#jg36

i'm actually so down bad for this man

john finds you curled up on the couch, bundled in a blanket despite the warmth of the apartment. your face is buried in a pillow, and you don’t even look up when he walks in. that’s how he knows it’s bad.

“that time of the month, baby?” he asks, voice soft, already toeing off his shoes.

you groan in response. that’s all he needs.

he disappears into the kitchen without another word. a few minutes later, he’s back, setting a heating pad on your lower stomach, placing a steaming mug of tea on the table next to you. the good kind, the one that actually helps, not the random herbal mix that does nothing. then, a bar of your favorite chocolate beside the tea. he tucks a pillow under your knees to ease the tension in your lower back.

he sits on the other end of the couch, watching you carefully. “want to be left alone?”

you shake your head. your voice is muffled in the pillow when you say, “just don’t wanna be touched yet.”

“got it.” he doesn’t move closer, doesn’t push. just leans back, flips through the channels until he lands on a comfort show of yours. the one you don’t have to think too hard about, the one you’ve seen a million times.

after a while, the heating pad starts to work, the tea soothes something raw inside you. you stretch a little, roll onto your side so you can see him better. he’s there, solid and warm, watching the show like it actually interests him even though you both know it doesn’t.

“you hungry?” he asks, glancing over. “i can go to in'n'out. double-double, animal style, no tomato?”

your chest tightens. not just any burger. your exact order. you don’t even remember telling him you crave it during your period, but of course he knows. he always knows.

“you’re the best,” you mumble.

he grins, easy and warm. “been doing this for a while, sweetheart.”

you reach for him then, and his eyes flick to yours. “cuddle?” he asks, double-checking.

you nod, and he doesn’t hesitate, shifting so you can fit against his chest, his arms coming around you carefully, securely. he presses a kiss to your temple, murmurs, “got you,” like it’s the simplest truth in the world.

every single red wings fic I've written has been a little fucked up. This isn't anything different.

Anyways to1u prompt fill for "john gibson/any red wing - repay" with Gibby n Pelli.

Warnings for extremely dubious consent

anaheim ducks’ JOHN GIBSON gives us a wave