"Sex can get a little more complicated when you live with a partner. It’s great to finally have your own, private space for sex, and to be able to have more time together to spend with sex without rushing, having to be so quiet, or sneaking around. When you just want to hang out, living together can also help you avoid feeling like you have to squeeze sex and time talking or doing things into one short evening or afternoon. We often don’t have to do that anymore when we live in the same place.
At the same time, it’s good to talk through expectations around sex in advance, even if you might speculate a bit, not knowing how things are going to go when you’re actually living in the same space. For example, it’s not uncommon for people to have a lotta-lotta sex when they first move in, then to find the frequency slows down. Are you both prepared for that, including knowing that if it happens, it doesn’t make sense to freak out and figure something must be horribly wrong? You or a partner might also assume that sex can just happen at any time, but the other of you may feel like that’s asking too much of your schedule or makes you feel like you can’t plan on having any time guaranteed for the other parts of your life.
Boundaries with sex might also shift or need a change when you’re living in the same space. Some people feel like it’s sexy to be getting dressed or be taking a shower and have a partner come up and initiate sex, while to others that feels invasive. You and a partner may have different wants and needs around nudity in the house, the level of noise made with sex (especially if your neighbors or housemates aren’t so cool with it), or when and where sex happens. One or both of you may find that sexual activities you weren’t interested in before, or didn’t feel comfortable exploring in your parent’s house or in your dorm are things one or both of you are interested in now. Like anything else, and as with sexual relationships in general, just keep in good communication about sex, watch your assumptions or expectations, and be prepared to be surprised and flexible."
Heather Corinna and Karyn Fulcher, You, Them and a U-Haul: Considering Cohabitation
the non-magical college au continues! david/asher and we're flirting with some porter/morgan, and doing some relationship negotiation in gavin/huxley.
this fic from the start.
tags: so many idiots in love, college house party going to hell, drugged drinks, so many feelings, popsicles.
we're not editing, we're just writing and posting like our life depends on it. hope you enjoy it!!! <3 <3
Practice Makes Perfect - 11
Porter happened to see Kody and Huxley, watching that awkward interaction and wondering if he should do something when Gavin body-slammed Kody out of the way.
It was a shock, only because Porter had never seen Gavin hit anyone. And then he was holding that red solo cup he’d taken from the jock and pushed back at Kody. He was too far away to hear what he was saying but he saw Kody’s expression. He looked…caught? And then he slapped the cup to the floor. Before Porter could get across the room, the two were in a full fight.
It went fast and he was standing there when the jocks pulled them apart. David and Asher headed toward the front of the house with Kody but Porter went straight to Gavin. Huxley still had an arm around his chest, holding him up or holding him back, and Gavin was glaring daggers at Kody’s exit.
Porter bit back a smirk at the state of him. Porter got in plenty of fights, but he’d never seen Gavin like this. He thumbed the blood from the corner of the other man’s mouth, making him wince and breaking the focus he had on his rival. “What was that about?” Porter asked over the music and the voices, and then specified, “With the cup.”
Gavin blinked and then looked to the side in the direction of where it had landed. He stood taller and his jock let him go, looking upset. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “He was mixing drinks with that chem creep and then he was over here pushing it on Hux…”
Porter frowned. “You think he spiked it?”
“He looked scared when I said something… He wouldn’t drink it himself.” Gavin sighed and dragged a hand through his hair, trying to wield it back into that perfect state of disorder.
Porter nodded. There had always been rumors about Blake drugging and poisoning people. Nothing deadly, and nothing that ever quite got him into trouble. He turned and skimmed the crowd, looking for Blake but not spotting him. He headed for the kitchen but he wasn’t there. At least a dozen cups saw on the counter, half-filled and waiting to be picked up. Fuck. Porter pushed them all into the sink. He walked the floor of the house, asking some of his friends and roommates if they’d seen Blake. One of them said he’d bolted when the fight broke out.
Porter got to the front door in time to see David and Asher coming back inside. He thanked them for their skills with a little more flourish than anyone needed and then ducked out to catch Kody still spitting curses on the lawn.
Porter grinned.
Kody stuttered, actually stumbling back a step.
The fact that Kody gave no shits about the jocks muscling him around, but he looked like he was ready to run when Porter set his eyes on him, felt good. It shouldn’t. It said something bad about Porter, but he was self aware enough to accept that.
“Where did you get it?”
Kody took another step back and pushed his chin high. “Get what?”
“The drink,” he said easily, smiling like they were friends, taking steps to get closer the whole time. “What was in it?”
Kody laughed and shook his head, rubbing blood from his chin. “Fuck you, man. I don’t know what you–”
“Kody,” Porter cooed. “We’re not enemies. I don’t care about you. Do you… Do you want me to care about you? Do you want my attention?” he asked sweetly.
Kody glared. “I’m leaving.”
“But first you’re telling me what was in the cup.”
“I don’t know what was in the cup.” Another step back.
“What do you mean? Where did you get it?” Another step forward. They were off the lawn now.
Kody remembered his ego and shoved his chin high, trying to look down at Porter. “It was just a joke. Whatever he put in it was weak shit anyway. You're still standing, aren't you?”
Porter raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”
“He gave you the same mix earlier! It didn't do shit. It was just a joke and you all attacked me!”
Porter frowned. “I haven't had anything to drink.” As soon as he said it he remembered a cup in his hand earlier. He'd picked it up off the counter but he hadn't had any of it…because he saw Morgan walk in.
Forgetting Kody, he went back into the house, each step a little more urgent. Where had Morgan gone?
-
Hux still wasn't sure what had happened. He had been looking for Gavin when Kody came up to him. He didn't like Kody but he couldn't really explain why. He smiled like he was nice but it never felt like he was. But Huxley was being polite and letting him talk, not loving how close he kept getting. But he'd brought him a drink and hadn't really taken no thanks for an answer so there Hux was, backed up to the wall.
Gavin came out of nowhere. Huxley thought he'd fallen into Kody but he hadn't. He'd shoved him aside and switched the drink in Huxley's hand. His mind spun. Why?
They were arguing. Gavin wanted Kody to take the drink back?
And then Kody said something nasty to Gavin and Huxley had tried to stop this but whatever it was, it was too late.
He flinched when the beer Gavin was still holding smashed against the floor just before Gavin's fist swung.
He should have moved faster but he'd been so surprised. Huxley had been in team sports since he could walk. Fights didn't surprise him. He understood most fights and the sort of people that started them and the ones that finished them. He just hadn't ever imagined Gavin getting in one let alone over…what the hell were they fighting over?
They were across the room on the floor but he wasn't sure what to do. Some fights needed breaking up and others had to play out. Which one was this? What was Huxley's role? But then Kody elbowed Gavin in the face and Huxley didn't have to think about what to do. He moved in and hooked an arm around Gavin’s chest, scooping him up and twisting to make sure Kody didn't get a last kick or swing in.
Kody was on his feet fast but David was already there to intercept him.
Gavin slumped back against him, head turning to watch Kody being hauled out of the party. He didn't quite snap out of it until Porter slid up to them and asked about the drink. What was wrong with the drink?
Huxley let Gavin go to stand on his own but then he turned. He had blood on his mouth. His lip didn't look split but it could be inside. At least the piercing looked okay. “Come on.” Hux caught his arm and hauled him toward the kitchen. They needed to get ice on his face.
“Hux,” Gavin said.
Huxley shook his head, getting him into the kitchen and turning him to lean into the corner while Hux looked for a clean towel. “Hang on.” He found one and yanked open the freezer, grabbing the first frozen bag he found. It was blueberries.
“Hux,” Gavin sounded urgent now. He grabbed his arm and looked him in the eye. His cheek was red high on his cheekbone. That shit was going to bruise. “Did you drink any of it?”
“What?” He wrapped the bag of blueberries in a towel and gently held it to Gavin's face but Gavin grabbed his wrist to stop him. He looked so serious, suddenly very focused and Hux thought he'd either missed something or this guy had a concussion.
“Did you drink any of it?” Gavin asked again, saying his words carefully like he thought Hux was the one with the concussion.
“Any of what? Dude, you have to ice this or–”
“Hux. Stop.”
Huxley did, freezing with the bag up. He was sort of cornering Gavin. Shit. He took a step back. “Sorry–”
“The drink Kody gave you. Did you have any of it?”
He didn't sound mad, exactly, just…worried? “No. Why? What was in it? Was it like a prank or something gross?”
Gavin sagged back against the counter in relief. That was actually really sweet. But had he gotten that upset over some jerk messing with him?
“I would have been okay. You don’t need to do stuff like that for me.”
Gavin’s head snapped up to look at him again.
Huxley smiled and gently pressed the ice cold bundle to Gavin’s cheek. “I’m used to pranks and locker room shit. That guy was a creep but you don’t need to waste your energy on–”
“He spiked the drink,” Gavin said.
Huxley frowned. “Spiked it? Like…to hurt someone? Then why give it to…Oh.” Oh. He was immediately angry at the idea of Kody giving it to anyone else. That would be awful. But he hadn’t tried to give it to anyone else. He’d been pushing it on Huxley.
-
Gavin didn’t really feel the cold on his face or even the pain beneath, all he felt was the rage and fear at the idea of Kody hurting Huxley. It was still there, twitching in his fingers. “He–”
Hux laughed, the sound sort of dark and tired.
Gavin blinked, so surprised that he forgot everything else he’d been thinking.
“What a fucking idiot,” Huxley said, still holding that icepack to his face.
Gavin touched his hip, holding on like he needed it to keep him steady.
Huxley shrugged when he saw the look on Gavin’s face. “Like, what fucking chance did he have of getting me out of here? And really, there’s no way he could carry me if that shit knocked me down.” His smile grew as he tried to imagine it, shaking his head. “Nah. Good thing it was me though and not someone else.”
Gavin blinked up at him, relaxing fractions even when he found new outrage. “I’m sorry, are you suggesting you can’t be carried?”
“I’m suggesting it would take David or Darlin to do it…” he countered.
Gavin liked the tone. It was playful and not the least bit scared. He never wanted Hux to be scared, even if maybe he had been scared for him. “You…Seriously?” And just David and Darlin? One hundred percent, Asher and Milo should be on that list too. But more importantly… “You don't think I can lift you?”
Hux tempered his amusement, not with doubt but with caution. Was he worried about hurting Gavin's ego?
Gavin grinned, hand still on Huxley's hip when he stepped closer and then turned them slowly, to trade places. Huxley's beautiful face lit with curiosity. His smile changed when Gavin put both hands on his hips, his lips parting when Gavin's fingertips brushed skin under the hem of his shirt, along the waistband of his jeans. And then he moved his hands down the larger man's thighs, feeling muscles jump under his palms.
He grabbed the back of Huxley's thighs and lifted him, memorizing the shock and thrill on his face and the way he gasped. Gavin held him there against him for a bit and then put him on the counter, those thick thighs spread on either side of his hips.
They stared at each other. Gavin had a gift for flustering people, for exciting, but Hux was the first person who exciting sent a thrill through him too. He still had his hands on those thighs and his body pressed up against him. It would have been impossible not to feel Huxley's dick, semi hard, straining denim.
Hux realized himself and flushed, trying to scoot back. “Shit. Sorry, dude.”
Gavin kept him where he was. “You’re okay.”
Huxley stilled, staring back at him.
“Do you want me to back off?” Gavin asked.
Huxley swallowed. “No.” His voice was gravelly and it sent a jolt down Gavin's spine. He still had hands on Huxley's thighs. “I don't mind if you don't mind.”
Gavin grinned. “I definitely don't mind having you pressed against me…”
Huxley still held the icepack gently to Gavin's cheek and took it back enough to get a look. He frowned. “It's gonna bruise…”
Gavin didn't care. Honestly, he was only playing along with icing it because it kept Huxley close to him.
“You know that guy? …Kody?”
Gavin remembered the way Kody had talked about Hux, all the awful things he'd said and how he'd eluded to having at least tried to hit on Huxley before. “We have the same major.”
“Can I ask… Like, forget it if you don't want to answer, I don't want to overstep or anything…”
The whole house was a swarm of music and talking, but all Gavin could hear was that smooth, low voice.
“It's not really any of my business but…were you two… have you…”
“Have we fucked?” he tried to keep his voice steady, void of the disgust he felt at the idea. “No.”
Huxley visibly relaxed, nodding. “Good. I mean. Not that you couldn't, it's just…” His face pinched. “He doesn't seem like he'd be very nice.”
Gavin wasn't sure if he should laugh or cry at how perfectly accurate that was. “No. I don't think he would be.” He felt a wave of relief before he realized why–realized Hux had said it like he definitely didn't know for certain. Thank fucking god he didn't know for certain. He smirked up at Huxley. “So…You like it nice?”
The big guy coughed a surprised laugh. “What? Like..? I mean. Doesn't everyone like…it…nice?”
Oh, that was so sweet. Gavin’s heart hurt a little. He definitely should have punched Kody harder. He squeezed Huxley's thighs a little, thinking of all the nice things he'd love to do to him. He opened his mouth to say it, to offer to do something so nice it would have Huxley's eyes rolling in his head…but then he remembered the night they met.
Hux had been the one doing the rescuing then and they'd ended up talking in the kitchen not totally unlike this. And then Gavin had suggested sex and Hux had closed up on him, been so painfully nice about it, but left.
“I want to kiss you,” Gavin said, gaze flicking between his mouth and his eyes. He felt the muscles in Huxley's thighs tense.
Huxley slowly took the icepack away from his face.
If he said no, if he looked uncomfortable, Gavin was ready to let go and step back. He was glad neither of them had had anything to drink yet. He'd known if he made a first move tonight it would have to be before they started getting tipsy, not that he'd really expected to. He'd been trying to start a conversation about them, not get handsy and make out. But, admittedly, this was playing into his skill set…
“Kiss me,” Hux said.
Gavin felt fire in his veins, his brain rebooting in a way it definitely never had before. He hesitated. He'd never hesitated to kiss anyone before.
Huxley looked at his mouth and then met his gaze again. There was something nervous there, but also excited. “I want you to kiss me.”
Gavin curled a hand around the back of his neck and drew his face down into his. The first kiss was the pillow soft press of lips. It was delicate and innocent and perfect. And then Gavin opened his mouth and Huxley responded with a groan. Gavin kept the kiss slow, even when it grew deep and hungry. He didn't want to rush anything.
David sat on the couch where he could see most of the room, watching Milo's date win another round of beer pong and insure that they were going to be walking home tonight.
Asher came back from the kitchen with two fresh bottles and a bag of popsicles. There was a seat on the cushion available next to him but David moved his arm, knowing Asher would sit in his lap. It wasn't new behavior. It's exactly what he would have done at a party in the years before they got together.
How long had Asher been into him? Had it always been a sign?
Asher sat in his lap and handed him a beer. He took a popsicle from the bag and then tossed the rest to Darlin. “For your eye!” he yelled over the music. Darlin pretended not to hear, taking a popsicle and passing the bag along.
David settled a hand against Asher's back and shipped his beer.
“Gavin and Hux are making out in the kitchen,” Asher told him, having to lean in to make sure he heard him without broadcasting it to anyone else.
David wondered how so little could change about them now that they were a couple. It was so easy. “Haven't they been together for a while?”
Asher laughed. “Fuck off. You know they’ve been dragging their feet.”
David pressed back his smile, rubbing small circles into Asher’s back. Were they into public affection? This was more than they used to do. “I don’t think we should be judging anyone on that…”
His best friend, his boyfriend, grinned. He nodded, ripping the wrapped off his popsicle. Oh shit. David’s brain flared a little. “Well, you’ve got me there, big guy,” Asher agreed, taking a swig of his beer and then licking that popsicle.
Fuck.
Asher sucked, watching the party and bouncing a little to the music.
This was bad. It was great! And it was so bad…
Why did he think going to a party with Asher as a couple would be the same as before? This was definitely not the same.
Asher slid the popsicle in and out, popping it off his lips and taking another drink from the bottle in his other hand.
“You’re a monster,” David said, voice low and jeans suddenly a little too tight.
Asher grinned, but didn’t look at him. He looked so fucking innocent, just watching the crowd and feeling the music. And then casually deepthroating that popsicle.
David groaned and forced himself to look away. He spotted Johnny glaring at them–glaring at Asher–only to accidentally meet David’s gaze. David lifted a hand and flipped him off from across the party.
“I think something is up with them,” Asher said.
David thought he was talking about that idiot, but when he looked at his boyfriend, he realized Asher was staring in a completely different direction. He followed his gaze to where Darlin was dancing. “Why?” He asked, even though he thought it too.
“I don’t know,” Asher said, sounding more serious now. “They’ve been kind of… Off? Cagey.”
David felt that pit in his stomach and nodded. “Yeah. And the bruise…”
“You don’t think they got it in practice?”
David knew they hadn’t. He would have noticed.
Darlin had always had an instinct for danger–not the instinct to avoid it–but a willingness to walk right the fuck into it. One time, when they’d been drinking, and they were both more drunk than tipsy, Darlin had said that when you’re starving, you’ll take anything. David had never been able to shake the feeling that they knew it from experience, and that food wasn’t the only thing they’d grown up starving for.
They didn’t care about their own safety, but they did care about making their friends uncomfortable or unhappy. Which meant they would hide things.
Asher bit half his popsicle off.
They’d been friends with Darlin for years. They’d stayed out of Darlin’s business in the beginning but somewhere between one asshole and the next, they’d stopped ignoring it.
“You think it’s that roommate they won’t let us meet?” Asher thought aloud.
David frowned, nodding.
Asher sighed and got up, stretching. “Okay. Let’s get them drunk enough that they crash on our couch. We can try to get it out of them in the morning.”
David finished his beer and followed him onto the dancefloor.
In the world saved- but not fully spared- from Second Coming, Aziraphale is left shattered. Crowley knows what it is to pick up the pieces. Together, they work to build something new.
"You either let yourself want me or you fuck off, Aziraphale. Figure it out." No malice there, just weariness. There was no anger left in either of them for each other. As he sauntered towards the kitchen door, Crowley tossed back "I am making cock-a-leekie stew for dinner tonight. Might you make some rolls?"
Rated E | 2.9k words | Chap 1/3
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
This fic is a result of a Neglected WIP Rescue and Rehabilitation. It has been languishing since season 2 aired. Thanks to @europeanficwritersretreat2025 for (lovingly) pushing me to get it done, and get it published.
A curse against sex on a wedding night. Jaskier copes, and Geralt helps. (Ace!Geralt, 1.3k ☆ AO3)
“Rude! So rude!” Jaskier pushes open the door to their bedroom, banging it against the wall. “On my wedding, no less. My wedding!”
Geralt follows right behind, steadying the door and closing it gently. He sighs, pausing as Jaskier paces across the room several times, his cheeks flushed with anger.
“It was our wedding, Jask.”
With that, Jaskier stops in his tracks, looking up at Geralt. Frantic energy simmers behind his eyes, mixed with frustration.
“Yes,” he answers, crossing the room to take Geralt’s hands. “It’s our wedding day. Ours. We are supposed to be utterly consumed by marital bliss, and nothing else. It’s our day.” At that, Jaskier softens ever so slightly, before letting out a disgusted noise. “Urgh, and now it’s all ruined by that old, joyless wizard. Who would crash someone’s wedding party and cast a curse against sex? Seriously, what kind of a rude bastard does that?”
Jaskier mumbles a few more curses, completely overcome with annoyance at the unexpected guest near the end of the ceremony. Geralt simply holds his hands, waiting patiently for the rant to finish.
The medallion hums faintly against Geralt’s chest, reminding him of the magic cast upon them. He nearly didn’t recognize it at first, being the opposite of another common curse—forced sex with the threat of death. That one would have been a much more heinous deal, a complete disregard of the subject’s will, and forbidden in nearly all of the courts.
This curse, however, only means they cannot have sex tonight.
And tonight just so happens to be their wedding night.
Perhaps, it is indeed a bit inconvenient, Gerealt reckons.
“Cockblocked on my wedding night! With that sick spell of his and those evil laughs. They were not even good laughs! We’ve met villains with much better laughs.” Jaskier goes on, and on. “That was so rude. At least, he should’ve had the courtesy to practice that laugh a little before coming here. And, Geralt, did I mention how rude it was?”
Jaskier’s cheeks are bloated red. Smoke could be coming out of his ears.
Geralt resists the urge to tease. “You did.”
A glare lands on him nonetheless. Jaskier lets go of Geralt’s hands, crossing his arms. “Why must you make enemies with the rude ones?”
Blinking, Geralt realizes he’s become the target of Jaskier’s ire too.
“It’s better than the deadly ones?” Not sure what to do, he sighs. “I didn’t do anything.”
It must be the gentle tone that relaxes Jaskier, because his shoulders drop a little. If anything, Geralt knows how to calm his bard when he’s spiraling—his husband, now.
So he closes the distance between them slowly, placing a hand behind Jaskier’s back, guiding him towards the bed. It’s a big, luxurious thing, mounted with blankets and soft pillows. They sink into the mattress at the edge.
“No, it wasn’t your fault. I’m angry with that sad, pathetic mage who has never known love and acts out on jealousy.” Jaskier takes a deep breath, and then another. “He just couldn’t stand how happy we are.”
“We are.” Geralt pulls Jaskier close, so his body is slumped against his. “I am. So incredibly happy.”
Jaskier runs a hand through his hair, crumpling the small daisies nestled in his braids. “I’m not mad at you, just frustrated,” he says. “It’s our wedding night. I was expecting to get lucky, is all.”
“Hmm, and what if I didn’t want to?” Geralt asks softly, picking out the crushed petals one after another. “What if it’s one of those days?”
He only asks half-heartedly as a comfort for Jaskier, but the hypothesis is not without truth underneath it.
On some days, all Geralt wants is to fall asleep holding Jaskier. On some days, sex seems like an insurmountable task. He’s different, from Jaskier at least, who always looks at him with desire burning behind those blue eyes.
On other days, the want grows within his ribcage. When there’s sunlight on Jaskier’s smile and patience in his voice, Geralt is consumed by all the love that whispers Jaskier’s name with every slow beat of his witcher heart. On those days, he shows all the love with touch, with the gentle press of lips, with the intimacy in the act of sex, and he knows Jaskier sees him.
Jaskier always sees him. Jaskier is always safe.
“Oh.” Upon hearing the question, Jaskier looks up. His expression changes completely, all annoyance gone in an instant. “That’s fine, then. It’s alright if you don’t want to, darling, you know this. It wasn’t meant as—well, I didn’t mean to pressure you. I just thought you did want to, tonight.” He watches Geralt closely. “Did you? Because it’s okay. I won’t mention it again if you don’t.”
Something in Geralt aches.
“I did,” he answers. “I wanted to. It’s our night. I want to make you happy.”
A small, understanding smile tugs at Jaskier’s lips. He waits for Geralt’s answer patiently, sitting on their wedding bed, dressed in a midnight blue doublet, embroidered with a subtle pattern of wolves at the hem.
“Yeah?”
Geralt takes Jaskier’s hand and presses a kiss to his palm. “Yeah.”
Jaskier’s lips purse into a small pout. “It’s all pointless now. We are trapped in this sexless hell.”
“Only for a day. We are still here tomorrow.”
The ribbon that bound their hands and the rings marking their fingers make sure of it.
“It’s still unfair. It seems so much harder for me than it is for you. Pun fully intended,” Jaskier whines. “I want you, darling. I had plans to take care of you tonight. Please tell me it’s just as hard for you.”
Geralt smiles at his ridiculous bard. “It’s just as hard for me.”
“Thank you,” Jaskier sighs, “for lying.”
“Not lying. Want you so much.” Geralt hums, resting his forehead against Jaskier’s, eyes closed. “Love you,” he whispers the secret.
“Oh,” Jaskier’s breath hitches. “I love you too.”
They exhale in unison, letting the weight of the day fade away.
We don’t need sex to be close, Jaskier once promised him. I just need you to be here, and be okay.
Geralt breathes through all the love that wraps around him in safety, overwhelming him, drowning him in utter bliss. He cups Jaskier’s cheek and takes in the beautiful sight of his bard, his small smile. He can’t help leaning in for a kiss.
“What are you doing?” A finger stops him by the lips, but Jaskier’s smile grows. “Curse, remember?”
“Hmm, we can still kiss,” Geralt coaxes. “Just one kiss.”
Jaskier groans. “It’s never just one kiss if it’s you. You know your effect on me. I’ll get all hot and bothered and it’s going to be a danger to our lives.”
“We’ll risk it.”
Despite the playfulness, Geralt kisses Jaskier carefully. He catches Jaskier’s soft lips into a chaste kiss, and another, and another. He keeps it feather-light, never pushing for more, only to let Jaskier melt under his attention. The small, peppering kisses continue until they are both humming with quiet contentment.
Geralt pulls away, opening his eyes to find Jaskier with a dreamy look on his face.
“Hey, husband.”
“Hey,” Jaskier breathes. “I misspoke. Perhaps, I did get lucky today.”
“Did you?”
Jaskier’s grin stretches so wide it takes over his whole face. There’s so much joy when he looks at Geralt, growing as the seconds go by. It’s hard to imagine him being angry just a few minutes ago, troubled by something that seems distantly inconsequential now.
“Mm-hmm. I really lucked out with this one right here.” He pinches Geralt’s cheek gently. “I have a best friend and a husband in the same person, and I got to marry him today.”
That, Geralt can relate to.
“Hmm. Very lucky indeed. What will you do with him, now that you have him?”
Jaskier winks mischievously, bringing Geralt into his arms. The faint smell of daisies lingers in the air, and Geralt burrows right into it. He holds his best friend and husband, and never wants to leave their little pocket of happiness.
“I believe,” Jaskier answers, smiling as he kisses Geralt’s forehead, “more cuddling is in order. It’s our wedding night, after all.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling
Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling
Additional Tags: Rape Nightmare, Dreams and Nightmares, Subdrop, Hurt/Comfort, Bathing/Washing, Cuddling & Snuggling, Defining the Relationship, Actually Talking In Words Like Grownups
Series: Part 3 of Dream Problems
Summary:
Picking up directly from the end of "Having a Nice Problem", the aftermath of Dream and Hob's absolutely genius decision to have barely-negotiated consensual non-consent monsterfucking nightmare sex about half an hour into seeing each other for the first time since 1889. What could possibly go wrong?
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Rating: T
Wordcount: 51,149
Chapters: 12/12
Summary:
(A sequel to Smoke and Mirrors)
Every muscle in Crowley’s body clenched as the previous day came rushing back. Not a dream. Aziraphale was real, solid, and alive. He was here, he was back, he was…
He was currently making himself a little too much at home in Crowley’s personal space.
(Aziraphale has unknowingly spent over a year on a simulated Earth, building a relationship with an imaginary version of Crowley. Crowley has spent that time alone, miserable, and unsure if he'd ever see his best friend again. Now together and safe once more, they learn how to navigate the new reality in which they find themselves.)
I wish you would write a fic where Marinette speaks to a future version of herself that continues to keep Chat in the dark about the decisions she makes.
So, this probably isn't what you had in mind, but this is what I wrote. ^.^; Thanks for the Ask!
Read it on AO3: A Bouquet of Second Chances
Summary: After feeling like less than a partner to Ladybug for several years, Adrien gives up his ring, and Marinette returns to the past to help her younger self avoid a similar fate. Meanwhile, Luka tries to hold everything together until Adrien and Marinette can work things out in the present.
CN/TW for this one: loaded flirting, teasing and squabbling, implication of homophobia, implication of transphobia, very brief discussion of boundaries around sex (as in: hard no, won't happen), misunderstanding around the flirting
Jon actually dozed off at one point, his head pillowed on Gerry’s shoulder and body curled towards them. Delicately manoeuvring Jon’s glasses off his nose, Gerry pressed a kiss to his forehead,
“I love you.” A sleepy smile tugged at Jon’s lips,
“Love you too.” Putting the glasses away onto the nearby side table, Gerry themself snuggled closer until he was curled around Jon protectively. Just like back then. Not because Jon couldn’t take care of himself, no. But because Gerry always had been taller and more scary looking. And in the privacy of their youth bedrooms, it had simply been because it felt right.
It was dark out, when the both of them woke up again. Tangled together and still pressed close with Jon’s wide ankle skirt acting as sort of a blanket. After the initial surprise, Jon’s expression turned soft. Gentle and fond as he trailed his fingers down Gerry’s face. Blinking sleepily, Gerry hummed,
“Depending on how late it is, you up for pizza?” Instead of answering, Jon decided to first pepper Gerry’s cheeks with kisses. They were giggling under him, before he relented and sat up,
“Sounds good to me. But maybe we should turn on some lights before anything else.” Gerry poked him in the ribs,
“Good point. Let me up?” Jon simply flopped down against the armrest opposite to the one Gerry had been resting against, drawing his legs in and sitting sort of sidesaddle on the cushion there. Standing up, they handed him his glasses, before crossing the room to reach the light switches.
“Any preference about that pizza?” While Jon made himself more comfortable, still with his legs next to him on the sofa, he also grabbed his phone, checking the time.
“You still like pepperoni salami?”, he turned to look at Gerry over the back of the couch. Nodding, they returned to the couch but paused behind the backrest, slinging his crossed arms over the top of it and leaning in towards Jon,
“Sure, as if I could ever lose my taste for hot.” His gentle attempt to cup Jon’s chin was met with a playful snarl.
“Well, hot tempered, apparently”, they conceded, pressing a quick kiss to Jon’s hair instead. Shooting Gerry a look, Jon rolled his eyes, turning away and putting the order into his phone,
“Big one and we share?”
Over dinner, they talked about Gerry’s art. Past shows and exhibits his works had been a part of, how he always stood in as one of Gertrude’s assistants to participate without being questioned.
“So there you have it, finally you know all there is to know about both of my jobs”, they nudged Jon’s shoulder. Due to Gerry really talking about his art most of the time through dinner, Jon had eaten probably two slices more than them. Not that he minded, except for Jon trying to snatch the last slice as well.
“Ey!”, they gasped in offence as he immediately bit off the tip,
“You prick!” Jon just grinned, sticking the tip of his tongue out,
“What are your gonna do about it?” Gerry’s expression darkened, glaring at him as they leaned closer, right up into Jon’s personal space. He had the presence of mind to hold the pizza slice away from them, as Gerry growled at him,
“I’ll do something about it alright.” The next moment, Jon blinked in surprise. Gerry’s lips were on his, he could even feel them smiling into the kiss before he sunk against him. As soon as he pulled back, Gerry gave a triumphant “ha!”. Only then did Jon notice he had been robbed of the pizza which they now finished off before he could even grab for it.
“You’re an ass”, he tried for stern, he really did. But with Gerry’s self-satisfied and dopey proud expression, Jon didn’t stand a chance against his laughter bubbling up. Wiping their fingers on a napkin, Gerry grinned down at Jon,
“You love me”, he made sure his hands were grease-free before they offered a hug. Instead, Jon just put a hand to their chest and gave him a shove,
“Yea, I have had better taste”, his fond expression betraying the quip. Gerry let their arms drop, positioning one on the backrest of the couch,
“Careful, four-eyes”, he had leaned in, teasing glint in his affectionate look. Jon played along, snorting and crossing his arms,
“Or what?” On cue, Gerry straightened up to his full height, putting his weight forward and gradually caging Jon in. When he actually did slide back on the sitting cushions, Gerry paused, a questioning expression crossing their face. At Jon’s silent eye-roll and minute head-tilt, he grinned. Using his height to tower over Jon, they even put out his other arm, bracing their hand against the armrest behind Jon. He was fully caged in between Gerry and the couch. Jon visibly enjoying their banter had Gerry smirk down at him,
“Take a guess, doll.” Another amused snort, before Jon huffed and tried staring him down. As that didn’t work, he raised a brow,
“You want a kiss or something to let me go?”, nudging Gerry’s arm with his. Raising a brow in return, Gerry made a show of contemplating it,
“Well… “or something” does sound rather interesting, actually. What are you offering?” Their smirk turned into a grin halfway through.
Jon shook his head,
“God, I hate you”, before stretching up to kiss them. Relaxing their arms just a bit, Gerry still blocked Jon from standing up with his body while the two of them kissed.
“Sure you do”, he gave a quick peck to Jon’s cheek. Sighing, Jon looked around himself,
“You’re gonna let me go or what?”, he didn’t really sound happy to ask,
“I really don’t want to take the underground any later into the night than I have to.” He sighed, deflating a little and looking down at his skirt. Gerry felt their own shoulders sag at that, shifting his weight they sat up. Still close to Jon, they shifted until he sat next to him, letting their arm slide down onto his shoulders,
“Then don’t?” His shrug sort of worked to pull Jon in against their side again,
“It’s late, the weather is probably shit anyway…”, they turned to look at him again.
“I don’t want you ending up in an unsafe subway situation. You don’t have to leave just -“, Jon interrupted him.
Jon’s expression had darkened, not in the playful way from before but honestly threatening, which also carried in his voice,
“Gerry…” They slowly withdrew his arm, affected by Jon’s tone. Nonetheless they kept close, his shoulder still touching Jon’s. Trying to comfort him against whatever this sudden shift was, Gerry kept their tone gentle,
„Just offering, Jon.“ With grumble, Jon turned away, pushing them back in the same move. Finally getting up from the cushion, Jon wrapped his arms around himself, trying to mask it as crossing them.
„Just…“, he pushed his glasses up and rubbed at his eyes with both hands, resignation settling into his shoulders,
„Stop the aggressive flirting for a moment, please.“ He turned back to Gerry, the defensive bristling long gone. Gerry stared, the sudden uncertainty in their expression was laced with worry. His shoulders sagged as they deflated with the tentative hesitance suddenly washing over him.
Clearing his throat, Jon regarded him with a deeply exhausted look, making him look even older than what the grey-white strands of hair accounted for,
„You know just as well as I that you won’t get me into bed.“ Despite chewing on his bottom lip, his face was set, signalling every way he could that this wasn’t up for debate.
As soon as the shock released them, Gerry gave a half-hearted shrug, feeling awkward all of a sudden,
„Not my intention. I would never try talking you into sex, jeez. I just …“, unsure how or if to continue, he wrapped his arms around themself. With a deep sigh, they looked up at Jon again,
„I would love if you stayed the night and slept over. Is all.“ Trying for a friendly smile fell short anyway.
Hesitantly reaching out a hand, which ended up just hanging in the air between them, Gerry shook his head,
„I’m sorry if it sounded like…“, their hand dropped back to his side,
„I’m sorry.“ Jon blinked, taking in their pleading expression and overall non-threatening, suddenly timid posture. Jon’s voice sounded foreign, somewhat husky, even to his own ears,
„Of course.“ He shook his head, stepping back towards the couch, towards Gerry,
„I’m sorry.“ Offering Gerry his hands, he gave a weak smile,
„You’re right and I overreacted on a false assumption. I just… met some bad apples over the years…“ When Gerry’s face fell anew, this time with worry on his behalf, Jon huffed, retracting one hand to wave the thought away. With a questioning look, he stepped even closer to them, until he could hug him to his stomach.
„Of course I know you would never pressure me. I promise you, I logically know that“, he pressed a kiss to the top of Gerry’s head.
