi Sanjo (Shugo Chara) vs Bright Illusion (Elsword)

Viperion (Miraculous Ladybug) vs Carapace (Miraculous Ladybug)

George Honda (Star Driver) vs Yumoto Hakone (Cute High Earth Defense Club Love!)

Merlin (The Sword and the Stone) vs Takeo Takumi (Star Driver)

Yuki (Mahou x Shonen x Days) vs Qu Le (Magical Boys)

Peter Grant (Rivers of London) vs Blanc (Kidultic Showtime)

Cure Break (Dancing Stars Precure The Stage) vs Basil (Magical Boy Basil)

Kazune Kujyo (Kamichama Karin) vs Superman (My Adventures with Superman)

Mamoru Chiba (Sailor Moon) vs Shun/Schlain Zagar Analeit (So I’m a Spider, So What?)

Ichiro Dougo (Cute High Earth Defense Club Happy Kiss) vs Rio Kuroki (KiraKira Precure A La Mode)

Synn Sakura (Twinkle Crusaders) vs Ge Jiuzhong (I Don’t Want to be a Magical Girl)

Atsushi Kinugawa (Cute High Earth Defense Club Love!) vs Jason (Kidultic Showtime)

Hinomiya Kaito (Dear Magi -Mahou Shounen Gakka-) vs Shining Spiral (Elsword)

Ukiyo Ace/Kamen Rider Geats (Kamen Rider Geats) vs Asahi Minamikawa (Mewkledreamy)

Camilo Madrigal (Encanto) vs Vivi (Final Fantasy)

Ryouma Kirishima (Cute High Earth Defense Club Happy Kiss) vs Magolor (Kirby)

Qifrey (Witch Hat Atelier) vs Tsubasa Yuunagi (Hirogaru Sky Precure)

Shu Yan (Ye Luoli) vs Takara Utashiro (Fairy Ranmaru ~Anata no Kokoro O-tasukeshimasu~)

Visare Nightfall (Vampire Magicka) vs Hideki Shibuya (Star Driver)

Kikyou (Magical Boy Troubles) vs Ayumu Aikawa (Is This a Zombie?)

Kousuke Kasuga (Kimagure Orange Road) vs Ryuu Zaou (Cure High Earth Defense Club Love!)

Yakumo Katou (Shuriken Sentai Ninninger) vs Ran (Mahou x Shonen x Days)

Kirby (Kirby) vs Akihito Sugiyama (Mewkledreamy)

Henri Wakamiya (Hugtto Precure) vs Bright Heart (Elsword)

Ikuto Tsukiyomi (Shugo Chara) vs Syaoran Li (Cardcaptor Sakura)

Mephisto (Lolirock) vs Max Owen (Magical Boy)

Cure Top (Dancing Star Precure The Stage) vs Blue Knight (Tokyo Mew Mew)

Mei Xin (I Don’t Want to be a Magical Girl) vs Ranmaru Ai (Fairy Ranmaru ~Anata no Kokoro O-tasukeshimasu~)

Antonio Madrigal (Encanto) vs Magikal nuko len len (Vocaloid)

Adora Flora (Magical Mom) vs My Cat Stormy (real life)

Tsukasa Tenma (Project Sekai) vs Satoshi Hiwatari (D.N.Angel)

Harry Dresden (The Dresden Files) vs Minatsuki Sakuya (Dear Magi -Mahou Shounen Gakka-)

Haruto Souma (Kamen Rider Wizard) vs Juka Mutsuoka (Fairy Ranmaru ~Anata no Kokoro O-tasukeshimasu~)

Cure Soul (Dancing Star Precure The Stage) vs Souta Kishibe (Magical Girl Raising Project)

Tadase Hotori (Shugo Chara) vs Shining Cosmo (Elsword)

Ryousuke Katashiro (Star Driver) vs Hikaru (Mahou x Shonen x Days)

Daisuke Niwa (D.N.Angel) vs Homura Hoterase (Fairy Ranmaru ~Anata no Kokoro O-tasukeshimasu~)

Nagihiko Fujisaki (Shugo Chara) vs Shining Astro (Elsword)

Kirio Karasuma (Kamichama Karin) vs Takashi Dai (Star Driver)

Felix (Star Warrior Cosmos Leo) vs Eylan Hasegawa (This is the Magical Boy Training Center)

Howl (Howl’s Moving Castle) vs Giyru (Warriors vs. Warriors)

Daichi (Mahou x Shonen x Days) vs Xia Lou (Mahou Shounen Shuurai)

Uru Seiren (Fairy Ranmaru ~Anata no Kokoro O-tasukeshimasu~) vs Kevin (Power Up)

Heir of Lightning - Prince Citron (Pretty Princess Pomelo) vs Beethoven (Classicaloid)

Saki Uno (Magical Girl Ore) vs Saiki Kusou (The Disasterous Life of Saiki K.)

Gandalf (Lord of the Rings) vs Kim Dokja (Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint)

Wagner (Classicaloid) vs Chat Noir (Miraculous Ladybug)

Bright Marine (Elsword) vs Ultraman Zero (Mega Monster Battle: Ultra Galaxy Legends)

Kazama Mika (Dear Magi -Mahou Shounen Gakka-) vs Emerald Heart (Magical Warrior Diamond Heart)

Starchild (Scooby Doo) vs Mugendou Niki (Dear Magi -Mahou Shounen Gakka-)

Mashira Shinkiro (Isekai Mahou Shounen Momopuri - Keiji to Yakuza ga Kawaikunatta Kudan) vs Kukai Soma (Shugo Chara)

Itsuki (Josou Mahou Shounen Battle Flyer Itsuki) vs Kuranushi Rin (Dear Magi -Mahou Shounen Gakka-)

Kyoutarou Shuzenji (Cute High Earth Defense Club Happy Kiss) vs Rikumori Yuu (Dear Magi -Mahou Shounen Gakka-)

so many tags.. so so many aghhhhhhhh

#Precure #cute high earth defense club love #fairy ranmaru #magical girl ore #shugo chara #magical warrior diamond heart #elsword #miraculous ladybug #star driver #kamichama karin #classicaloid #is this a zombie #Kamen rider #mewkledreamy #yugioh #mega monster battle #dearmagi #mahou x shonen x days #Cardcaptor Sakura #kirby #witch hat atelier #omniscient reader's viewpoint #the disastrous life of saiki k. #tokyo mew mew #lolirock #d.n.angel #Sailor moon #so im a spider so what #kamikaze kaitou jeanne #vocaloid

[toasttt11]

gabe x riley x will

gabe x riley x will

5”11 x 5”9 x 6”0

sunshine x grumpy x sunshine

hockey player x hockey player x hockey player

golden retriever x black cat x golden retriever

her softest spot x the gf x her soft spot

always warm x always warm x always cold

he fell second x she reluctantly fell x he fell first

sweet boy x angry girl x sassy boy

needs cuddles x does need both x needs kisses

cleans her up x always fighting x thinks it’s hot

driver x passenger princess x passenger princess

#riley leonard #rl9 #ryan leonard #will smith hockey x oc #will smith hockey #gabe perreault x oc #gabe perreault blurbs #gabe perreault imagines #gabe perreault #bc hockey #boston college #drew fortescue #jacob fowler #aram minnetian #cutter gauthier #nhl x oc #nhl au #nhl blurbs #nhl blurb #nhl imagine #nhl fic #washington capitals #san jose sharks #new york rangers

[wazzappp]

I am thinking. About Robbie purring. Again. (Adding a read more because my thoughts really started zoomin with this one godamn)

Thinking he just finished fighting a lot of people and is actually feeling a little satiated, a little more satisfied for the moment. He’s walking back to the car when he notices the sound of another engine but it’s far far more muffled, and sounds happier (?) than the hell chargers violent background drone. Then he realizes it’s actually him. And it’s. Weird. But he’s already on fire and has a leather suit instead of skin so why the fuck w o u l d n t he make weird rumbley noises ghost rider is weird already.

So he snuffs out and goes home to Gabe, who just figured out how to do some kind of math problem by himself and is so excited to show Robbie. And Robbie is just. So proud. Gabe asks him for a hug and OF COURSE he gives one. And things just seem kind of right for the moment. His more violent needs are actually sort of satisfied (for now), Eli has shut the fuck up for once in his life, and Gabe is happy and learning and. There it is again. He can feel it in his chest this time which is extra weird because he can feel his lungs and his heart and his entire godamn ribcage VIBRATING.

Robbie immediately shifts too PANIK because he’s supposed to be HUMAN right now and HUMAN PEOPLE can’t make that fucking NOISE. But it also just won’t stop and dear god is it getting LOUDER? Gabe is confused but just keeps hugging his brother until his breathing goes back to normal and he stops radiating heat like a damn furnace and all thats left is what has grown to be a very comforting sound.

I’d imagine Gabe kinda loves it. Partly for sensory purposes because cat purrs are proven to help calm people. But primarily because it’s an easier way to read his brother. Very easy to tell when someone is actually happy when they have a noise dedicated to it.

Robbie is freaking the fuck out and actually starts to question how human he actually is even when he isn’t burned up. Scars and weird eye colors are… fine. But what the f u c k. What if other stuff starts leaking through (I personally think other stuff already HAS and if you x-rayed him he would be weird as fuck) He tolerates this though because of Gabe. If there was any other instance where he started purring elsewhere he would be fucking mortified.

Eli is m a d. The godamn indecency of it Robbie, why did you make us come back so fucking w e i r d. Well obviously its your fault I’m the one who knows what I’m doing. We are not a fucking CAT- oh wait that’s a really nice knife, great polish very shiny you should buy it

#I think he would probably start growling at people too #hes just a noisy boi #the existential crisis of purring lmao #I'm so sorry I just really love this idea #I also think robbie hard copes with his... situation by thinking of himself separate from ghost rider #so when traits start crossing over he gets really fucking upsetti spaghetti about it #robbie reyes #all new ghost rider #personal headcannon #gabe reyes #eli morrow #text post