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amoscontorta · 11 days

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Sylus gets a headache | ao3 | other fics in this 'series'

Summary: Sylus has secured the promise from you that he can use your place as a safe house if he's in the area and needs it. Sylus's definition of "need", it turns out, might be different than your own, as illustrated by the first time he shows up unannounced at your door.

Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, no use of y/n. This story contains: fluff, banter, Sylus has a hard time keeping his hands to himself, legal arguments, bad puns, self-indulgent writing, repetitive finger caressing, insomnia that Sylus is determined to vanquish by any means, Xavier is an innocent victim in all this and has no idea, except has Xavier ever been innocent in his entire life? CWs: insomnia, consumption of alcohol, profanity SFW, mostly. With some filthy innuendos at the end. It's Sylus, after all.

It has been a few days since you had the best night’s rest you can remember on the back of a certain miscreant crime lord’s motorcycle, and you’re once again preparing for a long, torturous night of staring at the ceiling and trying to catalogue all the classes of wanderers in an attempt to lull yourself to sleep—Nero’s suggestion. You have your doubts about whether it will work, but he gave the advice so earnestly after overhearing you talking to Tara about your insomnia that you feel obligated to give it a go. Sylus would probably scoff and say something about ‘people pleasing,’—you shake your head. That man does not get to live rent free in your brain, no matter how suspiciously kind he was the last time you saw him.

The kettle squeals, and you pour the boiling water into your chipped “World’s Greatest Hunter” mug that Caleb had gifted you once you were admitted into the Association’s ranks. The hot liquid steams soothingly into your face as it drowns a chamomile teabag, and you try not to think about the last time you saw him, when he was smiling. Patting your head. Whole, and so, so vibrantly alive. You take a deep, shaky breath.

After a suggestion from Tara, you add some honey and then slice a lime and squeeze the juice into the tea, absently stirring the spoon and gazing out your balcony window. You’re home early for once, and the sun is only just setting. You can’t see it through the high rises around you, but dusk filters down into the streets below your flat. The gentle sounds of the city moving into late evening drift up, the traffic like waves crashing on the shore, laughter and shop bells tinkling, a dog barking somewhere.

Suddenly, your doorbell chimes through your apartment and startles you out of your reverie. Did you forget that you had ordered something to be delivered today?

Without thinking too hard about it, you take your still piping-hot tea and pad to the foyer to answer the door.

Only to have your sense of calm shattered as you fling the mug out of sheer, instinctual self-preservation that Zayne accuses you of not having, when you see who is standing on the other side.

Quicker than your brain can actually process Sylus’s presence outside your flat, scarlet-night tendrils have prevented the mug from shattering on the floor, but have failed to stop the liquid from continuing its projectile path right onto his red, standing collar shirt and black vest.

“The fuck, Sylus?”

“You really, and I mean really, need to work on your greetings, kitten,” he tells you calmly, evol delivering the mug into his waiting hand while he holds the suitcase he has in the other hand away from his body to avoid being dripped on by his now soaked torso.

“Sorry, you were the last person I was expecting.” You wince, heart still threatening to beat its way out of your rib cage.

“Oh, expecting someone, are we?” he lifts a dark silver eyebrow.

“No, but least of all… you.” You flap your hand in his general direction. “What are you even doing here?”

“How about,” he drawls, “you let me in, and I’ll tell you. You wouldn’t want your neighbors to get curious and come to inquire about the mess I’m making on your doorstep, would you?”

You stare at him for a moment longer, trying to think of a way out of having him in your space, again, but you’re tired at the end of another long day, another long week, another long month and this whole entire fucking year. Trying to get rid of him will take more energy than just letting him do what he wants so that he’ll go away again. You run a hand down your face and shuffle aside.

He enters, and the scent of him fills the small foyer, warm and mouth-watering. He sets the briefcase and mug on the floor, removes his dress shoes and places them neatly by your own hastily-kicked-off boots next to the step leading into the rest of your flat. He then picks the mug back up and reads what’s written on it.

“World’s best hunter, indeed.” He snorts softly, eyes flicking from your face to your thin tank top and sleep shorts covered in grinning little bounce, bounce planet blobbus, to your bare feet. “Is this how the world’s greatest hunter always answers the door to unknown visitors?”

“It was a gift,” you say defensively, snatching the mug from him and cradling it to your chest. “And the only people who would be at my door this late is Xavier borrowing a cup of sugar for some doomed baking experiment, or a delivery person. I’m sure they’ve seen much worse than this,” you sweep your hand down your body in a dismissive flourish.

“Oh, I’m sure they’ve seen much worse.” Sylus frowns slightly.

“Yeah, so if they don’t like it, they’re welcome to move on to their next delivery.”

“Or buy their own sugar,” Sylus murmurs, reaching out to run a finger along your knuckles as you clutch the mug. “And who gave you this highly accurate mug?”

You hesitate, knowing that his face is going to do something complicated, like it always does, when you mention your family. But fuck it, he asked. If he doesn’t like the answer, he can also move on to whatever his next nefarious errand is. “Someone who was like a brother to me.”

“Brother, huh,” he says softly, still gently stroking your skin. “Well, he wasn’t wrong in this.” His hand falls back to his side. “Invite me all the way in, kitten. With your words,” he commands.

“And why should I do that? The deal was to let you come in. You’re in now. You don’t need to come in any further. Now it’s your turn to honor the deal. Why are you here?” You glare up at him, your foyer feeling minuscule with his big body and presence filling it.

“You offered me your place if I ever needed it,” Sylus narrows his glittering eyes. “I needed it today before you flung steaming liquid all over my clothes. And now I need it even more.” He looks pointedly down at the still-dripping clothes in question.

“What did you originally need it for?” You stall, the guilt of throwing a mug full—half! Half full! of tea at him starting to creep in.

“How about you invite me all the way into your home, with your words, help me take care of this mess you caused,” he waves a lazy finger at his torso, “and I’ll tell you.”

“But you already promised to tell me why you’re here in exchange for the initial value of me letting you in, and I let you in. I already paid. You can’t make me pay twice for the same goods,” you protest.

“Remind me to take you with me the next time I have contract negotiations. You’re more useful than my own legal counsel.” He pauses, considering you. “Circumstances have changed. Force majeure prevents me from fulfilling my original promise without requiring additional time and means to fulfil that promise. You owe me the opportunity to successfully deliver what I owe you.”

“What, exactly, is preventing you from telling me why you originally came to my home right here in my entryway?”

“The consequences of an unforeseeable natural disaster,” he answers with a little helpless shrug. “Namely, the trauma of nearly getting drowned in tea following almost being taken out by a mug launched with your god-like strength. Kitten, your assault is the equivalent of an act of god, and I can’t be responsible for the fact that I now need a dry shirt and a safe place to recover from the shock of almost being murdered by your tableware.”

You can’t help it. It has been so long since you’ve actually laughed out loud, so the noise that comes out of you doesn’t even sound human. You’re laughing, and you can’t stop. The affronted look on Sylus’s face in response to your ugly-snorts, causes you to laugh even more, and you’re suddenly bending over, holding your knees, laughing like you might die if you stop.

After a long moment, when you are finally able to breathe again, you straighten and find Sylus looking at you with a soft expression, one corner of his wide mouth slightly lifted… which is alarming. But you’re too filled with gratitude for the relief of laughing that his absurd exaggeration just gave you, so you refuse to think about anything at all too hard right now. You give in.

“Sylus, would you do me the honor of coming into my home? You can tell me what the hell you’re doing here after I find you a dry shirt.” You sarcastically bow as low as you can, your arms uplifted to gesture him forward.

“I suppose I can’t refuse such a graciously extended offer,” he says, as if resigned to a terrible fate, but his smile is smug and he wastes no time striding into your living room while unbuttoning his vest. He gently lays it over the back of your couch, and begins unbuttoning his shirt. You force yourself to stop staring as the pale skin slowly being revealed with each flick of his long fingers and head to your bedroom.

You paw through your chest of drawers, trying to find a shirt that will fit his broad shoulders and chest, but all you manage to do is make even more of a mess in your barely organized drawers. You stand, remembering the hoodie Xavier leant you after a recent, particularly messy battle on a chilly night. You move to your closet where you had hung it carefully to remind yourself to give it back to him after having washed it. You pull it from the hanger, turn around, and squeal loud enough to shatter glass.

Sylus is standing right behind you, chest bare, black slacks hung low around his narrow hips, and you did not heard him come in.

“I thought we were past the terror stage of our friendship, sweetheart,” he says, cocking his head, the same ruby stud earrings he was wearing at the club flashing in the light. “But that’s twice today that I’ve frightened you to the point of violence. Am I really that scary?”

“You keep… appearing, out of nowhere. A little warning would be appreciated,” you huff, heart pounding. You don’t know why you’re so nervous around him. Really. It has nothing to do with the broad expanse of creamy skin and pillowy man-tits shoved in your face at the moment. “And honestly, considering the fact that our friendship started with you choking me out and keeping me captive for days, it’s a wonder that I’m not more scared of you,” you flare, because yeah, how dare he act like you should be over the absolute shit-show of your first encounter, when you’ve hardly had any time to get to know him. That’s why you’re nervous. There is no other possible explanation. A couple friendly interactions do not make up for how much of an evil bastard he was when you first met him.

“Would you like me to wear a bell when I’m here, then?” he asks, conveniently ignoring the reminder regarding how he treated you not so long ago.

“How about you just stay out of my bedroom and stay where I can see you at other times,” you snap, feeling violent again at the intrusive thought of Sylus wearing a collar around his thick neck, cute little bell dinging every time he moved.

“I’ll do my best,” he says absently, clearly distracted by his thorough inventory of your bedroom as he takes in the tumbling plants in mismatched pots on floating shelves hanging over the unmade bed, the army of plushies scattered over the bunched up mountain of duvet and pillows. Your bed used to be your sanctuary. The place where you could find rest and relaxation after exhausting battles and long days squinting at the computer filing incident reports. Now it just gives you anxiety. You try to pull his attention away from the chaos of your former safe space by holding Xavier’s hoodie out for Sylus to take.

“Here, this might fit you.”

Sylus looks down at your offering, crosses his arms, and takes a step back, as if the hoodie is so offensive that it warrants recoiling physically from it. “That’s quite a big hoodie for you, even for days when you want to be comfortable,” he says evenly.

“It’s not mine, but it’s clean, and I’m pretty sure it’s the only thing I have right now that will fit you,” you say, shaking it a little in the universal, impatient gesture of just take it already for fuck’s sake.

“And who is its actual owner?”

“Xavier.”

“In the habit of wearing your partner’s clothing, are we?” he asks, still staring at it, the disdain now plain in his assessment of the sweatshirt.

“Uh, sometimes? We were on a mission recently and my jacket got torn to the point of uselessness, and it was cold. He let me wear his hoodie so I wouldn't be cold. It's been washed since then, so it's clean. I’ll just wash it again when you’re done using it before I return it. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

After what seems like a ridiculous amount of time for him to apparently make some mental calculations that only he will ever understand, he finally takes the soft hoodie from you, fingertips brushing yours as he grasps the fabric. You can’t figure out why he he suddenly looks more smugly evil than you’ve ever seen, with his lips curved up in a sardonic smirk. “Oh, of course, I’m sure he will not mind at all.” He pulls the hoodie over his head and shimmies a little as he drags it down is body; it’s a little tight around the shoulders, but you don’t think it’s tight enough to permanently stretch the fabric.

After it’s on, he tugs the collar up to his nose and inhales deeply.

“What are you doing?” you ask, as if you can’t see perfectly well what he is doing.

“It smells like you,” he answers, shameless, as if that is a perfectly reasonable answer to your question.

“Well, I did wear it, and wash it with my normal detergent and it has been hanging in my closet for a while, so…” your voice trails off.

“And soon it will smell like me too,” he continues, letting the collar fall with a satisfied flick of his fingers.

What even is this conversation? “Can you just be normal? For once?" A look of boredom is all the response you get, so you continue. "Now get out of my bedroom. Come tell me why you’re here in the first place.” You stride past him, making your way into the living room.

He follows you obediently and plops down on the couch, and just like last time, spreads his legs wide. This time, he is able to rest his arms on either side along the back of the couch, effectively occupying the whole damn thing. He sits quietly, looking at you expectantly.

You stand, arms folded, a safe distance away from the couch near the kitchen island.

“Well?” You prompt.

“It’s customary to offer your guest a refreshing beverage upon receiving them in your home. I believe I offered you wine the first time I hosted you in my own home.”

“Hosted?” He can’t be serious. “What a generous euphemism for ‘unlawfully imprisoned,’” you bite out.

“Po-tae-to,” he says serenely, “Po-tah-to.”

“Sylus,” you warn—about what, you’re not sure. He wants a beverage? Okay, perhaps you’ll fling more hot tea at him if he doesn’t start talking.

“Kitten.” He continues gazing at you, clearly in no hurry to move things along.

“If you don’t tell me, right now, why the hell you showed up at my place unannounced, I will report you as a burglar and have you removed by the authorities.”

“But then how will you explain to Xavier why I’ve been arrested wearing his sweater?” he asks, eyes wide, all concern for what your partner’s thoughts on the matter would be, and what they would mean for you.

“Burglars have been known to be creeps and go rooting through their victims’ closets and wearing their clothes! I’ll just say you were wearing it when I got here. Maybe he’ll be worried that it’s him you’re actually interested in harassing,” you snicker, trying to picture Xavier’s reaction.

As you’re speaking, Sylus pulls out his phone and fiddles with it with a bored expression on his face.

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I boring you? Perhaps you should go find something more interesting to do and leave me in peace,” you grind out after you’ve finished and notice his complete lack of attention.

Your irritation is interrupted by a notification on your phone. Since Sylus is so busy messing with his, you grab yours from where it has been lying on the counter since before Sylus interrupted your peaceful evening staring out into the city. You see that you have a new message from… the man currently oozing across the entirety of your couch, head lolled to the side and watching you with a hint of amusement curving his mouth.

You open the chat, and your eyes widen at the conversation that never fucking happened currently loading into your chat history, with time stamps corresponding to when Sylus showed up at your door.

You: Oh Sylus, my big, handsome partner in crime, I think there’s an intruder in my flat and I’m so scared!

The Sytuation: What makes you think theres an intruder in your home, kitten? Im on my way.

You: There is sugar missing from my pantry! I just bought a new bag yesterday, and it’s gone! Oh please, my dark knight, come protect me from the sugar thief who should buy his own sugar and stop coming to my place to pilfer mine!

The Sytuation: Of course, sweetie. Go wait by the door, Ill be there in 5.

“What. Is. This. Fuckery,” you demand, thrusting your phone in his face.

He shrugs. “You threatened to lie about why I’m here in a bid to get rid of me. Did you not expect me to counter your move to ensure that no one will believe you?” he pauses, and then narrows his eyes. "Did you really save me in your phone as 'The Situation,' with a Y?"

"Punny, right? My phone doubles as my work phone. You really think I'm going to save your real name in my contacts? I might as well just save you as 'Sylus Qin, leader of Onychinus, most wanted criminal in the N109 zone," you grumble. "And trust me, that's the nicest name I could come up with."

"Punny," he repeats derisively, unimpressed.

“And don't derail. What is this nonsense about a sugar thief?” You wave the phone again.

“Your colleague should learn to stock his own pantry if he wants to engage in… what did you call them? Doomed baking experiments?”

“How did you even… why does it look so real?” You gaze down at the texts that look so authentic that if they hadn’t been filled with such bullshit, you’d be doubting your own sanity about whether the conversation had really happened.

“You’re really surprised that faking evidence, alibis and dirt on my opponents is a part of my vast skill set? I’m hurt that you underestimate me so.” He looks at you like he’s disappointed, a little pout pulling down his stupid beautiful mouth.

“For fuck’s sake.” You’re done. The longer you resist, the longer Sylus will be in your flat, driving you up the wall. “Fine. Fine!” You set your phone down again and throw up your hands. “What do you want to drink, Sylus?”

“Two fingers of gin, if you have it. Or brandy. Or vodka.” He thinks for a moment. “I’m not feeling too picky tonight.”

“I don’t keep hard liquor in my house, you alcoholic. I have a half-open bottle of rosé in the fridge. Will that satisfy his lordship?” You turn resignedly to trod your way to your fridge.

“What vineyard and vintage?” he asks, perking up.

You open the fridge and pull out the bottle. You squint at the label. “I dunno. It has a cute fish on the label, so I bought it.”

He looks at you like you just murdered Mephisto, and you begin pouring the pink liquid into another mug. This one says UNT on the side in big block letters, matching the size of the handle so that when you hold it, the handle looks like a matching C. You walk back to where he’s sitting, and you think that maybe your smile looks as smug as Sylus’s usually does when you hand him his drink.

He takes the mug from you, snorts when he reads the side, and then look at its contents dubiously for a moment.

“You taste it first,” he finally says, looking back up at you.

“Worried I poisoned it?” You’re still grinning.

“As you say,” he says, tilting his head.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t demand beverages from people you don’t trust then.”

“I trust you, just not your taste in wine after learning you choose bottles based on the cuteness of the label. Indulge me,” he murmurs. “Prove to me that you’re willing to drink it, and that it’s not just swill you’re trying to get rid of by offering it to me.”

You take the mug from him and lift it to your lips, taking a sip, watching him over the rim as you swallow. His nostrils flair, and he lifts his hand in a gesture for you to return it to him. Instead of giving it back, you take one more big gulp, and his brow furrows. Only after you've slowly swallowed again do you comply, relishing the warmth spreading through your body as you lower the mug for him to take. He brushes your fingers again as he takes it back. He turns the mug, so that his mouth hovers where yours just was. He then closes his eyes and inhales, gently swirling the liquid inside. Eyes still closed, he takes a sip.

After a moment, he sighs. “Thank you. This is actually not bad, for a rosé.”

“You’re such a snob,” you smile down at him, irrationally pleased that he seems so pleased.

“Life is too difficult, and too short, to waste on inferior experiences. I only like tasting the best,” he says, bright red eyes opening and fixing on you.

He looks up at you like you should be able to draw some deeper meaning from his words, but you’re tired, warm from the wine, and despite how much he winds you up you were just moments ago, right now you’re strangely relaxed for the first time in days.

“Tell me why you’re here, Sylus,” you say quietly.

“You told me I could use your place when I needed it,” he says, just as softly. He takes another drink, rolls it around in his mouth. Swallows, his adam’s apple dipping.

“And why did you need it this evening?”

“I had some negotiations regarding a business acquisition that I’m considering in this part of Linkon City, and they were abhorrently boring. By the time they were over, I had a splitting headache, and the sunlight didn’t help. It would have been unsafe to operate a motor vehicle under those conditions, so I thought I’d come and wait for it to pass in my newest ‘safe house,’ he answers gravely, as if getting a headache was a perfectly logical reason to crash your evening and take over your couch. “Wouldn’t want to endanger the innocent citizens of Linkon City with reckless driving, now would we?”

“Aren’t all of your shady business deals done under the cover of darkness? Why were you here at a meeting during the day?”

He’s holding the mug in one hand by his fingertips now, along the rim, slowly swirling it. He crosses one long leg over the other and answers languidly. “You’re assuming that today’s business was ‘shady.’”

“So your business today was legitimate?” You’ve been standing for awhile now, and begin to shift from bare foot to bare foot.

He hums in acknowledgement. “My business interests are as varied as they are successful. You insult me by looking so surprised.”

“Well I would never want to insult you,” you drawl. “So that’s it? You got a headache and decided you’d crash my evening?”

He nods, touching his temple and grimacing. “It’s still pretty bad, to be honest.”

“The daylight bothers you that much?” you ask, genuinely curious. You have always assumed that it was the nature of his occupation and perhaps just a proclivity for being a night owl that explained his nocturnal existence, but now you’re wondering if it’s not something deeper that has him avoiding it as much as possible.

You finally decide to give your tired feet a break and perch on the little corner of couch cushion that has been freed for use by Sylus crossing his legs. “If sunlight bothers you that much, what could possibly be so important to come out in it today?”

“Are you really asking about the details of my business ventures, sweetheart?” he asks in what you suspect is feigned astonishment.

“And if I am?”

“Then I’ll tell you,” he responds easily.

“Then I am.”

“I’m in discussions for acquiring a chain of entertainment venues in Linkon City.” He leans his head on the couch’s backrest and lets it roll to the side to keep looking at you. He catches the look of disgust that is no doubt obvious on your face.

“Entertainment venues,” you say flatly.

“Yes. Is there something wrong with that?”

“What kind of … entertainment venues?” you ask, hating yourself for wanting to know. It’s his business if he wants to buy porn shops, or strip clubs, or brothels—your stomach twists, and you refuse to consider why.

“What kind of ideas are racing through that fascinating brain of yours?” he asks, reaching up and running two of his fingers along your temple, brushing your hair away from your eyes.

“Nothing,” you bite out, turning your face away from his touch. You normally dislike how you have a hard time concealing how you’re feeling, but you particularly hate it right now.

“Mmhmm,” he murmurs. “Then, to answer your question, it’s a chain of arcades.”

Your brain grinds to a halt. Did he just say—

“Arcades?”

He nods, and winces, closing his eyes. You’re starting to believe that his head is actually hurting him, and you feel bad for throwing dishware and hot tea at him and refusing to offer him more than the one drink he asked for.

“Why would you be interested in acquiring an arcade chain?”

“Even for odious crime lords, it’s always wise to have a diversified business portfolio.”

You have called him a lot of things both out loud and in your head, but you’d never call him odious. Odorous, perhaps, when he’s sweating heavily after being riddled with bullets. But you have to suppress the urge to chastise him about talking about himself that way.

“Which chain is it?”

“You probably don’t know it,” he says, as if bored with the question. “It’s not a very large chain, but large enough for my interests.”

“Try me! I love going to the arcade when I have some free time. I mean, you’ve seen my plushie collection now that you invited yourself into my house,” you bounce a little on the couch.

“You invited me, kitten. You’ve had a choice, each and every time.”

“Don’t deflect! Answer the question!” You’re quite excited about this. Maybe if it’s a place you know, that has a location nearby, he’ll give you a discount if he ends up buying them? Like an employee discount or something. Is that ethical? You should check the Association’s employee handbook for conflicts of interest.

He squints, as if preparing to evaluate your reaction, and names your favorite place to play the claw machine.

“For real? You’re really going to buy them?”

“I still have to review the contract that was proposed during today’s discussions with my legal counsel, but if negotiations are successful, then yes,” he says, casually examining his nails.

Your excitement is hard to contain, but you suddenly have a troubling thought. “You’re not going to change anything, right? Like, that place is perfect as it is, and the employees are all really friendly and helpful and clearly work hard to keep it really nice,” you rush out, worried that he’s planning to reduce the staff or try to jack up the prices for a larger profit margin.

He turns to look at you again, and doesn’t answer for long enough that you’re really starting to worry. But then he says softly, “No, I’m not going to change a thing.”

“Oh? So they’re doing well? It’s a solid financial investment?” You’re so relieved, safe in the knowledge that your plushies will continue to be accessible, insofar as claw machines by design allow them to be.

Sylus laughs softly. “Yes, the financials all look good. Considering your interest in the nature of binding agreements, would you like to look over the purchase agreement with me? I have it with me.”

“I’d actually really like to, but I’m starting to get really tired,” you yawn, the relief you were just feeling—the relief of knowing that Sylus wasn’t up to anything that would leave a blood trail today, relief that he didn’t come tonight to try to force you to resonate or finally kill you for refusing to do so, and most importantly, relief that he wasn’t going to acquire and ruin one of the little pleasures in your life—all of it is now drowned out by a heavy feeling of pleasant drowsiness.

“Then I’ll read it to you, until you fall asleep.”

“Huh? You want to stay?”

“Yes,” he says, hauling himself to his feet and offering you his hand. You take it in confusion, and he lifts you to your feet as well. He sets the now empty mug on your coffee table, and then places his hands on your shoulders, gently guiding you from behind to your bedroom.

“Why?” you ask, not even thinking to object.

“Headache, remember?” He pushes you gently by your shoulders so that you’re sitting on your bed.

“How can you review legalese when you’re suffering from a headache?” You sink into the softness of the mattress.

“Why don’t you let me worry about that?” he says, nudging you until you’ve scooted to the middle of the bed. “Don’t move. I’m going to get my tablet out of my briefcase.” He disappears through the doorway, and you’re left sitting on your bed, surrounded by all of your plushies, and you have no idea what’s happening. You’re just too tired to argue with him. You really did miscalculate by spending all of your energy trying to get rid of him when he first arrived.

But just because you’re bone-tired, doesn’t mean you’re going to let him boss you around. You get off the bed and pad into the kitchen, passing him as he snaps his briefcase shut, tablet in hand.

“I distinctly recall telling you not to move,” he gripes, pushing up an elegant set of gold framed glasses perched on the uneven bridge of his nose with a middle finger. Huh, you didn’t know he needed glasses to read. He looks almost … cute wearing them, a little less feral. Like a leopard wearing a monocle.

Suppressing the thought of Sylus and cute in the same sentence, you ignore him, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water. Then you rummage through your most chaotic kitchen drawer for a few moments, before triumphantly pulling out what you were looking for.

You pad back over to where he’s still watching you, and offer him the glass and the half-used blister pack of over-the-counter painkillers you fished out of your chaos drawer. “Here.”

He looks down at your hands, offering him what you hope is some relief from his headache. His face is impassive, and you’re worried he assumes you’re trying to poison him again. But then he tucks the tablet under one arm, and reaches out with both hands to grasp the glass and the pill pack—except he doesn’t take them from your hands. He envelops yours with his, and pulls you gently closer to him. He somehow manages to pop two tablets out of the pack with his thumb, and they drop into your curved palm. Still holding your hand, he leans down to sweep them from your skin with his tongue. In a complete daze, you watch him lift the glass that you’re still holding to his lips, and he takes a long pull of water, washing the pills down, all the while holding your gaze with his. When he’s done, he slowly lowers your hands again.

“Thank you,” he murmurs “For the benevolence of your heart.” He says it gravely, as if you’ve just saved his life instead of giving him some headache medicine.

“You’re welcome,” you whisper, feeling like you’ve been struck by a truck after… whatever that was, feeling the warmth of his tongue in the palm of your hand like he was still licking it. Sylus then turns and heads back to your bedroom.

You set the glass and the now-empty pill pack on the kitchen island, thinking you’ll clean up tomorrow if you manage to sleep tonight, and follow him.

In the bedroom, Sylus sits, leaning back against your headboard, having needed to gently scoop some plushies out of the way to make room. He stretches his legs out in front of him with a sigh. He looks so soft, wrapped in the white hoodie, silver hair rumpled, surrounded by pillows and cute little plushies.

It’s getting increasingly difficult to remember that the man currently sinking into your duvet and wiggling his sock-covered toes in contentment is the same man who straight up exploded the man who dared kidnap you, and then proceeded to kidnap you himself after choking you to the point of passing out. You try to hold both of these truths about him in your mind at the same time, but the image of Sylus dancing you gently through a press of bodies, of the way he caresses your fingers at every opportunity, the soft slide of his tongue along your palm—these images are conquering every other version of him that you know to be true in your mind. You wonder briefly if this is part of some larger scheme of his, and what his endgame could possibly be. But right now, you’re too fucking tired to care.

“What is even happening,” you ask. You’re exhausted, but you still have enough mental reserves to question how you got here, in this situation, with this man migrating from vanquishing your couch to a large part of your bed. “Is the coffee table, or kitchen table insufficient for your needs? Why are you going to review the paperwork here, on my bed?”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice how quickly you fell asleep on my back on the motorcycle the other night, sweetheart. I’m just reading you a bedtime story featuring limitations of liability and allocation of risk so that you can finally get some sleep again.” He pats his thigh. “Here.”

You just stare at him. “Don’t make me repeat myself,” he warns, tapping his thigh again with one long finger. Just for that, you glare mutinously at him and fold your arms over your chest.

He sighs again, this time in exasperation, and leans over, firmly lifting you and setting you down so that your head is pillowed against his meaty thigh. He begins to run his fingertips gently up and down the middle of your back. He returns his attention to his tablet. “Now listen carefully,” he commands, before flicking the screen with his thumb and beginning to read in his softly in his deep, rich voice.

But of course you don't. You fall asleep as the skyscrapers light up like a dragon's hoard of jewels in the night sky outside your window, to the sounds of Sylus’s quiet recitation of indeed, a terribly boring contract, and the whisper of his fingers along your skin.

When you wake up, there is another black feather on your pillow, and you are alone. You yawn, once again feeling unbelievably rested despite the chaos Sylus always brings to your door and into your life. You stretch leisurely, spreading your arms wide and turning your head on the pillow, when something catches in your earlobe. You reach up and run your fingers along a stud earring that was not there when you fell asleep. You feel your other earlobe, but it's empty. You grab your phone from the nightstand, knocking over a semiautomatic hand pistol with scarlet flames engraved along the grip that you also don't remember owning onto the floor. You stare at it briefly, ready to commit murder if you check it and find that the safety isn't on. But first things first: you put the phone camera in selfie mode and lift it to your face, but quickly lower it again after confirming that it is indeed a ruby stud in your ear, sparkling cheekily in the morning sunlight.

Later, you're relieved to find that Sylus did actually leave the safety on on your new little ... toy, and you'll find that the mugs have been washed and set neatly away, the empty pack of painkillers placed in the recycling bin. You also see that various takeout containers and other debris that had piled up on a lot of surfaces in your place are also gone, and the countertops are clean, the coffee and kitchen table gleam in the early morning sunlight. You don't notice that the white hoodie is nowhere to be found, until you meet up with Xavier later in the day. He's wearing one that looks exactly like it.

"Thanks for returning the hoodie," he yawns. "But you really didn't have to."

You pause, feeling a thread of panic start to wind its way through your stomach. You decide to just... go with it. "Oh? You found it okay?"

"Yeah, but why did you just leave it hanging from my door handle? You could have rung and come in. I had a new limited edition bag of those cookies you were looking at in the corner store last week. I would have shared some with you... but now I've eaten them all," he admits sheepishly, big blue eyes shimmering with guilt.

You try to think fast. Did Sylus give back the hoodie without washing it? What the fuck was he thinking? He could have been seen! Does this flat have surveillance footage? Does Xavier suspect anything? You realize that you still haven't answered Xavier's question as your panic spirals. "Oh, you know, didn't want to wake you up," you flap your hands, as if you can flap this entire situation right out of your messy life.

"Well, I don't know what you did to it, but it feels brand new. As if it's never even been washed. And you somehow got out the bbq sauce stain that no matter how much I sprayed it with that stain remover stuff would never come out. So you're going to have to teach me some of that laundry magic," he says contentedly, snuggling further into the entirely new hoodie that you now realize Sylus must have somehow, over the course of the night, had hand-delivered to Xavier's place. "Uh huh," you say absently, pulling out your phone to furiously text Mr. Asshat when you see that he has also changed his name in your contact list.

You: What the hell did you do with Xavier's hoodie?"

My Sy: It doesnt matter who it belonged to before me. All that matters is that its mine now.

You: It doesn't even fit you properly! You're too big for it!

My Sy: Nothing a little size training cant fix.

Your jaw drops. He cannot be implying what you think he's implying. This is your filthy mind at work. You decide that you will simply pretend this conversation never happened. Absolutely nothing good can come from trying to figure out what the fuck is going through Sylus's head at any given moment.

You: And 'My Sy?' Really?

My Sy: Its not punny, but it rhymes. And its accurate. Gotta put the phone down for a bit, kitten. Business requires my attention. Ill be seeing you soon.

You stare at his last message for long enough that Xavier asks if you're okay. You're not. You're not okay. You couldn't even bring yourself to ask him about the other earring, or the gun. You just slowly slip your phone back into your cargo pants pocket and try very hard to stop thinking, for the rest of the day.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #l&ds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #love and deepspace fanfiction #my fanfic #did i spend time in glint just to make a photo of sylus touching his temple for this post #to go with today's theme #yes your honor #i hope someone finds this enjoyable #i'm having fun writing and fixating on this king

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theharddeck · 9 months

Text

start the new year right (jake seresin x f!reader)

pairing: jake hangman seresin x fem!reader (no y/n)

synopsis: what could be worse than a delayed flight with lost luggage? driving back to san diego with your nemesis. and what could be worse than that? the car breaking down in the middle of the night, on new years eve. and of course, the motel couldn't have a 2BR room available...

word count: 8.2k

warnings: 18+ explicit content, minors DNI: explicit PiV sex, oral sex (f!receiving), bc of who i am as a person overstimulation, not the BEST communication/consent, but everything is consensual! it's just implied; normally i'm better about explicitly asking and confirming

A/N: happy new year, friends! what would my year be, if not ending with me sitting down with a stanley of chamomile and writing more than i've written the whole previous month? hope this new year is gentle to y'all.

Natasha: Hey girl! Just got an alert that your transfer flight was delayed? Are you good?

You: ‘good’ as in ‘safe’, ya

You: ‘good’ as in ‘en route’, not so much. They overbooked the flight and the next one they have available is Wednesday morning

Natasha: nooooooo

You: At least my luggage is on its way to SAN… I’m considering renting a car and just making the drive from Vegas myself

Natasha: I love you and I trust you

Natasha: but an overnight drive by yourself after an already-long day is not the move

You: ugh I know, but i don’t know what else to do

Natasha: …mkay i have a solution but it’s not the one you want

You: let’s have it

Natasha: jake’s flight also rerouted through LAS

You: absolutely not

Nat: you didn’t even hear the actual plan!!

You: if it involves me and hangman, the answer is no

Natasha: it’s just a five hour drive, you can be adults/play nice with each other for five hours

You: when has Hangman ever been an adult about anything

Natasha: fair point

Natasha: but he is also currently texting me saying he’s stranded

Natasha: you know one-way car rentals are stupid expensive

Natasha: and he likes to drive so maybe you could sleep on the way

You: stop being logical

Natasha: i do not want to get a call from the nevada state police when you fall asleep behind the wheel on New Years Eve in the middle of the Mojave

You: good, add a guilt trip to the mix

Natasha: is it working

Me: …

You: it’s working

Natasha: (Ryan Gosling!Ken gif: SUBLIME!)

You: lol

You: ugh okay text me his number

Natasha: can’t believe that after 8 months stationed at the same base you don’t have his number

Natasha: mkay just sent

Natasha: you have to promise not to kill each other

Three hours later, you were really glad you hadn’t made any promises to Nat that you couldn’t keep.

Because not only had Jake insisted on renting a truck (“I need the legroom!”), and that you didn’t need to stop in Barstow for gas (“trust me, sugar, I’m an Eagle Scout–I know we can make it to east LA”), the gas-guzzling monstrosity had fizzled out somewhere between exits along the 15.

Now the hood was smoking, there was no way you were getting your security deposit back, and you were just as stranded as you’d been when you first texted Natasha from the airport.

Only now you were in the middle of the desert, and your phone was almost dead.

Four hours later, you had walked three miles back to the last exit and were checking into a truly shady motel, straight up refusing to talk to Jake because somehow, incomprehensibly, the only room available was one with one (1) king bed.

Four and a half hours later, you were dripping wet, trying not to shiver because the shower you took to warm yourself up had backfired, since the motel towels were basically handkerchiefs and your wet skin made the room seem extra cold. You hadn’t wanted to wear your airport clothes to bed, but since your luggage was already in San Diego, that left you with just a cropped tee and boyshorts.

“You okay in there?”

You glared at your reflection in the foggy mirror, since Jake was on the other side of the door.

The audacity of him.

When you’d first met Jake “Hangman” Seresin, you’d been determined to endear yourself to him.

He was a couple years older than you, and pretty close to infamous after that stunt he pulled in eastern Europe a few years ago. He was ruthless and reckless and good enough to get away with both, and you’d hoped that if you befriended him, he could teach you a thing or two during your own time at Top Gun.

And he was ridiculously beautiful, which maybe – maybe – had your admiration veering slightly into crush territory. But you’d locked that down, determined to view him platonically, and not let that get in the way of any instruction he could give.

Of course, the first words out of his mouth had been “Honey, you gotta know there’s easier ways to get your MRS degree than to become a naval aviator.”

Your crush and respect had evaporated on the North Island breeze, and it’d been downhill from there.

You had no idea why, but he had been openly antagonistic at any given moment since then — doubting your competence but disguising it as care for your safety, and tagging a misogynistic “sweetheart” at the end of every condescending sentence. You’d ignored him as much as you could, hoping he’d get that he wasn’t in Dallas anymore, and that shit didn’t fly with you, but that had only egged him on.

But now you were exhausted, cold, stranded in the middle of the desert, and practically naked to boot, and he had the gall to act like he cared if you lived or died.

“I’m fine, Hangman,” you said, swinging open the bathroom door and beelining for the bed, hoping you could get to it fast enough that Jake wouldn’t make a comment.

Or before your tits froze off, at least.

You didn’t look over at him as you dove under the covers, trying your hardest not to think about the last time these sheets had been washed, much less bleached.

Of course, the comforter was tucked into the foot of the bed, and you wrestled with it for a few moments before giving up, and hauling the topsheet up over your body. It was paper thin, but it was a semblance of covering, and you lay stock-still, closing your eyes and hoping sleep would magically deliver you away from this situation.

A moment later, the bathroom door opened and shut again.

You could hear the sounds of Jake brushing his teeth with the toothbrush and toothpaste you had bought from the “concierge” in the lobby (a relic of a man who looked like he did Civil War reenactments for fun, and seemed highly amused by your outrage at the available accommodations).

You would’ve passed the time on your phone, but the last of your battery had given up the ghost while you were in the shower.

A minute or two passed, and the bathroom door opened and closed. From behind your closed eyelids, you could hear Jake shuffle over to the lightswitch, and then he stopped.

You waited.

He didn’t move.

“What do you need, Seresin?” you asked, tersely.

“Are you cold?”

Your eyes popped open, wincing at the brightness of the lights, still overhead. A quick glance down at your body made your skin heat – your tee was skin tight, and the thin topsheet did little to cover you; you crossed your arms over your chest, hiding your pebbled nipples, continuing to stare at the ceiling and avoid eye contact with Jake.

“You could turn off the lights,” you muttered.

Technically, the cold wasn’t his fault.

But it was his stubbornness that got you here, so that had to count for something.

“I was just asking–” Jake started, and you interrupted him.

“It’s the desert in December,” you snapped, “yet, for some reason, this motel has the AC on; of course I’m cold.”

As if on cue, the machine in the windowsill rumbled to life.

You closed your eyes. “Please, just turn off the light.”

The light switch flicked off, and if it were anyone else, you’d have appreciated the immediacy of the response.

But it was Jake, and he didn’t merit any kind of gratitude, so you didn’t say ‘thank you’.

Silence stretched.

You heard a rustling, and a moment later, you felt something land on your upper body. You flinched, pulling the material away from you on instinct, and identifying it by touch as Jake’s sweatshirt.

You opened your eyes, peering through the shadows of the room. The curtains were thin (you were sensing a theme here), letting in lights from outdoors, and you found Jake still standing by the door. He was digging through his backpack, clad in a white tank and boxer shorts, apparently also not wanting to wear airport clothes to sleep, but that didn’t explain why he had chucked his sweatshirt at you.

“What is this?” you asked.

He looked up, shrugged slightly, and went back to rifling through his bag. “I run warm.”

You pursed your lips. “Jake, I–”

“I had a jacket on over it at the airport, okay? Promise, it’s not dirty.”

That hadn’t been what you were going to ask, but you paused all the same.

You appreciated that he was reassuring you, and you did remember that he’d been in a jean jacket at the airport. You’d noticed it against your better judgment, thinking he looked like an A-List actor as he walked through the airport towards you, all broad shoulders and smiles, like you were friends.

“Can I have a pillow?” His question interrupted your recollection, and you frowned in his direction.

You were clearly on half of the bed, Jake could see which pillows were for him to use. Did he expect you not to have one?

You pointed to the pillow you weren’t using, confused, and he laughed quietly.

It wasn’t a sound you heard much from him.

Normally Jake laughed like he was proud of himself, reclining in the golden light of the world around him, blessing you all with his presence. This was a different sound, less pretentious, somehow warmer.

“Yes, I can see it,” he said, his voice still amused. “But I need it over here, for the couch.”

You blinked.

The couch was maybe three feet long, an atrociously patterned aberration that you’d tossed your carryon onto, and not looked twice at. Jake didn’t explain anything further, but there were still only two pillows on the bed, and you couldn’t understand why he seemed to think you didn’t need more context for why he wanted to decorate the couch with one of them.

“Why?” you asked.

Again, that quiet chuckle.

“Because, sweetheart,” he said, and you bristled on instinct, “that’s where I’m sleeping.”

You couldn’t have heard that right.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch,” you said.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch,” Jake said, stubbornly.

“That was never up for debate,” you snorted. “Jake, we’re adults. We can share the bed. You’re not going to fit on the couch.”

“I’m an Eagle Scout,” he grumbled. “I can sleep anywhere.”

“Yes, loyal, brave, clean, etc, I’m sure,” you said. “But I’m not sure how helpful you’re going to be tomorrow, when you can’t drive that monstrosity of a truck due to your back spasming from being rolled up on that couch all night.”

You watched through the shadows as Jake stubbornly tried to wedge himself sideways on the couch. Sure enough, his knees were practically bent up to his navel, and even through the darkness, you could see the furrow in his brow.

“You could drive it,” he said, too obstinate to accept defeat.

“I will not,” you returned, “drive a vehicle that ostentatious.”

“Says the pilot,” he grumbled.

“Naval aviator,” you shot back. “Jake, it’s an enormous bed. Get over yourself, get into it, and the sooner you settle, the sooner it’ll be morning, and we can leave.”

He deliberated, the mulish man.

But eventually he pushed himself off the couch, clambering across the room. The bed dipped as he slid into it, and reached down for the comforter, still wedged into the bottom of the bed. You tried not to be annoyed when he yanked it free easily. It was probably just momentum, or that you’d loosened it up for him. While he was rearranging the comforter, you pulled the sweatshirt over your head, and tried to be calm about the situation.

His sweatshirt was somehow still warm.

It smelled amazing, like cedar and fancy cologne.

And also sweat, which you tried damn hard to ignore.

It was cozy, and you snuggled into it, and a moment later, Jake settled. Thankfully, the bed was big enough that you didn’t have to touch each other, but that didn’t mean you could ignore that he was there.

In bed.

With you.

You snorted, thinking how much of a dream this would’ve been to you eight months ago, before you met Jake, and he dashed your crush to pieces.

“What?” Jake grumbled, and maybe it was the proximity, or maybe exhaustion from the day was setting in, because his voice sounded almost gentle.

“Nothing,” you shook your head. “G’night.”

“Night,” Jake said.

You rolled onto your side, pulling your feet up under you, and folding your hands under your face, so you didn’t have to touch your skin to the pillow. Of course, that brought the sleeve of the sweatshirt to just under your face, and you were surrounded by the delicious smell of it again.

It distracted you for a moment.

Just a moment.

Then you had to acknowledge that, even with the sweatshirt and the newly-added comforter, your wet hair was no match for the chill of the room. Your legs felt exposed and the sheets felt like they were damp and wet, and you tried your best to ignore it, but soon you were shivering.

You tried to be still, you did.

But when you heard the bed shift as Jake turned towards you, you winced into the darkness, unsurprised.

“Sweetheart…” he started, and you shook your head, refusing to look back over at him.

“I’ll be fine, I just need to fall asleep.”

Jake let that statement hang for a moment, just long enough for your shivering to start up again. He cleared his throat.

“Um,” he said, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think he sounded nervous, “I meant what I said earlier. About running warm.”

This time, you did turn over, trying to read his expression in the shadowy darkness. He looked…open. Like he really was altruistically suggesting sharing body warmth, nothing malicious and none of his normal teasing.

You were suspicious, but not enough so that you could ignore that it was a better idea than freezing yourself to sleep.

“You sure?” you asked, and Jake grunted, which you figured was as good a response as any. Actually, it was pretty damn good, because if he sounded eager, you’d be creeped out, and if he was uncertain, you’d feel guilty. But being matter-of-fact about it gave you the courage to scoot across the bed.

“How do we do this?” you asked, and Jake reached for you. It was an easy movement, natural, enough so that it surprised you when he hesitated before touching you.

“Can I…?” he trailed off.

“Sure,” you shrugged, hoping you sounded half as unaffected as he did. This was fine, this was normal. Just a guy who was SO obnoxious that it made you forget how hot he was, suddenly not being obnoxious, and basically punching you in the face with his hotness.

His hand settled on the small of your back and damn it, he was warm. His touch was soft, gentle, almost nervous, and he pulled you closer to him. You realized you’d expected him to turn you over, press your back to his front so that you’d be spooned, but instead he just wrapped you in his arms. He reached around you to tuck the comforter between you and the mattress, insulating you with his warmth.

Your head was in his chest, and with his arms bracketed around you, your breath heated up the space between his tank and your face. He’d even managed to slot his arm under your head, so your face still wasn’t on the pillow.

Cuddling with someone new was usually awkward, a tangle of limbs and expectations, but with Jake, it wasn’t. It was…damn it. It was pretty close to perfect.

“Good?” he asked, and he sounded different, with your cheek on his bicep, and your nose practically pressed against his chest. It was like you could feel his voice, rumbling around you, somehow more comforting for the proximity.

You nodded, not wanting to hear anything new on your voice if you tried to respond.

Jake hummed.

A moment later, you realized his thumb was moving. Nothing major, just a small movement between your shoulder blades, a reassuring stroke. It was a comforting motion, gentle, and it wasn’t long before his warmth and his touch lulled you into a sweet sleep.

You startled awake to the sound of guns.

Not guns, fireworks.

Damn it, it was New Year’s Eve; how had you forgotten?

Jake stirred too, a deep breath expanding his chest, and leading you to realize his head was resting on top of yours, his chin tucked on top of the crown on your head.

“Is that–” he mumbled and how dare he, honestly, how very dare he, because he sounded great. Fuck him, for that, frankly.

The situation washed over you, half asleep and fully cognizant of how random it was. You didn’t mean to start, but soon you were laughing, your shoulders shaking.

“You okay?” Jake asked, a thread of concern in his voice, and that didn’t help any.

“Just the universe’s sense of humor,” you said.

You didn’t know how, but you knew he was confused and you should’ve been worried about how you knew that, how you weren’t cold at all, how if you looked up, you’d know what a sleep-mussed Jake Seresin looked like, but all you could think was that this was so, so stupid.

You took a long breath, starting to explain.

“I just can’t believe this is how I’m starting the next year of my life,” you laughed. “Like, I’m fine, right? I’m doing alright on a career path I love, I call San Diego home, I have great friends and I’m doing as good with my family as anyone could be. And where am I on New Year’s? Stranded in a motel off an exit that’s literally not even town, cold enough that a guy who hates me is cuddling me so I can be still enough for him to go to sleep, with a dead phone so none of my friends or family can wish me a happy new year, and I–”

“Wait,” Jake pulled back, and you frowned at the interruption, “why do you think I hate you?”

You stared at him. “Are you serious?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jake said, having the gall to look confused.

“Jake,” you said, disbelieving. “You’re literally constantly a jackass to me. You’re constantly undermining me, doubting or heckling. You throw in a – frankly overwhelming – amount of southern charm and expect that to distract from the fact that you’re being outrageously patronizing and—”

Jake kissed you.

You weren’t expecting it, and it was so sudden that it thoroughly cut off your train of thought. All you could do was comprehend fleeting sensations and emotions. Jake’s lips were soft, the pressure of them light and teasing against yours. His arms tightened around you, like he was steadying both of you. In the same way you’d sensed his confusion, now you sensed his apprehension, and an unfamiliar determination.

Just as quickly, he pulled back.

“I don’t–” his voice was rough, and he cleared his throat. “Christ, I don’t hate you.”

You licked your lips, annoyed that they had the audacity to tingle in response to him.

You wanted to ask what the hell that was.

You wanted to ask why he was looking at you like that.

You wanted to ask what that expression meant but more than anything, you wanted him to kiss you again.

Your arms were curled up between the two of you, and it took so little effort to curl your fingers in the front of his tank and pull him to you. His mouth was on yours a breath later, and his hand was on your jaw, angling your face so he could kiss you properly.

Of course he was a good kisser.

Fucking of course he was, he had to be, but it was one thing to know it in an agnostic kind of way, and another to feel his lips pressing into yours. You shivered when his tongue swept over your bottom lip and when you mirrored the motion, something in his chest rumbled, and Jake parted his lips for you.

He tasted faintly of toothpaste, and he had some kind of chapstick on his lips that was sweet, and you couldn’t get enough of him. His arms were still around you and he was so warm, so broad, and you couldn’t help but press yourself against him. When your arms wound around his neck, Jake broke away from you. You could feel his chest rising and falling quickly, and his hands fell from your back to your waist, as if holding you in place. He turned his head slightly, kissing lazily at the corner of your mouth, down your cheek, to your jawline.

“That’s not how I wanted to tell you,” he murmured against your skin, and this time when you shivered, you knew it wasn’t from the cold.

“You still haven’t told me,” you managed, eyelashes fluttering at the teasing brush of his lips, while you tried to look at him.

To your astonishment and delight, Hangman blushed.

Sheepish wasn’t an expression you were used to on him, not unlike bashful, but you thought it suited him. He looked like he was gearing up to say something and, curious though you were, you didn’t want to get into that right now. It was late, you were still exhausted, and just a few moments ago, you’d thought he hated you.

If his expression now was any indication, you and Jake had very different conceptions of flirting.

“Look,” you said, before he could say whatever he was hyping himself up to say, “this is probably a lot more complicated than either of us were prepared for. So, it’s the New Year…we could start it how we want the year to go.”

Jake’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and he smiled softly, a sweet expression on his face. He turned his head to kiss the palm of the hand you had looped around his neck.

“Cuddling,” he said, at the same time you announced,

“Orgasms.”

You would never forget the expression on his face.

Sweetness morphed into amazement, and then quickly into hunger.

“I can pivot,” he said quickly, and you lifted your chin.

“You sure?” you teased, “Don’t want to strongarm you into–”

Your sentence ended with a squeal when Jake turned quickly, flopping onto his back, and pulling you on top of him. Your knee was between his thighs and you couldn’t hold back your grin as you looked down at him. Just like with this kiss, he was letting you lead, but being so clear about what he wanted.

And who were you, to decline?

Kissing him from on top of him felt different, felt amazing.

You could appreciate how sturdy he was, and when you relaxed slightly, you found yourself straddling his thigh. You’d been a part of plenty of dogfight football scrimmages, and Jake was never one for longer board shorts; you knew exactly how strong his thighs were. But it was one thing to see them on display, and quite another to feel them flexing between your legs.

One of Jake’s hands was inching under his sweatshirt that you wore, warm fingers spreading across your stomach as you moved over him.

God, he felt so good, so few layers between his skin and your core, and the pressure of his thigh between your legs was so good. You kissed him again, tongues tangling and teeth clashing, as you ground against his leg.

When you moved, you felt the hem of his boxers slide against your leg, and sue a girl, you were curious. You shifted slightly, moving your thigh higher, and when you rocked your hips, your thigh brushed against his cock.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Jake gritted as you moved against him, and you thought maybe you didn’t mind the petname, when he sounded like that.

You braced yourself on the pillow behind him and moved again.

It shouldn’t be this hot.

But it was, he was, and you felt pleasure spooling through you, just from his leg between yours, and his gentle touch against your skin. How he reacted to you, how he moved under you, it was so good, like a promise.

“Not gonna lie,” Jake said, his voice still rough, “I really like you in my sweatshirt.”

Your mouth fell open when he pushed his hips up to meet you.

You both stifled a gasp at the motion, the sensation with so few layers between the two of you. Jake’s hands crept higher under your sweatshirt, almost tentative, and you leaned into his touch, encouraging. His hands cupped your breasts, and your head dipped to the side in relief. He made a sound of satisfaction, just enjoying their weight in his hand, then his wrists moved so his thumbs could brush over your nipples. He rolled them, and you felt it in your core, your thighs clenching.

“Love you in my sweatshirt,” Jake repeated, sounding dazed, “but I wanna to see you without it.”

You leaned back immediately, pulling the sweatshirt over your head.

You missed the warmth of it immediately, but Jake’s gaze was worth it. His expression bordered on reverence, and he actually licked his lips, looking up at you. You wiggled on his thigh, heat pulsing, needing something from him, your skin prickling under his gaze.

Jake frowned, the lust in his eyes overtaken by concern. “Too cold?”

You certainly weren’t toasty, but you couldn’t say you cared.

“I would’ve thought you’d have a solution to keep me warm,” you teased, and Jake seemed to accept the challenge.

The hands that had been on your breasts dropped to the back of your thighs, and a moment later he had pushed you back. You were on your back, feet in the air, and Jake turned you gently on the bed so you were resting on the pillows again. You settled in, expecting him to lower himself between your thighs, and were surprised when instead he reached back for the comforter.

Maybe you had misunderstood, he didn’t actually want…

He pulled the comforter over his head, over your shoulders, and you blinked disbelieving at a Jake-shaped figure under the blanket, moving to the base of the bed, between your legs.

You were fairly confident, but that was a lot to ask from someone on a first date, and this wasn’t even that, and you ducked under the comforter as well.

“Jake, you don’t have to–” you protested, realizing belatedly that there was nowhere near enough light to be able to make meaningful eye contact.

“You said orgasms, right?” Jake said, his voice full of a familiar smugness.

He settled at the base of the bed, crouching, and through the darkness, you could tell he was looking in your direction. His hands were intentional on your legs, letting you know where he was, giving you time to tell him if you weren’t okay with something.

If he was offering, you were beyond okay with this.

“Right,” you said weakly.

His hands trailed up your thigh, his warm touch light, and his fingers closed over the band over your boyshorts. You nodded, a sound he heard because your head rubbed against the comforter.

He kissed your thigh.

It was a feather light touch, a brush of his mouth against the sensitive skin, but it was so gentle that it reassured you. He kissed your other thigh, then higher, and one of his hands felt up to your stomach, and he pushed, an unsubtle prompt. You lay back against the mattress, nerves and desire warring within you as Jake kissed higher.

You felt a brush of his tongue when he reached the edge of your underwear and your breath caught.

“Plural?” Jake asked, and it took you a minute to understand his question.

His fingers pulled at the edge of your boyshorts, peeling them slowly down, his mouth pressing gentle kisses as he revealed more of your body. He was exploring by touch what he couldn’t see, so slow and perfect it was overwhelming.

“There’s two of us,” you managed, back to his question. “Hence plural.”

Jake laughed, a soft exhale against your skin. He’d bared you to him, and you shifted, like you were seeking his touch.

“I know this is new for us, sweetheart,” he mumbled, a kiss to your hipbone, then the opposite, “but that’s not how this is going to work.”

You bit your lip, nervous again.

You were new to this with him, and some guys thought oral sex was some kind of prerequisite – check the box, half ass it for thirty seconds, guarantee she’ll let you hit it – but something told you Jake would be different.

You were panting, anticipation making you breathless.

You whispered his name and it was like he was waiting for permission, because he leaned into you. His first kiss against your pussy was gentle, just as sweet as those kisses he’d trailed up your thighs. It was so sweet it made you squirm, and Jake chuckled, a sound you felt as his breath ghosted over you. He pulled back long enough to draw an audible breath, then his tongue licked over the whole of your cunt, a long, torturous swipe that had you trembling.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he said, muffled, and your hips bucked. “You’re already wet for me.”

You reached under the comforter, your hands tangling in his hair and Jake hummed his approval before following your prompting back to your pussy. He lapped at you, learning you, and when he trailed up to circle your clit with it, you couldn’t stop the cry that escaped you.

“That right, honey?” he asked, sounding smug, and he circled your clit with his tongue. You felt a hand slip from your hip to your entrance, rubbing over you as his tongue played with your clit. He kissed you, teased you, and when he pushed a thick finger into you while his lips closed over your clit, you moaned.

“Feels so good, Jake,” you cried, and you felt him shudder at your voice.

You heard it too, how wrecked you sounded, and it was his fault. Your hips were pushing up into him, chasing the suction of his mouth, the pull of his fingers. He was only a knuckle or so into you, but his finger was so wide, thicker than your own, and you moaned at the unfamiliar intrusion.

It was Jake between your legs, Jake’s wicked smile, sharp tongue, capable hands, Jake who was working you with his fingers and mouth. He felt so good, and your body felt like it was humming to a frequency he set.

You trembled as he sheathed a finger in you, you moaned when he sucked your clit, and when his teeth brushed over your clit, the pleasure coursing through you snapped. Your fingers in his hair tightened, and Jake groaned when you pressed your pussy harder against his face. He groaned like he wanted it, like he craved that reaction, and you came hard.

He coaxed you through it, gentle and steady as he’d been so far, and as you came down, you pulled slightly at his hair.

“Jake, that was–” you gasped, and you felt him laugh again.

“Honey, what part of ‘plural’ is so hard for you to understand?” he asked.

And he pushed another finger into you.

Your back bowed off the mattress; you were so sensitive and it made everything Jake did to you feel so much more.

His mouth traveled down to where his fingers were pressing into you, and he curled them into you. You heard an obscene slurping sound, and your eyes rolled back as you realized he was pulling your release out of you, tasting it from his own fingers.

“Like honey from a honeycomb,” Jake mumbled, his voice thick, and you whimpered at how he sounded.

A moment later, his lips closed over your clit again, and your head thrashed against the pillow.

“Jake, I just–” you panted, but he sucked again and you broke off on a moan. “I can’t, I just – fuck, give me a second– oh, that feels so good.”

Jake either didn’t hear you or he wasn’t listening.

He was following your body, the way your hips were pushing up into him, the way your cunt was clenching down on his fingers, and it was like he was drunk on the taste of you. He suckled on your clit, his tongue laving over you, stoking you higher again. He felt so good, and you were sure you were telling him, but you were fast losing confidence in your ability to form words.

You lost track of time, there was just pleasure, and the heat from Jake, and the way he was working your body.

“You gonna come for me again?” Jake coaxed, pulling back to blow a long stream of cool air over your clit. You flinched, you writhed, you would do whatever he wanted, as long as he didn’t stop. “I think you can do it, honey, it was so pretty the first time. This pussy is so good, doing such a beautiful job coming for me, tasting delicious and I bet you can do it again…”

Your legs felt limp as he licked over you again, tasting where his fingers fed into you, pumping them and pulling pleasure out of you. His tongue flicked over your clit, a maddening pattern, and when his lips closed, he sucked hard. It was so strong, so unreal, and you shook as you came again.

“Ah, there it is…That’s so good, sweetheart,” Jake soothed, and you weren’t sure if he was talking to you or your pussy, and you certainly didn’t know which was hotter.

He continued to stroke inside of you, his thick fingers pulling you through your orgasm, keeping you grounded, keeping your pleasure coming.

You weren’t cold anymore.

In fact, you were burning up, and Jake didn’t seem like he wanted to stop. The moment he felt coherency return to your posture, he dove back in. You genuinely didn’t think you could stand another orgasm from his mouth, and you let go of his hair – he wasn’t listening to you anyways – and flipped back the comforter.

God damn, he was so hot.

He looked up from between your thighs, the lower half of his face smeared with your arousal, and he fucking licked his lips, before smiling up at you. His hair was in complete disarray, and you could tell his whole upper body was flushed from overheating, and he looked so smug, so proud, and he had every right to be.

“C’mere,” you asked, and it was enough.

Grinning, Jake crawled up the bed, caging you with his arms again.

He hesitated, unsure what you were okay with, but you kissed him hungrily. You could taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue, and you felt a sort of possessive pride that it’d chased away the cloying sweetness of his chapstick.

Right now, Jake tasted like yours, and you were obsessed.

When he realized he could, Jake returned the kiss with enthusiasm, his tongue sweeping into your mouth.

Your hands smoothed over his back, curling in the hem of his tank and pulling it over his shoulders. Jake wouldn’t separate from your lips to let you pull it over his head and you giggled as he kissed you through it, like an infinity scarf. You felt up his back, hands delighting in the contours of muscles that you’d only admired from a distance, before you caught yourself.

He was so strong.

Warm and toned and big, intoxicating to think of him over you. Finally, he ducked his head to chuck off the shirt, and the motion lowered his hips to yours. You both groaned at the brush of his cock between your thighs, and then Jake was kissing you with fresh urgency. You hadn’t seen him yet, though he’d had his face in your pussy, and you reached between the two of you.

You felt him over his boxers, and Jake broke off the kiss at your touch, his head dropping to your shoulder. It was like he couldn’t contain himself, and his hips pushed into your touch. You explored the shape of him through the thin cotton, your own hips rocking into him on instinct.

Fuck, he felt big.

You felt a small bit of wetness near the fat head of him, and you moaned as your thumb rolled over the leaking precum, rubbing his sensitive head.

“I have a – shit,” Jake broke off, his hips rutting into your touch, and your head fell back. “I have a condom in my wallet.”

“Of course you do,” you teased, and it would’ve been more effective if you didn’t sound so needy about it.

You turned your head to press a kiss to his cheek, then scooted out of the bed.

The room felt freezing outside of the bed, but it was refreshing, as you darted over to his backpack. You found his wallet, and the condom inside it, and when you got back to the bed, Jake had only moved to push himself up. He was kneeling in the middle of the bed, and he shifted as he pulled off his boxers.

“Holy shit, Seresin,” you whispered, not even caring that your voice sounded reverent.

His cock was beautiful, thick between his thighs, bouncing parallel to the bed. Jake gripped the base of it loosely, like he had to do something while he watched you watching him, and you crawled back to the bed, still staring, kneeling so your knees almost touched his.

“Can I?” you asked, holding up the condom. “Please, sweetheart,” Jake said, his voice so gruff and gorgeous. You licked your lips and ripped the foil, but hesitated before you pulled it out.

“I’m clean,” you told him, sitting back on your thighs. “Um, we should still use this, but I just wanted you to know.”

Jake caught your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head up to him. He kissed you quickly, short and sweet, and there was something unexpected in his eyes when he pulled back.

“Me too, sugar,” he said, his voice deep. “Thank you.”

You couldn't be sure what he was thanking you for, but you felt like you should be thanking him. For making sure you felt good, for thinking of a condom, for making you feel so cared for. So you tilted your head, reached between you to where he was loosely fisting himself, and replaced his hand with yours.

You pulled your hand loosely over him, obsessed with the warm feel of him, how thick he was in your hand, how heavy. Jake’s hands hovered like he wasn’t sure where you put them, and they settled on your upper arms, like he needed you to keep his balance.

It didn’t stop you from leaning down and guiding his tip towards your mouth.

Jake groaned, a beautiful, strangled sound, and it was lost to you when you first tasted him.

This wasn’t the proper angle for a proper blow job, and you wanted to feel him, but you were curious, and your tongue lapped at him. His skin was scalding hot, and a pearl of precum beaded at the end of his cock, like an invitation. You licked it into your mouth, moaning at the salty, rich taste of him.

Jake’s hand fell to the back of your head, not pushing, but like he needed to steady himself. You licked over him, acquainting yourself with him, learning the veins and sensitive spots, knowing you’d want to come back to them later. Too soon, Jake’s hand tightened in your hair.

You looked up at him, hoping he’d like the picture of you from this angle. His jaw clenched and his eyes fluttered shut, if that was any indication.

“Need to be inside you,” he ground out, and opened his eyes. “That mouth is so sweet, honey, gonna make this be over too soon. I want to feel that pussy.”

God, you wanted that too.

You pushed yourself back up, pulled the condom out, and rolled it over his thick length. His thighs were shaking, you noticed, and it filled you with something like tenderness. That he’d get you there twice, then let you play with him, then say “please”, like fucking you was a privilege.

When your hand reached the base of his dick, condom secured, he surged forward to kiss you. You swayed on the bed, kneeling in the middle of it, his hands cupping your face, yours on his waist. Both pulling, both needing to be closer, and when Jake lowered you back down, you followed his prompting eagerly.

He settled you back against the pillows, back how you’d been when he’d driven you to the stars with his tongue, but this time his handsome face was right over you. When he settled over you, you closed your eyes against the intensity of the moment. You were both fully naked, and it felt so heavenly to have so much of his skin pressed against yours. He was warm, strong, all around you, and you needed him in you too.

You spread your legs, letting him rest deeper between your thighs, and whimpering when his hot cock brushed against your stomach, then down.

“Don’t know how slow I can take this,” Jake said, like he expected you to have a problem with that.

“I want to feel you,” you told him, honestly. “Please.”

Jake kissed you again, pulling back to press his forehead to yours as he guided his dick between your thighs.

You’d had two orgasms.

You’d had his fingers and his tongue loosen you, you were plenty lubricated, but when Jake’s cock pressed against your entrance, you realized it hadn’t been enough.

“Holy shit, Jake,” you gasped, as his fat head pressed against your pussy, waiting for resistance to melt.

“Relax, baby,” he whispered hoarsely, “you can do it…You’re doing so good, just a little bit of give, come on…”

You whimpered at the new endearment, but there was no way. You felt needy, cloying. You could fit him, you knew it, but it felt—there.

He eased in, just a breath, and you felt like sobbing. It was so good, so overwhelming, so fucking tight, and you needed the rest of him.

“Jesus, honey, you’re so tight,” Jake said, he sounded choked, and you loved it.

“More,” you whimpered. “Please, Jake, want to feel you…you’re so big, I need more, please, please.”

“Honey, you can’t say things like that–” Jake gritted, your words driving his hips forward.

You could tell he was trying to go slow, but the feeling of him forcing his cock into you had your legs shaking. You wanted it, needed it, and if begging was the way to get it, begging you could do.

“Want to feel your thick cock, Jake,” you whispered, and he shivered. He was bracing himself against the headboard, and you could feel his arms shaking as he fought to keep from driving into you. “You feel so good, need to feel you so deep…want to come on your cock, please, Jake…come on and fuck me.”

He groaned like he was in pain, as he pressed deeper into you.

He was trying to go slow, trying to be gentle, but you wanted to be mindless, you wanted your whole being centered around the deep push of his cock. You wiggled your hips, and sighed as he sunk deeper.

“Thank you,” you breathed, and his hips punched forward again.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he muttered, and you would’ve laughed, but you were too overwhelmed.

This was what you wanted, this was what you knew he could give you. Your hands dropped from his shoulders to your breasts, squeezing and massaging your breasts as he sank into you. You turned your head to look up at him, and found him staring, slack jawed, down at you in awe.

“You make me feel so good,” you coaxed him. “Please, Jake…fuck me.”

Jake growled, a sound that came from deep in his chest, and his hand fell between you to brush over your clit.

You jolted at his touch, your hips opening impossibly wider, and a hotter, stronger arousal racing through you than the steady, heavy press of him. Your hips bucked up, and you tweaked your nipples, working yourself up onto his cock rather than pressing him into you. It took a couple more burning minutes, and you were both coated in sweat by the time he was seated in you.

“Baby…” Jake breathed, his voice a dream and you had to resist the urge to purr. He was so warm, all around you, inside you, it felt like he was grounding you.

Then he moved.

His first pump had your back arching, your knees jolting up, your eyes flying open. Fuck, how did he reach that part of you, how was there room, how were you–

Jake laughed, a deep, dark sound.

“That's what you wanted, sweetheart?” he asked, and he moved again. You cried out, overwhelmed, perfect.

“This what you were begging for?” Jake grunted, between strokes, “This what you were asking so prettily for, and now you have me, and what’s that, baby, can’t find your words? What’s wrong?”

Nothing was wrong, not a damn thing, but you couldn’t summon the wherewithal to tell him. All you felt was pleasure, pounding and sweeping, full and as good as eternal.

“This pussy is so fucking tight, sweetheart,” Jake swore, his head lowering to kiss down your neck. He sucked at the skin there savagely, needing a distraction, and you clenched around him, when his lips closed over your pulse point. “Pulling me in, so tight and warm. You look so good around my cock, honey, you wouldn’t believe… Like a dream, like a fucking wet dream, but you’re here, stretched around me, taking me so good…”

You moaned as he found a rhythm.

The headboard was banging against the wall with the strength of his thrusts, and he pounded into you. There was so much he hadn’t said, so much he couldn’t say, but he pushed it into your body, swore it to you. He soothed it over your clit with his thumb, he promised it with his thick, heavy cock inside of you, and you felt yourself falling into it.

“Please, Jake,” you managed, begging again. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything other than take the harsh fucking he was giving you, and craving it, needing it.

“What’d’ya need, honey,” Jake groaned. “You have me here, so fucking deep, never felt this good, this right—what do you need, baby, tell me, whatever you need.”

Had the room been dark? Surely it’d always been bright light, sparking, blinding.

Pleasure was rolling over you, suffocating, live-giving and you shook your head, moaning with every thrust of Jake’s hips. The only words you could manage were his name, and please, and it seemed to spur Jake on further. His thumb pressed hard into your clit as his hips sped up, and you felt the wave inside you cresting.

“You’re close, honey, I can feel it, can feel how hard this cunt wants to come. Are you gonna do it, baby? Milk this cock, make it even tighter around me, want to feel that, need to feel your pussy twitching around me, sugar, please come…”

Your orgasm shattered over you, blinding and perfect. Your throat felt hoarse from your moans, or your breathlessness, but everything heightened. You felt like you were breathing with Jake, felt every hitch and gasp and shudder as he coaxed you through it. You felt like you were suspended in space, like the only thing there was was Jake’s arms around you and his cock within you and you needed, you needed, him to come.

“Come in me, baby,” you whispered, your voice watery. “Need to feel you, want to feel how you’d fuck me to fill me, please, Jake, it’ll feel so good.”

“Fuck,” Jake shouted hoarsely, his hips thrusting harshly into you. “Oh, sweetheart, you feel too good, you’re so tight around me… I need to come, need to feel– fuck –”

You could feel his thighs shaking, his back tensing, and you turned your head to kiss him as he came. He moaned into your mouth, his whole body jerking as he emptied into the condom. You felt how strong he came, felt how thoroughly it worked through him, and it filled you with pride and satisfaction as he collapsed over you.

You knew he meant to push himself to your side, but you didn’t let him go.

You were just as boneless.

You both lay there, a sticky, sweaty, mess, panting. It was like a dream, a daydream crossed with a fantasy. You were warm, comforted, sated, and the room was still cheap, the motel was still sketchy, but you were suddenly quite alright with this start to the year.

tag list: @cheekymcgrath @laracrofted @callsign-fangirl @bradshawsbitch @bradshawsbaby @withahappyrefrain @hangmanssunnies @callsignspark @lewmagoo @mxgyver @sebsxphia @daggerspare-standingby @ryebecca @teacupsandtopgun @hangmanbrainrot @sometimesanalice @wildbornsiren @whoeverineedtobe @clancycucumber230 @javihoney and i think a couple folks have changed their URLS, so please let me know if you still want to be tagged!

#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin fanfic #jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin smut #misskielwrites

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awkward-walking-potato · 1 month

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The Red in the Rainbow

Deadpool stood at the entrance of the small, cozy coffee shop, its pastel pinks, baby blues, and mint greens standing in stark contrast to the gritty urban chaos outside. He tugged at his mask, muttering to himself as he tried to blend in. "Why do I keep coming back to this place? I’m Deadpool, dammit. I should be at a bar, shooting something or blowing something up. Not sipping on chamomile."

But there he was, stepping inside, the doorbell chiming softly as the scent of fresh pastries and herbal tea filled the air. He scanned the room until his gaze fell on you, seated at a corner table, surrounded by an aura of pure, unfiltered sunshine. Your flowing dress, a mix of soft pastels, fluttered gently as you leaned over your cup of tea, steam curling up into the air like a delicate ribbon. A rainbow-colored hair clip held back your soft waves, and even from across the room, Deadpool could see the way your eyes sparkled as you smiled at the barista.

"Alright, Wade, time to up the charm," Deadpool muttered under his breath, straightening his posture. He sauntered over, trying to look casual, though casual had never really been his style.

"Hey, sunshine," he greeted you, his usual gravelly voice softened slightly in your presence. It was strange; normally, he wouldn’t hesitate to throw in a snarky comment or a crude joke. But around you, the human embodiment of everything sweet and gentle, even Deadpool felt the need to tone it down a notch. "Mind if I join you?"

You looked up, your eyes lighting up as you saw him. "Wade! Of course, please sit down," you said, your voice soft and melodious, like the first few notes of a lullaby. "How are you today?"

He pulled up a chair, his red-and-black suit looking comically out of place in the soft, pastel environment. "Oh, you know, just the usual. Sliced up a couple of bad guys, saved the day, yadda yadda. How’s life in Candyland?" he asked, flashing you a grin that was visible even through his mask.

You giggled, the sound like a sweet melody. "Life is wonderful, Wade. I was just thinking about you, actually."

"Oh yeah?" Deadpool raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And what was the rainbow queen thinking about little ol’ me?"

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes softening as you spoke. "I was wondering if… if you ever get tired of it. The violence, I mean. It’s so different from who you really are, Wade."

He blinked, taken aback. Of all the things you could have asked, that wasn’t what he had expected. He was Deadpool, after all—violence was what he did best. But here you were, looking at him with those big, innocent eyes, seeing something in him that no one else did.

"Ah, well, it’s complicated," he began, scratching the back of his head. "The world’s a messed-up place, and sometimes, the only way to fix it is to blow up a few things—or, you know, a lot of things. But…"

"But?" you prompted gently, leaning forward with genuine interest.

"But," he sighed, "I guess, sometimes, yeah, I get tired of it. The blood, the gore, the endless cycle of it all. It’s exhausting. Not that I’d ever admit that to anyone else, of course." He paused, his voice softening further. "But then I see someone like you, all rainbows and sunshine, and I wonder what it’d be like if the world was more like you and less like… well, me."

You reached across the table, placing your hand on his gloved one. "Wade, you’re a good person, deep down. I know it. You just need to see it too."

He stared at your hand on his, a wave of something unfamiliar washing over him—something warm, something soft, something dangerously close to hope. "You know, most people run in the other direction when they see me coming. But not you."

You smiled, that radiant, all-encompassing smile that seemed to light up the entire room. "That’s because I see you, Wade. Not just Deadpool, but the person underneath all the masks and jokes. You’re special."

He snorted, trying to play it off, but the warmth in his chest refused to dissipate. "You’re gonna ruin my reputation, you know that? I’m supposed to be the bad guy, the merc with a mouth, not some sappy Hallmark character."

You laughed again, and this time, Deadpool couldn’t help but join in, the sound of your laughter infectious. "Well, maybe you can be both. A little bit of chaos, and a little bit of kindness. It suits you."

"Yeah, well," he shrugged, squeezing your hand lightly, "maybe I could get used to that."

As the two of you sat there, the unlikely pair that you were, Deadpool couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, there was room in his life for a little bit of color—a little bit of sweetness. And as long as you were around, he figured he could deal with the pastel rainbows and chamomile tea.

After all, a little sunshine never hurt anyone.

#deadpool imagine #deadpool x reader #deadpool oneshot #wade wilson x reader #wade wilson imagine #wade wilson #marvel imagine #x men imagine

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femmefatalevibe · 1 year

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Femme Fatale Guide: Best Sleep Hygiene Habits & Tips For Better Sleep

Daytime Habits:

Stop drinking caffeine at least 8 hours before you want to go to sleep

Move daily: A 30-minute walk or a short pilates video is enough if that's all you can manage

Get some fresh air/natural light and/or supplement with vitamin D

Ensure you're getting adequate magnesium and vitamin B12 in your regular diet or through supplements

Nighttime Habits:

Tuck your phone in at its "bedtime": Leave your phone in the charger across the room. Out of sight, out of mind.

Have a physical book beside your bed to start reading at a certain time. Around 30-60 minutes before you actually want to go to bed. Find a book that puts you in a calm mood. A book that's too engaging will be counterproductive.

Have some "sleepytime" tea around 30 minutes before bed (Chamomile tea is a great choice. I love the Yogi Soothing Caramel Bedtime tea).

Limit the lights on for an hour or so before you want to go to bed. Only keep the light on near your bed if possible. Keep your curtains closed if necessary.

Practice deep breathing in bed: You can do a full 5-10 sleep meditation or just do a few sets of belly breaths (one hand on your chest and the other on your diaphragm or upper stomach)

Use meditation or a self-pleasure practice to relax enough to fall asleep.

To get on a proper sleep routine & fight insomnia:

Allow yourself one day to be exhausted, so you go to sleep "on time" and give yourself enough time to get (at least) around 6 hours of sleep. This helps your body "reset," at least for a few days.

When you close your eyes, picture one of your favorite memories and re-experience it without allowing other thoughts to enter your brain. This helps calm your mind, so you more easily drift off to sleep (I've been doing this for around 15-18 years and it's golden)

Have a journal or notebook with a pen by your bed: This allows you to write anything down that you forgot about or need to do, sudden inspiration that arises before you fall asleep, or a place to write out your feelings to help relax before going to sleep. It's better than having your phone and gives you no excuse to go pull it out.

Have a bottle of water by your bed, so you can have a few sips if you can't sleep from being (even a little) dehydrated.

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sughuru · 10 months

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curses, its so bitter.

- geto suguru x reader

The burden of consuming curses takes an emotional toll on Suguru, elevated by the recent loss of Amanai Riko. As Suguru retreats into his own silent struggles, the caring intervention of their partner becomes a source of warmth and healing.

genres/warnings: angsty, fluffy, hurt/comfort, minor character death, spoilers for JJK season 2(?)

notes: got an exam tomorrow but i'm writing this instead 😭 anyways, enjoy!! i'm going to sleep now, gn (nah i'm going to study fr wml!) as always, english isn't my first language, so ignore the grammatical errors, sorry!

home | masterlist

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Exorcise. Absorb. No one else understands what cursed spirits taste like. It's like swallowing a dirty rag that’s been used to clean up shit and vomit. Geto Suguru believed that no one in this world understood what he was going through; maybe he’s right. After all, it's rare for a curse user to actually like the taste of it.

You knocked on his bedroom door, “Suguru?” your voice laced with a hint of worry.

Suguru remained silent, his form unmoving on the bed as he replayed the details of the earlier mission in his mind. The echoes of the mission played relentlessly in his mind, each moment etched with the bitter taste of failure. The weight of regret pressed upon him as he struggled with accepting the harsh truth – he couldn't save her. Amanai Riko; the girl had dreams, and Suguru couldn't forgive himself for failing to shield her from her doom.

You quietly entered the room out of concern for your boyfriend, “babe.”

You approached his lying figure, “you haven’t eaten all day…” you worriedly muttered, your hands reached out to touch his shoulder but he quickly turned around, his back was now facing you.

“Not hungry.” he replied briefly, you noticed the slight crack in his voice.

While you may have not been a curse user but you were well aware of his habits. Whenever Suguru ate a curse, the lingering taste of the curse would hinder him from eating actual food. Combining that and the death of Amanai Riko, he wallowed in grief and sadness with an empty stomach.

Of course, as the loving significant other you are, you refused to let your boyfriend starve or struggle for another minute.

“Don’t be like that…” You sighed, touching his back. This time, he didn’t flinch or move away. That’s good.

You gave yourself some time to think, “how about tea? I can make some tea for you right now.”

Suguru hummed, not having the energy to respond to you. Honestly, he felt bad for ignoring you like this. All he wants to do right now is pull you close to him and mutter apologies for being so…so emotional right now, but he doesn’t have the energy to do so.

You left the room and once again, Suguru was left alone in the room with his thoughts.

Was he being too harsh on you? Will you leave him because he’s treating you like shit right now? Is it wrong of him to be pushing you away like this?

So many questions yet none of them had a concrete answer.

You returned with a cup of tea in one hand, some leftover cookies you baked from trying out a new recipe. You set the cookies by the night stand, “I got your tea.”

He ignores you.

“It’s your favorite. Chamomile with a teaspoon of honey.”

Suguru shifted, facing you before mustering the energy and courage to sit up. His voice, hoarse and weary, as if he hadn't had a sip of water in days. "You... really didn't have to trouble yourself, really," he replied, acknowledging the concern you showed. The fatigue in his tone hinted at the toll recent events had taken on him.

“Nonsense.” she smiled, handing him the cup, “I enjoy taking care of you.”

Suguru managed to smile slightly, you noticed his eyes didn’t wrinkle like it used to, it no longer had that spark and his eyebags were more prominent. Of course you weren’t blaming him but you can’t help but feel sad realizing just how much his technique has been impacting him, especially after his most recent mission.

“Thanks.”

“Now,” she said as her hand slowly made its way to his free hand, “do you want to talk?” He sighs, “Okay.”

"I just–" he starts, "eating curses, it tastes like shit. I hate it, yet I have to do it," he says, his voice carrying a mixture of frustration and resignation.

“Worst part is,” he adds as he squeezed your hand, “the worst part is, when you eat real food, you think of the curse you most recently ate…making it taste like it.” he explains as he took a sip of his tea.

You stroke his hand with your thumb, reassuring him in your own way, “I’m sorry you have to go through that.”

Suguru’s tone changed into more of a hateful tone, “it's because of those…those monkeys. I have to eat their curses.” he muttered, “I hate them. Useless monkeys.”

“Monkeys?”

"Humans. Non-sorcerers," he explained, taking another sip of his tea. "Curses spawn through non-sorcerers' negative energy," he continued, his tone carrying a distinct bitterness, as if the very thought angered him.

Why the hell should Jujutsu sorcerers lose their life over something non-jujutsu sorcerers do? Why should they protect the weak, why should the strong protect the weak?

It angered him, the bitterness evident in every word as he expressed his frustration. "Not only are humans – monkeys, useless, but they're also the reason why Jujutsu sorcerers die on a daily basis. At the very least, if you’re useless, don’t make shit harder for us," he muttered with a tone that carried a mix of irritation and exhaustion.

You continued to hum, your thumb stroking his hand gently. Suguru rarely opened up about his true feelings. If anything, he played the role of everyone's therapist, ‘everyone’ being you and his best friend, Satoru.

Satoru looks for him after an earful from Yaga or calls him whenever he has no one else to try out the newest mochi shop that opened just around the corner. Suguru was also your rock; you'd go to him when you felt down or depressed, and even if you didn't, he always found out and looked after you.

Slowly, everything– being the therapist friend, Amanai Riko’s death, curse eating, school, it was all too much for him; instead of seeking you out and finding comfort, he chose to keep quiet, letting his negative emotions swallow him, making him feel like an empty seed.

“You know what else hurts?” He dryly laughed, “the fact that no one– well, almost no one noticed I’ve been quieter, I’ve been going out less and less.” He looked at you with hurt in his eyes, an expression you’ve never seen before.

“Shoko is busy studying to be a med student, Satoru probably could care less about how I feel, and you…” he looked away, “you’re probably only here out of pity.”

You widen your eyes, “Suguru, no, of course not.”

“Why?” he looks at you once again, “why did you come find me today?” Suguru asks, his eyes were looking for something in yours, an answer, perhaps?

You played with his fingers, tugging on them gently one by one, “you’ve been severely sad these past few days, Satoru, Shoko, me– hell, even Nanami and Haibara noticed as well.” You laughed dryly, “I couldn’t just sit here and leave you alone.”

Suguru pulled you into a hug, “thank you, love.”

You hummed, hugging him back before he suddenly laid back down onto the bed, turning the hug into a cuddle, “now, will you please try and eat something?” you giggled.

Suguru, who seemed to be feeling better smiled, “okay, maybe a bite of that cookie won’t hurt.”

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windvexer · 1 year

Text

Potentially you gotta stop making all those substitutions to the spells, witch bestie.

If you're trying to learn magic and have chosen to do so through other people's published instructional manuals, and the magic isn't working, consider asking yourself if you are actually following the rituals provided.

I've been speaking with multiple people lately who are all struggling with the same thing, so perhaps a post on this topic is germane.

Unless you understand the tradition you're working with and why certain things have certain meanings, you probably do not have the background required to make effective substitutions.

Working within someone else's established tradition is not the same as working within your personal eclectic path.

Imagine you go into a working group which is super into bioregional practice and they've developed elaborate rituals which always work for them.

They give you a purification ritual which calls for a red apple, wild-harvested cotton, and local mulberries to be worked over during a full moon.

They do not tell you why each of these things is included. They just give you the list.

We're going to substitute a store-bought cotton ball, obviously, and what to do about the mulberries? We can google "mulberry correspondences," find out they're related to "healing" which is the closest thing we can figure has anything to do with a purification ritual, then pretty much figure that since chamomile is associated with sleep and purification, and sleep is a Lunar thing, right, that we can just use a sleepytime chamomile tea bag, and there you have it!

What the working group has failed to tell you is that this entire ritual is based on local mythology where the cotton wight fell in love with the mulberry dryad and they got married under the full moon by sharing an apple, and the entire ritual isn't based on sympathetic container magic, but is a heirophany which recreates the marriage of local sacred spirits, each of whom has sworn to heal and purify those who honor their love.

A heck of a lot of witchcraft authors do not break down why every single step is taken.

And if you apply contemporary witch-lite logic to everything ("cotton is white so I'm going to relate that to color correspondences and substitute a white candle for purity"), you can end up immediately canceling out a spell.

Not understanding or connecting with certain spell/ritual steps is not a good reason to change them.

You had mulberries once as a kid and they gave you stomach cramps and now you personally associate them with hexing and sickness, so even though there is a ripe mulberry tree outside, you are going to go get a container of blackberries instead, which you personally associate with purification, and -

(You get the drift)

The spell calls for making a paper box, within which you hide the wild cotton and mulberry. Then, at a crossroads at the full moon, you unfold the box to reveal its contents, and offer an apple to the correspondences.

Which would mean we'd have to learn how to make a paper box (fun!) but also like, why this unfolding thing? Nothing I've read so far in my witchcraft books has explained the magical meaning behind opening a paper box. This is basically a container spell, right? I'll just use a glass jar.

(The plant spirits who informed the local coven about this spellwork specified an opaque, degradable container)

If you're using other people's work, you're more or less sacrificing yourself to the reality that they probably are not explaining everything to you, and that your assumptions about what makes that magic tick could be so far off base that even your most educated guesses will fall short.

Yeah, using other people's traditions can mean you don't have what's required to do everything, and that's kind of just the way it is.

I'm not trying to be Mr. Just Go And Buy Stuff You Moneybags, but I guess I am being Mr. If You Can't Do It Then You Can't Do it.

And no, I'm not saying that it's impossible to figure out substitutions.

I'm specifically referring to a situation where a practitioner is trying to figure out magic, hasn't been able to make strides, and then it turns out they've been radically modifying and altering spells from specific traditions to a point where the spell is obviously functionally DOA.

At one point I was learning some slightly advanced bit of coding. I downloaded a set of files from a code library and installed them on my website.

The thing was, at that point in my education, I had enough experience to basically understand what was going on with each file. So, I edited them as I went, modifying them to my custom specifications.

Wouldn't you know it! When I launched the code it was broken. DOA, if you will.

I went back to the code library, and the top comment was,

INSTALL THE FILES AND MAKE SURE THEY WORK BEFORE YOU TRY TO CHANGE THEM. Everyone keeps changing things before they even test launch it and then they come back here and complain that the code is broken. IT ISN'T BROKEN.

#witchcraft #witch tips #tbl

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miifu666 · 8 days

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Yandere isekai! Alpha!

Who you met during your mindless scrolling through the brainrotting reels and videos thats feeding the addiction part of your brain, in no time you're suddenly transported in the middle of a busy street with your pajamas.

Not knowing if you've accidentally sleepwalked or if you were daydreaming, you noticed the strange waft of different smells the people around you have.

Its all too much for your brain, the smell of different perfumes clashing eachother is making your head spin. In no time, you accidentally hit your head on someone.

A tall person, maybe 6'7 you note. You have to crank your neck upwards to see him, apologize and run back to your home despite forgetting that you're in the middle of an unknown street.

"S..sorry..?" You half muttered, trying to get a glimpse of the man by squinting, the backlight of the sun isn't helping the unfortunate circumstances you're in.

"No problem! ...hey are you lost, little thing?" The man tilted his head, blocking the sun and giving you a bit of how he looks now. "You don't smell like an average beta.. or omega... even alpha"

He's an attractive person, a lazy smile etched on his perfectly smooth face. Pulling the fat of the cheeks a little and curving his cat-like eyes just beneath his golden rimmed glasses. Theres a few moles you see near his left eye, under the eyebrow and bottom lip. He looks like one of those pinterest models you see, one that people put as a drawing reference.

"Uhm.. what?"

"You're okay?"

"I think so? What do you mean.. average beta?"

Hearing your answer, the tall man can only hummed and fix his dark blue hair. It wasn't long enough to reach his shoulder but not short enough to reach his ears too, a layered cut maybe? You try to figure out the man's body action before hearing out what he has to say. Theres a small fear of you getting kidnapped, pulled into some drunken bar or maybe a dimmed and empty place to steal your organs.

"Betas? You know, the second gender?" He muttered, the lazy smile is still stapled on his face. You asked if he's talking about the same beta, omega and alpha that you know about. The ones that you've read in fiction and posts, a universe where people have secondary genders instead of just the usual biological male or female. "Hmmm... yes?".

You wanted to laugh, make a weird face, punch him on the guts, to say he's joking would be an understatement. He looks serious, in fact. He looks at you judgingly despite the small smile he kept. You panicked, finding out that those isekai fictions are actually happening to you, during your scrolling on the dumb thin brick of electronic. Maybe if you weren't so focused on it, you would realized you're slowly being transported into another dimension.

The man tilted his head again, a small humm is heard despite the loud steps of the crowd walking past you. The crowd, you're also in the middle of the busy street. The sweat on your palms feels more wet now that you realized everyone is seeing you in your pajamas, the only pair of outfit you wear to be comfortable alone, uninterrupted in your small abode.

"You look so anxious.. wanna go somewhere to talk? Seems like you need something to straighten your mind"

Time moves quickly, you're now sitting in a thick sofa. One that feels like its been used for years, the comfortable dent it has gives you a sense of belonging. The man, introduced himself as Elias. Explained to you how this world works, after noticing how despite having betas around. You have a particular smell that isnt too strong or "unique" as he would say it. "Quite the catch you are" he smiled as he tilted his head again, the act reminding you of an owl. "An alpha like me have sharper nose... but i can barely smell you. Its like smelling a deer.. small deer"

Now you're lounging in his house, holding a warm chamomile tea he brewed. Feeling snug despite being in a strangers house, waiting for him to finish changing. He discussed about you having a place to stay, urging you to live in his house for awhile till you can figure things out in this world. 'How kind..' you think, 'maybe the alphas in the fiction isnt as horrible as it actually is in here... '

You didn't noticed the lingering look he's giving you, the licking of his lips each time you tend to appear skittish and unsafe. He has a need to keep you alone, keep you safe around him and maybe spoil you a bit. Who knows? Maybe throughout all his life being an Apex Alpha, you are his true mate. The reason he's been so devoid of any feeling and not so obedient for his wolf side is because you haven't appeared in his universe.

Fortunately hes a patient man, so patient. He can easily break you down to become his perfect little omega, no matter if you'll have it as a second gender or not. In his eyes, you'll always be an omega. His omega

Elias is an old yandere oc i created, i had some ideas of how he is but i wanted to show more of his personality here. Theres a few notes past me put on his character but the rest, is improvised.Sooo this is all not proofread.

#🎨—galleria #🦭—oc #📖—Writings #✍️—doodles #📃—ref sheet #yandere oc #yandere male #yandere male x reader #male yandere #yandere

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kimetsu-no-yaiba-writings · 1 year

Text

Douma/Doma with a pregnant S/O - SFW+NSFW Headcanons

This was requested just after the Akaza version of these headcanons was posted - which you can find HERE - and @alastor96 requested a Douma/Doma version (´∀｀•)

Obviously Minors DNI

So! Without further ado, here are some headcanons for Douma/Doma with a pregnant S/O (^○^.) I hope you enjoy!

SFW:

Genuinely thinks your joking when you tell him your pregnant - “That’s nice dear!” He says with a chirp while continuing his activity (pruning)

It takes two days for it to click that your not joking....

Douma pauses, mid-sermon, eyes blinking owlishly as the gears turn in his head before leaving to find you

Listen sometimes he’s smart and sometimes he’s downright stupid

Very apologetic and very excited!

Quickly becomes one of those men who brags about their S/O and baby

Literally manages to bring you up in conversations every single time he’s talking to someone (and no, they can’t escape)

Whenever there’s a Upper moon meeting Douma will absolutely whine and whinge about having to leave your side - “I want my wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiifeeeee,” He whines (pathetically) “ I need to be with my wife and baaaaaabbbby”

Everyone gets sick of hearing him - especially akaza with his equally as pregnant wife (half the time he just ups and leaves anyway) - but they usually put up with it....kinda?

Becomes protective

Like, SUPER protective - still threatens people sweetly with honeyed words and a saccharine smile if he thinks there too close to you but this time its more feral? politely feral??

He’s not above growling at a person

“Maybe I should get you a guard dog?” - you don’t know if he means a actual dog or something else and you don’t bother asking cause you just say no and having to deal with his whining as he follows you around trying to convince you that you need one

You have to have at least THREE cult members with you if Douma can’t be - only the strongest members get picked of course - for protection and so you don’t have to lift a finger

When he’s with you Douma is a hover - standing as close by as possible with a new found worry about you, the baby and your body

Everything that could be a hazard to you and the baby gets removed.... very quickly...

All of your cravings are met with ease as Douma makes sure that whatever your wanting gets made - with a taste test from him to make sure that its okay to consume (you once made him cry with how spicey you wanted something)

But Douma will also make sure that your eating a balanced diet that keeps you (and the baby) healthy and happy

Also makes sure that you drink things that are good and keep you hydrated - lots of floral + herbal teas such as chamomile, lavender, ginger and mint greentea

decked out the bed with loads of blankets and pillows so your always comfy - literally went out and found the comfiest and softest materials and brought them home like a penguin bringing rocks for the nest

Has to be the big spoon when sleeping with his hands cradling your tummy - yes, he has woken up to you shifting and moved you back into position and no, you don’t wake up since you now sleep like the dead

This man has no names picked out

Douma was genuinely gonna call the baby “Baby” or “Child 1″

Although he does go all-out with the baby’s room - it’s already filled with beautiful items, clothes and toys

NSFW:

Douma always enjoys fucking you in front of the mirror and that still occurs - with great pleasure

Likes it when you lean and rely on him more

Your naked pregnant body leaning against his - back to his well muscled chest - as his fingers slip inside your plush pussy with ease, leaving your essence to drip onto the bed and coat your thighs

Your form ethereal - skin dewy, flushed and eyes lined with pretty tears

Of course, he’s alot more softer with you

ALOT more

He’s less likely to push your body past its limits like he’d usually do before you were pregnant - no pushing your legs to your ears with his dick bulling your pussy and making it kiss your womb

Vanilla sex is where its at (and he actually really enjoys it) although anal is still on the table....

Takes his time more, all slow + sensual as he purrs and mewls into your kisses - breath mingling together

Enjoys sex while spooning

Will make sure that you know just how much you make him horny with your pretty body

Much like Akaza, Douma does accidentally overstimulate - although sometimes its not an accident and he just anted to bully you - you until tears prick your waterline and make your lashes dewy

Fingers and mouths your pussy til you whine and moan like a whore with your pussy making lewd squelches and gushes onto him

Leaves hickies + bites all on your shoulders, neck and chest (as usual) although this time he makes sure that their more obvious - make it obvious that your his and only his and that you are worthy enough of him

Mouths, nibbles and bites with precision

Becomes a 100% more handsy with your breasts - loves feeling them spill out between his fingers as he squeezes

Moans when you start lactating (lust filed hearts filling his eyes when it first happens) - your milk warm and sweet as he sucks and mouths at your sensitive nipples

Starts to bully your nipples more, until their stiff + sensitive and milk drips out as you whimper

Douma had always enjoyed fucking you raw but now he can do it as much as possible - “Can’t get a pregnant person pregnant!” is his logic

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer x reader #kny douma x reader #kny doma x reader #douma x reader #doma x reader #demon slayer douma x reader #demon slayer doma x reader #kimetsu no yaiba douma x reder #kimetsu no yaiba doma x reader #anime x reader #x reader #kny headcanons #demon slayer headcanons #kimetsu no yaiba headcanons

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magicalqueennightmare · 8 months

Text

Little Witch (Pt 5/5)

Klaus Mikaelson x Reader

You and Klaus find your way back to each other

Fluffy, semi spicy ending

You groaned when consciousness came rushing back to you. You tried to sit up and felt hands assisting you in the effort. When you finally opened your eyes Freya was squatted in front of the couch you'd apparently been laying on “Freya? What the hell happened?”

You ran a hand over your face and she smiled before offering a steaming mug that smelled like the chamomile concoction she usually made for you “Well considering I couldn't actually get into the cemetery from what I'm told you burnt her from the inside out”

You nodded slowly after taking a sip of the warm liquid because you remembered that much. What you didn't remember was anything that came after you collapsed and Klaus being there before you could hit the ground. You decided to test if your legs would work and a small smile slipped onto your face when they obliged and let you stand.

Freya stood up as well before you asked “What happened after?” She smiled slightly “Nik caught you before you hit the ground but you'd depleted enough of yourself killing her, you were left in a shape similar to someone who'd been tortured. When the power burst out of you it left wounds and you were fading so he gave you his blood to heal you then we brought you back here”

You looked down and realized you were still filthy with a mixture of blood, dirt and what looked to be some form of ash covering your clothes “I need a shower” she laughed at your change of mood “Well I mean you are home. You know where everything is” you looked around and she added “He isn't here at the moment”

You cut your eyes back at her and she shrugged “If he gets back I'll keep him down here to give you enough time to shower and change in peace” “Thank you” she nodded “I'm going to call Rebekah and let her know you're up and about but if you need anything I'll be nearby darling” “I can't thank you enough Freya” with that you headed for the stairs.

—------------------

It was the first time you'd been in the room you shared with Klaus in close to three weeks. Everything was the way you'd left it, even where the comforter had been abandoned at the foot of the bed. Was Klaus not sleeping in there?

The thought of him sleeping elsewhere made your stomach churn. If Klaus thought you guilty of infidelity had he.. no you weren't letting yourself get lost down that rabbit hole. You needed clean clothes and to shower. Freya would stall him as long as she could should he come back before you were downstairs but there was only so much she could do.

You headed for the closet to grab some jeans and a shirt. With a quick stop at the dresser for undergarments you grabbed your favorite boot as well and headed for the bathroom.

The moment you stepped out of the bathroom you could hear voices drifting upstairs. From the sound of it the entirety of the Mikaelsons were downstairs save for Keelin who had stayed behind in Scotland when Freya had hopped a red eye to get back to the states.

You froze in your tracks when you heard Klaus say something. After a moment you shook yourself and headed for the stairs.

The moment you made it to the bottom of the stairs Klaus looked up and a small smile blossomed on his face. You on the other hand were conflicted about whether to approach him or not. He'd saved your life yes but he'd also not trusted you.

While you were contemplating the front door of the compound opened and the thought of anyone else was driven out of your head when you heard Hope call your name. You spun towards her voice feeling a smile work its way onto your face. You barely managed to keep your footing when the nearly five year old threw herself into your arms.

You wrapped both arms around her and felt her squeeze you as tight as she could. “Oh I missed you sweet girl” you told her and she pulled back with a broad smile “Mommy said you were sick but daddy and aunt Freya took care of you” you nodded, glancing over her head at Hayley who gave you a small smile “They sure did and you know what I am feeling so much better”

She grinned “Good can we go to the park on Saturday?” You laughed then nodded “Of course” she squeezed you once more then wiggled out of your arms.

Once her feet was on the floor she headed for Klaus so Hayley covered the space between the two of you to pull you into a tight hug “Never scare me like that again” she whispered into your ear and you laughed lightly “I promise”

Once she released you she all but shoved you to Elijah who pulled you into a gentle hug. “Do you realize now that you are indeed family?” He asked and you pulled back to look up at him “Always and Forever?” He smiled “Always and Forever”

—-------------

Klaus watched as Hope went around to her aunts and uncles, greeting them in the individual way she had for each of them. He also watched as you hugged Kol and told him something that had his brother laughing.

His little witch. Alive and well and so much stronger than he had ever even known. The memory of your power surging when your wretched mother had threatened Hope flashed through his head. When he and Elijah had told Hayley she'd looked proud and commented “A mother's love is a strong thing boys. Hope just happens to have two of us that'll tear anyone apart for her”

Rebekah had insisted on a family dinner before everyone headed back their separate ways to finish vacations. Klaus sat across from you, Hope sat between you and Hayley with Elijah on Hayley's other side and Freya on yours. He noticed you'd been sticking close to his older sister's side and her warning to him earlier in the evening flashed through his head ”She loves you Nik but that love means you have the power to hurt her worse and you did. Give her time”>

The evening was quite enjoyable actually. No one argued and laughter was plentiful but as the night dragged on Kol and Davina had to catch a flight, Hope began to tire and everyone was heading home or to leave.

After you'd told Hope and Hayley goodnight and refreshed your promise of the park come Saturday you'd disappeared deeper into the house.

He knew Freya needed to leave soon as well to catch her flight and considering Rebekah had not so subtly asked if you were ok being left alone with him he imagined you were with Freya.

—--------------

“He hasn't been sleeping in our room. We both know him pretty well. If he thought I slept with Elijah or even had intentions to sleep with Elijah….” You didn't even have to finish the sentence to know Freya understood.

You were leaning against a wall in the courtyard, your jacket wrapped tight around you to block from the chill of the night air. You and Freya had slipped out while Klaus was talking to Rebekah.

She opened her mouth then shut it again. “I can't say for certain what happened before I got here” she glanced towards the door leading out into the courtyard as if she expected Klaus to appear “Do you want me to ask him?” You shook your head quickly “Gods no. How does that look? A fairly old witch sending my hybrid boyfriend's older sister to ask if he cheated on me”

“So I am still yours but you believe I cheated on you love?” You and Freya both flinched at his voice coming from the railing above you both. She looked at you “Do you want me to catch a later flight?” You shook your head “No it's ok”

You glanced up where Klaus stood “Meet us inside so you can tell your sister to have a good flight then we'll talk” he nodded “Of course”

You told Freya to call when she landed and watched her cab pull away before turning back to where Klaus stood just inside the doorway waiting for you.

You took a deep breath and walked inside. The silence echoed deeply after everyone had left just you and him in the compound. A part of you wished you'd asked Hayley to sleep on Hope's floor or see if Rebekah could get you a spare room from Marcel.

You shut the door and leaned back against it “Did you cheat on me Klaus?” He laughed and you raised an eyebrow “Not really an answer” he pushed off the wall and before you could draw another breath he was in front of you “I swore loyalty to you when Hope was but a baby”

You stared up into his eyes, admiring the shade of blue they were. You'd always loved his eyes “You were so certain of my infidelity. You told me to get out, your eyes turned Klaus. For the first time I was actually afraid of you” you hated how your voice cracked at the end.

He stared at you for a second then to your surprise he backed away, giving you some space “You were afraid of me?” You nodded “You've never let your eyes change towards me. Even before we got together, when Hayley getting between us was the only reason we didn't rip each other's heads off. I love you Klaus and I knew no matter the circumstances I wouldn't hurt you like that but you wouldn't believe me”

He nodded as if he was unsure what to say. “I didn't cheat on you. I couldn't think of another woman. How can I make this up to you? How can I reprove my love?”

You felt tears sting your eyes as you shrugged one shoulder “I don't know but I'm exhausted and can't do this tonight” he nodded “Will you at least sleep in our room? I won't disturb you I just want to know you're there” you nodded slowly “Yeah”

Klaus had stayed true to his word. You'd changed into your pajamas and he'd told you goodnight before heading to his studio down the hall from your room.

Hours had passed and sleep still wouldn't find you. The thought of him being so near kept you awake. You missed him, no matter the hurt you felt you missed him.

—-------

You tossed the comforter off and climbed out of the bed before opening the door and stepping out onto the walkway. You walked slowly down to his studio and started to knock him but instead you pushed the door open “Klaus?”

He was on his feet and facing you “Yes love? Something wrong?” You nodded and before he could ask you said “You're not in there with me. I'm hurt, I'm angry but I'm also lonely and I need the man I love”

A soft smile slipped onto his lips “You've got me little witch just tell me where to go” you jerked your head back towards the hall “Come to bed”

—------------

You wanted to laugh at the fact that Klaus, the original hybrid, the man who was the nightmare to so many asked before he kicked his boots off how you wanted him to be dressed for bed.

“The less clothes the better” you replied and got one of those smiles you'd always loved from him. He slipped his shirt over his head and your eyes tracked the tattoo on his shoulder as he slipped his jeans off his hips, leaving him in just a pair of black boxers. “This how you want me?” He asked and you nodded.

—---------------

He climbed onto the bed so you moved closer and laid your head on his chest “Klaus if something happens again…” he cut you off “I'll believe you love. I almost lost you once, I'm not risking it again”

You smiled and looked up to meet his eyes. He brought his other hand up to cup your chin gently “The thought of losing you, I don't like it at all” you laughed “How do you think I felt?” A moment passed and you couldn't hold onto your anger any longer “Will you just kiss me?”

“Thought you'd never ask” he replied shifting the two of you so he was on top of you, holding his weight on one arm as he brought his lips to yours. The kiss was devouring, him claiming what was his and you pushing your insecurities from your mind as his hand drifted under the top of the shirt you wore, fingers ghosting over your bare breast.

You let a moan slip past your lips and he smiled into the kiss “Missed me little witch?” You broke the kiss to glare at him “Do the cocky thing later but for now show me you love me and that you only want me” the look in his eyes was nothing short of devilish “Just tell me what you want love” he lips found your neck and your hands went to his shoulders, digging in slightly as a low moan of his name slipped out of you “Please Klaus” he bit down just below your pulse point and you felt heat flood your stomach. You'd craved his touch for weeks. You'd missed him.

He pulled back to look down at you and his eyes looked almost gentle before his lips crashed into yours again.

You woke up slowly feeling the soreness throughout your lower body and groaned lightly. Hybrid stamina was not to be taken lightly, even as a witch that healed fairly fast.

You heard a chuckle and looked up to meet Klaus’ eyes as they watched you, amusement dancing in them “Are you alright love? I didn't hurt you did I?” You shook your head with a smile “Nothing I didn't ask for, repeatedly” he laughed and caught your lips in a kiss.

You could feel his hands smoothing down your back, fingers finding patterns to draw. “I love you Klaus” “I love you. Thank you for a second chance to prove that” you couldn't help the laughter that fell out of you “Did Klaus Mikaelson admit to being wrong?”

He narrowed his eyes but a smile was pulling at his lips “For you my little witch? Yes I will admit I was horribly wrong” “and stubborn and dramatic and really just downright mean” his laughter rumbled his chest where you lay “all those things but somehow you still deem me worthy of your love” “For some reason” you teased and he pulled you on top of him.

Once you were straddling his waist you gave a tentative roll of your hips and when he grabbed your waist with a mischievous glint in his eyes you smiled innocently “We have no plans until tomorrow” he raised an eyebrow “What do you have in mind?” You rolled your hips again and saw the lust in his eyes “Sure we can think of something”

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