#on the back of the couch and back legs on the couch pillows while wedged between us

[hardly-an-escape]

I believe with all my heart that Buck still struggles during thunderstorms after being hit by lightning. luckily Tommy makes an extremely effective weighted blanket.

Tommy awakens, in the early hours of the morning, to a clap of thunder and an empty bed.

He feels sleepily for Evan; that side of the bed is still warm, so he can't be far, probably just in the bathroom.

He dozes off again. When another rolling burst of thunder startles him back to consciousness a few minutes later, Evan is still gone and the sheets have cooled. The rain is clattering hard on the skylight above their bed. With a groan, Tommy hauls himself out of bed to look for his boyfriend.

Evan is not in the en suite bathroom. Nor is he in the office, where he sometimes retreats to read when he can't sleep; nor yet in the kitchen. Tommy stands in the living room, hands on hips, blinking blearily and considering where he might look next.

Then he notices the blankets on the floor.

They’ve got one of those L-shaped couches with the chaise on one side, big and deep enough for two bulky men to cuddle on. Evan has wedged himself against the couch legs in the corner of the L in a pile of blankets and throw pillows, and Tommy doesn’t miss the fact that he’s about as far from the living room windows as it’s possible to be.

Even bleary-eyed, he doesn’t miss the fact that the blinds and curtains are both tightly closed, though he’s sure they’d been open when they went to bed, to catch the last few rays of sunset before the cloud cover rolled over Los Angeles.

Outside, the rain beats heavily against the sidewalk and the roof and the windows and thunder rumbles again across the sky. Inside, Tommy lowers himself down to the living room floor with a grunt and adds himself to Evan's pile of pillows.

"Hey," Evan says, voice sleepy and small.

"Hey," Tommy replies, insinuating one hand into the nest to gently hold the back of Evan's neck. "Storm getting to you?"

"Yeah. Normally it wouldn't, you know, bug me, but I was already having this weird, like, anxiety dream about my sister, and when the thunder and lightning woke me up, it just –"

"You don't have to explain, sweetheart," Tommy cuts in. "I get it."

"It's embarrassing," Evan says, muffled.

"It's not. We have a scary job. Every firefighter I know has something like this, a call or an injury that stuck with them, and not in a good way. Yours just happens to be a little more... visceral, I guess, than some people's."

"I guess. Thanks for coming to check on me."

"Of course." He can feel Evan flinch as another clap of thunder is followed almost immediately by a bolt of lightning that makes the room glow briefly, even through the blinds and curtains. Tommy tightens his grip on the back of his neck. "If you need to stay down here, I'll stay with you, but I think my back and your leg will thank us if we can make it onto the couch."

Evan considers. "Will you lie on top of me?"

"Sure."

They maneuver themselves and the blankets onto the long side of the couch. After some adjustment, Evan ends up on his belly, bad leg cocked to the side and face turned toward the back of the couch, clutching a throw pillow to his chest while Tommy plasters himself against his back like the world's heaviest weighted blanket.

"Okay, you were right, this is so much better than the floor," Evan says, sighing happily, and Tommy grins, and rubs his nose on the back of Evan's neck, and kisses the curve of his ear.

"Tomorrow I'll look for some blinds or something we can put on the skylight, okay? It would probably help if it didn't feel so exposed, right?"

There's a long, silent beat. "You don't have to do that just for me," Evan says eventually.

"Eh, it gets too bright in there anyway. I'm an old man, remember, I need all the help sleeping I can get. And besides," Tommy adds quietly. "I want to do things for you."

"Oh, well in that case," Evan says. "Yeah, I think it would help."

"Then we'll do it," Tommy says simply. They lie there for a few minutes, listening to the wind. The rain is still heavy, but it sounds like the worst of the weather system is receding, blowing away to wherever storms go when they've blown out all their furious energy. Evan's breathing has evened out, and the tension is receding from his body as the storm gets quieter and quieter.

“Do you, uh, do you remember that storm?” Evan asks. He doesn’t have to specify which storm.

“I do, actually. I was supposed to be doing some training runs that night, but all non-emergency flights got grounded. And then the next day, everybody and their granny heard about the guy who literally got struck by lightning. That was pretty memorable.”

Evan sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess it was, wasn’t it?”

There’s this feeling welling up inside his chest like water from an underground spring. It’s this combination of marvel and abject gratitude and a dash of there but for the grace of God go I, and Tommy is searching for the right words to try and tell Evan what he’s thinking.

“I’m really glad you’re here, sweetheart,” is what comes out.

Evan wriggles happily underneath him. “Yeah, me too, babe.”

“No, I mean –” Tommy clears his throat against the sudden lump. “I mean, you don’t know how glad I am you’re here. There’s so many things that – that could have taken you away from me before I even got the chance to have you. And I would never have known – I wouldn’t have even known you were missing from my life.”

"Yeah," Evan says softly. "Yeah, I think about that sometimes, too. When Chimney told me about saving you from that explosion, back in the day... he was laughing about it, kind of, but I kept thinking, like. That could have been it. No more Tommy."

"No us," Tommy murmurs.

"No us." Evan cranes his neck around. They can't quite kiss, not at this angle, but Tommy can press his forehead against Evan's temple and breathe him in. The smell of his nice moisturizer and under that the smell of his skin, so fragile and so dear.

[pedge-page]

Hey, could you do one for Javier Peña for piss kink please? :) if you can. It can be any scenario. Thank you!!

notes: it has been a minute for smut writing and especially PK, but thank you to those who are still ready to read!

Javi's Letting Go

Javi Peña x F!Reader

Warnings: Piss kink, slight piss drinking, unprotected sex, creampie, brief shower sex, rough sex, dom!javi then docile!Javi!, oral m!receiving, not proofread

18+ ONLY

- - - -

It was way too fucking humid tonight. His clothes stick to his body even after showing in his own apartment. Even his leather couch was painful to get up from.

They got another false lead today.

He was going insane. Set up a whole squad to track it for two weeks only for it to be bogus. Wasted time. Wasted money. 

He wanted to be wasted right now.

So that’s what he did, right as he called you up. 

When he opened the door, you were standing there with glittery lashes, a tight dress borderline wedging up your ass, and fishnet stalkings begging to be torn.

His eyes were baggy and hooded. He made no attempt to hide the way he looked up you and down, purring low in his chest as he checked your legs. A brown bottle dangled loosely from his left hand as he propped himself with an elbow against the wall.

“Already started without me?” You coo, grasping his chin with your thumb and sauntering in like you were here daily.

Lately, you were.

-

“Fuck, Javi!” 

The bed frame rattles aggressively against the poor wall. It was hot as shit in here, but the activities between you were not helping cool anything down in the slightest.

He bares his teeth as he shoves your face into the mattress, pulling your ass flush against his hip again. He cock plunged deliciously inside you, his tip kissing your cervix.

He was trying to fuck you into oblivion.

You weren’t lost on it. The way his fingers dig a little too incessantly into your sides. He keeps re-gripping you, like he’s not happy with any place he can put his hands and keep them there. The sweat dripping from his chest onto your back makes you think he’d been thinking more with his brain too lately than his body. That’s why you’re here. 

His pace is hard and fast followed but deep, harsh strokes in and out. He’s putting his hips into over drive, trying to find the spot inside you to get both of you to cum.

You’d already cum, with how much he’s been drilling you into the bed. A pillow propped right below your waist, your clit snagged perfectly against its plushness. You shivered and whined each time, but it never did him any good. He just kept going ,determined to reach his high. He could always feel when you cum. In fact, he’d usually change his own dynamic to make sure you rode yours out before going for another.

There was nothing else on his mind right now. With the way his thighs slapped obscenely against the back of yours, he wasn’t thinking about anything else except his own elusive orgasm.

“Javi—please,” you croak. You manage to tilt your head to the side, breathing in the air instead of the sweaty pillow you’d been biting the last hour. “Let me—let me suck you off this time--mmf!”

He grasps your mouth with his meaty palm and crowns over your body tightly. His hips pumping madly, in and out, while you whimper into his palm repeatedly.

You can hear his panting, like it’s desperate and hoarse. Like he’s trying to strangle his cock in your cunt. He’s been on the verge for hours and yet—nothing has crescendoed him into release. 

“FUCK!” He shouts, forcing his dick deep one last time inside you before pulling out and away from you.

You let out a breath through your lips.

The slick sound of his cock beating against your pussy lips makes you turn slightly, your eyes scanning his face for the first time in a minute.

His eyes are squeezed shut, veins in his forearm and bicep flexing to their straining point as he fists his shaft at lightening speed. his nose scrunches in frustration. It’s not working.

You know he had a bad day without him saying so.

He breaths out one last time then tosses both arms into the air in defeat. His hands come down and fist his own hair, but he says nothing. 

He’s staring up at the ceiling for so long, he almost forgets you’re there were it not for the gentle tickle of your lips pressing ever so softly below his belly button.

He looks down, your doe eyes staring back at him. You kiss him again there, hovering over his happy trail. He feels your pretty nails grasp his pelvis, splayed out across his lower abdomen. It’s like a tease, but he’s still trying to figure out what you’re doing.

His wet tip bumps against your chin.

“Try something f’me,” you whisper, giving it a soft kitten kiss while watching him.

He doesn’t respond, but doesn’t flinch away either.

You take that as your cue to press a little firmly into his public area. He lets out a surprised grunt.

“Shhhh.” You nuzzle your nose against his lower belly there, right above the base of his cock.

You’re doing something to him, something he’s not sure about. It’s like you’re unwinding him from the inside, convincing his body to let go of what his mind is so damn tightly holding on to. He’s too intrigued by your actions that he doesn’t have half a mind to fight it off. the alcohol in him is finally able to take over. Swimming through his veins and finally letting him breathe.

“I want you to do what feels natural,” you hum, your thumb dancing along his hairs  before pushing in again. 

“Oh shit—“Javi lets out a grunt again, almost a whimper. “I don’t think—“

“Then don’t.”

Your tongue swirls around his bulbous head, tasting his precum and your dried juices mingling together. You part your lips, tongue holding his cock upright so he can see his tip resting in your mouth. You jerk his lightly, just enough that he can feel tingly. 

His chest rises and falls, stuttering. He swallows. He feels his hands dangle uselessly by his sides but he doesn’t mind. His stomach pulls in on itself then pushes out. 

He looks at you one last time for reassurance. You nod. You’ll take it from here.

So he closes his eyes and surrenders. Floats for a minute. Only feeling you stimulating him down there, and nothing else matters.

For the first time all week, he feels cool again.

A feint hissing sound brings him back to Earth. When he looks down again, he almost falls backwards.

A steady stream of yellow liquid is leaving his tip and entering your mouth, flooding your tongue before spilling down your cheeks and chin and onto your tits and stomach.

He’s pissing in your mouth, and you’re letting him.

There’s a little tug at the corner of your lips, wanting to smile. You’re proud of him.

He should stop. Fuck he should stop, this is so wrong—he’d never defile you like this!

But his body in control now, and there’s no stopping it. He goes and goes and keeps going. Urine splattering the back of your tongue and bouncing out to trickle below. You’re absolutely covered in it, shiny under the lamp light and dampening the sheets below you as if it were yours. 

The taste was bitter but you stayed still, letting him piss out everything he had drank tonight. You cup your tits below, and his eyes flicker down.

Pursing your lips, you slurp the messy stream loudly like a water fountain. He helps angle his cock so that it aims down your neck and over your breasts, splashing. The two of you grin. 

It’s fucking good.

Using your fingers, you draw the hood of your clit back. Javi catches on quick and directs his stream down there. “Oohhhhh,, fuck yeah baby…so fuckin’ warm,” you moan. You spread your legs wider, one hand keeping your folds apart so he can piss on your pussy, the other groping your tit and pinching your nipples.

When he finally releases everything that was inside him, he lets out a sight. You’re completely covered in urine. his urine. Slick and smelly and sexy as ever as you play with your pussy mixed with his piss. 

He falls on top of you, your body wetly pressing against his. His tongue finds your lips, uncaring of the taste of his own liquid gold as you make out heavily. He slips his cock back in, thrusts in and out deep but slowly. The two of you moaning into each other until you’re both cumming. Shivering from toe to head, he paints your walls white. You feel euphoric, your core warm and squeezing perfectly around him as you milk one another.

He kisses your collar bone, sated. “Thank you.”

-

It’s on the fifth night straight in a row that you’re over. He’s just pressed you flush against the shower wall, petting out a harsh pant before you feel the overwhelming rush of warm filling you and quickly leaving between your legs and down the drain.

“You’re getting better each time,” you hum, biting your lip. The sensation overwhelms you, and your own piss is joining his down your legs. 

He chuckles against your cheek. “You’re gonna do it in my mouth next.”

- - - -

Taglist: @harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow @wintersquirrel @fluffygoffpanda @picketniffler @bbyanarchist

@romana-after-dark new pk for you

[sheerfreesia007]

Tickled Confessions

Pairing: Han Jisung x Reader

Word count: 1,759

Content warnings: Fluff

Summary: Your relationship with Jisung has morphed into a sweet easy love that you think is only one sided. What happens when he confesses in one of the most shocking ways to you?

You plop down onto the couch in Jisung and Minho’s apartment as Jisung walks around the other side of the couch talking about an anime that he wants you to start watching with him since Minho isn’t interested in it. Nodding your head you lay out on the couch and Jisung looks down at your legs before shaking his head at you and flopping down heavily on top of you causing you groan out loudly while he giggles at your theatrics.

“Why are you so heavy?” you grumble out as he begins to twist and turn causing you to grunt softly at his movement, until he’s wedged himself between your legs with his head resting on your stomach while his arms wrapped lazily around your waist and over your hips. He reached over your body to grab the remote from the coffee table before settling back on top of you heavily as your breath escapes your body in a low hiss.

“You love it.” he teased  softly just before he nuzzled his face into your covered stomach making you squeal softly in surprise feeling your stomach muscles twitch with how ticklish you are. Jisung chuckles softly before nipping your stomach through your shirt and turning his head to stare at the television as he pulls up the anime.

The two of you fall into a quiet comfort as you both lay on the couch watching the anime. You have to admit that it’s an entertaining show and you can’t help diving into it so easily and becoming immersed in it. But just as it’s starting to pick up in the storyline Jisung starts to fidget distracting you from the show slightly. You notice it idly as he shifts in his place while rubbing his cheek against your stomach and your muscles tense in preparation of being tickled. He was known to try and be cute and cuddly but then attack you with tickles so you were trying to prepare yourself.

“Stop tensing, you turn into a hard pillow then.” he grumbles out to you and huffs at him as you try to relax.

“Stop fidgeting.” you scold him softly as your hands come to rest against his shoulder blades. 

Your fingers trace along the indentation of his shoulder bones through his skin and hear him let out a loud calming breath. You continue to trace your fingers along his back trying to soothe him as you go back to focusing on the anime. Jisung’s body grows heavier on you and you feel his breathing start to even out as you realize that he’s fallen asleep on you. You grow distracted with his sleeping form as you stare down at him and admire how cute he looks when he’s asleep.

You and Jisung had been friends for a few years at this point and your relationship had been like the slow ebb and flow of the ocean waves, always constant in your affection and adoration of him but the intensity would change depending on his schedule. When he was not on tour or super busy with his schedule it was like the crashing of the waves on the shore, powerful and would almost knock you off your feet. And when he was on tour and away from months at a time with his hectic busy life it was like when the waves pulled away from the shore, just a distant memory of your affection for him always there but distant leaving a lingering feeling within your body. 

Your relationship with him was something that had become almost second nature for you, it was easy because the two of you made it easy for each other. There was no expectation or pressure on your relationship; it was laid back and almost snuck up on you, at least your love for him had. 

You hadn’t realized that you were falling in love with him until the last time they had gone on tour overseas. The both of you had kept in touch with each other almost constantly this time around since it had felt like you both were missing the other more. He had surprised one night with purchasing a flight ticket for you to come and visit him for a few days on one of their stops on tour, you had eagerly packed and gotten on that plane.

When you had landed and made it out of baggage claim he was standing there at the doors leading out to the pick up area holding a dorky sign that read ‘Stray Kids #1 Fan’ with a bunch of multicolored hearts drawn around the whole sign and his beaming smile that nearly blinded you. It was then when you felt your heart swell with a love so big you couldn’t deny anymore that was when you knew that your heart had gripped onto him and refused to let him go.

You had thought at first that it would be awkward to be in love with him since you didn’t believe he felt the same but surprisingly it was just as easy as your friendship. The two of you were already close and touchy as friends but now it was just an added feature that your heart would beat a certain rhythm when you were with him. It was an easy quiet love that just grew and grew within you until it became a part of your entire being. Sighing softly you smiled down at him as your eyes danced around his peaceful face.

“I can feel you staring.” he mumbled sleepily and you scoffed softly before turning your head away from him and back to the television. He whined softly as he buried his face in your stomach and rubbed it back and forth to gather your attention once more. “Don’t stop.” he whined and you chuckled at his silly antics.

“Quiet, I’m trying to watch this anime.” you cooed at him softly as you kept your face turned to the television. Jisung whined loudly this time as he buried his face in your stomach again nuzzling into your shirt and the muscles behind it trying to get you to pay attention to him. You flinched at his movement and nearly came straight off the couch when you felt his fingers ghost against your sides. The two of you held still there for a moment in the silence before you spoke up.

“Don’t.” you warned softly right before Jisung dug his fingers into your sides and began to tickle you hurriedly. You twisted and turned trying your hardest to get away from the offending appendages of the man on top of you as you gasped and shrieked. Finally you managed to grab onto his own sides and he snapped his head up to stare at you with wide eyes before you smirked at him delighted. “Payback Sungie.” You cooed at him and began to tickle him back. 

His body bowed and snapped on itself trying to get away from you as he screamed with laughter. You laughed along with him while flipping him onto his back on the couch to gaze down at him as your fingers continued to lightly dig into his sides until he was gasping for air. You beamed adoringly down at him as his eyes squeezed close and his mouth dropped open in happy unabashed laughter while his body twisted underneath you. 

As you continued your assault on the poor man beneath you you didn’t hear the front door opening over Jisung’s screaming laughter or see the man who entered the apartment silently to stare at the two of you with a soft smirk on his face. His body nearly snapped in half when your fingers dug into the skin right about his hip bones and you smirked down at him as you dug your knees into the couch trying to keep him underneath you.

“Please!” Jisung suddenly cried out breathlessly and you grinned wickedly down at him as your eyes watched him avidly with happiness shining through your irises. “Please, no more!” he gasped out as his head fell back against the couch cushions while he pressed his hips up against yours trying to dislodge you from him. You leant down over him to hover above his face as you cooed softly at him teasingly while slowing your fingers movements.

“What’s the magic word?” you asked teasingly before digging your fingers into his sides once more causing him to bow his body underneath you as he gasped out loudly. His eyelids were at half mast as he stared at you with love filled eyes and you sucked in a harsh breath when you saw something shift within them.

“I love you!” he gasped out and you felt your heart explode inside your chest as warmth filled you instantly at his confession. Your fingers immediately stopped tickling him and you hovered over him panting slightly as your eyes darted around his face as he gasped for air beneath you. His eyes stayed locked with yours and the two of you just took in the moment before Jisung began to shift with uncertainty. You knew his anxiety was starting to skyrocket within him and you immediately leant down and pressed your lips against his in a sweet soothing kiss that caused him to whimper softly in surprise as his lips chased yours when you pulled away slightly.

“Love you too.” you whispered to him sweetly and his eyes slowly and almost lazily opened to shine at you. It was quiet for a moment as you both basked in the loving confessions shared between the two of you before it was rudely interrupted.

“Ugh, disgusting!” came the rough voice of Minho as he gagged, causing you and Jisung to whip your heads over to stare at him as he sneered at the two of you playfully. You nearly fell on top of Jisung in your haste to get off the couch and walk over to Minho who watched with amused eyes while Jisung steadied you with a soft pout on his face as you stood up. You noticed the grocery bags at his feet and quickly began to walk over to him to help but Jisung grabbed your wrist before tugging you back to him. He was already standing from the couch and easily caught you in his arms before tilting your head up to him and pressing another sweet kiss to your lips while Minho gagged again from behind the two of you as you chuckled softly into the kiss.

SKZ Taglist: @intartaruginha, @kayleefriedchicken

[worstghost]

nsfw LOGAN thoughts because I saw deadpool and wolverine and it's all I can think about 🫶🫶🫶

f!reader, a little pinch of dark!Logan, this is all over the place my bad

♡You're obviously significantly younger than Logan- and he kinda loves it. Loves the idea of a little corruption, starring in a few of your 'firsts'.

♡Teaching you how to ride him, letting you get your rhythm, it's cute, but the soft creak of the bed while you shyly rock your hips on top of him isn't enough. You're flustered, embarrassed that you haven't done this before, trying so hard to get a reaction out of him while he holds your hips and looks up at you. If you look sad enough and ask sweetly enough, he'll brace himself against the bed and tell you to hold tight, encouraging you to lean back against his bent knees while he takes over. This is what he wanted of course, he loves when you let him give you what you so desperately want but can't get.

♡He has you holding on for dear life by the end of your orgasm, digging your nails into his shoulders, gasping when he catches one of your bouncing tits between his lips and sucks. You gush against him, legs quivering from being stuck in one position, and you beg him to finish inside you. He can't deny you, flushing hot listening to you whine-

'Please, please, Logan, oh please...'

♡He should make you beg more, fuck you into the bed until you're sobbing, begging him to fill you up, crying for him to just give it to you- his mind blanks as he comes, lifting you with his own hips in a few brutal strokes as his hands shred the bedsheets around him in place of your soft skin.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

♡You're on your knees on a pillow, eye level with his half hard dick and it's too late to back out now- you've given a blow job before, you assure him, this isn't new. But the size... the need to impress him is. You swallow hard avoiding his eyes as you trail fingers up his hips, watching his stomach flex. He's smiling at you, nicer than usual, and reaches a hand out to cup your chin, squeezing your mouth open by your cheeks.

'You can do it, baby. I know you can.'

♡You nod along and allow him to hook a finger into your lips and open you wider, sliding the tip against your tongue. If you weren't already drooling, the feeling of him hardening in your mouth helps it along. Every little huff and grunt you get from him swells in your chest and you can't help but feel proud, taking him deeper until he touches the back of your throat. You swallow around him, squeezing a tear from your eye as you adjust. That gets him- he groans and you feel it reverberate through your body as he swipes the wetness from your cheeks. You learn a lot that night- about sucking dick and about what he likes.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

♡He couldn't help himself, the second you're back from dinner he has you against the apartment door, pushing your little sundress up and sinking to his knees in front of you.

♡You had teased him the whole night, subtly pressing your little wedged heels against his thigh, then his crotch under the table- making conversation with Vanessa and Wade like you weren't such a tease. That's what he called you, pressing his nose against the seam of your panties and inhaling- holding you against the door by your thigh swung over his shoulder.

'Fucking tease- bet you won't do it again after this...'

♡You definitely will.

♡Your legs are shaking, trying to cover your mouth and the sounds coming out of it in case your neighbors wanted to be nosy. Logan didn't even bother to undress you, shoving your panties to the side and pressing two thick fingers inside while he tongues your clit. You had him so riled up, smelling you the whole night, catching your glances- in public. The thought makes him groan and he needs to taste more.

♡He grips your thighs and lifts you with him as you yelp and wrap your arms around his head- accidentally giving him access to your throat which he greedily sucks and bites at before tossing you on the couch.

♡You didn't know you could fold this way, he has you nearly bent in half, tight grip on one ankle and the other knee, devouring you like he'll never get another chance- your underwear long shredded by now. You whimper against your hand, squeezing his fingers so tight if he wasn't made of metal you're sure they'd snap. You're so close, chanting his name, you can feel the build up in your belly-

♡And he stops- with incredible restraint only a man of his age could muster, he stops, gently dropping your legs and wiping his chin, watching you. You sob, legs falling open as he just smiles at you, all pretty and innocent.

♡He gets up and starts moving toward the bedroom, unbuttoning his worn flannel as he goes, waiting for you to uncover your face and beg just the way he likes. Logan can't say no to you, but he can definitely hold out a little.

[bahrtofane]

helloo can we have dialogue 9, trope 20 with tchouameni pleasee🫂

- "Stay, please?" - two idiots pinning and not realizing the other is just as in love

word count - 700+

watch it - sleepy eepy silly lovers

I luv him sm yall 

You get a call at 3 in the morning. At first you think it's an alarm so you slap your phone a few times before fumbling around for your charger, sticking your face in your pillow and drifting away. 

Then you get another call, and this time you clock that it's not an alarm but your dearest friend who's decided blowing up your phone is much better than letting you get any rest. It's Friday and you'll give him a pass. (Aurélien gets any and every pass in your book but he doesn't need to know all that).

You answer, of course you do. Voice hoarse as you sit up, slouching against your pillow while you rub the sleep out of your eyes.

“Mind if you open the door.” he mumbles after a rushed greeting. 

You squint,”what?”

“Your door, can you come and open it.” he repeats again. Slower. 

“Where are you?” you yawn.

“Outside, I got you things from Germany and they're really perishable and supposed to be refrigerated and I won't be able to so I thought I'd stop by. Sorry it's so late.” he breathes into his phone.

“No it's okay,” you stumble out of your bed and feed for your slippers in the dark, padding around your apartment phone wedged between your shoulder and your ear. 

He stays on the line, even if he's a few feet away. Not hanging up til he’s greeted by a very puffy eyed you in your pjs still fighting sleep. 

He thinks you're beautiful like this. Warm and soft, exactly how you make him feel. In full honesty he could have kept the assortment of treats with him. His hotel probably has a mini fridge. But he wanted to see you. He knows both of you will get busy again. He'd rather not waste any chances. So here he is, standing in your door frame, sleek black carry-on suitcase in hand and a bag just for you in the other.

You use him inside, flicking on a light and taking his baggage. He tries to fight you but you only whine, wheeling it away from him and up against the wall.

“Tea?” you croak.

He giggles, “no it's okay,” he hands you the tote,” this is for you, i should get going.”

“No wait,” you rub your eyes, “it's late. Stay please?”

His resolve soon crumbles as you take him by the hand, leading him further into your home. To you its second nature. Not a second thought as you dig in your closet for a spare pair of slipper. 

“I have pjs for you somewhere, “ you mumble. 

“No no,” he waves his hands,”its okay i have my own.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

You hum, padding along to get your room in order.

When you come back you see him in his pjs trying to settled on your couch and you frown, “no no you're sleeping in a proper bed get up.”

“It's your house.”

“And?”

“No i'll take the couch you have one bed i can-”

You shut him up with a tug to his sleeve, dragging him to your room. You turn your lamp on and slide in, motioning for him to follow. Friends share beds right? You would have offered if it wasn't him, and he wouldn't have accepted if it wasn't you. 

Maybe it's due to it being so late, to the jet lag, to you just being woken up. Or maybe it's because he feels so safe with you, so at home. And you feel so comfortable, and it feels so right when he slides in next to you, curling his hand around his face and resting his head against your pillow.

You've dreamt about this a million times. But you're too drowsy to be able to truly take it in. 

It's okay, the way Aurélien stares at you wide eyed admiring you makes up for it. He feels too excited to sleep but forces his eyes shut, turning the other way, and taking a deep breath to calm down.

You don't know this now but come morning you'll be pressed up against each other legs tangled and far too embarrassed to bring anything up. You hope he comes by again, maybe at a more reasonable hour next time so you can properly remember it. 

[enjoythesilentworld]

Wille's Month - Riding

day 9 @youngroyals-events xx thank you for all you do.

“You’re sure you don’t want a ride from me instead?”

Wille really enjoys his morning. 

rating: T (cw implied sexual content... duh)

read below the cut or on ao3.

A very loud beeping jolts Simon out of sleep. He scrunches his face and burrows further into the pillow, trying to drown out the sound. The warmth next to him shifts away and there’s a chill that runs down his back at the morning air on his newly exposed skin. Even worse, he’d been having a very nice dream, and was interrupted right before the good part. 

“Sorry, love.” Wille’s sweet voice reaches his ears, much more pleasant than the alarm which is now, thankfully, shut off. 

The sound reminds him that he can fix both problems quite easily. Not only is Wille perfectly warm, he was also the main star of Simon’s dream. He reaches out blindly, wrapping his arms around Wille’s waist and pulling him closer. Though he has yet to open his eyes, he knows Wille’s body just as well as his own and can easily find the soft skin of his neck to kiss. 

“I’ve got to get ready for work, my love,” Wille whispers, brushing curls out of Simon’s face, who shakes his head and latches his legs around Wille, as well. “Simon.” 

Grudgingly, he peeks his eyes open just a sliver to look up at Wille, who’s already smiling down at him with a loving gaze. “Get some more sleep,” he says, then begins to move away. And that simply won’t do, Simon has other plans. He lets Wille untangle himself from Simon’s koala-like grip, but reaches out for him again, catching him by the arm. Wille turns back and plants a soft kiss to the inner skin of Simon’s palm, then his forehead, before slipping away. As his beautiful boyfriend begins to clank around in the bathroom, Simon flops back onto the bed and thinks. He kicks the rest of the sheets off and poses himself just so, then he waits. 

When Wille re-enters the room, humming happily, he barely spares Simon a glance, already browsing the closet for an outfit. He’s a buzz of energy, flitting around the room excitedly. This was pretty typical for Wille, ever the morning person, but Simon knows today is special. Still, Simon also knows he’d really liked that dream, dammit. 

“Baby,” he purrs, rolling onto his side, “come here.” 

It’s as if he’s said nothing, though, because Wille turns around, holding up two ties and asks, “Which do you think is better?”

Simon tries not to look too exasperated. He’s laid himself all pretty on the bed and Wille is asking him about ties.

“The right one,” he says, then crawls forward on the bed. “Do you want my help?” 

Wille nods happily and strides forward, handing over the strip of silk. 

“Guess what today is?” Wille asks giddily, practically bouncing on the spot. 

“What’s today, baby?” he indulges, focused on looping the tie around Wille’s neck, being sure to caress the soft skin there as he goes. It’s one of his favorite spots. 

Wille grins wildly and doesn’t even flinch when Simon leans forward to press a lingering kiss on his jaw. “I’m riding the bus to work today.”

Ah, yes. With Wille’s renouncement of his title and officially stepping down from the throne, he was now, technically, a private citizen. Things had been tumultuous and crazy for a while with the press and the royal court, but he had recently received the affirmative that he no longer required security or private transport. Now, Wille was just Wille. He finally had the normal life he’d been hoping for, wishing for his whole life. When they’d gotten the news, Wille had collapsed into Simon’s arms on the couch and cried in relief. Simon had cried, too. Like that last little weight had been lifted, that last little wedge between them removed. 

So, when Wille had been hired for a new job soon after, he’d been ecstatic. He also had not stopped talking about how excited he was to ride the bus. Sure, they rode public transportation together all the time. This, Wille said, was different. It was an everyday, normal thing. Simon understood. In fact, he found it adorable, if not a little ridiculous, that Wille seemed more excited for the bus ride than the actual job. 

“You’re sure you don’t want a ride from me instead of taking the bus?” he teases, giggling softly when Wille makes an affronted noise. 

“Simon,” he pulls back.

“I know, I’m just joking. Unless,” he pauses, reaching out a hand to fiddle with Wille’s belt, “you’d like to ride me before you go?” 

Wille groans and, ever so slightly, leans into Simon’s touch. “You can’t…”

“Can’t what?” Simon asks innocently, tilting his head up from where he’s knelt on the bed before his boyfriend. He leans upwards and presses a kiss to the corner of Wille’s mouth.

“I’ve really got to go,” he mumbles, half lost in a sigh as Simon kisses along his neck, using the tie to pull him closer. Simon just hums in assent, then guides Wille further forward, coaxing him back into bed. He doesn’t get very far, though, because Wille manages to slip out of Simon’s grip again. 

“I love you,” he says, already grabbing shoes and heading towards the kitchen, “so much. And I promise the second I get home tonight I will be all yours.” 

Simon groans softly in slight frustration, but lets him go. Any remaining frustration is quickly dissipated when Wille sends him many happy selfies along his journey. One at the bus stop, one of the bus pulling up in the background, one with the actual bus driver – how he managed that one, Simon does not know – and a final one of him settled in his seat. He looks incredibly happy and proud, and Simon’s heart swells at the sight. It all works out because later that night, Wille returns with a ridiculous amount of stories about the ride to and from work, then happily follows through on his promise. 

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Sky Full of Stars - Chapter Twenty Six + Epilogue.

Well, besties, here we are at the end of Jade and Adrien's story. Big thanks to those who have stuck with me through it all, I cannot thank you enough for all your love! :)

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty One Twenty Two Twenty Three Twenty Four Twenty Five

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 5,157

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI!

No morning in Manhattan was ever quiet, New York truly being the city that never slept. One part of it was especially noisy, though, one bedroom in particular filled with the helpless moans and wails of a woman near out of her mind with pleasure.  

His cock sank in and out of the velvet wet of her cunt with slow, yet firm thrusts, his chest sliding against her back, her leg hooked under his arm as Jade saw in seven in the morning lying on her side, being fucked very thoroughly. There had been moments in her pregnancy where she’d swung between wanting to be on him all the time, and unable to bear being touched at all due to discomfort. Now, in the final days of it, all she wanted were sex and food.  

Being well laid and well fed were her number one priorities. Her husband had her covered on both counts.  

“Oh my god, oh fuck, that feels incredible!” she virtually growled, feeling his fingers massage in gentle rotation at her clit, his mouth hot in each kiss he peppered against her neck. It sparked golden through her, tingled her veins until they glowed alight, a ceaseless wave of pleasure that continued to lap over her until the crest finally rose, broke her shore and fell again. It left her shaking and fluttering around him as he filled her with cum, teeth gently crushing a bite on her shoulder with a soft groan.  

They dozed for a little while before getting up, taking a shower in turn before Jade went to order breakfast, wanting to hide in the warmth since December had brought with it a very bitter winter to Manhattan. Apparently, back at their house upstate they were already under a few feet of snow, the flurries in the city beginning to intensify more.  

While she loved their apartment, she did miss Stone Barn Castle, all of her animals, too. To be close to her chosen hospital ready to give birth, though, it meant a change of location for a couple of weeks. Little baby Brody had actually been due two days before, but was making his arrival into the world on his own terms, it seemed.  

Yes, they were parents to a boy, as they’d found out shortly after returning from Europe four and a half months ago. Maximus Patrick Steven Brody, as he was named, was definitely very comfortable where he was. His mother was not so content with that. So much so that she rarely left the apartment, her only visits being to see her doctor, and one coffee (herbal tea for her) date she’d been talked into by her good friend, Tony. Mr. Bourdain had greeted her with his usual comedy, standing to hug her and exclaim, ‘hey fatso!’, which had her laughing so hard, she’d nearly peed her pants. 

Apart from the discomfort, she loved being pregnant, not suffering much in the way of emotional outbursts any longer, but definitely still tickled beyond her control by anything comic. Case in point, sitting contentedly in the lounge after they’d eaten, Jade propped by many cushions and a heat pillow on her sore lower back, crying with laughter at a comedy special by British standup comedian named Gina Yashere. Jade had a natural gravitation to her fellow mouthy Londoners. 

“I swear, if you pee on the couch,” Adrien warned lightly, his stomach hurting at both the comedy stylings of Ms. Yashere and the utter hysterics of his wife, tears streaming down her face. “I love you, but not enough to clean up a piss puddle.” 

“I'm fine, it’s only a risk when he’s wedged his head on my bladder,” she gasped, falling apart again, holding her hand to her stomach as her laughter turned to a slight groan. “Oooh, ouch.”  

Eyebrows were raised. “General big belly discomfort, or do we finally have lift off?” 

“I don’t know, but that felt like a twinge,” she revealed, rubbing the swell of her bump, the slight discomfort passing fairly quickly. “I’m still hungry.”  

He couldn’t help but laugh. She’d just demolished a cheese omelette with four eggs, two slices of toast, hash browns and a side of steamed vegetables. He’d never seen her have an appetite like it, bar on the rare occasions she’d been stoned in the past. “Pickle chips?” 

Her eyes lit up. “There’s some left?” 

“I might have hidden a secret stash to prevent you from wailing when there’s none left,” he winked, getting up off the couch. 

“How very dare!” she shouted after him, just about able to reach and smack him on the butt, “I do not wail!” 

“Lies,” he called from the hallway, rooting around for the bag of Lays dill pickle chips he’d hidden in there in a box she wasn’t likely to go nosing in. “You’re a little snap dragon and you know it.” 

She supposed he had her there. Although emotional outbursts were few and far between, she did become a little panicked over the smallest of things. Case in point, her favourite chips not being in plentiful supply.  

“But I’m an adorable snap dragon,” she beamed, doing her best comic cutie voice. 

Leaning to her after passing the chips, he nuzzled her, kissing her forehead. “You got that right, Moo.” After demolishing most of the contents, she began to grow tired, Adrien taking the bag from her hand and wrapping her in a blanket, leaving her a note atop her bump to say he’d gone to the gym. Her afternoon naps sometimes lasted for anything up to three hours, so he had time to kill.  

True to form, he was there and back, showered and changed before she’d even woken up, Jade stretching as she yawned. “You’re in different clothes.” 

“Went to the gym,” he explained, stroking her thigh. “How was your nap?” 

“More like a small coma.” Her statement had him snort laughing as she shifted a little, rubbing beneath her bump. “I still feel a bit uncomfortable, not like usual discomfort either. Lots of pressure. I can’t be in labour, though. It’d be worse than this.” 

His shoulders dropped, letting out a small breath. Reaching for him, she smiled, stroking his cheek with her thumb. As her due date had neared, she’d noticed it, the fact he’d seemed nervous about the impending birth.  

Most might say he had nothing to fear from it, him not the one having to go through something so physically horrific as childbirth, but Jade knew him too well. That was exactly why he was nervous; knowing that she had to endure something so painful, and there wasn’t a thing he could do to take that away or make it better for her. He just had to sit there and spectate the love of his life as she went through the worst pain she’d likely ever be in.  

“It’ll be okay, you know,” she assured him, pulling him near to plant a kiss upon his lips. “Well, it’ll be hell and probably hurt more than I can even imagine, but just as long as you don’t pass out on me.” 

He had a thing about blood. “Yeah, I’ll be fine just as long as I don’t see anything south of your waist. I’ve no desire to watch him coming out. I’ll throw up or keel over. Plus, I really can’t deal with seeing the physical manifestation of you being in so much pain, but trust me, I will be right by your side the entire time.” 

“I understand, don’t worry. You were bad enough when Katie cut her hand open on the kitchen knife at that party a while back. Damn, Bug. You went so pale!” Laughing at the memory, she felt her abdomen tighten significantly, grimacing. “I think this might be it, you know. This feels like what I’ve learned to expect from a contraction.” 

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked, stroking the swell of her bump. 

“Not right now. Just being here is good enough, and holding my hand when I inevitably start panicking a bit,” she chuckled, shuffling to lean into his embrace. “It’ll be a while, too. First labours are always lengthy, as we were told.” 

Despite her vouch that she’d likely begin to panic eventually, Adrien had to marvel at her composure. And her natural knack to find comedy in any situation.  

“It’s odd, though. You and the blood thing, because you have no qualms about sex when I’ve got my period,” she mused, making him snort laugh.  

“Yeah, but that’s in the shower. Self-cleaning system,” he pointed out, grinning a little. “Plus you’re always so damned horny, if I didn’t nail you, you’d yell at me.” 

“Me? Yell?” she began, comically aghast. “You must have me confused with somebody else.” Wincing a little more, the tightness began to subside, Jade getting up with his help and having a little walk around. She’d read that it could help to stay gentle active, assisting in the baby moving down into the pelvis. It also made her sore back much more manageable. 

A few hours passed with little in the way of her discomfort becoming more frequent, even venturing out for a little fresh air and a tea at her favourite coffee shop in the West Village before slowly heading home.  

“Oh, fucking bloody blimey!” she exclaimed, resting a hand to her side as she chopped up salad vegetables to accompany the chicken they were having for dinner.. “Okay, that was way sharper than the rest.” Looking at her watch, a gorgeous Van Cleef timepiece she’d received from Adrien for her birthday that year, she breathed deeply, counting how long it lasted for. Twenty-eight seconds from start to finish, and her elevated pains had begun roughly nine hours ago. Things were progressing, albeit slowly, but she definitely thought this was the early onset of her labour. 

“Want me to help you back to the couch?” Adrien asked, flipping over the chicken breasts he was frying in the pan before him. 

“Nah, Bug. I’m good for now. Here, crack some of this onto the chicken. Always makes it taste better,” she spoke, handing him the truffle salt. Returning to her salad prep, she got that done and plated up, the dishwasher loaded and dinner ate before she felt the pain return, grumbling as she held Adrien’s hand and breathed deeply.  

“How is it now?” 

Muttering a few cusses, she leaned forward, soothed as he rubbed her lower back. “I feel like I have a little horse trying to exit my spine, and my stomach is really tight. Not bad other than that, though.” Not able to get comfortable on the couch, she went for a shower, feeling fresher, the heat working nicely for her pain as well. A few more hours passed, lying on her side with a heat pillow beneath her bump and Adrien’s warmth curled around her, unable to do much more than doze as her contractions steadily worsened in severity, but came no more frequently than every twenty minutes or so. 

Upon waking at 7am, Adrien saw his wife sitting up, stroking her bump as she focused on her laptop screen, watching Grey’s Anatomy since there was no TV present in the bedroom. 

“How long have you been awake?” he asked as she removed an ear bud, turning to him. 

“About an hour, but I didn’t sleep well prior, as you know.” He did indeed, surprised she’d slept at all, given her discomfort.  

Kissing her arm, he rubbed her belly, moving his head just beneath where the laptop was perched to kiss the swell. “Hey, you in there. Hurry this along, boy. Your mom isn’t happy, and we kinda really wanna meet you now, too.” 

She loved it whenever he talked to the baby, Jade smiling as she stroked his hair, her hand then gently flapping as she hissed, checking her watch. “Well, you must be fucking magical. Ouch, shit, ow, ow, ow!” she began, taking deep breaths. “That one was exactly fourteen minutes after the last, so it’s starting to speed up.” After almost twenty-four hours, she was glad of it, but the worsening pain was not welcome, even if the onset of her actually getting to meet her son was. 

After getting up, she showered and dressed with his help, her contractions gradually progressing to every ten minutes by midday, and then every five by late afternoon. This equalled time for them to travel to hospital. Once comfortable in her private room, checked out by a nurse before meeting Brielle, the midwife who would be delivering their baby. While the nurse had a much more stoic manner, Brielle was a complete breath of fresh air. 

“This is so, so surreal for me,” she explained, sitting on the side of the bed. “I love your music and now I get to deliver your baby!” The look of pure joy made a very uncomfortable Jade laugh, feeling reassured.  

Her own doctor who had overseen her pregnancy and been scheduled to deliver the baby was unfortunately unavailable after he’d become injured in a car accident, a dislocated shoulder and broken clavicle preventing him from being there. His replacement was an absolute delight, though. Professional without being too formal. “Okay so you’re five centimetres dilated, which is to be expected at this time. You could be in for a long wait on active labour, but I’ll keep coming in to check on you, as will the nurse.” 

In that tedious waiting time, they managed to find their own entertainment, counteracting their mutual mounting nerves.  

“You have to try this!” she spoke, giggling after taking another breath of the gas and air, handing it to Adrien. He duly accepted. 

“Woah!” Another huff was taken. “Damn, that’s good! That’s stronger than when you get nitrous at the dentist!” 

“Isn’t it?” she giggled, stroking his face. “And now you look high as fuck rather than freaked out. It’s a win, baby.” 

His phone began to ring in his pocket, Adrien groaning. “Oh god, it’s your mom. I can’t do this while I’m high!” His widened eyes had her cracking up. “Help me!" 

Those words only made her hysterics worse. “Put her on speaker, we’ll muddle through.”  

“Adrien! How are you? How’s my buba?” Gemma chirped, the man himself snorting with laughter.  

“He can’t talk right now, mum. He’s high as hell,” Jade laughed, watching her husband rest his head down on the side of the bed while holding his phone aloft.  

“He’s what?” the voice on the other end of the line boomed. “He’s about to become a father! This is no time for recreational nonsense!” 

“It’s gas and air, mommy,” Jade hissed, her own head spinning, “I told him to take a huff and now he’s all whacked out.” 

The disparaging sigh was audible. “You two are thirty-eight and forty-three years old. You should know better than this!” 

“Yeah, but what are you gonna do?” Adrien spoke, emerging once his laughter had subsided, feeling a little less woozy. 

An unimpressed snort sounded from his phone. “Don’t make me come down there.” 

“She will, too,” his wife spoke, grimacing. “Mommy, give me a minute. Contraction.” Grabbing Adrien’s free hand, she squeezed hard, growling softly. God, they were like someone was locking her entire midsection in a vice and tightening it fully. Some wincing, a few more huffs of the gas and she was able to speak, Adrien leaving her to it for a few minutes while he went to fetch a soda.  

“Oh, it’s so bloody boring, mum,” Jade lamented, her head spinning a little. “It’s apparently progressing as it should be, but it still feels slow. I’ve been here for four hours and haven’t dilated any further!” 

Gemma knew her eldest’s patience would wear thin fast. “I found a book helped, something I could get lost in and try and forget about the boredom and the pain,” she began, tidying up the lounge while she spoke. “I just finished a really good one by Zadie Smith if you want me to send daddy with it? He’s just taking a nap before going back in for his next surgery, but said he’d leave early so he can visit with you before he starts.” 

She agreed to it, although between the pain, fear and the gas, Jade didn’t know how much she’d be up for immersing herself in literature, if she was honest. Her mother always gave excellent advice, though, and she was prepared to at least give it a try, especially since it very much appeared that her son wouldn’t be arriving anytime soon.  

“Max, you’re making your mama very, very uncomfortable,” she spoke to her bump, stroking it while breathing her way through a contraction. “Ugh! This is torture!” 

“Well, if it counts for anything, I think you’re doing really well.” Adrien spoke, stroking her arm as he stretched his legs out. She was right, though. Apart from the excitement that their precious son was on his way into the world, awaiting that arrival was very tedious. Another few hours passed, and she was still no closer to active labour, but in the kind of pain that really began freaking her out. And him.  

“Are you sure you don’t want to go down the epidural route?” Brielle asked, after checking her over and confirming she was getting closer, now seven centimetres dilated.  

Jade grimaced, weighing it all up. “I do and I don’t. I’m bloody terrified of needles, and the thought of one going into my spine really spooks me,” she revealed, the midwife nodding with understanding. She wouldn’t be the first labouring woman to be put off by such, or the last. “I know I had piercings, but still, the piercer has had to hide the needle from me every single time so I haven’t freaked out. Ahh, shit. I don’t know. I really don’t.” 

Brielle could sympathise. Although she’d given many epidurals over her tenure in the profession, she knew that she herself wouldn’t relish in receiving it. “Well, from a medical standpoint I can say that if you feel you’re able to endure it, it would help of course with the anxiety you’re going through with the pain starting to really take a hold. However, you’ve mentioned that your back discomfort it getting worse, and I was going to suggest you perhaps consider kneeling for the active labour as this helps ease the pressure. With an epidural that wouldn’t be possible. It can also sometime prolong the active labour, too, since you’ll be completely numb and unable to use your muscles as normal to push.”  

She looked thoughtful for a few moments. “Think I’ll continue as I am.” Turning to Adrien, she stroked his face. “If I start cussing you out and telling you I’m never going to have sex with you again, just ignore me. You know me and pain don’t mix well.”  

He shook his head, taking her hand and kissing it. “Yell as much as you need to, baby love. If it makes you feel better, I can take it.”  

“You say this now.” Her widened eyes made him laugh, Brielle leaving them to it.  

He kissed her hand again, stroking her fingers. “I mean it, too. Ain’t me who’s gotta go through it, Moo. I’m fully expecting a tirade. And a broken hand.” He’d had words with himself, while she’d lay there agonising over her epidural. It wasn’t about him, or his own fears borne of an inability to make it better for her, what she was facing. Not panicking, being his usual calming influence was all he had to do.  

So, he did.  

In the end, Jade didn’t cuss him out, or tell him she was never having sex with him again, but god, how she screamed his eardrums to near perforation. Again. He didn’t give a damn either, that he was almost deaf in his right ear as he sat upon the edge of the bed with her kneeling behind him, her arms clutched tight around his shoulders as she squeezed his hands. He didn’t care that he felt like his knuckles were about to dislocate from the force of her grip.  

The only thing that mattered was her as for the hour of active labour, she did something that earned his respect a thousand times over, hiding his fear from her entirely as she showed more bravery and courage than he’d ever witnessed. Finally, at 2:04am, her efforts were paid off in the sound of their son’s cries filling the room.  

Two had become three.  

Epilogue 

Serenity. It hadn’t been a word Adrien would have expected to use, but the energy within their apartment was exactly that. At two days old, Max was of course making his presence known, but the baby was soothed very easily when he fussed. He would be placated at his mother’s breast, or lying contentedly upon his father’s chest, his cries ceasing once they’d understood what it was he was communicating that he wanted.  

His hold me, I’m hungry, or I just filled my diaper wails all sounded slightly different. The first was accompanied by a lot of disgruntled snuffling, the second was all out, tiny person rage, and the third more of a grumbled cry than the full-on dramatics of the former. At five in the morning on his second day at home, the noise coming from his crib was definitely hunger, Jade rising to pick him up and carry him back to the warmth of their bed, settling on her side to feed him as he lay between her and his daddy.  

“I know I’m biased, but he’s so cute,” Adrien spoke, turning to stroke Max’s little puffy cheek as he fed. “And he’s so good, too. As soon as we know what he wants, he gets it and he’s quiet again.” 

“He’s like his dad, very unfussy. All of this will be subject to the ultimate test, though. When he’s old enough to have keys and can’t find them.” She winked, and it had him laughing softly though his nose, knowing what a nightmare he could be while under the duress of misplacing an item.  

Adrien raised an eyebrow, and a middle finger, laughing quietly eventually. “Yeah, alright. Guess I have to take that one.” 

“Or when a plan changes at short notice.” 

“Okay, Burtie! That’s enough haranguing of your husband.” he spoke, reaching to gently flick her arm as she chuckled, her eyes flitting down to their baby. She had taken to motherhood like a duck to water, something Adrien had very much expected. Seeing how she was with their animals had always clued him in to her deeply maternal nature, the way she liked to look after something, or someone.  

Her caring side was completely unsurpassed. He’d never forget years ago when a young fan had been waiting in hope to meet them at the backstage doors one afternoon, Jade picking up immediately that the young girl looked like she’d been crying. She’d crouched before her and held her hands as the young fan had recounted the ordeal of having her bag stolen, no phone, no wallet, her only saving grace being that she’d had her passport and plane ticket back to Ireland stashed in her jacket.  

His wife had gone above and beyond, calling the hotel she was staying at and paying for her room on her own card before giving her two hundred pounds in cash so she had enough money for necessities before going home. That girl was Saoirse, a promising art student who now worked in merchandising for the band, designing every single piece of apparel sold on Seventh Gate’s online store.  

Once Max was fed, Jade put him back down, she and Adrein grabbing another precious hour of sleep before they were alerted by his cries again, this time a full diaper needing disposing of. While Jade sorted him, Adrien went and made them breakfast, yawning as he did. And the broken sleep would only get worse, but his baby was worth every ounce of slumber deprivation. 

While Jade showered, he held him on his legs while watching the morning news, Max snoozing, his adoring father beaming at him. He’d never seen anything so precious, and he was his. Later that morning, a couple of others more than agreed with that too. 

“Oh my god, homeslice!” Jen gasped, holding out her arms. “Gimme him, I gotta get a good munch in!” Adrien placed him carefully into her arms, Jade beaming from where she sat in the armchair adjacent as she watched her best friend cradle her son for the first time. “Hi, tiny person! You’re super, hella cute, man! I ain’t biased at all either, some babies come out looking all busted up, but not you! God damn, he’s beautiful!” 

“Hey now, don’t you be changing yer mind here, Jennifer!” Nick warned, waving a finger at his wife. “Just because he’s cute does’nae mean we should have one!” 

She laughed softly, gently stroking Max’s ear with her fingernail. “Nah, I’m good playing auntie. I’ll leave the tingly ovaries to the other girls, man.” And boy, when Charlotte, Katie and Jess met him over the coming days, they experienced just that. It was a constant stream of joy for them both, watching their loved ones meeting their little baby for the first time, Patrick especially as he rocked his grandson in his arms. 

“Now, little one. This painting right here is a Beksinski, your mother’s preferred choice. I cannot say I care too much for him, but John Williams Waterhouse, I shall educate you in. As well as the more standard grandpa things. We’re going to go to a dreadful place called Coney Island, yes! Cotton candy and fairground rides ran by the great unwashed. We will fill our bellies with soda and corndogs, and in doing so I shall probably enjoy such an escapade much more than I will ever let on. Yes I will, young man. Mmhmm.” 

He made good on his promise, too, when Max was old enough to appreciate it and the family returned to the city to visit their parents. Four years sped past in the blink of an eye, two thousand and twenty rolling around and bringing with it one of the biggest life changing events to hit the entire world, the Covid-19 pandemic spreading like wildfire.  

Jade, Adrien and Max were in England when it hit badly, the eventual closing of the borders meaning they spend the best part of that year at their home in Buckinghamshire. It was the home they’d spent the least amount of time in out of their three, and while they missed Cleveland, it was good to settle in the English countryside for a few months. It was also the home they welcomed their second and third children in, Jade giving birth in March to twin girls they named Harri and Henri. 

Both had wondered when the twin gene that ran through Gemma’s side would land upon them.  The girls brought further joy into their lives, as well as a lot of energy and noise. So much noise. Harri was the quieter of the two, a very contemplative child, while Henri... well... there was a reason why as she grew up, they nicknamed her Louise, after the character Louise Belcher in the animated series Bob’s Burgers. She was pure chaos.  

“Dad! Can we gallop, can we?”  

Why? Why had he decided to take her with him as he rode Saxon over the fields of their Cleveland abode, his high-energy five-year-old squirming as she sat at the front of the saddle.  

“No, honey. I can’t control a horse at that pace and make sure you don’t fall off,” he spoke, being met with a huge frown. 

“But why? It’ll be lit!”  

He could kill Jen for teaching her as much slang as she could remember. “Ain’t happening, Henri.” 

She was thoughtful for a few moments. “I know, I know! We go back, grab mom’s snowboard, attach a rope to Saxon and then I can ski along behind you! That’ll be awesome, we have to do it!”  

“No, it won’t,” he spoke. More wiggling and shouting followed. 

“But why?” 

Yes, she had definitely entered her why years. Why this, why that, and then a little more why sprinkled on top of that. Most days, she made him feel much older than his fifty-one years. If he even let her do half of her madcap suggestions, he wagered he’d feel even older still.  

“Because it’s dangerous,” he advised. 

“I live for the danger, dad!” 

He shouldn’t have laughed, but he did. “Don’t I know it, kid.”  

They turned back after a further half hour, riding onto the sun filled yard, the summer in full bloom. Jumping down from Saxon, one of their staff who worked on the yard took him from Adrien, Henri running off to where her sister was busy feeding the large group of ducks milling around at the top. Yes, thanks to Jade, Stone Barn Castle had practically been restored to a farm once again, more stables built, a few more horses within them, ducks present. They even had a small goat herd.  

Heading into the house, he saw his wife and son in the kitchen, Max helping his mother make the huge bowl of guacamole that would go with their chili later that evening. Jade had been all set to go and buy some fresh fish, but as usual, the children had different ideas. They often got their own way when it came to their mom’s chili. She did happen to make it very, very well.  

They ate outside that evening, Jade and Adrien relaxing on the outdoor couch with a glass of wine each as they watched their kids playing in the fading sun.  

“Henri!” she called, pointing. “What have I told you? No weaponizing chickens against your sister! Put her down!” 

“It’s an assault by leghorn!” the child cried, the hen eventually being placed back down to scurry off to where the others pecked contentedly at the grass. 

Adrien chuckled, winding an arm around his shoulders. “She reminds me of you when you’re drunk.” He received an elbow to his side, laughing more, kissing her head. “Wouldn’t have her any other way, though.” 

“The volume is a bit much as times, but no. Neither would I.” Looking out at her beloved babies, she smiled with pure contentment. “Wouldn’t have anything any other way.”  

And neither would he. Fifteen years before, he’d begrudged being dragged along by Lewis to that open air music festival. If only the younger man in the crowd could have possibly known all that would come from one beautiful woman screaming in his face. He’d have never believed it, but he knew he wouldn’t change any of it at all. 

The End.  

[sseanettles]

nothing grows in corpses (in the earth of me)

dream x hob gadling | mature | Finally cross-posting my take on the fandom classic of the show progresses as the comics do, even to The Wake. Until Death resurrects Morpheus and forces the choice of "redemption" upon him instead of suicide. It goes...horribly. No good. Very bad. Instead of learning the lesson, Morpheus (in his infinite wisdom) opts instead for a highly effective existence strike until one day Hob Gadling stumbles upon his ghastly handiwork and immediately decides that this just won't do. Man Who Refuses To Die vs. Man Who Refuses To Live: fight.

Dead Dove, Do Not Eat for the following: graphic depictions of starvation, illness, suicidal ideation, self-harm, blood and gore, loss of autonomy, etc. etc. This is some classic old world whump, folks! But I promise it's also supremely healing in the end.

CH. 12: I'll be your friend | 4 k | AO3 link | prev part | next part

(or: the one where the boys chat & Gwen returns home ft. art by the great shrugsinchinese)

Hours later, with no memory of anything beyond Matthew flying at his face and trying to bury himself inside his hair and face and neck, purring and gurgling all the while, Morpheus now dozed—sat upright amid a mountain of pillows to support his haggard frame. He had another bowl of soup beside him with a barely touched hunk of bread in it, as well as a mug of long-cooled tea.

Matthew slept in his lap. His wings were drooped, his feathers ruffled in time with his breaths, and his beak rested upon Morpheus’ bony thigh as if it were the most resplendent pillow. Morpheus’ fingers with their split nails and weather-bitten skin caressed the feathers, scritching his companion’s ear and head with the most delicate touch. Gadling, meanwhile, lay on the floor beside them, stranded there ever since Constantine had headed out for a supply run and the man had shortly realized that he couldn’t quite get back up on his own with the current state of his ribs and spine.

Help, I’ve fallen, and I can’t get up, Matthew had instantly announced in the most ludicrous voice and then toppled off the back of the couch with a squawk as Gadling lobbed a throw pillow at him with lethal accuracy.

“You handled…the talking raven…well,” Morpheus murmured after some time.

“Well, I did have the spitting image of a long-dead noble breaking into my home while throwing hellfire at me at the time,” Hob said, stuck staring at the rafters. “Had you in my house for not even a full twenty-four hours, yet. And then have personally been immortal for over six hundred years.” He shrugged as best as he could on the floor. “Talking bird seemed rather basic, really.”

“Don’t…let him…hear that…” Morpheus managed and coughed for some time, Matthew rousing briefly to purr and nip at his fingers before soothing once more into sleep.

“Never,” Hob promised with a grin and tried again to sit up. He got to about a thirty-degree angle with his elbows wedged under him, and had to stop, panting through the pain that tightened around his chest and spine like cooper’s bands until he could hardly stand it.

Almost. He was almost there, he just had to roll to his side, get his leg up under him….

“You seem…happier,” he managed through gritted teeth as he resumed his endeavor. “Talking more.”

Morpheus watched him struggle, his hand stilling over Matthew in a protective curl.

“Familiar,” he said after a time.

Hob was almost there. Almost there, just a bit further, he could grab the armchair and hoist himself onto the seat, collapse there…yes. Yes, his battered bones would so much prefer that.

“…forget.”

The armchair teetered, and Hob barely managed a startled shout before righting the whole set-up and collapsing into the seat. He relaxed slowly, as if worried he’d fall to pieces if he weren’t straining to keep his every bone in place, and finally sagged in relief in the seat.

He caught Morpheus’ bemused eyes watching him.

“Oi, you get magically thrown across a room and shatter a stool with your back, let me know how you feel. Anyway. Forget, you were saying?”

“Constantine,” Morpheus nodded and had to stop after the multi-syllable name to catch his breath. “Allows…forgetting…Matthew is….” He coughed again, gently bracing the raven as he did. “Less?”

He frowned, displeased at his word-choice, and visibly struggled to find another collection of them to string together like a constellation, hoping that the other man would catch the bigger picture of his meaning. He needn’t have worried; Gadling was already nodding.

“Constantine’s jaded,” he agreed. “Shit slides off her like water off a duck. She can take one look at you, and if she acts like nothing’s wrong, you know it’s because she’s already processed and chucked it aside. She doesn’t care. And you know she doesn’t care. She’s a merc.”

Morpheus’ eyes sparkled.

“Thought…you just…met her…”

“Ah, well. I’m a merc, too, aren’t I? We’re all one and the same. But that one,” he pointed at the raven, “well, I was around in the time of lords and servants. That was your servant. Sure, maybe he turned into an adviser and then a friend in a fashion, maybe even closer to court jester at times,” he granted as Morpheus’ expression shifted to the beginnings of a protest. “But I will bet my next hundred years that he started as a servant, and one who always spoke his mind. What he says is what you get, like Constantine. But unlike Constantine, he was and is beholden to you. No matter what form you present, he will always adore you. He will always see you as his Lord Morpheus.” He winced as a lancet of pain spiked up the length of his spine. “They let you forget all of this.”

Morpheus regarded him in silence for a long time. “And…you?”

Again came the shrug. “I’m what scares you the most.”

What’s that? the shift in Morpheus’ brow asked, and Hob answered him plainly.

“I’m humanity.”

There came a fumbling at the front door, followed by a clatter, a slam, and uneven footsteps up the stairs. Matthew roused from his sleep and flew to the back of the sofa to watch the door like a feathered guard dog.

“Here’s your shit,” Constantine announced as soon as she entered the flat and dropped the collection of medical supplies and groceries at Hob’s feet.

“Aw, thanks, love,” he drawled back in scathing sarcasm and smirked as he got a scowl in return.

“You wouldn’t believe the looks I got checking some of that out in one go,” she complained and pulled off the scarf and one of Gwen’s jumpers, leaving her in just her blood-crusted skin and bra. “Clerk asked me if I was planning to join Doctors Without Borders.” She headed into the kitchen and stared at the empty island. “Oi! Thought you were going to fetch a bowl and bleach—help me wash the blood out of the shirt you ruined.”

“Turns out that throwing a man across a room, through a stool, and into a wall with hellfire mucks up his ability to move around,” Hob returned, leaning stiffly forward to give her a pointed stare past the armchair, and she rolled her eyes. “I only just got off the floor. You can ask him.”

“I have to do everything around here…I even got that bloody nurse to give me that favor she owes me, y’know!” she called as she began to rummage about in his cabinets. “She’ll be by soon. Get you all set up with some fancier supplies than what you’ve got there, some IV equipment, antibiotics. She’s discreet, or at the least, she’ll keep her mouth shut if she knows what’s good for her.”

“And we thank you for your help and your menacing-ness!” Matthew called before shuffling around to peer at Hob’s bounty. “So, what have we got?”

“Not…hungry,” Morpheus huffed with a sharpening edge to his voice for what had to be the hundredth time in the last two hours.

“Well, then, we won’t have a problem,” Hob smiled and lowered himself painfully to his knees so he could rummage through the bags alongside his charge. He found the item he was looking for and pulled it free. “I was thinking we could try some Gatorade—”

Morpheus caught one look of the orange fluid and lurched for the edge of the bed as his stomach heaved in a horrible gag.

“Oh, shit,” Hob blurted, dropping the drink, and moved to meet him as his friend’s stomach heaved again, and his gag turned to a retch as he vomited up what little bile and soup remained in his gut from the morning.

Dad reflexes, as Hob called them, were a funny evolutionary thing to happen to a human. Once there, they lingered. He was not yet sure how long they did, but for now his standing theory was forever. He had not yet been proven wrong. And one of the biggest reflexes was that when a child or loved one or whichever poor soul was currently relying on him for care was falling, he moved to catch. Sometimes that got cross-wired at unfortunate times, in situations where other reflexes were perhaps better to employ.

Such as the reflex to dodge.

All of that to say, there came that tell-tale splattering, and Gadling flinched the harshest he had flinched since this entire ordeal began as he felt the consequences of his actions immediately. And when Morpheus finished heaving at the edge of the bed and opened his eyes, he found himself staring down into Gadling’s waiting palms.

His very, very soiled palms, spattered with the same sick that stained his shirt and pants and pooled on the floor beneath them.

Sister, Morpheus begged as he sank to the bed and hid his blazing face in the blankets. Please, take me now.

His sister declined. 

Gadling slowly opened his eyes from his full-body grimace and took in the state of himself with a slow, accepting nod. He could feel Constantine staring at him from the kitchen like he was a goddamn alien, and Matthew at least had the decency to occupy himself with looking anywhere but at them.

“Well,” he said after a long, long quiet. “I guess we’re not trying Gatorade.”

“Sorry,” Morpheus moaned, his hands inching into his hair to dig into it and finding it near-impossible with the shorn locks.

“Oh, this?” Hob gingerly turned his hands, allowing some of the sick pooled in his palms to drip to the floor. “Nah, no, that—this one’s on me. Um.” Constantine dropped a bath towel on his lap with the judgement of civilizations in the simple gesture, and he nodded his still-cringing thanks as he began to wipe himself down. “Bad reflexes,” he decided. “Or suppose, good reflexes, bad use of ‘em, right?”

Slowly, painfully, Morpheus turned his head to peer at Gadling with one eye from the bed. The sheer mortification and anguish…in the face of it, Hob did the only thing he could.

He began to laugh. And laugh and laugh and laugh until he was snorting and then crying from the strain it put on his battered body, and even then, he laughed still. He didn’t start the long wind-down to stopping until he saw some of the weight lift from his Stranger’s shoulders, until the self-hating despair lightened into self-mockery and finally into begrudging amusement. He patted Morpheus’ shoulder as he stood and retreated to his bedroom to get changed.

They were alright. This would all be alright.

o\\__oOoOoOo__//o

Gwen was locking the front door to the building when their neighbor’s door across the foyer opened with a wafting scent of potpourri and old wool.

“Oh! Good afternoon, Mrs. Williams,” she shouted, hoping the old woman currently shuffling her way over to her couldn’t tell that her heart had begun to race at the sight of her.

Mrs. Williams was a crooked, wrinkled old woman with a stooped back constantly draped in knitted shawls and a cane almost as gnarled as her hands. Her thick gray and white hair was pulled back into its customary bun, and her dark eyes blinked behind round glasses so thick they gave her a bug-eyed look set in a bulldog face that sagged and wobbled as she moved. She always wore a long-chained necklace with a gear and clockwork timepiece at the center that needed to be wound up every other day and hardly worked. It seemed today she had added yet another cardigan to her existing layers and had traded her sweatpants for a rather festive, heavy Christmas skirt that dragged about her feet in a way that made Gwen nervous for her safety. She smiled anyway and touched the woman’s elbow once she was near enough, guiding her nearly blind eyes to her blurry silhouette.

“How are you, honey?” she yelled.

They had tried to help Mrs. Williams finally get her hearing aids this year. She’d said no, she heard just fine without them, thank you, darling. Gwen was beginning to wonder if she knew everyone just screamed at the top of their lungs around her to be heard.

“Oh, I wish I could say I was good, darling,” the old woman sighed, shaking her head more than it already shook on its own. “You know I adore you both, but you really must tell Robbie to turn down his tele. He had some dreadful action picture on after that horror one you two watched last night, and, why, it’s been putting me off my tea all day.”

Gwen’s blood went cold. She looked up the stairs with her heart in her throat, scanning the empty steps and empty walls for any sign of harm.

“I hadn’t been able to finish my morning cup until this past hour,” Mrs. Williams finished saying, and Gwen cleared her throat, recovering quickly. “It was really quite dreadful.”

“Oh, my goodness, I am so sorry, Mrs. Williams,” she yelled and took her hands in her own. She prayed they wouldn’t shake. “You are absolutely right! I’ll give him a very stern talking to right now!”  

“Oh, well, don’t be too stern with him, dear,” the old woman faltered and patted Gwen’s hands. “He’s always so nice and charming.”

“Of course not, Mrs. Williams! Now head on home, honey, enjoy your morning. We’ll be as quiet as mice from now on!”

Gwen waited—her heart pounding her throat, her head, her chest, adrenaline shooting through her veins like electricity—as the old woman shuffled her way back across the foyer and through the door of the bottom unit. And as soon as the door shut, the lock clicking behind her, Gwen was gone.

She ran, taking the steps two at a time, the weight of her bags nothing to her now, and scoured every inch of the stairs and walls as she fled.

Blood.

Her heart beat faster.

There was blood, fine flecks of it, spraying in an arc along the wall and floor in a clear streak, and higher up—there, yes, there—there was a furrow in the wall where something sharp had buried deep.

Robbie. Robbie, Robbie.

She reached the door to their flat and found it unlocked. Breathing as deeply and steadily as she could, dread filling her heart, preparing herself for the worst…she turned the knob and pushed.

…

…Hm.

Gwen stared and breathed and tried to find in her a civilized response to what she saw.

A dark-haired young woman sat on the edge of the coffee table that had been dragged round to sit in front of the roaring fireplace, clad in nothing but her bra with a very fresh wound newly stitched up along her ribs. A ring of bruises that matched the size of Robbie’s hands throttled her neck, their red already purpling to blue. She had their largest salad bowl in her lap, and she scrubbed furiously at what Gwen hoped was her own bloody shirt within it, trying to salvage what was frankly unsalvageable. One of their barstools lied in scattered pieces across the floor; Robbie was once more laid out beside his friend, dressed in a new pair of sweatpants from this morning and also no shirt, which was how she saw the web of purple-green-black bruises that spread across his ribs to his back that she was beginning to suspect were related to the state of the stool. The towel-wrapped ice pack he had pressed to his groin, however, she could not explain. Robbie’s stranger actually looked a bit brighter eyed, a bit stronger than he had so far, given that he even managed to look over his shoulder to her as she entered the room, but he was also now hooked up to multiple IV lines all infusing from a pole that had at least four actively running channels on it.

An honest to God raven perched on his knee, fluffed up and basking in the warmth of the fireplace as it mimicked with unnerving accuracy a hummed medley of old carols like some sort of Yule Muppet. The soup simmered on the stove; the baguette was ravaged apart into a free-for-all assortment of chunks across the island, and a kettle still steamed on a coaster beside them, along with a bottle of rum and a scattered assortment of cinnamon, lemon, and honey. 

The blood stain in the carpet from this morning was still there, and to top it all off, their fireplace hatchet sat, buried, for some godless reason, in their bedroom door.

“What…the fuck…is going on, Robbie?”

Her boyfriend immediately craned his head back to look at her across the floor and gave a groaning hiss as the movement aggravated some kind of pain in his neck. He moved the ice pack to his head instead as a new migraine bloomed.

“Gwen!” He faltered, scanning the room, and somehow appeared to put together how this all looked for the first time. “Ah, yes. Right. Um. This,” he pointed to the unbothered woman still scrubbing out her shirt, “is Johanna Constantine, a. Hm. An, um, old…”

Constantine watched Hob flounder for a bit before looking to Gwen herself and raising a hand in a half-wave, half-salute that was tinged pink with diluted blood and bleach.

“I’m an old friend of his,” she pointed to Morpheus on the couch bed, “but my family used to know Robbie.”

Hob shot her a glare for the pointed, mocking emphasis she laid on his name and looked back to Gwen as best as he could.

“She was operating under a bit of a misunderstanding, broke in. We got in a bit of a tussle,” he explained and gestured to the state of the flat. “Don’t worry, I’ll patch the walls and fix the stool and the carpet.” He followed Gwen’s unblinking stare back to Constantine and clocked the bloodied dish. “I’ll replace the salad bowl, too. Promise, all of this will be good as new.”

Gwen blinked, slowly. She took a few more steps into what once had been their flat and closed the door behind her.

“So, she’s from the before times,” she said, pointing with her keys at Johanna, and the other woman slowly stopped her cleaning as she read the room.

“Not her specifically, no,” Hob corrected. “But her great-great…great…” He shot a questioning look to Johanna and got a confirmatory thumbs-up in return, “—grandmother a few centuries back, yeah. Knew her.”

Gwen nodded as slowly as she had blinked, digesting every bit of information.

“You human?” she asked Johanna after some time.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Mortal?”

“As far as I know, though I try not to test that out too much.”

“Good. Try to keep it that way.” Gwen’s keys of interrogation shifted now to Matthew. “And the bird?”

Unseen by Gwen, Hob shot the raven a look and jerked his thumb subtly toward Johanna. He took the hint and flapped from Morpheus’ knee to Constantine’s, and the conjurer looked from the bird to Gadling and then to her questioner.

“He’s a…pet.”

“A PET?!” Matthew demanded, and Hob dropped an arm across his eyes with a heavy sigh as Constantine’s hand snapped shut on his beak far too late.

Gwen’s weight shifted to one leg in the way it only did when she was nearing the end of her rope.

“Did the crow just talk?”

“Raven,” Matthew grumbled past Johanna’s fingers, and she shifted her grip on his beak to all-but weld the damn thing shut.

“…No?” Hob offered from the floor, hoping she would accept the out and choose to live in ignorant bliss for a little longer.

“Robbie,” she growled.

His wince deepened.

No dice.

Matthew wrested himself free from Constantine’s half-hearted hold and flapped to the floor to hop his way on over to Gwen.

“I’m Matthew, ma’am,” he said when he was close enough and dipped into one of his little bows. “And um, thank you for letting my old boss stay on your couch. I know he’s a lousy house guest when he’s at his best and this,” he tilted his head to the bed, “is certainly not that. So, we all appreciate it very much.”

Gwen stared at the talking raven who was apparently named Matthew so long, unblinking all the while, that the bird was beginning to worry she’d stroked out when she moved. Her hand lowered in a snap to her side, and she looked to her boyfriend where he still sprawled, supine, upon the floor.

“Y’know what?” she announced. “I’m gonna go stay with Marjorie tonight.”

“Wait, Gwen!” Hob called and painfully rolled himself to his feet, groaning all the way as his various injuries and actively knitting bones protested his movement. “Gwen, love—”

“Sorry,” Matthew croaked as Hob limped hurriedly past him to follow Gwen into the bedroom, and he looked up to Johanna as the woman finally just called her shirt a loss and tossed it in the trash. She’d go home wearing just the stained trench coat. If anyone asked after the blood, she’d say it was a fashion statement. “I thought I handled that pretty well….”

“No,” Constantine drawled, “you handled it perfectly.”

Matthew flew to the back of the sofa and hopped down onto Morpheus’ shoulder, settling in as if his place were worn into the man there forevermore.

“I’m sensing sarcasm.”

“You’re a talking raven, Matthew. How’d you think this was gonna go?”

“Yeesh,” the bird grumbled and ruffled his feathers in displeasure, shuffling closer to Morpheus’ head and earning a weak scritch at his ear for his efforts. “Settle down, I got it.”

“And you.” Morpheus looked to Constantine in mild surprise as she rounded now on him, pointing between his laid-out form and the bedroom. “Were you gonna say anything or just leave us to flounder around like idiots for you?”

He regarded her for a moment, waiting to see if she was perhaps attempting a joke. When the question seemed sincere, his blank, slightly baffled stare shifted to one of ridicule.

“…and…how much…better,” he said, pulling each syllable from his throat like a thorn, “do you think…I…would have…handled it?”

Silence followed, broken only by the rumble of softly arguing voices from beyond the bedroom door.

“Yeah, that’s fair enough, actually,” Constantine agreed, and they all looked quietly to Hob as he re-entered the living room, looking exhausted.

Gwen left shortly behind him, a bag fully packed, and her attention directed stubbornly to the way ahead of her as she left as quickly as she could without tripping down the stairs. The first door closed softly, by dint of its weight, but the door downstairs slammed with an almighty bang that rang on in the silence that followed. For a while, nobody said anything.

Then, Constantine held up her coat.

“You owe me dry-cleaning. And a new shirt.”

Matthew’s head dipped with a laugh, shaking, and Hob dug his fingers into his eyes as he massaged his forehead and temples. But when he finally let his hands drop, there was a tired sort of merriment to him, a weary, rundown sort of acceptance that this had happened, this would continue to happen, and all he could do was roll with the punches and laugh at it all. He looked to Morpheus, but the man’s gaze was inscrutable. He could not tell if he felt guilty for what had just happened, could not tell if he thought there was anything wrong. He just stared: an unreadable reflection for whatever Hob decided to assign to him.

He decided to keep everyone on theme.

“You’re a very expensive habit to keep, do you know that, Stranger?”

Morpheus did not smile. But something glittered deep in the blacks of his pupils, there and gone in the same instant. Something knowing. Something warning.

Something fae.

“It has…been said,” the Stranger returned, and Hob suppressed a shiver.

Oh. Oh, he was in so much trouble.

[homishguide]

How To Use A Wedge Pillow For Lower Back Pain

Simple Explain in 2023

Using a wedge pillow for lower back pain can be a great way to find relief. Wedge pillows support the lower back and help keep the spine in alignment while sleeping.

They can be used in various ways, such as placing it under the knees to reduce pressure on the lower back, tucking it under the neck when sleeping on the back, or placing it under the lower back when sleeping on the side.

The wedge shape of the pillow helps to keep the spine in a neutral position and can help to reduce strain on the muscles and joints in the lower back.

Additionally, they allow for the head and neck to be elevated, which can help to reduce tension and stiffness in the neck, shoulders, and upper back as well.

When using a wedge pillow for lower back pain, it's important to ensure that it is providing adequate support and to adjust the pillow as needed to ensure proper alignment of the spine.

Read More: https://homishguide.com/how-to-use-a-wedge-pillow-for-lower-back-pain

[toxicanonymity]

Joel fucks/fingers/dry humps/etc. reader under a blanket during movie night in Jackson. I don’t care what they do as long as Joel comes. I like thinking about Joel coming 😈

Movie night (in public)

850 | Joel x f!Reader

you're in luck, this has been on my mind. we can pick up after she gets him all horny before the movie in Jackson. masterlist

WARNINGS: 18+ HJ, sex, and cockwarming in public, mild dubcon, cum eating

--------------------------------------+++

You and Joel go home for a quickie before the outdoor movie night. He has you pinned on the couch with your hand down his pants when you hear a knock at the front door, then it unlocks. You scoot out from under Joel to sit upright while he buckles his belt and Tommy yells, "Y’all comin’?”

“Ehhh I dunno about tonight. This one’s tired,” Joel says and squeezes your knee affectionately. There’s a good reason he’s not standing up.

“Bring a blanket,” Tommy says. “Joel’s a good pillow, nice and soft.”

“Hey now,” Joel says. Tommy just stands there waiting. Joel sighs. “Alright, grab a blanket, let's go.”

You go get a quilt and a big blanket. When you come back down in a flowy dress, the look on Joel’s face says he knows exactly why. He goes to the bathroom before y'all leave and comes out without a belt.

You set up in the darkest corner of the lawn behind everyone else. Joel sits on the quilt wiith his knees bent and you get in between them, resting your head back on his chest with the blanket draped over both of you while people continue to arrive to the event. He wraps his arms around you, and scoots his hard-on into you. He gathers the skirt of your dress out of the way and strokes your inner thigh. When he reaches your outer lips he growls “bad girl” into your neck, although he's not surprised you skipped the panties. Two thick fingers drag along your dripping seam and his hardness swells into you.

He nibbles at your neck and his fingers circle your clit. He could get you off this way and no one would know, but what you really want is his cock. You want him to come in public. It turns you on so much to think about, and he’s never let you do it. It’s always him making you come while he stays totally composed and in control.

You reach back and wedge a hand between your bodies, palming him over his jeans. He breathes deeply and doesn’t stop you. You unbutton his jeans. Then you reach outside the blanket for his backpack and put it behind him like a pillow. “I’m tired, can I Iay on you?”

“Sure, baby.”

You get on your side in the crook of his arm with your head on his shoulder, your hand on his chest, and hook your leg over his closest leg. Then your hand drifts down under the blanket, unzips him, and reaches in to relieve his stiff, aching cock. "Tengo ganas," (I want it) you whisper as you stroke him. He clenches his jaw and looks conflicted.

"I don't think so, baby."

You slowly rotate yourself on top of him anyway. His hard cock is between his shirt and yours, below your belly button. "No one's watching," you whisper.

You move your dress and slowly get higher up on him, straddling him in a koala hug and you throb against him. He inhales sharply when his cock feels your dripping seam.

"Solamente la punta" (just the tip) you beg barely audibly as you drag yourself along his member.

"Kinda cold. Wanna sit still?"

You've done this before and know what he means. You can't pass up the chance to have him inside you.

You drag your wet pussy up his cock again then nestle it at your entrance. He lifts his hips into you and you begin to sink onto him, managing not to gasp at the delicious stretch. His big hands brace on your hips and help you down. He lifts his hips again, pulls you down, and you have to suppress a moan as he bottoms out.

He grunts ever so softly. "Don't move," he says.

You lie there with him inside you, resting your head in the crook of his neck, while he watches the movie. Your hips want to move, but you manage to stay still.

He occasionally twitches and barely moves his hips. You want to get him off and try to slide off him, but his hands still you and he says "where you goin'?" You stay.

When his twitching becomes more frequent, he finally lets you slide off his cock. You get back on your side, bring your leg over his, rest your head on his chest, and stroke him. You keep his cock as close to his body as possible to not make it obvious. It doesn't take long before he reaches down and lifts up his shirt. He takes a deep breath, then pulses in your hand. There's a barely audible grunt, but it's the quietest you've ever heard him.

He buries his mouth in the crown of your head as he finishes coming onto his lower belly and your fist, then his whole body relaxes. You lick his cum off your hand then use two fingers to gather as much of it as you can off his skin. You swallow that, too. He kisses you on the head and you actually do fall asleep as you watch the rest of the movie.

-

If you like this one I recommend Speakeasy and Picnic Table.

All Joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea. @evyiione

[leilakisakabiri]

Afternoon Activities (Neymar Jr)

Summary: You and Neymar face off in a football match.

Warning(s): none, just fluff.

Word Count: [1814]

You squeal running away from Neymar as he chased after you, a pillow in hand, trying to hit you.

"Davi, stop her!" Neymar shouts at the little boy, watching as he runs towards you from the opposite direction.

"Davi, please, don't do this!" You yell dramatically as he runs to you with hands outstretched trying to catch you.

He stops running when he hears your words, letting you pass by him and down the hallway into the living room.

"Davi! What are you doing? We could have got her!"

"She said please!" Davi responds.

Your face hurts from smiling so much as you let out a loud iaugh.

What a sweet kid.

Neymar jokingly glares at you as you stick your tongue out at him, both of you facing each other on opposites sides of the couch.

"Just give in Y/N!" Neymar tries.

You shake your head vigorously,

"No way. I'd rather run a 10 miles than do that, and you know I hate running."

This whole thing had started after you complained about being bored. You had come over to Neymar's house in the afternoon, and after being there for two hours just sitting on his couch as he played Fifa you found yourself wanting to do something. He had tried to get you to play, but you wanted to go outside. It was summer in Paris and it was a beautiful sunny day.

Why waste it?

After your revelation, he decided the best thing for the both of you to do was to play a friendly game of football. You immediately shot down his suggestion, while you watched Davi who had been busy playing with his dinosaurs in the corner lift his head with joy once he heard what Neymar said, clapping his hands together in excitement.

You weren't too bad of a player, however, obviously, your talents were nothing compared to Neymar, him being a professional and all. However, it wasn't the aspect of losing you that made you not want to play, even though you did lose, a lot, in fact almost every single game. It was the fact that Neymar did not hold back. He got so into the game, and once his competitiveness took over there was no stopping him. He would constantly play unfairly, by either tackling you to get the ball, or showboating simply to get you riled up.

The last time the both of you had played against each other, you had ended up with a nasty cut on your leg after he had shoved you and you landed rather ungracefully on a sprinkler wedged in the grass. Admittedly, you had started the brawl by pushing into him any chance you got, trying to distance him from the ball, but in the end, you got hurt and not him.

Since then you had been adamant about not playing with him, not wanting a repeat of last time.

"C'mon Y/N Please. I promise I won't do anything this time." He tried again.

"Your such a liar! You play so dirty! You always tackle me." You exclaimed.

He wiggled his eyes, a smirk on his face, "Shh bebe, don't say that in front of Davi. You're so wild."

You rolled your eyes for the hundredth time. This boy.

Before you could even finish your eye roll you felt someone slam into you, sending the both of you tumbling to the ground.

It took you about half a second after landing on the ground to realize Neymar had jumped over the couch and onto you.

What a bitch.

"Ugh ew! Get off." You whined trying to shove his body that was on top of yours away from you.

He laughed from above you,

"Oh I'm gross? I'm gross?" He questioned as he started to pepper your face with kisses and you squirmed underneath him, laughter escaping you.

"Ok fine maybe not gross. Now will you get up?"

Instead of getting up, you felt him snuggle closer to you, his warm hands wrapping around your waist as he laid his head on your chest.

"Mmm only if you play football with me."

"What are you 5?" You retorted, trying to keep up the act, but you found yourself running your hands through his hair as he laid on you.

You felt another body thud on top of yours, and you saw that Davi had joined your little huddle.

"I am!" he exclaimed proudly as he sat on top of Neymar, holding up 5 fingers.

"Don't do it for me. Do it for him." Neymar said.

"Please?" Davi spoke up.

You squinted your eyes, "Are you guys teaming up on me?"

The two of them just looked at you with blank stares.

You groaned, "Okay fine, now get up you’re cutting off my air flow."

You heard the boys cheer as they both stood up, letting you get up.

You had just stood up when you felt Neymar pull you into him, putting his arm around you as you walked to the backyard.

"I promise I'll go easy." He said.

You shook your head, looking up at him, "No way. Play your best."

You saw a grin adore his features as he squeezed your shoulders, "That's my girl."

You felt a warmth spread through your stomach as he said those words. No matter how much time you spent with Neymar he still made you blush like crazy with just the smallest things. He would always say the sweetest things in the most nonchalant ways like he wasn't even thinking twice about them, and you couldn't help but find it extremely endearing.

"Ok Davi, you ready?" You asked as you separated from Neymar, going to the middle of the makeshift field where Davi had already placed a ball.

Davi loved to watch you and Neymar play against each other, probably because it was the closest he got to seeing his dad on the field, and also because he loved watching you both playfully fight each other. He was supposed to be the referee but he never stopped Neymar from tackling you, or even ever gave out a foul.

He was clearly bias, but whatever.

"Ok, Go!" Davi shouted as both you and Neymar hit the ball at the same time, the ball stuck between the two of you.

Neymar got possession of the ball quickly and raced down the field. You mentally cursed yourself for letting it slip away, you had played enough times with him to begin to understand his mannerisms, and you were starting to be able to guess when he was faking and when he was actually going for it, yet you were distracted and let him take it away.

You chased after him, trying to stick your foot in front of his to get the ball back.

He expected your move and was quick to pull the ball back, passing around you.

He laughed, turning to look at you over his shoulder, "You have to be smarter than that amor."

You huffed, running towards the goal just as he prepared to shoot.

You got there just in time and dived, sending the ball flying out of bounds.

You saw Neymar's face fall as you saved it.

"Foul!" He called.

This little shit.

"Foul?" You screamed back looking at him in anger.

"Why is that foul? No way!"

“You touched the ball with your hand.” He argued.

“That’s because I’m the goalie!”

You both looked at Davi as he debated, "No foul!"

You cheered at his decision while Neymar hung his head, sad his son hadn't bought into his act. Clearly, there was no foul and you had just saved the goal, but Neymar's favorite pass time it seemed was annoying you, and he would do anything to achieve it.

Once the ball was back in play you raced forward, watching as Neymar charged towards you.

You had been practicing a few skills yourself, after you and your friend had stayed up late one night, wine drunk and daring each other to do random things, one of those being learning how to do a rainbow flick.

You watched intently as Neymar came closer, once he was close enough you surprised him by kicking the ball over his head, and bypassing him.

He stopped, shocked, and you used his surprise to your advantage as you ran across the field before kicking the ball into the net.

However, before you could celebrate your goal you felt a familiar body collide with yours.

This time you ended up on top, as Neymar took the brunt of the fall.

"Hey! Foul! I didn't even have ball anymore!" You shouted, sitting up when the world stopped spinning around you.

Neymar grabbed your hands, lacing them with his before pulling you down on top of him, "Been practicing hmm? Got tricks now?" he whispered his breath fanning across your face.

You felt your heartbeat accelerate at how close he was, suddenly very aware of the fact that you were straddling him, "I've got a lot of tricks."

You felt him inhale sharply, his smirk slipping away as his eyes sparkled with mischief, "Is that a promise?"

The moment was interrupted when you heard Davi running over,

"What is going on?" He asked, hands on his hips.

You held up your hands in surrender as you got off Neymar, "Don't look at me ref. Neymar is the one who decided to foul me."

Davi considered this for a moment before he finally nodded, "Ok. Free goal."

You grinned up at him, from your position on the grass, pulling his little body into a tight hug, "Holy shit, 2 goals for 1? I'll take it!"

Davi giggled against you, "Y/N, bad word." He exclaimed shaking his finger at you.

"Oops. Sorry I'm just on a high." You smiled.

"Let's just end the game here."

Neymar looked over at you, seemingly not pleased before he caved, "Ok Fine."

You stood up cheering, and dancing with Davi.

"YAY! I AM THE CHAMPION." you screamed, letting go of Davi before sending hand kisses to your imaginary fans.

"Yeah, yeah, don't let it get to your head." Neymar retorted coming up to stand next to you, amused by your antics.

You turned to look at him, eyebrow raised, "Oh what like you did?"

You watched as he let out a gasp, feigning hurt, "Ouch Y/N you wound me."

You rolled your eyes, patting his chest, "I'm sure you'll find someway to get over it."

"Now c'mon, you have to play Fifa with me so I can beat you in that too." You said, already walking back into the house, still on your high from winning.

He grinned at your retreating form,

"She definitely let it get to her head." He whispered to Davi as he led him towards the house.

"Heard that!" You shouted.

Both him and Davi let out giggles at your response and you found yourself smiling widely again as you walked back into the living room.

You could definitely get used to this.

[daydreamtofiction]

For the fake fic titles

Late nights and Violins

I was thinking a fluffy Sherlock/reader, obviously if you want to ignore this bit and start with other ideas please do but maybe some themes of insomnia and/or nightmares?

Late Nights & Violins / Sherlock x Reader

For the ‘fake fic title’ challenge.

Word Count: 1.5K

Contents: Fluff, a lil bit of hurt, comfort, established relationship, soft Sherlock.

Warnings: Nightmares, insomnia, mentions of sleeping pills, some claustrophobic imagery. Let’s rate this one a 12A.

The air was close and oppressive, so thick you could practically feel it sitting on your skin. You couldn't remember how you got there, all you knew was that you couldn't get out; your body folded and wedged inside a tight, dark space, head hurting, breath shaking, and you were scared. But you held back the panic as much as you could, because Sherlock was coming.

You knew he was coming because that was what happened last time; you were trapped, but he came. Broke open the door with his bare hands and pulled you free, letting you fall into his arms as you desperately drank down gulps of fresh air, crying into his chest as he promised you it was over, you were safe now.

But this time he didn't come. Instead you sat there, knees pressed uncomfortably to your chest as you sucked in the last of your air to scream. But no sound left you. Nothing at all. And that's when you realised it wasn't real. None of it was real.

You woke with tears trickling down your face, the pillow damp beneath your cheek. You could feel your heartbeat fluttering quickly with the remnants of panic, bridging the gap between nightmare and reality; the confined, dark prison and the warm, safe bedroom.

You turned, as you always did in those moments, to the other side of the bed, reaching out your hand in the hopes that Sherlock would be there. But he wasn't. You sat up, sniffing sharply and wiping your face before glancing to the clock on the bedside table, furrowing your brow when you saw it was after 2am. He had said not to wait up for him, that he and John were following leads for a case, but it didn't stop the worry from materialising in your chest. You always worried about him, even when he reminded you that there was no need to, and that no good ever came from your perturbation.

You padded to the bathroom and began feeling your way to the cabinet above the sink. You rarely moved your pills; so used to them being there that even in the dark you could usually grab them with one swipe. But after a moment of running your hand back and forth along the shelf, you conceded with a huff and reached for the switch on the wall, squinting in the harsh light and letting out a hum in confusion.

The streetlights on Baker Street shone through the tall windows, casting a soft glow across the cluttered living room of 221B. You made your way in through the kitchen, startling when you finally noticed the dark figure sitting in one of the armchairs by the cold, unlit fireplace. It was Sherlock; head down, one leg crossed over the other, violin pressed to his chest as he plucked nimbly at the strings. You gave a quiet yelp, clutching your chest in fright before exhaling through puckered lips.

"My god," you whispered.

He glanced up at you, seemingly unsurprised by your reaction to finding him there.

"I thought you were still out," you said, making your way across the room towards the couch.

He shook his head. "Got home a little while ago."

"Why didn't you come to bed?"

"I did. But I couldn't sleep so I got up again."

"Wow, you can't sleep and I can't stay asleep, we are quite the pair," you said distractedly, switching on the lamp in the corner. "Have you seen my bag?"

He turned to look at you, pale eyes scanning you for a brief moment. "What for?"

"My Diazepam. I thought it was in the bathroom but it's not there."

"Hm."

You stood up straight and turned towards him. "Did you move it?"

"Why would I move your medication?"

"I don't know," you began blithely. "You've done some wild stuff in your time, Mr Holmes. Is stealing your girlfriend's pills really that hard to believe?"

"Fair," he replied plainly, putting the violin down and reaching his arm out to you.

You took a few steps towards him, placing your hand in his and letting him pull you gently into his lap.

"But I really didn't take it," he finished.

You curled up against his chest, closing your eyes and feeling the tension in your body begin to melt away. "I believe you."

It was quiet for a while as you relaxed against the rhythm of his breathing, his chest rising and falling as he held you close, elegant fingers brushing softly through your hair.

"Another nightmare?" he finally asked.

You didn't answer, instead you simply nuzzled closer, taking in his warm, clean, familiar scent, still noticeable in the fabric of his shirt.

"You're safe now," he said, his voice deep yet so soft. "You know that, don't you? I will never let anything like that happen to you again."

"I know. And I feel safe with you, I do. But it's like... No matter how safe I feel, as soon as I fall asleep I just end up right back there."

"It will ease with time, trust me."

You were never the 'damsel in distress' type; never longed for a white knight to save you, a protector to rock you back to sleep when you woke from a bad dream. You were always so wayward, so fiercely brave and unbroken. And it was those qualities, you knew, that had made Sherlock fall in love with you.

If he'd known back then, that just one case would change everything, make you an echo of who you once were, you wondered if he would have fallen for you at all.

But it was as if he could read your mind, his body tensing beneath you the second the thought passed through you. He tightened his hold on you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before speaking quietly.

"None of this is your fault, you know. If anything it's mine-"

"Don't." You shook your head, leaning back slightly to look at him. "You agreed not to say things like that anymore. You weren't to know they would come after me. No one could've known that."

"I should have. I made a stupid error in deduction and I almost lost you because of it."

You shushed him gently, burying your face in the crook of his neck and placing a single, chaste kiss on the soft skin above the collar of his shirt. He sighed at the feeling, letting his head fall back slightly, eyes closed.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too."

It never got old hearing him say those words. Especially in these moments; the late nights wrapped in each other's arms while the rest of the world slept soundly, like a stark reminder of the pain you both carried, yet so desperately wanted to rid from each other.

"I was actually working on something before you came marching in here accusing me of theft," he said.

"You're so dramatic," you giggled. "I didn't come marching in and I definitely didn't accuse you of anything."

"Mm."

You sat up, shaking your head at him with another laugh. "What were you working on?"

"A piece." He glanced down to his violin leaning against the side of his armchair. "For you."

"A piece? You're composing music for me?"

"I was. It's not quite finished yet."

"Will you play me what you have so far?"

He shook his head. "You can hear it once it's done."

"Oh please, Sherlock?" you whined softly, draping your arms over his shoulders. "It could help me get back to sleep since I can't find my tablets…"

A smile lifted the corner of his mouth. He reached up, placing a hand on the side of your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. "My darling, what on earth makes you think my playing would make an adequate replacement for valium?"

You bit your lip to stifle a smile. "I suppose it is a bit late anyway. Mrs Hudson already thinks we’re too noisy.” 

He gave a throaty chuckle, a mischievous glint in his eyes. You hit him gently on the back of the head.

"Mind out the gutter, Sherlock."

"What? It's not my fault. I'm sleep deprived."

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. "Nice to meet you, sleep deprived. I'm absolutely exhausted."

He smiled, pulling you slightly closer to him. "I meant it when I said it will ease with time." He paused. "And I will happily remain sleep deprived until you are no longer absolutely exhausted."

[leviathanspain]

Maybe reader is staying the night at Matt’s (idk cause they’re drunk or something) and one of thems in the bed and ones on the couch, but someone goes to the other in the middle of the night for snuggles bc they can’t sleep????

when you sleep

matt murdock x reader

synopsis: you and matt were incredibly drunk, like you mopped the bar floor, kind of drunk and so you spend the night over at his place but you can’t sleep

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

even in his drunk state, matt had insisted you take the bed. he didn’t even give you enough time to argue before he stripped down to his boxers and threw himself on his couch. you peeled your clothes off, they reeked of alcohol, and you mindlessly rummaged through matt’s dresser. your hands dipped into a dresser and you heard the crinkle of a foil, and you yelped, pulling back from going too far into his privacy.

you rummaged in another drawer until you found a ratty old t shirt of his. it was definitely the alcohol that made you weak for matt, his scent was intoxicating, and so you shoved the t shirt on, happy to be wrapped in his smell.

you padded towards his bed, and sighed. you glanced over at matt who was spilled over on the couch. you didn’t care if you slept on the floor, but it seemed unfair that you got his spacious bed, with the alarmingly comfortable sheets, while he got his stiff couch that gave anyone a sore just from sitting on it.

you mulled it over, but you started to realize you were falling over, so you turned and fell back into the bed. the sheets felt cool on your skin as you took a deep breath, closing your eyes and determined to sleep.

minutes must’ve gone by as you opened your eyes, frustrated that you hadn’t fallen asleep by now. you turned, facing the other end of the bed. matt’s scent was all over the pillow, and it left you unsettled, plagued for warmth of the body that was just in the other room.

begrudgingly, you stood up, and winced at the cold floor your bare feet hit. padding over to the living room, you grabbed a blanket that sat on the other couch, and opened it, walking to the couch matt was on. he wasn’t shivering but it was cold. he looked peaceful, and you couldnt help but to stare at his beauty, the vicious scars that completed that beauty.

noticing there was enough space for you to wedge in between matt and the couch, you stuck yourself in, and you felt the warmth of matt radiate as your legs met. matt stirred in his sleep and you smirked, nudging him as you were now face to face with him. matt recognized your scent and he smiled, sleepily.

you ran your hands through his hair as you tucked your bodies in with the blanket. matt snuggled closer to you, hands wrapping protectively around your body.

“this couch is so small.” he commented, his voice raspy with sleep. his eyes were still closed.

you laughed softly, “i couldn’t sleep.”

matt smiled, “i know. i could hear you tossing and turning after you snooped through my dresser.” he poked your side and you gasped.

you wrapped your hands around matt’s side and let your head fall on his chest, “whatever. just hold me, matty?”

matt held you, and he could hear your snoring moments after. your body was exhausted, but it wouldn’t let you rest unless you were with him, and that fact warmed his heart.

[acherontiarchivist]

Ok so… Gabriel May telling the reader sweet(or dirty <3) nothings while she gets through some period cramps. Bc if Gabriel comforted me in his voice I’d probably just melt 😩

Anon your MIND. I've been obsessing about this all through work the last few days. Literally struggling through bad cramps myself and now I can't stop thinking about synching cycles with him fjabskzksns 🤭

Gabriel May comforting the reader through menstrual cramps under the cut 💜💜💜

Content: menstruation, reader uses female gendered pronouns (as requested), possessiveness (if you squint), dirty talk, voice kink, IMPLIED NSFW 🔞

🚫MINORS DO NOT INTERACT🚫

You don't much mind the harder days anymore. Sure, the pain is unpleasant as always–debilitating at worst, inconvenient at best– but now you have your loving partner to help you through it! And boy, does he make you feel pampered.

Currently, he has you reclined on the couch, propped up by pillows and tucked tight into your favorite blanket, heating pad radiating a relieving warmth. He refuses to let you do any housework, or even get your own glass of water; instead, waiting on your every need himself. About every hour or so he'll stop whatever chore he's working on to check on you; refill your glass, bring you snacks, make sure your heating pad isn't too hot.

Once again, he enters the living room and lightly pets your cheek with the back of his fingers, "How… are you feeling?... Are you comfortable?" You are as cozy as can be, even your favorite candle flickers on the table, emitting a warm floral aroma, he has seen to your every request without hesitation, though… there is one more thing he could do for you.

"Anything you need… I will provide for you… my dearest."

His voice projects softly through your earbuds, though he still kneels by your place on the couch and leans in to brush hair out of your face.

"Come lay with me," a barely audible whisper, but he complies nonetheless.

"Of course," carefully, he wedges himself between you and the couch cushions, laying one leg between yours and resting his head on your shoulder.

His breath tickles your skin and causes your face to flush; you dare not move in fear of him shifting too far away.

"How does this feel… I'm not putting… too much weight on you… am I?"

"Not at all. You could put all your weight on me and I'd be just as snug."

His little snickers echo through your ears, "Is that so?" Immediately, he lifts the blanket and straddles you, tucking his hands between your back and the supportive pillows, then once again leans his head on your shoulder. He must be able to tell how your heartbeat picked up, how your breathing became just slightly more rapid, as he scoots just a little closer, breath ghosting just behind your ear now. "Yes… this is much better."

You reposition the blanket and wrap your arms around him, releasing a contented sigh.

"I've got you trapped in my cage now… I think I'll keep you to myself."

"I'm fine with that," you laugh.

"Good girl."

Shivers travel down your spine, you know what he's often thinking of when he uses that nickname.

Though, as much as he sometimes likes to indulge in carnal desires, he very much cherishes the times where you hold one another, as you are now. He lives for moments like this, where there's nothing in the world but you, and him, slowly breathing in and out together. It's quite peaceful, and so quiet that he can usually hear whatever music you were listening to, though now he can hear nothing at all. "No music today, my dearest?"

"I'd much rather hear your voice."

Somewhat shocked, Gabriel pulls back and straightens out to look you in the eye. He lingers there, speechless for what seems like ages. Evidently, your own sweet nothings meant so much more than that to him. "I don't know… how you love me… like you do."

"How couldn't I? You do so much for me," you pull him in by the chin and kiss his forehead, "plus, you fit perfectly in my lap."

He leans back in for a tighter hug before pulling back just enough to nibble at the flesh of your neck, "I'll do so much more, too…"

Slowly he inches his way down your body, hands gliding restlessly over your sweater in search of the hem, until they finally snake their way underneath. His cold fingers leech the warmth from the heating pad before tossing it aside and pulling you closer by the waist. All the while his favorite pet names flickered and faded in your ears.

My darling

My dearest

My beloved

Mine.

[one-rosy-sock]

Coming Undone | Abner Krill x fem!Reader (1/2)

Go to the {Ao3 Link} for more info...

Fandom: The Suicide Squad (2021) Rating: T (M for future chapter) Summery: You’re a psychiatrist. You should know the warning signs when a relationship with a patient is becoming problematic. But you refuse to consider this, because Abner Krill is a lot of things, and violent is not one of them. Warnings: PTSD, childhood abuse, trauma, brief mention of past suicide attempt. 

Notes: no use of y/n Disclaimer: Author is NOT a real therapist. I do not own DC comics. __ The first time you met Abner Krill, he was recommended to you by a colleague at Belle Reve.

It had been several weeks since the convicted metahumans defeated Starro, that giant one-eyed starfish. Sometimes it amazes you to no end what strange things exist in this world. The Corto Maltese coup and monster defeat held onto headlines for several weeks until the next big thing came to top it. Seeing such exciting news affect your patients wasn’t unusual, but to have a high profile patient be a part of such news was a first, you’ll admit.

As for you, well, things were pretty much the same. You see your patients during the week at your office. You’re a licensed psychiatrist, and oftentimes you see men and women who have been convicted of a felony or are ex-prisoners themselves. It wasn’t a dream job for many women, much less anyone, to counsel people so troubled. You aren’t like everyone else, though. No, you might not have x-ray vision or super strength, or any super fancy gear to punch bad guys, but you do have a gift not many have: A good ear and an open heart.

And a prescription notepad, but you are determined to make your sessions more than just a pill dispensary.

You are aware of who Abner Krill is. The Polka-Dot Man. One of the metahumans who went to Corto Maltese and defeated Starro. This has partially immortalized him in the media as a superhero, despite his past as a prisoner. Some of your patients were metahumans too, but none as powerful or as widely known as the Polka-Dot Man. His identity and those of his teammates had been concealed from the general public. As of last week, you know his real name.

His appointment’s in the morning on a Tuesday. Your secretary came by as you were straightening up your office to let you know he had arrived. You fluff the couch pillows, throw blanket over the back, tissue box on the side table, a mild scent infuser on your desk. The century-old computer at your desk whirls to cool itself off. Earlier you'd taken the time to shoot an email to Ms. Waller confirming Mr. Krill's appointment.

You follow your secretary up front. She goes to her desk and you step into the waiting room.

Though foolish, you half expected to see Abner in his super suit. The polka dot suit and headgear. Instead, he’s wearing a pair of khaki trousers that hugged high over his hips, and a somewhat flashy, silk button-up tucked neatly into the waist. And, dare you say, a fanny pack. His outfit looked straight out of the 70s or 80s. You don’t know the definitive difference between the decades. But his shirt looks clean and pressed, the collar tucked down nicely. He has one leg over a knee, bouncing it rhythmically as he watches the fish swim around the tank in the wall. It looks like he tried to read a magazine, but stopped halfway, finger wedged between the pages.

“Mr. Krill?”

He jerked in response to his name, swinging his head up with a guilty look gleaming in his eyes. You think of a puppy who’s been caught peeing on the carpet. His expression, or perhaps the way his face was structured, reminded you of a puppy too. His face was somewhat sallow, somewhat droopy. Lines indicate a lot of frowning. Like a sad, droopy cartoon dog. His face narrowed down from his eyes, making his red cupid’s bow mouth seem small. A strong, straight nose dominates his face. His big eyes seem dark and questioning. Like a scared, lost child.

Krill quickly shoots up like a bean sprout, shaking his hands out. The magazine drops to the floor. He swears, bends down to pick it up, and anxiously fusses over righting it on the coffee table. You watch the way the glossy purple cuffs wave as he moves about in jerky, quick moves.

“Good morning, doctor,” he greets warily, avoiding your gaze and staring at your shoes.

“You must be Abner,” you smile. You reach out your hand. In a painful, pregnant pause he visibly wavers as he stares at your hand as if you’d stuck out a gun at him. Finally, he reaches out to take your hand.

He has a strong grip. Sweaty hands.

Hastily, he pulls away.

“Nice to meet you. Why don’t we head on back?”

He nods. His legs are long yet his steps uncertain, reminding you of a gangly adolescent. He follows you down the hall from the waiting room and awkwardly stands by as you open the door to your private office. You hear him pat his thighs as he waits. Like a shadow, he follows and sticks close but careful not to touch. Barely making a sound.

After your office door clicks shut, the two of you sit in your respective places. Your desk chair has a high back, cloaked in a fraying, multicolor knitted throw blanket. A bit garish against the dull beige walls and simple yet whimsical desk decorations beside you. There’s a poster that reads It’s OK to feel this way: over a circle divided by colors and sections, listing different emotions.

You pull your knees up and begin to take off your shoes.

Your patient stares in visible confusion.

“Would you like to take your shoes off?” You ask, setting your shoes aside as you straighten up in your chair. “I find it easier to relax without them.”

“Um…” he trails off, his downturned mouth pursing as he considers this. The tension rolling off him makes him stiff and hard to read. All you’re getting from him so far is how much he doesn't want to be here.

You watch him while occupying your hands with things on your desk so he doesn’t feel pressured to make a decision. From the corner of your eye, you watch him swallow, Adam's apple bobbing, and he slowly reaches down to untie and slip off his oxford shoes. He sets them neatly beside his feet. Hands tucked in his lap, sock feet on the ground. Looking up at you somewhat imploringly.

“This is a safe space, Abner,” you smile at him. You have your clipboard and pen in your lap, but you make yourself relaxed and as welcoming as you can. Note-taking can be done later. Visibly, at least. Don’t want to make him think you’re already assessing him before y'all begin to talk. Can’t force him to talk.

Ex-prisoners often struggle with reforming to civilization after release. He couldn’t be forced to attend therapy here despite the outside forces that pressured him to. If he wanted to walk out, he could. Abner was so tense he seemed to be walking on eggshells. He struggled to relax his shoulders, like his limbs were too long for his body. During all this, he hadn’t met your gaze one.

“Whatever we talk about won’t leave this room, unless, for instance, you said you plan to hurt yourself or someone else.”

This gets a reaction out of him. A grimace, a shake of his head. “No, I wouldn’t…”

“Of course not. You’re a superhero now, right?”

He grins. It’s brief, boyish, sheepish. He’s studying the design of your clothes. You consider that progress from your feet.

“You were recommended to me by Dr. Rooney at Belle Reve,” you begin conversationally, baldly, wanting to get a feel of where he was coming from. Your colleague had said Krill was not a violent inmate, but was often verbally bullied by other prisoners. He tended to avoid crowds, thus mostly avoided. More than once he had been on suicide watch. Casually, you glance down at your clipboard. Born in Philadelphia to Augustine Krill--father unknown--and tried and convicted for first-degree murder as an adult in the city of Metropolis. He was incarcerated at Belle Reve shortly after turning eighteen. He was in his early forties now.

You look back up at Abner. He had that sad puppy dog look again, staring at nothing in particular with his neck hunched.

“Did you and Dr. Rooney get along?”

“D-Doesn’t your notes say?”

You make a face. “I want to know what you think of Rooney, not what he thinks.”

Abner didn’t answer right away. “He was okay.”

“Okay,” you echo, licking your bottom lip as you cock your head up. “Okay is better than nothing.”

“We mostly spoke about my mother.”

“Oh?”

“She experimented on me and my siblings. She wanted us to become superheroes,” he said. His voice held much more confidence than anything he’d said so far, but his expression remained unchanged. It was because he kept words void of emotion.

“I see.” Yes, you did see. You had anticipated the topic of his mother coming up if you didn’t ask him about it first in future sessions. Dr Krill was listed in his files as a scientist at S.T.A.R. Labs, and having six children whom lived on site with her. CPC had been called a few times, rebuffed every time by various means other than being convinced nothing was wrong. The whole thing was fishy, especially after the untimely deaths of three of Dr. Krill’s children. The whereabouts of the other Krill children were unknown. All investigations into S.T.A.R. Labs had been terminated by higher powers, even after Abner’s arrest and psychological evaluation.

Abner continues, to your surprise. “I pictured Starro as my mother.”

“You did?”

“It makes it easier, when I convince myself that my enemy is her. I don't like killing.”

You pick up your pen and tap your lip, looking down at the way he was fidgeting his feet. “Did you regret killing your mother”

Abner’s knee stopped bouncing. “No.”

“Do you regret killing the other scientists at S.T.A.R. Labs? The--”

Abner grimaced and brought his hands to his head, tugging on fistfulls of black hair. “I-I didn’t mean--I-I--”

“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to answer that today,” you placate with a soft tone, putting down your pen, fingers rubbing along the edge of your clipboard. After a moment of heated silence, you set your things down on the desk and stand up. This makes your patient crumble in on himself, trying to hunch low enough to shield some blow. You smile sadly where he can’t see. “Abner, do you see my poster here? With all the emotions?”

He looks back up, glancing from you to said poster. His attention is answer enough.

“Whatever you feel in this room is valid to you and to me. Not now, but in the future I’d like for you to give me short but detailed descriptions to how you feel on certain things. It's okay to say something you think is taboo or unorthodox. This room doesn't have ears or a head to judge. Do you think you can do that?”

The couch makes no sound as he moves to better see the circle chart of words. Timidly, he nods.

“Great,” you smile sadly and sit back down. “Let’s get back to that later. Today, I’d like to talk about something other than your mother.”

Abner tilts his head. You must be doing something to exceed his expectations, because now he’s looking at you and not at you. “The Corto Maltese mission?”

“No. I want to know about you. I want to talk about Abner Krill. Who are you?”

His blank stare makes your heartache a little for him.

The following silence, where all you can hear is his ragged breath, the whirl of the monitor, and the soft mist of the incense humidifier, is thick. You can cut it with the tip of your pen. The sound of his voice as he speaks is almost staggering. "I am... I am my mother's son."

“No."

He flinches.

"Your mother does not define you. What you think about your mother and how you feel about her should not determine your sense of self or your future. You liked defeating that monster, right?”

Abner nods.

“You’re a superhero because you took action, not because she moved your hand. What you say here today, and any day, should be the same. Do you think you can do this for me?”

“I don’t understand…”

“I want to know the real Abner,” you smile. “Not Dr. Krill’s son.”

He still can’t make eye contact. The fidgeting starts back up. “But, what I am is because of her.”

“Not unless you choose otherwise. Starting today, you and I are going to help define Abner Krill. First, you are not your mother’s son.”

“But I am?”

“No. You are not your mother’s son. You’re Abner Krill, superhero. What does Abner Krill the superhero like to do?”

Understanding slowly started to dawn on him, visible in his eyes as he lifted his slanted brows. Recovering from trauma was no walk in the park, but the two of you had to start somewhere. Rooney over-fixated on Abner’s fixation on his mother and the abuse, and after years of obsessing over it to “fix” him, it seemed to become all Abner could think about. No one had really given him proper trauma recovery therapy, or helped to treat his PTSD. You wanted him to take the first step into self-evolution. No one could do it for him. You want him to define himself other than his mother’s son. Seeing himself as a superhero was perhaps the start of it.

“I-I don’t know,” he frowned. “I like to read…”

“That’s great!” Your enthusiasm startles him. “What sort of things do you like to read?”

“Well… Ah, I-I uh... I like the classics….”

The rest of your session with Abner was mostly casual. The safe topics you steered him to visibly made the man relax. He spoke about the fictional worlds he enjoyed immersing himself in. He liked the classics because they were “soft”. Sweet romances where the only real worries were who’s going to the ball. He didn't like tragedies or novels about war or great violence. With some coaxing, he opens up to talk about his favorite foods, animals, celebrities, songs-- You ask about his (non-virus related) talents or any hobbies he might’ve picked up at the prison or since he’s been out. Steering him away from the topic of his mother confused him in the beginning, leading you to assume he had anticipated mostly speaking about her. He’d been prepared like he might prepare to go into battle.

You know he won’t be able to just brush his mother aside; his virus was because of Dr. Krill. He blamed his 20+ years of incarceration at Belle Reve on his mother’s experimentations. He blamed himself. He hated her. He hated himself. Feared her. Feared himself. It was an inner wound that would never heal, you know this without a doubt, but you hope with time it becomes easier to manage as he takes control and independence of his new life.

“Did you ever go to school, Abner?”

The phantom smile on his face falls, but you haven’t lost him as he turns to you. Looks at your shoulder. “No. We--my siblings and I--were… homeschooled.”

“Right. Well, you at least know what homework is?”

“Yes. Of course. Am--Do you want me to--?”

With a hand gesture you hope is placating, you smile and gently cut him off. “Don’t worry, I’m not assigning you an essay to write or a month-long project to present. I’m not that cruel,” you chuckle. “But I am going to push you a little. Can you try that for me?”

He looks as if you’ve asked him to consider sacrificing his firstborn. Thankfully, he nods as he plucks a loose string off his knee.

“I want to see you biweekly, so schedule with Patrica upfront. Maybe this Friday or Saturday?”

“I-I can do that, yes ma’am.”

"Now, it's your choice to come back or not but it would make me really happy if you did."

His back straightens. "Yes. I'll be here."

“Beautiful, Abner. Beautiful. Sometime this week I’d like you to do something you normally wouldn't do. Go on a hike, join a gym, take a class on cooking or arts and crafts. It can be simply looking up a food recipe you’ve never tried before and making it. Tell me about your experience. If you’re around strangers, how is your relationship with them? If you see something new, how does it make you feel? This isn’t an order, Abner, just a… strong suggestion, mm? All I’m asking is for you to do something new and spontaneous. It can be at home or outside. Your choice.”

Abner licked his lips. It had taken a great deal of effort to convince him to come here at all today. Today is the first time speaking to him, but you’ve had his file for a few days now. You’re a little grateful for that. There was a lot to read. However, it took outside forces such as one Amanda Waller and fellow ex-prisoner teammates to get him to come here. You suspect someone dropped him off if he didn’t take a cab himself. He had no driver's license.

“Ah… Okay. Um, yes miss. Ma'am. Doctor! Ah--”

“You can call me by my name,” you reassure, tilting your head to him. “This is a safe space for you and I. We may be doctor and patient outside that door, but here, we can be as familiar with each other as we'd like. Like old friends.”

He turned to you with a look that sent a thunderbolt of sensation down your spine. Surprise, awe. A silent question gleamed in his puppy-dog eyes. He doesn't respond, brows raised high as he just stares at you.

You cover for his lapse. “I’ll see you in a few days. It was wonderful to finally meet you, Abner,” you say, looking at him without pretenses to hopefully show your honesty. He had an incredible gift that could help save a lot of people, and from what you've learned from recent character evaluations on him he had the makings of a fine superhero. First thing first, he needed to adjust to civilian life after years of being locked up, and years of having nothing but unresolved trauma. All the while, you hold back a rueful smile at his demeanor. You won't say it aloud of course, but he was so cute. Idly, you wonder about his sexuality- but you can ask that another day. For now you wanted him to be a little more daring to try new things and focus on something other than his mother.

You stand up and shake his hand. His grip is a little looser this time, lingering longer, but he moves away quickly, gathers his shoes, and you see him out. His scurrying reminds you of a startled elk. Large yet quick, stumbling over his long legs. Running from you as if you held a rifle instead of a purple glitter clipboard.

It was hard to believe this man had committed mass homicide.

[puckngrind]

Senior Night Redo - S. Kuraly

Warnings: mentions of sex, swearing

Thanks @luvsherleafs for the push on this one.

Word Count: 2,400ish

-------------------------

You couldn’t believe the twitter post or even the several friends sending you messages. Sean Kuraly signed with the Blue Jackets. He was coming home. The entire city was buzzing but all you felt were the butterflies in your stomach at the slightest mention of his name.

“You going to text him or just stare at his contact info?” Your best friend asked without even looking up from her phone. While you avoided it since July it was now September.

“Maybe, well… what do I say? Hi, welcome home.” You mumble.

“Um, that’s a start or maybe a let’s grab a drink and catch up. I want to know where we stand.” Your friend stops.

“Stand? We were never anything.” You flip to Instagram.

“Sure you weren’t. Maybe I want you to make me feel like that time you…” you launch a pillow at her head. “Okay, maybe just want to grab a drink?”

You scroll trying to forget what your bestie was implying. What seemed like a lifetime ago at Miami. Sean finally posted a thank you to Boston post. Holding your breath you reply, “Welcome home SK!”

“That is gonna get lost in all the comments you know. Just fucking text him. You aren’t strangers.”

It felt like it. Sean was your best friend since you could remember. Countless hours spent studying or just watching in the cold arenas while he practiced or was playing. His parents even would take you on road trips to watch him play for the national team as well as AAA Blue Jackets and Indiana Ice. You were his person and he was yours. It all changed senior night at Miami. Everyone already thought you two were together or at least fuck buddies but Sean had never even kissed you beyond a sweaty kiss on the cheek post game.

Sean walked you to your apartment as he did after most home games. You would be his sounding board for anything and everything about the game. Pouring drinks for the two of you as normal while he talked about everything from the arena music to a shift he could’ve done differently. Handing over his glass you dump it all over his dress shirt. He strips off the shirt as you round the island with a towel to dry him off. It was one look as you dabbed at his tight abs that your lips touched. He pinned you against the island, your leg gliding up his side. He curled his fingers around the back of your neck. Then suddenly launched himself back. Stammering to pick up his shirt. Whispered an apology and left.

“Well looks like it worked!” Your bestie points to her phone moments later. Your brain only on the flashes of that summer before he joined the Bruins and the awkwardness between you too that drove a wedge in your friendship. “Hope to see you at training camp. I’m pretty sure you know the rink well. Winky face sticking tongue out face. Damn, you would think someone would’ve taught him the art of emojis by now.” She chuckles then looks up at you. “Go to training camp. If you aren’t gonna text him at least show up at the damn rink you two fell in love in.”

“We were never in love.” You press your face into the couch.

“Oh, okay.” She draws out. “I’ll just look up open training camp sessions so we can go. You should wear his Miami hockey shirt you pretend not to have.”

You did. Nervously sitting in the arena you watched him so many times as kids. Now, he was about to hit the ice as a Blue Jacket. His dream as you two were growing up was to make it to the show and play for Columbus. He was making it happen. Tapping your feet nervously you noticed most in the arena were media. You dug in your bag to finish out a small note pad and pen to not look out of place. Doodling away while the first group of skaters made their way to the ice. Then you hear the most annoying whistling sound that brought your attention to the ice. Sean stood right below you. Helmet off, goofy smile on his face, and a twinkle in his eye that you missed.

“Hey stranger!” He shouted. You rolled your eyes and wave. “Meet me over there after practice.” He motioned to his mouth like he was eating then pointed to the door. You agree as he skates off again.

Over there was the Tim Hortons attached to the rink. You sat in a corner contemplating if you should just leave. “Aren’t think of boltin’ are ya?” Sean’s hand touches your shoulder with a laugh.

“Funny Sean. I was gonna order but I wasn’t sure what you were eating these days.” You look up at him. His face hasn’t changed much. A few added laugh lines from the last time you were in the same room after a Bruins game in Columbus.

“I’ll order. Your usual Princess Peach?” He drops your nickname as if no time had passed.

“Sure.” You croak out. Sean turns on his heals to return shortly with your favorite donuts and coffee just how you like it. He sits across from you and just stares while you sip.

“How have ya been? I mean I know the Instagram version and what mom tells me but seriously, how’s it going?”

“You look at my Instagram?” You press your eyebrows together in confusion. He hasn’t liked a single post that you could remember.

“Your account is still public, right? Me liking your posts would only cause people to go looking into who you are to me.” Sean matter of factly stated. Your mouth starts to react but he continues. “It’s why I deleted most of my posts. Why I don’t really interact on social media. Do you look to see who watches your stories? I’m gonna guess no. Go, look at your one from last night. You were in your closet and I’m pretty sure I could see my Miami jersey poking out.” Sean pushes your phone towards your hand. You open up your story, click on who viewed it and not only do you see Sean’s name but several others that shocked you.

“Why, how? I…” you try to formulate a response. “And yes, that’s your senior jersey. I wear it when I go back for a game. When’s the last time YOU were at Goggin?”

“It’s been too long. I miss it and you.” Sean’s voice lowers.

“You don’t miss me.” You gain some confidence.

Sean reaches over to brush his knuckles with yours. The bolt that flew through you was unexpected. “I do miss you. You are… well were my best friend and I ruined it in one weak moment.” You sit up quickly pulling your hands and cup closer to your body. He tries to stop you but sits up too. “I royally fucked up.”

“But why?” You whisper then notice there is a very interested person sitting behind Sean. He follows your eyes.

“I’m renting a place in walking distance. Can we continue this conversation there?” He goes to stand as you nod. The walk was silent including the elevator ride and Sean fumbling with his keys just like he did in college. You walk into the apartment which seems so much like him without really speaking in the last few years.

“Nice place, Sean.” You break the silence finally.

“I’m so fucking sorry.” He blurts out behind you.

“Sorry about what?” You turn to see him just standing there kicking at his entry rug. His hands deep in his hoodie pocket.

“I’m sorry about how I acted senior night, definitely how I acted that summer, how I ignored you once I went to Boston and Providence. How I wouldn’t see you when I played here and actively avoided you when I would come home for summer.” Sean slumps, his eyes saying more than the years of apologies that were pouring out of his mouth.

“But why?” You hold yourself tight. Sean closes the distance.

“Why? I kissed my best friend. I didn’t just kiss you I wanted to do so much more.” Sean admitted.

“So why did you run? Why didn’t you finish what started? I kissed you back that night. Do you not remember that?” Your entire body was on fire recalling that night.

Sean touches your elbows and you shudder. “I didn’t want to ruin what we had.” He leans to meet your eyes.

“But you did. You threw away over a decade of friendship and ran.” You tried to shake him off.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I would’ve followed you, you know? I was looking for jobs in all the NHL cities before graduation. I just took the one here to come home.” No one, not even your parents knew that about your job search to make sure Sean had a someone in the city he landed in.

“You what?” He runs his had over his face. “You did what?” He walks towards the couch swearing to himself as he crashes down on it holding his face in his hands.

You don’t move but place your bag on the table next to you and remove your shoes. “I thought you would need a friend and I was looking for an adventure.”

“Fuck.” Sean’s voice was muffled in his hands but it made you giggle. “Of course you wanted an adventure. Of course you would’ve been the perfect travel companion. Of course you wouldn’t have been worried at trade deadline. Damnit am I a fucking idiot.” You plop on the couch next to him. He drops his hands.

“Hi.” You giggle.

“Um.” Sean moves his body to face you.

“We made mistakes.” You smile. “We lost a damn good friendship from miscommunication.”

“You mean from a dumb hockey boy’s lack of being able to use his words.” Sean retorted.

“You are dumb but not in that way. I’ve watched your interviews for years and know your GPA from senior year.” You smirk.

“You know what I mean.” Sean shakes his head.

“Remember the time we tried to sneak back into the Blue Jackets locker room after one of your triple A games?” You change the subject.

Sean’s smile appears. “Yeah, they have better security than Gogg.” He runs his hand through his hair bringing back the best memory at Miami when the two of you snuck into the rink and skated on the ice after midnight. “We could totally run the tunnels now. Perks of the job.” He leans against his hand as it rests on the back of the couch.

“I might have to take you up on that.” You feel the blush returning to your face. Sean reaches over brushing his thumb over your rosy cheek.

“I wonder where we would be right now if I kept going and didn’t run?” Sean scoots closer to hold your face in his hands.

“Not sitting here awkwardly after stewing over that night for the last five years.” You answer in a hushed voice.

“You’ve dated. I’ve painstakingly seen the evidence.” Sean cringes.

“Doesn’t mean I haven’t missed my best friend?” You close your eyes to regain some confidence. “I’m sure you have multiple girls.”

“Not multiple. I’ve dated yes, but exclusively. I’m not like that, you gotta know that.” Sean’s face is close to yours.

“You could’ve changed in five years in the league.” You cannot look at his face.

“Yeah, my taste in liquor is better. My dating life is very boring. Haven’t been with anyone in some time.” Sean’s knee is now touching yours.

“Yeah, right.” Self doubt creeping in trying to push away the heavy feeling in the room.

“Somehow wanting to settle down in your late twenties isn’t sexy.” He plainly answers.

“Then those people aren’t for you.” You aren’t sure how you pushed the words out but you did.

“Those people aren’t you.” Sean leans so his nose is touching yours. “I’ve been thinking I would never get change to get back here. Reconnect with you. Show you what I should’ve done all those years ago.”

“You aren’t dating anyone right now?” You question.

“No, are you?” He inquires and you shake head no but you know he knows this. “Then come here.” He pulls both of your bodies off the couch and to the island in the kitchen. He strips off his hoodie to reveal his very toned body. “Here.” He hands you a towel as he splashes water on his abs.

“This isn’t necessary, Sean.” You look up at him. His eyes dark which you’ve only seen once before.

“Come on. Let me show you.” He places your hand with the towel on his abs. “Can I?”

“Yes.” Barely escaped your lips before his were on yours. Pressing you against the island just like that night. Sean’s hand moving up to your neck so he could curl his fingers into your hair. There was a familiarness to him but also a new sensation exploding in your body. “Sean, wait.” You push him away a bit.

“Sorry, did I hurt you?” He stands up a little checking your sides.

“No, not at all. This is just a make up from that night, right? Are you going to sleep with me then move on?” You lean your forehead into his chest not wanting to look into his eyes.

“Babe, this is not just a one and done. I want you to be mine. Do you want to stop and go on a proper date first? You still in love with that place down the street?” Sean’s hand moves to your chin to make you look at him.

“I am but I don’t think you could leave right now if you wanted to.” A little laugh follows as your hand rubs close to where his pants were tight.

“I’d figure it out for you.” His lips come down to kiss yours again.

“Promise?” You gulp.

“Promise, I’m not going anywhere.” Sean smiles with his eyes.

“And you aren’t seeing anyone?” You can see him trying not to laugh.

“Only person I’m having sex with is myself.” He laughs out.

“Ew.” You wrinkle up your nose.

“You asked Princess.” He pulls your hips to his.

“Are ya gonna finish here or are you going to show me the rest of your place?” You lean around him. Sean doesn’t answer but leans down to scoop you up with a squeal to take you towards his bedroom.