#False flattery | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

brainstirfry · 2 months ago

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Reading these long posts again and again until I can see what OP sees like I'm studying ancient magic. The only thing I keep thinking is. This double-speak that they do with each other. It's almost literally a love language. Either in this post or another op also writes about how "if you're outwardly nice, you can't be trusted" (paraphrasing here ofc--) whereas if "you identify as an asshole" you might just be kind inside or something to that effect (SORRY) BUT that implies that Wade's also using this subtextual understanding of what he's saying as a defense; the people who can see through it are the ones that have any chance at all of breaching his other defenses, humor maybe being the most obvious one, and it identifies the people who he has to be wary of getting to actually see him OR to even see that he's wearing a mask at all? It's literally a language, like a secret code only those who think like him or maybe have experienced a certain, horrible side to life can understand, and really interacts meaningfully with people that can speak the language. BUT it's also a love language in that it's a manner of his expression of affection. It might be forced or strained or otherwise difficult to speak freely. It might feel good to do so, like recalling his old pre-deadpool self even? (if you've read a passage from OP about Wade saying happy holidays, that's what I'm talking about) but it could only be with those people who he can let past the walls and defenses and who he feels are committed to him. Colossus and negasonic are on his list of people that literally mean the world to him, because they've committed time and energy again and again to him, they've stayed, and not because they necessarily think they can profit off of him, like cough cough other people in Wade's past. (They try to get him to join the X men but it's not really about their benefit from doing that, I think colossus for one genuinely thinks it would help dp) but colossus and negasonic don't speak his language. LOGAN does; it's why they get along so well despite the top surface discourse. (It's gotta be refreshing to be able to be seen like that, having most of what you say and do fly completely under the radar for most people and then meeting someone who actually fucking gets it, like...) If you don't read into it, they hate each other for most of the movie. It feels like. Play fighting sometimes too. Idk Anyways right off the bat when the movie makes a joke out of every other variant immediately getting violent with Wade without communication, regardless of what Wade says, worst wolvie actively picks up what Wade puts down. chugging the whole bottle Wade told the bartender to leave was a one-up multipurpose tactic, where I think in other cases different logans wouldn't have even accepted the gesture. Would have just walked away. sigh (this whole thing with the bottle is another thing OP touches on I think innnn the car monologue subsection, it's one of my favorite breakdown bits with the "care behind offense" wording it's genius help me I'm ROTTING HERE)

This is a fucking WALL of text I'm so sorry. Anyways ANYONE penny for your THOUGHTS? I need help

A Jolly Red Lie

Why a red suit? Cause it's christmas, and someone's been naughty. But also so that people don't know he's bleeding, that he's hurting.

In dp2, Wade says he should have worn his WHITE suit when he meets Juggernaut. Because a red suit hides blood, a white suit hides that you're excited, that you're enjoying all this. That you're getting off, that you want it.

A red suit shows you're enjoying it. A red suit doesn't show you're hurting. A white suit doesn't show you're enjoying it, but it does show you're hurting.

Wade's first suit was white.

He swapped it to red because he didn't want to show he was bleeding all over everything. You know, like a bleeding heart. He doesn't want people to know he cares so much he'd sacrifice himself over and over. Selflessness. He wants it to appear as if his actions cost him nothing. He can't have anyone thinking he wants to be there.

But the red suit does show he's enjoying it. Enjoying the fighting, the killing, the being stabbed.

When we first meet pre Deadpool Wade, he was in a red coat, white shirt--the Golden Girls shirt. He's enjoying what he's doing.

Wearing his heart on his sleeve. Showing what he cares about. Told pizza stalker girl he does it for the hugs, and then covered up by turning it into a joke "for the money"--(haha the deadpool movie was ostensibly jokes for money, but we all know that's not true)--and then later refusing to take payment. He's being open, even if he knocks it down a peg after the fact.

Looking at Vanessa with open care, and letting her see. Openly saying things like "Happy holidays", without being sarcastic about it or negating it.

But he stops doing that after Francis. The only time it's shown is when she tells him she wants to have a kid--even then it's still not openly, because it's hidden behind jokes. He doesn't tell her he loves HER, only that he really wants a kid: but DOES HE?

No. He's pretending to care, to want. They first intend to "watch some porn and show the bed who's boss", but we cut to them watching Abjectly Not Porn. He then says he wants a kid again, but the way he describes it is to "get the strap on": that's not how kids are made. He didn't want that in dp1 though: he says "no" to the strap on in the sex montage. (That was on international women's Day. When Vanessa is dead in dp2, it's always international women's Day there. Aka, Wade doesn't want to be there. Why is he there, then? Because he thinks she wants that.)

He's pretending to care about something he doesn't. He's using things he's supposed to want, but no longer does, to act like he cares. He wants to, but he does not. He says he wants kids as he's selling used cars, but that's a lie followed by the offense of "not having vaginal sex". Because he wants to get pegged now, which is extremely offensive to Disney.

So what changed?

He isn't "Happy holidays" open anymore after Francis.

He's showing her what he wants, but won't say it. She is also showing and not saying what she wants: him to SAY it. They both want a family, just not THIS one. Do you want what I can give you or do you want me? He's only alive on the outside, not the inside.

They give each other multiple opportunities to just say it, but neither actually wants to make it happen. She doesn't take the excuse that he would be a bad father as the "I don't want this" subtext it really is; he doesn't take her dismissal of his excuses as the call for change--to go back to how things were--that it is. He knows what's going on, he'll flirt with the line but he won't go to the end.

He's too selfless to tell her he doesn't want this. He doesn't say no anymore, unlike he did pre-Deadpool. Because he thinks she wants this with him, and he won't deny her that, because he calls that selfish.

He CAN do it, so does it matter if he wants it?

He's so selfless he'll hide how much he's being hurt: his bleeding heart. Hide how much it's killing him that he can't say no. He thinks he doesn't have a choice.

Because Father Christmas is going after the naughty list: NOT handing out presents. Enjoying receiving them from other people--not wearing the white suit to hide that--because he's giving presents while giving nothing away. Giving but not receiving. (Haha multiple meta levels and multiple sex jokes)

When did Wade change and why? Going to Francis was showing he cared so much about something he was willing to risk it all. That was the decision he told us is when "it all went wrong": when he changed, on more than just the outside. When it went wrong with Vanessa.

He's only alive on the outside. He's only got a life (with Vanessa) on the outside--he's dead inside. This isn't a life he wants.

Because what he got for caring that much--risking it all--was everything going wrong. The new him, wrong but so right: hiding everything behind a joke, saying the opposite of what he means. Not like he used to be.

The trauma wasn't the torture, it was that he asked for the help they offered only to learn they were lying, that they didn't actually want him around: both in the sense that they weren't doing it for him, and also that they were going to ship him out enslaved afterwards. He no longer trusts claims to care, kindness, because that's where everything goes wrong. Kindness is a lie, hiding the threat of getting the rug pulled.

If you have to say you're nice, then you're not actually nice.....if you don't say you're nice--if you identify as an asshole--you could be nice on the inside. False skins.

Rejection can't hurt you if you don't give it a chance in the first place. If you act like you don't care, that you don't want the thing you want. If you act like you're a psychotic asshole, pushing people away from the getgo.

He gets off on being hurt now: red suit, not white. He's no longer hiding that he gets off on that. Openness is a turn off.

People in jolly red suits are supposed to enjoy giving presents in exchange for cookies and cream after coming down the chimney. Openly doing things for other people, for no payment except appreciation. That was Wade in his jolly red pizza jacket.

And that selflessness still is him, except it's killing him inside and out.

But now he's saying his bleeding red heart--not just on his sleeve but his EVERYTHING--is about hiding the gore: a lie that it's about blood to cover the truth that it's about his heart, how hurt he is on the inside. How he's constantly dying.

It IS about the blood, but it's also not. An omission. Honesty from the other side: not full frontal but raw dogging it from the back, in the subtext. A reach around, if you will.

There wasn't any bloody gore to hide with the pizza stalker, he really was just wearing his heart on his sleeve. Like he's doing in his red Christmas suit, except he's now lying about what it is.

Don't listen to him, he's a fucking liar.

He was pizza Santa, but now he's Bad Santa: claiming it's about blood feud and his face when really it's about making sure Francis couldn't happen to anyone else. Hiding his bleeding heart out in the open behind the ugly statement that he's selfish. Taking out Francis' entire operation instead of only getting revenge on Francis.

He now doesn't care if people see he enjoys what he does, in his red suit, getting off on being hurt: unlike with the pizza stalker, when "that came out wrong, or did it, kiss". He didn't kill that guy because that's not what it was about; but now, he openly enjoys that. So long as he can hide what it's really about behind a different front, a different face, a lie.

The face he presents isn't his real one. It's a mask. Ugly offense instead of truth. Offense as truth.

That's (not) what she said

That's why Vanessa said "show me you care about something bigger than yourself": I need you to be open. An offensive statement ostensibly saying he's selfish, because she wants him to SAY OPENLY that it's not the truth, that his front is JUST a front. (But it's not. She wants him to go back to who he was--not the face, but the "happy holidays".) To remove the cover. (That's why he took off the suit: he removed the lie. Other people wanted him to, so he tried to give it to them because he's just that selfless.

Why should it matter if you don't want to? Sacrifice isn't a good thing if it's not your choice. It'll destroy everything.)

But he can't remove the cover and still be himself. Removing it means he's lying to himself. He's not "right there" anymore. He's always behind an invisible barrier, and he won't cross it anymore. It's not a facade, it's who he really is. He's offensive, not polite, impolite.

Her crazy no longer matches his crazy. He's got a new him that he shouldn't put a mask over.

Vanessa's "show me you care" was giving him the excuse and choice he needed to breakup: here's something ugly you can call yourself so that you can leave. She knows he doesn't want to be there, he just can't give up the wish to be, and he won't subject her to rejection because he sees that as selfish, because that's what he's most afraid of himself.

She said "I don't want you", and it was a lie, but it also wasn't. Wade took the excuse of the text, the superficial statement, to ignore that what she was really saying was "I know you don't want me".

By the end of dp3, he learns that wanting things for himself isn't selfish. "I did it for you", he says, and because it's not impolite, not who she knows he is, Vanessa knows it wasn't about her. That it's a lie. He's telling her that he's finally doing something HE wants, and it's not her: he's finally telling her no, able to say no again, to say what he actually wants. It's a thank you to her for telling him to go, to do what makes him happy--what he wants. She's happy for him. All she wanted was for him to be happy, that's why she wanted him to leave. He's learned that getting to choose matters, and wanting matters, more than ostensible selflessness.

"I did it for you": not the truth but not a lie. A lie that is the truth.

He's pretending to care about his non-deadpool life in dp3, when really he doesn't. It isn't him and Vanessa knows it. So she gives him an excuse: I'll call you selfish, so you can go find what you really want, because I know it's not me, I know you need an excuse to act for yourself.

He goes to 616 looking to join the Avengers with the excuse on his lips that it's someone else who wants it. He's sick of not belonging. Because even when what he wants is right in front of him, when it's true he wants to do it for other people--he still can't say it. He lets it go because they would want him to stop being impolite, just like Vanessa, and he won't do that. He won't admit what the red suit really is.

He won't say he's selfless. He won't say he's nice. He'll say he's not.

But he hangs up the suit because he thinks he'll never find somewhere to belong unless he changes. Unless he gives everyone else what they want. Unless he acts like someone he isn't.

Wade won't openly care after Francis, but after Vanessa was saved in dp2, she changed too: she wanted more open care, not behind an excuse. She missed the happy holidays. It had started before she died too: she wanted him to give her the real reason he was late, not an excuse: she wanted him to say he came back FOR her, not excuse why he hadn't. He DID leave in the middle of a job FOR her, though--he just wouldn't say it. Weaker and weaker excuses were the best he could do. Pouty face because he doesn't want to say the truth, and she knows it. Accepted it at the time, but not after dp2: when she saw he would be fully self destructive in an attempt to not be selfish. That's why she's with someone openly kind in dp3: not someone offensive like Wade.

How does offense as defense, offense as a true lie, come into things?

He says he's not having vaginal sex as an offensive way to cover the truth that he wants to get pegged, aka he's gay. (Subtext that Vanessa was a beard for dp2. He wasn't gay before he became Deadpool, before he became Jesus.) Metanarratively, it's an offensive sex comment to hide the greater offense Disney takes to queerness. Desire under offense. A lie to hide the truth. A lie that IS the truth.

He does do things because other people need him. He always has. He's always been kind.

He cares SO MUCH, he just won't say it out loud, make it obvious. Just like Logan couldn't have anyone knowing how much he wanted to be there. They need cover, an excuse.

What you think you're seeing isn't what's really there: it's not Captain America but Johnny. It was all along. It's not the money shot but the hug. He's not there for mister chandelier jeans, he's there for the delivery. To make a delivery himself.

But if offense is defense, if offense is the truth: not my favorite Chris, is, in fact---

So he hides behind being fake: he's not faking being nice, he's faking being offensive. Nicepool is the opposite, a facade of kindness hiding selfishness: he doesn't let the dog choose, even after she ran away twice. Deadpool specifically let Vanessa choose: "tell me you don't want me and I'll leave". He let Logan choose: do you walk away or do you come back? He waited to jump back in the car until Logan asked him to come hither. Show me you want me. Over and over again: romance.

He did fake being nice though: Deadpool telling Nicepool to say he's going to live while he's actively being murdered is a callback to Francis killing him over and over, telling him he'll get to go back to his life--to LIVE--when it was actually a lie and he never intended such a thing. Two different lies.

Or was it a lie, when Deadpool's lies are the truth? Francis didn't intend for him to live, and Deadpool didn't intend for Nicepool to live either: kindness is a risk, a threat. Truth in the lie. It's not his business that Nicepool didn't know the difference, just like it wasn't Francis' business that Wade didn't know the difference.

The xmen wanted them both to change: in dp2, the rules were be nice and no killing, but he couldn't do that. For Logan, they wouldn't drag him off no matter how much they wanted him, because they wanted him to do it openly. Be nice. Instead of rebuffing them, instead of hiding behind offense.

The Car Monologue

That's why Deadpool gets all breathless and speechless after Logan's OFFENSIVE rant in the car: that was a confession, it wasn't an insult. Truth in the lie: except Deadpool can tell the difference between what's a lie and what's the truth, just like Logan can. Insulting him, saying he's NOT NICE: the lie in the text to hide the subtext that he knows full well he really is.

They'd just spent a day driving: look at the timeline, Wade starts with three days and they show up at the last hour. Where did all that time go, when we only saw one night? Where were was the other day?

They spent it driving, and talking. Logan knows about Vanessa in his rant, and he could only know their history if Wade told him: he talked about everything else before asking Logan about himself, because offense is being nice, is caring. "Selfishness" to show care, because Logan DID NOT want to talk about himself. He was literally a jabbering prick as a lie to show he cared, instead of saying it.

That's another in the list of things Wade does that no one else will: be the asshole no one else will, be the asshole that's needed.

He comes off as a megalomaniacal psychotic asshole. But the real asshole is Cassandra, not him.

Logan's rant was a cover of offense over empathy: but it was actually Logan telling Wade he understood why he hated himself, because he felt the same way. Like Logan wearing the suit under his clothes because he can't let anyone know how much he missed them, how sorry he was. Like Logan not reacting to the bartender treating him badly because he can't show how much it hurts, how much he's bleeding to death. He was quite literally embarrassed to wear the suit, to be a superhero, to show he cared. And so is Wade of the red suit: bad santa to cover how much he wants to give things away.

Wade met all those other Wolverines first: they all attacked him, except two whom he walked away from.

Why did he walk away from those two?

Accurate Wolvie didn't respond to his insult at all, so that one isn't like Wade: offers no offense. Wade can't have THAT when he's so openly offensive himself. He needs the offense as a cover.

Cross Logan was up there because he openly cared. Without an excuse, without an offensive cover. Openly bleeding. He'd gone after the people who attacked the rest of the team, instead of walking away.

Just like Logan said: they can't let him know how much they care or go willingly. Not caring and walking away is the real Wolverine. The BEST Wolverine. Cross and Accurate wouldn't match Wade's crazy.

He walks away from all the other Wolvies because they didn't show they care in any way at all. They said no without saying it.

Worst Wolvie, however, does show he cares, while still maintaining offense: "you don't want this", but not outright rejecting him. He's saying yes without saying it.

Having met those other ones, Wade knows that for what it is: exactly the kind of thing Wade says. And like Wade says in greeting: "you don't know me but I know you". Gives him the drink he wants under cover of offensively threatening the bartender. Care behind offense, and Logan took the bottle.

Does Logan know it was care behind it, though? Or does he read it as pure offense?

He KNOWS, because he could have easily killed Paradox. But instead, he doesn't, and joins Wade in the trash heap: because he wants to help. He wants THIS guy. The attack attempt on Paradox was an offense, a cover for what he really wanted: Wade.

Wade says to Wolvie, "I don't want this just like you don't want this": but he KNOWS Wolvie. He knows how much every version of him wants to die. That line was really saying, I do want this, I know you need this cover, and I know you want it like this too. It was "I get you", and "I'll do it the way you like, because I'm the same way".

Let's look at that car rant: it came AFTER Wade told him he didn't know if he could save his universe, but it wasn't a careless slipup. He repeats exactly what he said, instead of denying it. Painting himself as careless is the lie to cover the truth: he was checking whether Logan was really doing this for wholly selfish reasons, if he felt coerced, or if he was there because he WANTED to be. Giving him a choice, again.

Tell me you want me: over and over. Do it again. The romance in

Look at her, I would die for her. I would kill for her. Either way, what bliss. Last night - you were unhinged. You were like some desperate, howling demon. You frightened me. - Do it again!

So he told him the truth in an offensive way: hey did you know I lied? GASP how offensive! Really it was: Are you here just for you, or do you want me too? Are you here for ME? Because this "slipup" carelessness is me being here for you. Just like my annoying jabbering was for you. It's you I want, not anyone else. It was YOU I chose, like the radio says: I'm with you. Here's your excuse, saving my world, let's recommit to the truth in the lie.

Logan responds to offense with OFFENSE. "You lied to me". A cover of offense for the truth that he IS there for Wade. An excuse to fuckin' go at it, an excuse to stay. An excuse of "I'm doing it for them" when really he just wanted to a teamup with Wolvie, whatever excuse he could get for that. An excuse of "I'm doing it to fix my own world" when really he just wanted the excuse to stay.

You know what? You're a fucking joke. No wonder the Avengers didn't take you. Or the X-Men... and they'll take fuckin' anyone! I mean, you are a ridiculous, immature, half-wit moron. I have never met a sadder, more attention-starved, jabbering little prick in my entire life. And that says a lot, because I've been alive for more than 200 fucking years. I’ll tell ya, that bald chick was right about one thing. You will never save the world. You couldn't even save a relationship with a goddamn stripper. Motherfucker, I wish I could say you'll die alone, but it's one of God's best jokes that you can't die, except that's on all of us. You got nothin to say, MOUTH?

Like Wade's accusations of "I heard all about you, how you screwed everything up", it's a lie to cover the truth, an insult to cover the reality that it's a personal confession. You're not nice and neither am I.

The xmen will take anyone--just like strippers. Logan couldn't make it work with strippers either. He's a fucking joke. He's a sad, attention starved, prick; not jabbering aka yapping about anything and everything that doesn't matter, but silent about what does and only talking to scream at those who do--the antithesis to Wade's yapping at Logan, ABOUT EVERYTHING THAT MATTERS TO WADE, to help take his mind off everything.

Logan wishes he could die alone, away from the voices that haunt him. Away from the people whose deaths haunt him. But what he really wants is to be welcome, wanted. Wade wants to live with someone he loves. They understand each other, they get it like no one else does.

This is a confession, compliment, confidence, and also thank you for Wade not making him talk about himself. Thank you for the attention he just gave him for a whole day+ driving. For trusting him, unlike how his own world refused to. Wade confessed first, and so Logan followed suit.

Wade is gobsmacked speechless because not only did he just get read to filth, it was done in exactly the way he wanted it: not nice. He can take the excuse of the insult, or he can take the excuse in the subtext. He's being given a choice, and that's what he craves. Like he gave Vanessa a choice to leave him. Choice that was taken from him when he went to Francis.

Nothing to say, Mouth?: are you going to say something or not? Are you going to tell me it was real? Give me confidence.

Logan just said he knows who Wade is, he's the same kind of crazy, and he's HERE for it. A proposal. Desire under offense.

Checking In

So why did Wade first offer up that the TVA could help him, if he was going to admit it later? Because he knew Logan couldn't say he openly wanted to hang around, he needed an excuse. The world "wasn't his fuckin problem": his real problem was needing an excuse to stay with him. So Wade gave him one: the TVA can fix your world. They actually could: it was true, and it was a lie.

It was an educated wish: the education of knowing Wolvie needed an excuse (I know you), and the wish that it's an excuse he wanted. That he wanted to say yes.

Without having to say yes. The flip of how things were with Wade and Vanessa: he was implying yes when really he was saying no without saying it.

Then instead of being just an excuse, just a wish, in the car it becomes a declaration of love. A proposal. Wishing that was wanting.

That educated wish came after Wade insulted Wolvie:

"Give me a hand up, you APE": offense to cover the truth of how much he likes him. A question: do you get off on this like I do?

An offense as an excuse to touch him. To check if he'll openly care, or if....he'll offer more offense right back. Because that's Wade's crazy, offense is what he gets off on. "Nope, I'm actually okay, thank you very much": An obvious lie, to give Logan a chance to withdraw: "Are you gonna take the excuse to back off or the excuse to fuckin go?"

Aka: pick your offense. I'm giving you the choice.

They don't openly say what they mean. So everything they say, isn't what they really mean. The offense is the point. Do you still care even if I offend you, even if I'm ugly to you? Even if I'm repulsive? Not nice? Will you still be there, in sickness because I am never decent, till death do us not part?

If you can't handle me at my worst, then your supposed kindness is a lie. So I'll offer a lie, I'll offer the worst first: I'll put my worst face forward. Do you still want me? Which excuse do you take?

Give me a hand up: that's exactly what Logan does, putting up his claws. It's fuckin foreplay! Also a consent kink.

Achievement unlocked: excuses established, your crazy matches my crazy. They both get off on being offensive. On being wanted, on being given the choice.

"I heard all about you, how you screwed up everything": SO DID WADE. That's how he greeted wolvie: I need you, my world needs you, aka everything is screwed up. I screwed it up and can't fix it, just like you did. We're the same. Neither actually wants to go back to the world they left, but they needed a cover, a lie, to stay together: we gotta save the world.

Wade carries the picture of everyone because it's his excuse for what he does. He likes them, but not like that. Because he wanted to go with the TVA when they showed up to kidnap him: he knew he could use them to get to Wolvie, whom he'd known about since he could break the fourth wall. The birthday party was not his world, he didn't want it anymore. He was wearing a toupee and without his suit: he was trying to be something he wasn't, so he took the excuse to get out of there. He knew who the strippers were. He lost the toupee.

Failure hurts less if you act like you didn't want it, if you act like you're not bleeding out because of it.

Rejection hurts less if you act like you never wanted it. If you don't tell them you care.

It hurts more when you say you want something you don't.

After Francis, he gained the ability to break the fourth wall. He's no longer the same person he was: this is when he learns about Wolvie. But he couldn't get to him, couldn't yet hop universes, so he was settling for Vanessa. At the end of dp1, the mask he put on his face? It was ostenisbly "here's a pretty face for you", "do you want this or me", but it was really Wade directing the question to himself: do I want Vanessa, or do I want the guy I know I belong with? Do I be selfless or selfish: he let Vanessa choose for him. Because he's too selfless. He wouldn't say no if someone else said yes.

If you can't say no, if you don't want it, the sacrifice isn't selfless but a crucifixion.

He knew what he really wanted, but he wouldn't hurt Vanessa to get it. It's why he left Vanessa in the first place after Francis--he just didn't SAY it, hiding under the excuse of selfish vanity. Showed instead of telling.

When the TVA told Wade that Wolvie was dead, what he heard was there was a space for one in his universe. When they told him his universe was going to end, he took that excuse to go get his man. Going after what he wants.

"I wasn't unconscious". YES HE WAS--

It wasn't a mere wish, it was a proposal. Both of them here now know they're doing it for each other. So, HA to that. A nasty HA in an ostensible fight, to cover his real amusement at the truth that they're referring to how much they want each other: do it again.

-->"SO EMBARASSING": oh my god that was HOT do it AGAIN; right away boo boo.

-->"He died from murder, you dumb fuck": oh my god that was so smart how you did that, THANK YOU.

-->Logan gargling and spitting the liquor when they're talking in the hide out? "I don't give a shit about your world": nobody in this room does, it's all for their own ends. It's all just an excuse: a true lie. They're sick of hiding, of not being who they are.

Wade had just said the group could save his world, to give them the excuse they needed for their real aim: their own egos.

He's kissing ass to get them to do what he wants: false flattery, currying favor.

Sucking up is called "apple polishing". Apple polishing, slang, is to suck nuts. Aka....gargling balls. Without swallowing; spitting; because it's false flattery.

Logan's showing Wade he knows what he's doing. And that he's getting off on it, encouraging it, by not saying anything.

"My god read the room": I know you're putting on a show here and I'm all for it, you read me to filth, keep playing along and I'll do you next.

-->"A catty bitch when I'm jealous": he's jealous that the blowjob handles came out for other people but hadn't for him. Jealousy is the excuse he's giving himself and Wolvie to hide that he's stating a desire and admiration.

What's the wind resistance on those blowjob handles?: are those strong enough for me to pull on? To withstand all the bluster and hot air that Wade's blowing him with. Wolvie doesn't object, and that's him saying YES. Just like it was in the bar: "you don't want this", not NO.

-->They only give looks of adoration when the other isn't watching, cause it hurts more if you never acknowledge it: he openly ENJOYS getting hurt in his not-white suit now, ya know? Gets off on the offense of it. Do it again. Be not nice to me.

-->"You didn't lie, you made an educated wish": You were right, I do want to stay with you, I'm here for you. I accept. Tell me again.

"You got a whole world to go back to. I got nothin, give me this." I got you, I need you to live. Give me that. Show me you understand.

"You were the best Wolverine": Logan says nothing, because if it's true, don't say it, show me. Because he won't say anything nice, he didn't say anything at all. Yes without yes. Let's fight about it, because we don't actually care about the universe, it's just an excuse for our flirting.

"You don't need to do this": safe word. I don't want this, this is too far, I can die for you and kill for you but don't make me live without you.

"I'm doing it because they do": do you want to be with me until death do us part? And not part even then? It's an echo of Wade leaving Vanessa to die: neither went after the other. He didn't want to be with her until death. "For them" is a heroic lie. Call me on it. Show me that it's not until the end of the line, but through it, do it again. Show me you're sure, that you want it all beyond life itself.

Death as romance. Like Romeo and Juliet.

....

They can be nice to other people. To the dog. But it's just not what they get off on. They don't play nice together. And in doing so, light that fuck-box on fire. Among other things. Can't have sparks without a little arson, yeah?

That's why Wade clocks Wolvie with a fire extinguisher in the reactor. To try to knock out their "fire" so that he'd not follow him. It's a callback to Human Torch being easily put out: Wolvie's fire wasn't. Instead, they actually set someone else on fire, so well she was ruined for life. The power of love!!!!

They're anti heroes. The heroism is just the excuse to cover up that it's really about enjoying the action. (The movie and the payday is just the excuse to cover up that it's about---)

This clown car can fit so much gay in it. You think you've got it all and then there's just more and more and more.

#ALSO #the apple polishing bit ?? op how the fuck do you see these connections is this like common knowledge about the term?? it makes such sense #LIKE? gargling so not swallowing. this false flattery WHAT did you major in #how high do I have to be to understand things like this #AND the death as romance but Grits my Teeth my eyes bulge my mouth fills with blood /pos #long post #sorry to everyone that has to see this #which admittedly is not many people #poolverine #deadpool and wolverine #deadclaws #and I mean LONG post

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literaryvein-reblogs · 6 months ago

Text

commonly confused words

accept: to receive except: with the exclusion of

advice: recommendation (noun) advise: to recommend (verb)

adverse: unfavorable averse: opposed to

affect: to influence (verb); emotional response (noun) effect: result (noun); to cause (verb)

aisle: space between rows isle: island

allude: to make indirect reference to elude: to avoid

allusion: indirect reference illusion: false idea, misleading appearance

already: by this time all ready: fully prepared

altar: sacred platform or place alter: to change

altogether: thoroughly all together: everyone/everything in one place

a lot: a quantity; many of something allot: to divide or portion out

angel: supernatural being, good person angle: shape made by joining two straight lines

are: plural form of "to be" our: plural form of "my"

accent: pronunciation common to a region ascent: the act of rising or climbing assent: consent, agreement

assistance: help assistants: helpers

bare: nude, unadorned bear: to carry; an animal

beside: close to; next to besides: except for; in addition

boar: a wild male pig bore: to drill a hole through

board: piece of wood bored: uninterested

born: brought into life borne: past participle of "to bear" (carry)

breath: air taken in (noun) breathe: to take in air (verb)

brake: device for stopping break: destroy; make into pieces

buy: to purchase by: next to; through the agency of

canvas: heavy cloth canvass: to take a survey; a survey

capital: major city capitol: government building

choose: to pick chose: past tense of "to choose"

clothes: garments close: to shut; near cloths: pieces of fabric

coarse: rough course: path; series of lectures

complement: something that completes compliment: praise, flattery

conscience: sense of morality conscious: awake, aware

corps: regulated group corpse: dead body

council: governing body counsel: advice; to give advice

dairy: place where milk products are processed diary: personal journal

descent: downward movement dissent: disagreement

dessert: final, sweet course in a meal desert: to abandon; dry, sandy area

device: a plan; a tool or utensil devise: to create

discreet: modest, prudent behavior discrete: a separate thing, distinct

do: a verb indicating performance or execution of a task dew: water droplets condensed from air due: as a result of

dominant: commanding, controlling dominate: to control

die: to lose life; one of a pair of dice dye: to change or add color

dyeing: changing or adding color dying: losing life

elicit: to draw out illicit: illegal, forbidden

eminent: prominent imminent: about to happen

envelop: to surround (verb) envelope: container for a letter (noun)

everyday: routine, commonplace, ordinary (adj.) every day: each day, succession (adj. + noun)

fair: just, honest; a carnival; light skinned fare: money for transportation; food

farther: at a greater (measurable) distance further: in greater (non-measurable) depth

formally: conventionally, with ceremony formerly: previously

forth: forward fourth: number four in a list

gorilla: animal in ape family guerrilla: soldier specializing in surprise attacks

hear: to sense sound by ear here: in this place

heard: past tense of "to hear" herd: group of animals

hoard: a hidden fund or supply, a cache horde: a large group or crowd, swarm

hole: opening whole: complete; an entire thing

human: relating to the species homo sapiens humane: compassionate

its: possessive form of "it" it's: contraction for "it is"

knew: past tense of "know" new: fresh, not yet old

know: to comprehend no: negative

later: after a time latter: second one of two things

lead: heavy metal substance; to guide led: past tense of "to lead"

lessen: to decrease lesson: something learned and/or taught

lightning: storm-related electricity lightening: making lighter

loose: unbound, not tightly fastened lose: to misplace

maybe: perhaps (adv.) may be: might be (verb)

meat: animal flesh meet: to encounter mete: to measure; to distribute

medal: a flat disk stamped with a design meddle: to interfere, intrude metal: a hard organic substance mettle: courage, spirit, energy

miner: a worker in a mine minor: underage person (noun); less important (adj.)

moral: distinguishing right from wrong; lesson of a fable or story morale: attitude or outlook usually of a group

passed: past tense of "to pass" past: at a previous time

patience: putting up with annoyances patients: people under medical care

peace: absence of war piece: part of a whole; musical arrangement

peak: point, pinnacle, maximum peek: to peer through or look furtively pique: fit of resentment, feeling of wounded vanity

pedal: the foot lever of a bicycle or car petal: a flower segment peddle: to sell

personal: intimate; owned by a person personnel: employees

plain: simple, unadorned plane: to shave wood; aircraft (noun)

precede: to come before proceed: to continue

presence: attendance; being at hand presents: gifts

principal: foremost (adj.); administrator of a school (noun) principle: moral conviction, basic truth

quiet: silent, calm quite: very

rain: water drops falling; to fall like rain reign: to rule rein: strap to control an animal (noun); to guide or control (verb)

raise: to lift up raze: to tear down

rational: having reason or understanding rationale: principles of opinion, beliefs

respectfully: with respect respectively: in that order

reverend: title given to clergy; deserving respect reverent: worshipful

right: correct; opposite of left rite: ritual or ceremony write: to put words on paper

road: path rode: past tense of "to ride"

scene: place of an action; segment of a play seen: viewed; past participle of "to see"

sense: perception, understanding since: measurement of past time; because

sight: scene, view, picture site: place, location cite: to document or quote (verb)

stationary: standing still stationery: writing paper

straight: unbending strait: narrow or confining; a waterway

taught: past tense of "to teach" taut: tight

than: used to introduce second element; compared to then: at that time; next

their: possessive form of "they" there: in that place they’re: contraction for "they are"

through: finished; into and out of threw: past tense of "to throw" thorough: complete

to: toward too: also; very (used to show emphasis) two: number following one

track: course, road tract: pamphlet; plot of ground

waist: midsection of the body waste: discarded material; to squander

waive: forgo, renounce wave: flutter, move back and forth

weak: not strong week: seven days

weather: climatic condition whether: if wether: a neutered male sheep

where: in which place were: past tense of "to be"

which: one of a group witch: female sorcerer

whose: possessive for "of who" who’s: contraction for "who is"

your: possessive for "of you" you’re: contraction for "you are" yore: time long past

commonly confused words part 2

#writing #writing reference #words #writeblr #literature #poetry #poets on tumblr #writers on tumblr #spilled ink #creative writing #writing tips #lit #langblr #studyblr #dark academia #vocabulary

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sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts · 5 months ago

Note

Just here to beg for a crumb-- just a little blurb about Marcus as a new dad? All those swimming lessons would have paid off before long, right?

⤷ Credits: Pinterest

Warnings: DUB-CON (Forced/Arranged marriage), Birth, insecurity, vulnerability, fluffy romance vibes with a hint of the reality of parenthood

A/n : Sorry this took a second but i hope you enjoy

"MOTHERFUCKER!" you shouted, your voice echoing through the chamber as you clung to Marcus' arms, your grip iron-tight. Midwives swarmed around you, their practiced hands moving swiftly, their voices a blend of soothing reassurances and urgent instructions.

"It'll be alright, love," Marcus murmured, his voice steady despite the worry etched across his face. He wiped the sweat from your brow, his touch tender. "You're the strongest person I know."

"Strongest person you know?" you snapped, glaring at him through the pain. "If you had just kept your hands to yourself, we wouldn't be in this mess, Marcus!"

Marcus chuckled softly, though there was a hint of nervousness in his eyes. "I recall you being quite persuasive that night."

"Don't you dare put this on me!" you retorted, another contraction making you wince. "If you had any self-control, I wouldn't be screaming my head off right now!"

"Almost there," the head midwife announced, her voice cutting through the haze of pain. "I can see the head."

Marcus looked at you, his eyes shining with pride and awe. "Just a little more, darling. You're so close."

"Close to killing you," you muttered, though your grip on his hand tightened, drawing strength from his presence.

With a final, primal scream, you pushed with all your might. The room seemed to hold its breath as the midwives sprang into action. And then, a new sound filled the air—the cries of your newborn son.

Tears streamed down your face as the midwife placed the tiny, wriggling bundle in your arms. You looked down at him, your heart swelling with a love so fierce it took your breath away. Marcus leaned in, his arm around your shoulders, his eyes filled with wonder as he gazed at his son.

"He's perfect," Marcus whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "You did it."

"We did it," you corrected, meeting his gaze. "And you owe me a lifetime of back massages and foot rubs for this."

Marcus laughed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Deal. And I'll start by being the best father I can be."

As you held your son close, feeling the warmth of his tiny body against your chest, you knew that whatever the future held, you and Marcus would face it together. This was the beginning of a new chapter, one filled with hope, love, and endless possibilities.

The midwives busied themselves around you, cleaning up and murmuring congratulations. You glanced at Marcus, who was still watching you with that same awestruck expression.

"Stop looking at me like that," you teased, though there was no heat in your words. "I look like I've been through a war."

"A beautiful war," Marcus said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "And you, my love, are a warrior."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," you replied, though you couldn't suppress a smile. "But I suppose I can let you off the hook. Just this once."

"How generous of you," Marcus said with a grin, leaning in to kiss you. "I love you."

"And I love you," you whispered, feeling a deep contentment settle over you. "Even if you did get us into this mess."

"Well, it's a beautiful mess," he said, looking down at your son. "And I wouldn't change a thing."

"Marcus, you can't hold him like that," you said, trying to suppress a laugh as you watched him awkwardly maneuver the tiny, squirming baby in his arms. Your son wriggled, his small fists waving in the air, clearly unimpressed with his father's attempt.

"I'm trying!" Marcus replied, a mix of frustration and amusement in his voice. "He's just so slippery."

You stepped in, gently guiding Marcus' hands to support the baby's head and body correctly. "There, like this. See? He's not that hard to handle."

"Easy for you to say," Marcus muttered, though a smile tugged at his lips. "You've always had a way with handling difficult creatures."

"Are you calling our son a creature?" you asked, raising an eyebrow playfully.

"Only the cutest one I've ever seen," Marcus said, his eyes softening as he looked down at the baby. "Alright, little man, let's get you clean."

You carefully poured warm water over your son's tiny body, making sure the temperature was just right. The baby let out a small, surprised squeak, his eyes widening at the sensation. Marcus chuckled, his large hands gentle as he helped you wash the baby’s delicate skin.

"He's not so bad once you get the hang of it," Marcus said, his voice filled with wonder. "Look at him. He's so small, but so perfect."

"Just like his father," you teased, running a soft cloth over the baby's head.

Marcus grinned, his eyes twinkling. "You think I'm perfect?"

"In your dreams," you replied, but there was no denying the affection in your tone.

As you continued the bath, Marcus took over washing the baby's tiny feet, his fingers incredibly gentle. "These little toes," he mused, "I can't believe something so small can be so perfect."

"Careful, Marcus," you warned with a laugh. "You're turning into a sentimental sap."

"Too late," he admitted, looking at you with a smile that made your heart melt. "This little guy has completely undone me."

The days and nights blurred together as you adjusted to the whirlwind of new parenthood. There were moments of sheer joy and wonder as you watched your son grow and change, his tiny features becoming more defined with each passing day. But there were also moments of exhaustion and doubt, when the weight of responsibility felt overwhelming. Your pregnancy had been a mix of excitement and anxiety, each milestone bringing a new set of emotions. Now, holding your baby in your arms, you felt an intense love that was both beautiful and terrifying.

You marveled at his tiny hands and the way his fingers would curl around yours, his innocent eyes gazing up at you with trust. Those were the moments that made everything worth it, when the world seemed to stand still and all that mattered was the bond between you and your son. But there were also nights when he would cry inconsolably, and no amount of rocking or soothing seemed to help.

One particularly long night, as the baby cried relentlessly, you found yourself on the brink of tears. The exhaustion was bone-deep, and the frustration of not being able to calm him gnawed at you. "Why won't he stop crying?" you whispered, your voice trembling with fatigue and despair. You rocked him gently, trying every trick you knew, but nothing seemed to work.

Marcus appeared in the doorway, his hair tousled from sleep, his eyes instantly alert with concern. He had been your rock throughout the pregnancy and now, in the chaos of new parenthood, his support was unwavering. "Hey, hey," he said softly, crossing the room to you. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," you admitted, your voice breaking. "I feel like I'm doing everything wrong. I can't even calm my own baby."

Marcus took the baby from your arms with practiced ease, his strong hands cradling the tiny body. He began to hum a gentle tune, swaying back and forth as he did. Almost immediately, the baby's cries began to quiet, his small body relaxing against Marcus' chest. Watching them, a mix of relief and sadness washed over you. Relief that your baby was finally calm, and sadness that you couldn't seem to provide the same comfort.

"See?" Marcus murmured, looking at you with a reassuring smile. "Sometimes, he just needs a change of scenery."

You sank into a nearby chair, the tears finally spilling over. "I feel like such a failure," you confessed. "I love him so much, but I can't seem to get anything right."

"You're not a failure," Marcus said firmly, kneeling beside you, still holding the now calm baby. "You're an amazing mother. This is hard—it's supposed to be hard. But we're doing it together, remember?"

You nodded, wiping your tears away. The weight of his words began to soothe the ache in your chest. "I just... I want to be perfect for him."

"And you are," Marcus insisted. "Look at him. He's healthy, he's loved, and he's got the best mom in the world."

A small smile tugged at your lips as you reached out to touch your son's cheek. His skin was soft and warm, and you felt a rush of love so powerful it almost hurt. "I guess I just need to take it one day at a time."

"Exactly," Marcus agreed, standing up and offering you a hand. "Now, let's get you both back to bed. I'll take the next shift."

You allowed Marcus to help you up, feeling the fatigue in your bones but also a renewed sense of hope. The journey of parenthood was far from easy, but with Marcus by your side, you knew you could face the challenges ahead.

“He’s growing up so fast,” you whispered, a bittersweet ache in your voice as you took in the sight of your little boy, so full of life and promise.

Marcus nodded, his voice a gentle balm. “He is. But look at him—strong and happy. We’ve done well, haven’t we?”

You leaned back into his embrace, savoring the warmth of his presence. “It’s been an incredible year,” you agreed softly.

Marcus pressed a tender kiss to your cheek, a playful glint lighting up his eyes. “How about we make this weekend even more special? A trip to the sea, just the two of us.”

You turned to face him, excitement mingling with a hint of anxiety. “But what about our son? I don’t want to leave him.”

“Don’t worry,” Marcus reassured you, his voice soothing. “I’ve spoken with your mother. She’s thrilled to have him for the weekend. We’ll be close by if anything happens.”

You hesitated, biting your lip as you considered his words. The thought of time alone with Marcus was enticing. “It would be nice to spend time together,” you admitted.

Marcus smiled, the warmth in his eyes making your heart flutter. “We deserve a little break. And perhaps… we could start thinking about giving him a little brother or sister.”

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jweekgoji · 2 months ago

Note

when i read your sentinel/reader/starscream fic it felt like my neurons got ACTIVATED

PLEASEEEE GIVE US MOREEE OF THEM BEING ABSOLUTELY FILTHY WITH THE READER

Starscream/Sentinel/Reader [TFO]

tw: 18+, dubcon, dom!Starscream, dom!Reader, sub!Sentinel, pre-TFO, threesome, valveplug (MDNI), humilation, established relationships between Starscream/Reader, bondage, blowjob, fingerfucking, orgasm denial, brief mentions of violence/threats, Sentinel has spike and valve here, no description of reader's genitalia, no romantic feelings between Sentinel/Starscream. word count: 2,7k summary: After Sentinel's betrayal, the leader of the high guard and his right hand decide to give the false Prime a lesson. a/n: ty for your request~ I hope you like this one too. basically can be a sequel to this.

“I vote to rip his spark out right here and there.”

“He still has some use, even like this.”

“You really wish to spare him?! After what he had done?”

“No. But there are ways to hurt him more, than let him die.”

Sentinel's optics flutter open, and a soft groan escapes his lips as he slowly tries to process his new surroundings. What had happened during the time he was unconscious? He barely remembers anything right now. That short moment of triumph when he finally left the cave, not like some chores-bot, but as a future Prime, the new leader of Iacon— but where he is now?

He tried to sit up straight, to reach for his helm and to soothe this dizzy pain in his processor, only to feel a short tug of the stasis cuffs, restraining his wrists.

“Now, who is dumb enough to do that...” Sentinel grumbles to himself. When he finds out who's responsible for this, who's that glitch who thought that putting him in a cell, like some lowly criminal...

Sentinel's optics dart back to the front of the cell as soon as he hears the clanking sound of metal coming closer, with each step. The dim, purple light makes it hard to instantly recognize the faces of his captors.

The bright red optics met his own with nothing but disgust, and another pair flicked with a hint of...what exactly? Coldness? Anger? Disappointment?

“Great, now he's awake.”

That familiar voice, a pain to the advisor's audials. Of course, why didn't he think of that...highly respected commander of the high guard earlier?

“Starscream,” Sentinel sneered, tilting his helm. “The great leader of the high guard, personally chosen by our beloved Primes! I wonder what I do to deserve such a personal meeting?”

Starscream stepped closer to the bars of the prison, look full of hatred. It seems like any word from the blue-and-gold mech only pushed him closer to the edge of snapping him in half.

Sentinel paused for a moment after a threat, but that was hardly enough to wipe that arrogant smirk off his face. If anything, it only amused him more.

“Flattery won't get you anywhere,” the commander said, slightly leaning forward, narrowing his optics. “You'll be left here and rust until it corrodes so deep into your circuits, every little flinch will make you break.”

“A little dramatic, don't you think? We both know what a sucker for praise you are,” Sentinel learned back against his seat, tone full of mocking innocence. “But I'm deeply flattered, really, already thinking about my internal workings...hm?”

You can hear Starscream's wings bristling in annoyance. What does this lying piece of scrap think he is? Even here, far away from any bot who could possibly help him escape, tied up and held on a plate like a piece of a high grade energon, Sentinel still makes him seethe with rage. How infuriating.

“I still recommend going back to my first suggestion,” the mech huffs, turning to look at you by his side.

You briefly look at Starscream, only nodding your helm in a silent reply to his words. As much as ripping the traitor's spark sounds alluring, it would be a mistake done in a fit of rage without thinking about the further consequences.

“The quintessons are still thinking he's the new Prime,” you whisper softly to your commander, just enough for Sentinel not to hear about what you two were talking about. “We can use him.”

Letting the «Prime» find out that he's still needed, despite everything he has done, would be too much of an honor. After all, you're not planning to let him forget about his wrongdoings here, even for a single second.

Starscream's optical ridges furrowed, but instead of another hissy remark, he lets out another soft scoff. Of course. That bastard had to plan everything down to the smallest detail. Putting him off the picture too early would make everything collapse like a house built of cards.

“Might as well just give him his first lesson.”

“If only that shuts that annoying, loud mouth of his.”

The quiet conversation between the two members of the high guard didn't go unnoticed by Sentinel. He knew it was about him. The question is, what exactly were you planning to do? If you really desired his death that much, he would have been offline a long time ago.

No.

You want something more from him than a few simple answers to your questions, aren't you?

“You're not very subtle, lovebirds, come on,” Sentinel studied both of you, with optics focused on one bot, then the other. “Share your thoughts with me.”

You step closer to the control panel, tapping a few green buttons on the screen, until the energon bars disappear with a one lust buzz.

First to approach Sentinel, you lock your optics with him. Now, closer than ever, he feels so smaller next to you. Hands tightly tied behind his back, it keeps a little to no ways for him to move.

You never felt such a deep frustration towards the Primes' advisor like your partner did. But it would be a lie if you said you haven't thought of this mech underneath you, shaking and writhing, in pleasure, pain, or both, perhaps.

A small, almost too hard to notice shiver runs down his spine when your servo gently rests on the side of his face. The tips of your digits run over his chin like a soft caress, and in any different circumstance, Sentinel would purr, melt under your touch like a cat in the hands of its owner. Until with a slight push of your other servo against on his chassis, you force him to fall on his back with a loud, painful thud.

Sentinel grunts from the impact, and the pain immediately shoots through his processor, making his optics flicker a few times, as he tried to get rid of the stars, twinkling in his sight. The smirk on his faceplate, now gone a long time ago, changed to a pout.

“Sweetspark, don't tell me you're too,” he groans, servos twitching behind his back to somehow push himself off the cold floor, but you cut off his attempt with your foot on his midsection. “Aghh—, I thought...we had something special, remember?”

As Sentinel mentally curses in his mind, with a ‘did they really have to push me that hard?’ to ‘by the Allspark, they can pack quite a punch’. He barely notices you looking over at Starscream, pointing at something, which only receives a grumble in response.

“I still can't believe you convinced me into this,” Starscream lowers his voice, muttering in a mild irritation, and yet, he complies without any further protest.

There's a tiny, pleased smirk on your faceplate, your red-and-white birdie might grumble, acting like he's totally not interested in humiliating and punishing Sentinel for his crimes, but...wasn't it too obvious already, hmm?

You move on your knees next to Sentinel, reaching for his thighs to grip the smooth metal, only to nudge the poor «Prime» on his side. Sentinel only mewls, but without any other choice, lets himself because tossed around like a doll in your hands.

“Don't even think of enjoying this, you useless waste of metal,” Starscream shoots Sentinel a warning glare, as he mirrors your own movement, now his thighs on each side of the other mech's helm.

With a soft humm of agreement, you gently glide your servo over Sentinel's waist, before trailing lower, to take a hold of his knee and raise his leg up, just to press your hips against Sentinel's own.

Sentinel's optics slightly dimmed in anticipation. His spark throbs in between the fear for his own well-being and disgust. Pathetic, unbelievable, and wrong. He's going to rule over Iacon, become a new Prime, and he's reduced to like some cheap Primus knows who?

Another shiver makes him buck his hips against yours without even noticing it, his own body betraying his thoughts. It was not intentional, was it? After the countless private meetings you had, it's no surprise that he unconsciously reacted to it like he used to. Even though the circumstances are far from how it was in the past.

And with how your touch is significantly gentler than Starscream's...how could he deny it?

No tiny gasp or shudder escapes your optics, and a short moment later, you continue, grinding your panel against his own. With each, agonizing slow movement, the cold metal now feels warmer, hotter to touch. Sentinel's optics are now fully focused on you, or better to say, where your frame connected with his own.

You wonder, what was he thinking right now, looking at you like that? Want you to stop him? Gentler?

“Harder,” he growls demandingly, the soft clicks of stasis cuffs faintly heard in the background, as he tried to loosen them up, or break, if lucky.

It wasn't enough, not nearly enough to satisfy him like he needs it right now. This slow pace you set up for him is nothing but a joke, and he's not sure, if you're doing it on purpose or just that slow by your own nature.

You give Sentinel an amused look. Demanding? Now? Did you damage his processor with that little push you gave him, but knowing how Sentinel is, are you really that surprised?

No, no, if he wants something, he should ask it. Nicely.

“Greedy and impatient is no quality of a real Prime, Sentinel,” you purr, moving your hips back and forth, until you tug on Sentinel's leg, to roughly pull him closer.

Sentinel lets out a sharp gasp, the heat of his own frame is now meeting yours, this does nothing to calm the raising of his spark. A hot puff of air escapes his mouth in frustration.

“Have a little mercy, c—can you?” he says through gritted teeth. Half of him wants to plead, to beg, so this torture will finally stop, but the other, prideful and oh so high of himself part refuses to bow.

Just not so long ago, he was the one to use you however he wants, on his knees in front of him, working over his spike in cute attempts to please him. How did he allow this?

“Enough,” Starscream grabs the side of Sentinel's face, a few digits roughly pushing inside the mech's mouth, forcing it open. Finally, no more cocky and annoying remarks.

The high guard slips deeper, and he can feel a cold drool coating his fingers. The feeling almost makes Starscream groan in disgust, a small frown on his face.

“Fragging freak,” his servo twitch in a suppressed need to either slap Sentinel so hard, or push his servo down his throat and rip this tongue off in addition to his voice box this instant.

You wouldn't be surprised if a part of Sentinel enjoyed it. Have you seen this Airachnid bot constantly lurking behind his back? F-r-e-a-k.

Admiring the sight, you let your servo run over the inside of his thigh. Sentinel flinches in response, his processor is practically overloaded with constant sensations coming from different parts of his body. Every time you decide to tease him, making his thighs rub in a desperate attempt to relieve himself, Starscream just has to roughly pull him out of it.

“mfff...!”

Sentinel moans around Starscream's fingers, optics rolling into the back of his helm, and it takes all of his strength not to whine and cry out for more. His interface panel finally opens up, and the cold, almost freezing air of the cell makes his spike twitch from sensitivity.

“Tsk, tsk, have no shame at all, Sentinel?” you playfully taunt him, with a fake sweetness.

You give Sentinel's thigh a light slap, and the mech winces under the roughness of the touch. It feels good, too good for his liking, his need for overload makes his thoughts blurr into one.

“Primus! Please—” he gasps, voice muffled, and still, he looks at you, pleading, no, begging to continue.

The ache between his thighs is unbearable, how can he focus on anything but it? The way you lazily rub your thumb over the head of his spike makes his legs quiver. If you hadn't been holding him still, he'd already be all around your waist, just to make sure you won't leave him hanging on the edge.

A hint of jealousy sparks in Starscream optics, first Sentinel keeps being demanding glitch, despite it, clearly a punishment, you're a little too soft on the prisoner, or he thought so.

Without any warning, Starscream grips the back of Sentinel's head, only to force the advisor's faceplate against his interface panel. The abrupt movement makes Sentinel let out a soft huff in displeasure, his neck already straining from the position.

“Bite and I will snap your neck” Starscream hisses as soon as he notices the look of defiance in Sentinel's half lidded optics. To which, he nods.

Sentinel can feel the tip of the guard's spike pressing against his lower lip, Starscream's fingers now replaced with a hardening length. Sentinel has to bite back his pride, the act already heavily hitting his confidence, always so in control and now at the mercy of you.

But you can't just simply let him rest, can you? Not when you shamelessly toy with his spike, spreading transfluid with your index finger, making sure to move right against the spot that makes him push against your servo.

Maybe if you just hold your servo right here, without even moving, he'd fuck himself into it, just anything would be enough to soothe this needy feeling— until you thrust your fingers inside him. Slowly, but deeply at first, a slick coating your digits and slowly dripping down your servo..

Sentinel's valve flutters around you, the soft walls already squeezing at the smallest intrusion. His hips stuttering, the tiny bits of restraint are practically gone now, it's overwhelming. It's for the best that he can't talk anymore, with Starscream using the mech's throat as a personal fuck-toy.

The advisor's own golden-like wings twitched in quick response, with each brush of your fingers against the sensitive nub inside him. Sentinel jolts in ecstasy, arching his back. How unfair, how it's so, so unfair— if only he had his servos free, uncuffed and free to move, he would have grabbed your wrist to do the job himself, but no, you just have to make him work for it!

As Sentinel tirelessly worked himself to his own release, practically feeling it on the tip of his tongue, or it was rather, something else You slightly lean forward, towards Starscream, for a kiss, to which he gladly replies to, by locking lips.

Sentinel feels like a third wheel in this trio, but no complaints escape him, perhaps for now. Watching the two of you, so obviously forgetting about him and in your own world...when he's all squirming and writhing underneath you. It's no help for him at all, that none of you seem to stop, despite finding each other more interesting than the other mech in need.

He can feel his spike throbbing almost painfully, a puddle of his own transfluid staining the sleek metal of his thighs. Sentinel can almost feel it, optics crossing and almost seeing the stars...until a strangled cry escapes from him, instead of a sigh of relief.

You pulled your fingers out of his valve a mere seconds before he had a chance to reach his overload. His hips thrust forward in a feeble attempt to meet your touch once again, to push him over the edge and let him satisfy his need, but nothing comes to rescue from his own desire.

He would cry, whine, and whimper for more, if only that would somehow make you take mercy on him. His wings slumping down in defeat, and that little look in your optics gives him no hopes at all..! Oh, Primus, how long is the night on Cybertron?

#sentinel prime x reader #starscream x reader #transformers x reader #transformers one x reader #tfo sentinel prime #tfo starscream

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bitter-me · 9 months ago

Note

Hello,I am have been reading your work for quite sometime :), I really am loving them so far 😭💗 .I saw that your requests were open, so may I be able to ask for Dazai or Fyodor with male reader who are like Sunday from HSR, and could be in a enemies to lovers type relationship :D, the plot can be upto you :>

A Seraphim or..

Osamu Dazai | M. Reader as Sunday [Honkai Star Rail]

----------

"Who are you..? An Angel.."

----------

The Charmony Festival.

A once-in-an-era event held in the Country of Festivities, Penacony.

Members of the five great families, which together make up "The Family" on Penacony. As well as staff members of the Reverie, are united in welcoming the world to their home.

The Oak Family.

The Alfalfa Family.

The Bloodhound Family.

The Iris Family.

The Nightingale Family.

All important figures in Penacony.

But one stood out the most...

The man with a halo and wings. [Name].

The leader of the Oak Family. The organizer of the Charmony Festival and a representative of The Family of Penacony. The most important figure amongst them and the one holding the most power.

Who wouldn't be interested in a man like him?

With a charming smile and a soft voice, paired with his unique appearance... he's like an Angel.. no..

A Seraphim.

----------

The first time he laid eyes on him was at the Golden Hour. The moment he saw the man himself he thought he saw the heavens itself.

A Seraphim.

He thought.

But upon further observation... Dazai soon found a different answer..

His vibe seems a little.. sinister..

His smile barely even reaches his eyes.

His voice is soft and yet his tone is firm.

Either way, [Name] had caught his interest.

"Your radiant glow illuminates me! Your voice is as soft as an angel! I can't believe that I've met such an angelic being! Please make me the happiest man and kill me with these holy hands of yours."

What.

What did he just said.

What in Harmony's name did he just say?

[Name] can't help but chuckle as he pulls his hand away from Dazai's hold. What was that? A proposal?

"Aha.. you're quite funny, Mr. Dazai.. but I believe you've drank too many SoulGlad." He replied, trying to keep it casual and professional.

This man, this suicidal prick..

He's all talk and flattery. It never fails to get under his skin with how buddy-buddy he is. They're only acquainted and yet this bandaged man acts as if they're old friends. Does he even know who he's speaking to? He's [Name]! Leader of the Oak Family! The very mention of his name could silence a whole room and this man dared do such things to him!

"Now now~ I only drank a few~" Dazai reassured with a smile on his face. "Don't you want to go back home to heaven with me~?"

"I believe you'll be sending me down to the fiery pit instead of going up."

"Ouch! How cruel! Then how about we go to your manor?"

"Don't make me turn you down twice."

This.. man child.. what does his agency even see in him..

----------

"Oh, Triple-Faced Soul, please sear his tongue and palm with a hot iron, so he will not be able to fabricate lies and make false vows."

"...What have you done?"

"Under the light of the Harmony, all wickedness is revealed. I implore THEM to shed THEIR light, and I'll ask you questions on THEIR behalf. Next... you have 113 seconds to prove your innocence and gain my trust."

"And if I refuse to answer?"

"You can try — and we'll see if the Harmony rejects you."

It had finally led to this.

Both of them had taken off their masks. Revealing the true wickedness underneath. The suicidal maniac and the so-called leader of the Family.

Oh how he hated that man.

Acting like a child who believes he could get away with everything. It's time where [Name] to put his foot down and stand his ground. This entitlement will not go unnoticed by him and with THEIR radiant light.. he will find the truth..

And judge him as the Harmony see fit.

"Question: Do you have an ability?"

"Yes."

"What a simple answer. You, too, understand that idle chatter leads only to poverty."

"Did you neutralize your ability when you entered Penacony?"

"No. My ability nullifies others."

He already figured that out.. which is why he's holding this "trial" with THEM. For the power of the Aeon is far more powerful than any ability in the world. "Does the page of the Book you handed over to The Family belong to the agency?"

Honestly, he never would have thought the Armed Detective Agency would use such an item to bargain their way into Penacony. Something as powerful as the Book. A page of the Book.

It's a given why he allowed them to enter the dreamscape when they bargained such an item.

"Yes."

"Is the Page of the Book in this room right now?"

"Yes."

"Is your memory free from any kind of tampering or deletion, encompassing but not restricted to the techniques of the Garden of Recollection?"

"Yes."

"Are you a former executive from Port Mafia?"

[Name] continues to ruthlessly question him without missing a beat. Dazai furrowed his eyebrows at the question. Something that doesn't make sense. How could [Name] know such things? "Yes. You even know about that?"

"Does your agency and the Port Mafia have any ability to read, tamper with, or manipulate one's own or another's mind?"

"No. Does it matter?"

"Do you love your family more than yourself?"

Okay where is he getting at here... the questions are getting more and more personal. "Yes."

"...Do you hate and wish to destroy this world with your own hands?" [Name]'s expression turned serious as he narrowed his eyes, his perpetual smile seemed to widen slightly. "...I don't know."

"Interesting. Now, the final question..." [Name] breath out, putting his hands behind his back. "Can you swear that at this very moment, the page of the Book is safe and sound in this box?"

Dazai seems to hesitate a little, thinking of a way to get around this. He always has a plan after all. "...Of course."

[Name] hums as his smile turns a little more sincere. "Looks like we can get an answer."

"Open it, Mr. Dazai... It's your last chance to defend your honor."

"Aren't you happy, Mr. Dazai? You'll finally get your wish in seventeen system hours, the end that you desire so much. Off you go, Mr. Dazai. You are free. I will wait here for your good news."

"Maybe one day.. no.."

"In another universe..."

"I can learn how to love you too.."

#seme male reader #top male reader #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x male reader #bsd #bsd x reader #bsd x male reader #bsd dazai #dazai osamu #dazai x reader #dazai x male reader #x male reader #x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr sunday

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bandgie · 1 year ago

Text

Hate You So

prince!bangchan x fem!reader

MDNI 18+, fantasy au, enemies-to-lovers (kinda), oral (f!), cum swapping, brief overstim (f!), biting, brief thigh humping

ask here! notes: I am not taking requests, however, I am interested in this one with my own version ofc

3.2k words

There is never a dull moment with Prince Chan. His words are belittling, his eyes are full of scorn when he looks at you in all his ruthless beauty. Sometimes you wish you could ignore his piercing gaze, but he bores his eyes into the back of your head so harshly you feel it burning.

Even without his hatred, it would be hard to turn away from him. With full lips, plump cheeks, and strong nose, it really is hard to think of him as anything below attractive. Still, you know better than to approach him unless you wish to cry yourself to sleep that night.

A masked ball is the perfect opportunity for you to slip away. Pretend to be someone you're not, or perhaps it's to show your true self behind a false face. Not that it matters. A night like this allows you to put the puzzling hatred the prince has for you far behind your mind.

Drink after drink, spin after spin and you find yourself in the arms of the Viscount Felix. You can tell it's him from the way he adorns himself in jewelry, his hair the color of the sun itself. His deep blue robe stitched with silver treading in layers. It must be difficult to dance in heavy clothes, but he twirls you in his arms easily.

"Ah, isn't it the beautiful Duchess," he regards you with a sly smirk. His eyes peek out from his silver mask underneath.

You narrow your eyes, though you doubt he can see much of your facial expressions from your black mask. "How did you know?" To this, Felix's smirk widens to a smile. "Even behind such a clever guise, your charm seeps through the fabric."

You mock the sound of laughter. "Is this a trick of flattery to get my hand in marriage? To help you rise higher than a Viscount?"

Felix's eyes gleam with mischief. "You think too highly of yourself, dear Duchess. I simply wish to lay in your bed."

Now you laugh. Your voice is swallowed from the sounds of heels clicking on the ground and loud chatter. The two of you dance steadily despite the liquor running in your veins. Felix is careful not to spin you too fast or dip you too low. He may speak vulgar, but he is every bit gentleman in every other way.

"I think I'd like that very much, if I'm to be truthful," you say once you're swaying evenly in his hold. "I can't recall the last time I've been properly loved." Felix makes a sound of understanding, eyes darting to the people around you.

It's improper of you to speak in such a way. You are of high status, and talking like this not only in public, but to someone of lower ranking is foolish. Still, it's this potty mouth that gives you and Felix such a close bond. The fact that you can speak freely without judgment.

Chris does not share your sentiment.

He can hear your crass words from where he dances with his own partner. It sickens him to know that you openly express lustful desires, but it disturbs him even more that he finds himself jealous.

His partner is speaking, but he doesn't pay attention to any words she says. He strains his ears to eavesdrop on the conversation with you and the brightly hair-colored Viscount.

"Is that so?" Chris hears the deep voice of the man dancing with you. "Sounds like that is quite the problem. Has no one caught your eye? Do you think no one is worthy of seeing your wholeness?"

You react as if you tire of your dancing partner, rolling your eyes. "Don't be so dramatic. The person I have my eye on would rather see me burn, that's all." The smile on your lips falter. Despite his better self, Chris wonders who would turn down such an opportunity to spend a night with you. What a foolish man.

"And pry tell, who is this person?" Felix speaks as though he read Chris's mind.

"The Prince."

Ah, that makes sense. Chris can't count the amount of times he's upset you, the times he's spewed swears cruel enough to make your eyes water. He brushed it off as you being too sensitive, too emotional. But he knows deep down, it's so he doesn't get close to you.

Felix's eyes widen and his jaw drops. He looks at you with alarm, and some fear, then he hisses under his breath. "I am not one to tell you what to do and how to speak, but I highly suggest you refrain from speaking ill about the royal blood in their own castle."

He has a point, it's treason to speak how you are now. But the alcohol makes not only your thoughts, but your words careless. "So then tell me, what do you suggest? I tire of my lonely state. I think I'm up for any suggestions you have."

Before Felix answers, his eyes dance around the room one last time to spot any itching ears. Chris, despite being a prince, turns his head to finally acknowledge his partner and try to pick up on the conversation. Once Felix determines there are no listeners, he says, "Perhaps you should lure the prince into your sheets. You say you want love, but I argue hate is a much more fun way to spend the night."

A wicked smile finds its way to Felix's lips that you can't help but match. "Now look who's speaking ill" you say. "Plus, that's a terrible idea. I will regret it in the morning."

To this, Felix shrugs. "Then let him make sweet hate to you past sunrise."

☘︎☘︎☘︎☘︎

Chris should know his luck is thin. Only the universe would have him push you away so much so only for you to want him with the same intensity. It mocks him even now as you stand outside of his chambers when he wanted to get away from you as far as possible.

"Did you follow me here?" He questions you with authority. You swoop into a deep curtsy and bow your head, "Yes, your majesty."

You don't have to look up to know he's sneering at you, lips pulled back into a snarl. Felix, along with the bitter alcohol, gave you too much confidence. Sure you may not be of low status, but standing before a prince unnerves you.

Especially when you followed him with intentions.

"If you want me to ask why, you will be disappointed. Leave me." Chris looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to take those steps back. You never do, however, but instead pick your head up and stride deeper into his room, shutting the door.

His eyebrows furrow and a blush crawls its way up his neck. Chris tries to mask his surprise with anger. "Stupid wrench. Can you not listen to simple instructions?" His eyes that are filled with anger slowly dissipates when he sees you reel back at his words.

You fiddle with your hands nervously and you suddenly feel as though you cannot do this at all. How are you, a duchess, supposed to ensnare a prince who hates you so? Doubt clogs your mind, but you are already here. It would be far too shameful to turn away without even trying.

"Why do you hate me so?" That's not what you were supposed to say. You were supposed to sound flirtatious, experienced. Instead, you're meek and quiet. For a moment you doubt the prince even heard you, but the disheartened look in his eyes says otherwise.

He sighs, running his jeweled fingers in his brown hair. A prince is to never be vulnerable, to show weakness in fear of exploitation. In the presence of your teary eyes, however, none of that seems to matter.

Chris takes a deep breath, "I hate you for many things."

Your jaw drops. You're not sure what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. A foolish part of you thought maybe it was a misunderstanding, but there's no time to reply when the prince carries on.

"I hate that I think about you every hour of everyday. I hate that you live freely while I have to act accordingly." He takes a step to you. "I hate how you look at me with those hidden eyes. I hate it even more that I know it's you underneath that plain mask." Chris is close enough to reach for your face and he does just that. Gentle fingers undo the knot that keeps your mask on and he lets it fall to the ground.

"I hate that I know your voice, that I ache to hear it. I hate that I know in which way you walk, should you be in my castle." His fingertips ghost over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "I hate that I dream of you and I hate when I wake from those dreams."

Chris traces the outline of your lips, watching how your tongue darts out to taste his fingers. He shudders.

"Worst of all," he leans close to your face, a kiss away from you. "I hate that it's only for one night that I will be yours."

You don't kiss him back at first. You can't even register his plush lips on yours. How they move steadily, sickly sweet. The prince tastes faintly of alcohol, but not enough to overpower his kiss. You come back to when his hands find your waist, pressing you closer to his warm body.

A part of you thinks maybe this is a test. That when you begin moving your mouth with his, he'd pull away and laugh. Chris doesn't do that though and instead groans against your lips when you finally reciprocate.

Shaky hands find their way to his styled hair, tugging on his curls to bring him closer. It doesn't take long before you're both chest to chest, one of his legs between yours as you stand, and breathing into each other's mouths. His kiss is bruising, filled with the overwhelming desire he claims to hate.

Chris nips on your lower lip, pulling it back harshly to hear you whimper. Then he kisses you again, messily sliding his tongue against yours. His lips travel down your cheek, your jawline, to your neck. You shiver at his warm tongue tasting your skin, hips rocking on his thigh.

The grip on your waist only tightens to keep pressure on you grinding on him. You feel him smile against your throat. "Humping me like a little bunny, aren't you?" He lifts his head to whisper in your ear, biting your earlobe. "Is my leg enough to satiate your lust?"

You shake your head, "N-no. It's not, my prince." Chris rewards your honesty by moving his hands from your waist. He lifts the many layers of your dress in bunches, holding them above your hips. You take the hint and grasp them in your own fingers, watching him descend lower...

...and lower... ...and lower...

The prince kneels before you, facing your core. You gasp, and despite dreaming about this with your hand underneath your nightgown, it's still an unbelievable sight. No royal blood is to kneel before another, let alone you of lower ranking.

"Prince Christopher!" You sound slightly panicked. "You mustn't! To kneel before...not even that! You must have drunken one too many glasses. I shouldn't have-"

You cut yourself off with a yelp. You feel Chris's teeth dig into the soft flesh of your thighs. He does it hard enough to see his teeth imprints when he pulls back. "You think of me drunk," he says it with accusation. "But how could I be drunk off wine when I could be drunk off this instead?"

Though you can't see him from the frills of the many layers of your dress, it helps ease your nerves when he hooks his finger under your panties. Your hips jolt when the cold air hits your bare cunt, but his warm breath quickly replaces it.

Chris trails kisses just next to your core, his hands planted on each thigh. His fingers makes shapeless figures, dancing closer to where you throb just before pulling away. It's bearable it first, his teasing. But then you start to feel yourself dripping, arousal seeping from your folds. His lips ghost over your clit, moving to the next thigh.

You tremble, trying to move your hips so his mouth catches your pussy. You're met with a chuckle, deep and quiet. It makes you more impatient, whining. "My prince please. I cannot bear it."

The prince pulls away from you completely, leaning back to look up at you. He looks silly beneath where you stand. His mouth red and curls messy from your earlier tugging, but his wet lips are frowning. "Are you, a duchess, telling me, a prince, what to do?"

Shit, you got too comfortable. "Of course not," your voice wavers. From fear or lust, you're not sure. "I didn't mean to offend you, I just-"

"You're quite the nervous talker, aren't you?" Chris's once pouting lips turn into a smirk. His observation makes you blush, though you're sure your face was already a deep shade of red since the beginning.

He smiles at your reaction, teeth gleaming in the candlelit room. "No need to fret, pretty duchess. I told you that tonight I am yours. If my mouth on you is what you desire, then so be it."

You watch as Chris dives forward to the empty space between your legs. His tongue darts out to taste you directly, going under your lower lips to collect your arousal. The warmth from his mouth makes you squeal, but his hands move to the back of your thighs to keep you in place.

It's hot, wet, and a little rough when he licks you. He trails his tongue upwards to rub soft circles on your nub before dipping back down. Chris moves his hands higher until they're under your hiked dress, gripping your arse. His fingers kneed into your soft flesh, forcing you deeper into his mouth.

There's a guttural moan that leaves him, sending waves through your cunt. Chris opts to suck on your flesh, pulling it only to let it go with a wet 'pop!' The sensation makes you shiver, legs buckling for a second before you regain your composure.

"This is..." the prince trails off. He buries his nose on your clit, sticking his tongue out to prod at your entrance. There's no doubt that the evidence of your shame is dripping from his chin, but he acts as though he doesn't mind. He hardly cares how your legs squeeze and how the hair on your pelvis tickles his face when he painfully pushes his face deeper into you.

This is divine.

You want nothing more than to grind on his face, hump on his tongue like the bunny he said you are. But your legs shake so much, your knees lock so often you see your vision go black for seconds. Finishing on the prince's face is something you could have only dreamt of. Yet here he is, seeming to eagerly coax a release from you. Surely he must be flushed himself, straining painfully in his trousers.

"P-Prince Christopher I- oh~ I'm so close. Do you want me to...should I..."

It's difficult to finish your sentence when you're so close to finishing in his warm mouth. You want to taste him how he's doing to you, you want to feel how his length would stretch you out. He must feel the same way, he has to.

But he only shakes his head with your pussy still in his mouth. "You should cum," he says breathlessly. "Let me taste this, drink you in. I've never had a cunt as pretty as yours."

Hot kisses rapidly peck on your clit. The prince spits messily on your already wet core, but he quickly spreads it all over your lips. Chris moves you up and down by your ass, encouraging you to ride his face. The idea of hesitating and passing the opportunity is behind you. You feel as though you might crush his head with the force of your legs, but he takes it all.

It makes sense why you're moaning, writhing under the tongue of the prince. But it makes you wonder why he's so loud himself. Groaning at your taste and whining when your hips shy away from his relentless mouth. You can hear him mumble mostly to himself. Mindlessly babbling soft words of praises.

"So good." "Pretty pussy." "Fuck. Ride my tongue, just like that."

Maybe he's trying to help get you to your high, but it makes you distantly wonder, nonetheless.

You whimper at the feeling of pleasure building in your stomach. It bundles and quivers until you drop the hem of your dress to reach down and grip Chris by the hair. He ignores how the layers surround him like blankets. You feel him gasp against your pussy when you slide your cunt up and down his face.

"S-sorry," you apologize pathetically. "Close. Wanna cum- fuck! wanna cum. Please forgive me." You mewl more apologies before vibrating with pleasure. Chris can't protest as you finish on his tongue, and he seems to rather like it with the way his blunt fingernails stab into the skin of your bottom.

You keep him there on your cunt as your body trembles with aftershocks from your orgasm. The prince obediently licks you throughout it all, collection your cream before loudly gulping it down. Your shaky hands finally release him from your grip, but Chris is persistent on giving your quivering clit final kisses.

Even if you try to move your hips from his mouth, he keeps you in place. "Your majesty," you struggle to find your voice from how much you were moaning. "Please. It's so sensitive."

He licks a fat stripe along your pussy to hear you cry out one final time. "You ask for me to taste you. You practically beg for me to let you finish on my tongue and when I do, you tell me to stop. Tell me, duchess, what is it that you want from me exactly?"

It's a simple question that has a simple answer, yet, saying it would bring complicated issues you know neither of you are able to face.

You. The word is on the tip of your tongue, but you settle for saying, "T-to please you, if you'll have me." It's close enough to what you actually want.

Chris finally brings himself to his feet, reaching for your fallen mask on his way up. He hands you the fabric, but you're so distracted with his face that you gasp.

He's soaked in your juices, his face glistens in the rising moonlight coming from his window. It's almost offensive to look at, reminding you of how you lost yourself so easily.

The prince only smiles at your words, your shocked expression. "Don't worry about my pleasure, pretty duchess." He leans in to kiss you, eyes fluttering closed upon impact. You can taste yourself on him, the bitter flavor settling on your tongue and invading your senses. It brings a new wave of desire, of an aching want.

"There," he gives you a dazzling smile when he pulls away. A string of saliva mixed with your arousal connect your lips. "Have a taste of yourself instead."

#smut #skz smut #skz #stray kids #stray kids smut #skz bangchan #skz bang chan #skz chris smut #skz chris #skz channie #skz chan smut #bangchan smut #bangchan x reader #bangchan fanfic #skz felix #stray kids bang chan

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hotheadedhero · 6 months ago

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Hello, could you create a headcanon for ROTTMNT about what it would be like to date Leo, Raph, Mikey, and Donnie (separately) and what the pros and cons of those relationships would be?

AN: Ooh~ Yes, I like this! It's not completely sunshine and rainbows, after all :0

Pros/Cons of Your Relationship

Rise Turtles x Reader

Raphael

Pros:

Considering the sheer size of this magnificent creature, the hugs and cuddles you get are beyond comparison. There's nothing quite like starting/ending your day by being wrapped up in those glorious green muscles.

Is deliberately gentle due to his immense strength and has a great amount of self-restraint in his physicality when interacting with you, even when he gets wildly excited. Such as any time you visit him in the lair and he barrels towards you. It seems like it'll be a harsh impact and then he stops at the last second to avoid knocking you over. Adorable.

Never have to worry about being in danger with him around. This big lug will make sure you're in safe hands no matter the location, no matter the time of day.

Raph is unabashedly tender and kind. He'll be hesitant to say anything hurtful towards you and as such is careful with his words, especially when it comes to criticisms.

Cons:

May get slightly overbearing with how protective he is. He isn't being inherently controlling and his heart is in the right place but you wish he wouldn't worry so much, as sweet as it is.

Need to be careful leaving him alone for too long given his risk for going into savage mode. Can come across as rather clingy because of this.

Much like certain disagreements he has with his brothers, he sometimes has a hard time admitting when he's wrong. However, it's never usually about anything too serious but it can cause it's strains.

Leonardo

Pros:

Always knows how to make you laugh and tries his best to do such when you're feeling down. Some of his jokes are admittedly pretty terrible but you can't deny the fact that even the bad ones coax a smile out of you.

Enjoys spontaneity. Even if you're the type of person that struggles with getting out there or knowing what to do for the day, Leo always has something under his sleeve. Just call him the master of fun.

Whilst he's a jovial character, that doesn't mean he can't have his more serious moments, nor is he always completely blind-sighted to things if they seem too good to be true. Sure, he gets you two into shenanigans but he'll have your back if things seem awry.

Has also been shown to try to reconcile his mistakes and be sympathetic towards your plights, especially if he ends up being the cause of them. It may take him a moment or two to figure it out but he always finds a way to make right by you for his mistakes.

Cons:

Has an almost incessant need for attention and can come across as quite conceited. You find that he prioritises his own entertainment, so planning dates can often feel one-sided and uneven in mutual enjoyment.

Doesn't always know how to take things seriously, which can lead to your fair share of arguments.

Is known to be a compulsive liar and will engage in frequent fibbing when he worries about getting into trouble with you. With this, Leo can be disingenuous as it is not unusual for his charisma to take the form of false flattery just to get into someone’s good graces. Having become aware of this, it's sometimes difficult to take his compliments towards you as true.

Donatello

Pros:

Treats you like the absolute royalty you are. Being his loved one, he makes a point of giving the treatment he feels that you deserve. Whether that be programming S.H.E.L.D.O.N to give you special attention or hiding the last pizza box for you to share, he always makes you feel like number one.

Is always willing to help you out, no matter the issue. Donnie is a problem solver, at the end of the day, and will work on a solution to aid you. No job is too big or too small.

He is all about gestures of grandiose proportions, loving the dramatics as much as he himself is dramatic. His aptitude for being extravagant means that birthdays, Christmases, and anniversaries are often met with awe-inspiring displays of affection.

While he perceives himself as being emotionless, in reality, he is far from it. It isn't uncommon for him to become irritated, such as when he doesn't feel as though others listen to or appreciate his intelligence. That's why it means the world when he opens up to you about his transgressions.

Cons:

Unintentionally has a habit of being condescending or patronising towards you. You are aware that he is highly intelligent and that you won't always know the answer to something, but he needs to keep in mind that he isn't right about everything.

When he gets absorbed in his work, it's as though the entire world around him ceases to exist. This means that getting his attention can be difficult and often times you are left waiting until he's finished.

Despite his openness with you, your genuine adoration of his abilities isn't always met with gratitude. He longs for such praise but it carries more weight if it comes from respective elders. This unintentionally has you feeling irrelevant or that your opinion doesn't matter.

Michelangelo

Pros:

Makes killer meals for you. There doesn't have to be a special occasion for him to get passionately creative in the kitchen for you. He always goes all out to make sure your pallet is satisfied.

Best believe he encourages you to add some colour to your wardrobe and helps you pick out outfits. He's supportive of your choices and loves any excuse for a good fashion show.

He absolutely hates being dishonest to those he loves most and best believe that includes you. One might view it as a con but the fact that he dislikes lying means you never have to worry about him hiding something from you. It does make surprise birthday parties difficult to hide but you win some, you lose some.

Mikey is an intuitive family man and wants to keep you and everyone on good terms with one another. He acts as a brilliant mediator, keeping things fair and unbiased when assisting in such resolves.

Cons:

Sometimes he's a bit brash with conversations that involve telling you about particular problems. You appreciate the irony of 'Dr. Delicate Touch' but that persona is in dire need of a name change.

Being the youngest of his brothers, he may have certain complexes where doing tasks or upholding responsibilities are concerned. Even if it's obvious that something requires an extra pair of hands, he may refuse your help because of his need to prove himself.

Is easily frightened and often retreats into his shell instead of confronting the threat. This includes any challenges that may come from you, as well. You appreciate his fear of conflicts but he can't always hide away when something important needs to be discussed.

At the end of the day, no one is perfect. Far from it, in fact, but you take each other for what you are. As long as you're both happy and know how to have constructive conversations about glaring issues, there isn't anything to worry about <3

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ataraxiaspainting · 8 months ago

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Old Friend.

Yan Kenjaku x F Reader x Yan Geto.

Synopsis: The stranger looks all too familiar, aside from three peculiar mannerisms. How his fingers creep along the table’s edge. How his voice is too soft, too kind, and not at all cruel. How there are black stitches on his forehead.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, misogyny, use of the word monkey, and descriptions of past physical/mental abuse.

Word Count: 900.

*~*~*~*

Flattery comes out from Suguru’s mouth one sentence at a time, the words themselves soothing but the tone not so. After being dressed in clothes you picked out, after being presented with food you loved before captivity, you feel as though you were just revived… reborn. This feeling is foreign and isn’t let into your heart all at once, but little bit by little bit, because you know that Suguru’s gifts are often never superficial, but you also know how fast Suguru’s temper can spew once he has had enough of your antics.

On your knees, that demand is always accompanied by Suguru’s pointer finger facing down to the floor, monkey.

Somehow that collar consistently finds its way into Suguru’s right hand, even without one of his servants giving it to him.

But yet, here and now, you don’t feel the same ominous aura. It’s something darker. Something that for once isn’t directed at you, but the servants Suguru always treated well. So, would that make his aura lighter? You’re not sure. Similar to when it comes to Suguru’s moods and false smiles and truthful lies, you don’t know what to think.

“Master Geto?” You ask, looking past him to the balcony exit behind him. With all the candles put on the table, his face looks nearly fully illuminated, but the shadow covering his eyes is still there regardless.

“Yes, pet?” Suguru responds, his hands cupping his face as he looks at you.

“I…” You start, your thumbs caressing one another underneath the long white tablecloth. “Just wanted to thank you… that’s all.”

Suguru chuckles at that. No. Not a chuckle per se. Some sound unknown to you, or perhaps the identity of such was forgotten by you after so many years of being here kneeling at his feet on the floor like a trained mutt.

Speak.

I’m sorry, Master Geto.

Make it more desperate so I know you won’t make false vows unbefitting of my precious varmint. I’ll even help you. What happens when a dog attempts to hurt its owner?

“Don’t worry about it, [First] dear. You deserve a dinner such as this, for you deserve to celebrate too.” He has never said your name other than when he is displeased with you, so him doing such makes you wince. Suguru takes another sip of his sake, not paying much mind to your innate actions.

They get hit back, Master Geto.

Then what will happen to them next time, if they do it again?

Something will break.

“You look quite divine tonight,” He says, using his knife to split his remaining steak into quarters. He stabs one of the pieces with his fork and chews on it without making much noise.

“Uh…”

“Everything about you is quite beautiful… I can see you becoming my wife one day after all of this is over. That is, if you continue to be so cute and defenseless, it’s your place after all.”

What kind of thing? Speak up.

Anything. A bone… Something they like… Their spirit…

Correct… and what is that thing covering your hand?

“You’re not really eating, dearest… Is something the matter?” He asks. You find yourself questioning if Suguru's concern is genuine. After all, he has faked empathy towards you before, so this wouldn't be the first time.

“No, no… It’s good.” In order to avoid his anger, you proceed to fill your mouth with sake and sesame rice. This amuses him. Does he find your desperation endearing? That would be in character for him, now that you think about it.

A cast, Master Geto.

And what did you do to earn such a thing?

You… broke my hand, after I tried to use the pieces of that broken bedroom window to stab you.

“I’m happy you’re enjoying it.” He grins, leaning in closer. “I have an offer for you. How about we go outside for a walk after this? It has been quite some time since you have seen the full moon, hasn’t it?”

Finally, you can envision a vast expanse of twinkling stars right before your eyes. In the realm of dreams, they reside so near, immune to fading or descending. But you ponder if reality holds the same allure. It has been an eternity since you were last allowed to venture outdoors. Oh, how you yearn for a glimpse of the sky once more.

Tell me, do you think you earned such a thing?

…Yes.

Good. It seems you’re learning.

But the temptation stopped as fast as it came. Dread replaces it in an instant.

This man isn’t Suguru. You know that much for certain. With every hell he has put you through, you have come to know him and his mannerisms. Those mannerisms are nothing like this man. The thought scares you. Is this man a curse, the same kind Suguru uses against you after every escape attempt? Or is he just a normal man who is acting like him as a placeholder of some sort?

Where… is Suguru?

“...Why are there stitches on your forehead?”

#aya abstractions #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere jjk x reader #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #yandere geto #yandere geto x reader #yandere geto suguru #yandere suguru geto #geto x reader #yandere suguru #getou suguru x reader #yandere kenjaku #yandere kenjaku x reader #kenjaku x reader

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niqhtlord01 · 6 months ago

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Humans are weird: Better call the Human

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

The courtroom was silent as Overseer Mikab slowly scrolled through the petition brought before him. It was still early in the morning so the rest of the courtroom was empty save for a pair of Tenvalen’s who sat in the front row behind the litigate’s table. They had been the ones to capture and hand over the felon now on trial and waited eagerly for Mikab to sign the petition and hand over the felon to their custody for transport back to Tenvalen space.

To the front right of the overseer on the prosecution side were the litigate Ji, and opposite him was the captured felon Wei’ran still shackled to his chair. Ji was fiddling with the latches of his suitcase, indifferent to the situation. He was already thinking about what he would be doing with the payment the Tenvalen’s had fronted him to speed up the hearing. They wanted Wei’ran bad for crimes he had committed against the Tenvalen’s and had hunted him down across three sectors before cornering him. After a short chase through a crowded street they grabbed him and made him confess to his crimes.

“Does the defendant have anything to say before I make my decision?” Mikab asked as he finished scrolling through the request. Before Wei’ran could respond the doors to the chamber opened and a lone figure stepped inside.

“My apologies,” they said as they walked past the Tenvalen’s and stood next to Wei’ran, “I was delayed from representing my client.”

“Your client?’ Ji asked. “I was not aware they had even asked for legal counsel.”

“That is because for the last twenty four hours I have been denied access to my client.” The human retorted as they opened their briefcase and pulled out several papers.

“Honored Overseer, I would like to put forward a motion to deny extradition of my client to Tenvalen and request his immediate release.”

Ji scoffed at the unreasonable request while Overseer Mikab turned an inquisitive eye towards the human.

“On what grounds do you make such a request, litigate…..”

“Horris; Frank Horris honored Overseer.” The human replied when he realized he had not introduced himself yet. “And I would not waste your time unless my request was grounded in clear cut facts.”

Ji was about to speak when Mikab held up a hand to silence him. He was not one for flattery, but the show of respect towards his office was a refreshing change of pace and the Overseer nodded for Horris to continue.

“My client,” Horris began as he motioned to Wei’ran, “was illegally kidnapped, detained, and interrogated by two Tenvalen’s who then coerced my client to make false statements admitting guilt to save his own life.”

“Lies!” one of the Tenvalen’s shouted at Horris. He rose to his full height, an impressive seven feet tall, and looked down at the human as if they were nothing more than a smear across the underside of his boot.

“Silence.” The overseer replied calmly. The Tenvalen glared at the human a moment more before relenting and sitting back down.

“These are serious accusations Mr. Horris.” The overseer said as they clasped their fingers. Horris responded by separating several sheets of paper and handing them to an orderly waiting silently next to the overseer.

“As of this moment there are no extradition treaties between the Tenvalen’s and the Jenharie Republic, which means the two Tenvalen’s who hunted my client through the city streets were acting of their own free will in complete defiance of the law.”

“Counter point!” Ji demanded. “They were apprehending a wanted fugitive who was causing chaos in the city streets.” Pulling out a small device Ji activated it to show the chase of the Tenvalen’s as they rushed after Wei’ran. The security footage caught Wei’ran running away as fast as he could using everything and anything to block his pursuers.

“As you can see he was a danger to the general public that needed to be taken into custody.” Ji finished.

“If that were the case why did they not inform local law officials of their operation and work in conjunction?” Horris countered. “Furthermore, why did they not identify themselves as agents of the Tenvalen government and instead began chasing my client through the streets like madmen?”

The human turned to Mikab. “Dear Overseer, surely you can understand that if two large scary looking aliens began chasing after you without announcing themselves you too would seek to flee for your own safety.”

Mikab surprised Ji by giving a subtle nod in agreement. “I am inclined to agree with your assessment,” he began before cutting of Ji who was about to speak up, “I also would like to know why our local enforcers were not made aware of this detainment.”

“There was no time to inform local enforcers, overseer.” Ji spoke calmly. “Had they taken the time to inform them Wei’ran could have fled to another world and once more elude justice for his crimes.”

“So they felt that they were above Jenharie laws and could come and go as they please?” Horris countered. “My Overseer this does set a dangerous president for future cases if people can ignore your laws with such audacity and get away with it.”

He stood in front of the overseer and pointed at his client. “What happens when they come calling again and grab another person off the street? Or maybe two people? Or twenty? When do the laws you seek to uphold protect the innocent?”

“Innocent?” Ji laughed. “Wei’ran gave a full confession to his crimes in Tenvalen territory and signed them.”

To Ji’s surprise he saw the human nod in agreement rather than shake in embarrassment.

“Please tell me litigate, was there anyone else present in the room besides my client and the two Tenvalen’s who abducted him?”

“What does that matter?” Ji scoffed.

“It matters because my client was afraid for his life and the only guarantee of his continued survival was to agree with whatever his captors told him.”

Horris turned around and faced the two Tenvalen’s sitting behind Ji who had become increasingly flustered at the course the trial was taking. “He had been chased down, beaten, dragged into a room and questioned by two people he thought wanted him dead. He would have admitted to being the reincarnation of god even if it meant they would cease their torment.”

“Overseer-“ Ji spoke up but Mikab held up a hand.

“The human makes another good point. Was there anyone else present during this confession that can corroborate this confession?”

Ji’s mouth opened and closed as he tried to find a counter argument before relenting and admitting there was not. Horris shook his head at the admission.

“This only further highlight’s the mockery of Jenharie law as it is written in stature 441-74-5698FB that “During any interrogation of a witness or perceived criminal there be a minimum of two to three non-participating witnesses who can observe the questioning to ensure the lack of coercion”.”

“You know our laws?” the Overseer asked with a modicum of respect in his voice. “Not many offworlders take the time to learn them so thoroughly.”

“I do, my Overseer,” Horris nodded, “which is why their flagrant disregard to be so upsetting. For if offworlders like myself cease to respect these laws how can you claim to be the pinnacle of a just and fair society?”

Mikab said nothing as he looked at the human. He was impressed they had been able to so easily dismantle the case against his client after only just entering his courtroom. From the corner of his eye he could also see Ji fuming behind the ears as he wanted to no doubt curse out the human and demand the extradition be pushed through.

“What would you recommend instead?” Mikab asked Horris.

“I would never seek to impose over you, but since you have asked my opinion I would respectfully ask for a dismissal of not only the notion of extradition but also all charges that have been brought against my client here today.”

He waved a hand to Wei’ran as he still sat silently in his chair. “My client did cause a commotion which frightened several innocent people as he fled, so I find it would be more than fitting to sentence him to an extended period of community service to repay the debt he has incurred upon the people you protect.”

The two Tenvalen’s were now glaring daggers at Ji whom had assured them this case would be a speedy trial but now looked to be unfolding around them.

“I am inclined to agree.” Mikab admitted, much to the dismay of Ji. “I hereby state the evidence brought against Wei’ran has been corrupted and is no longer admissible in my court. Extradition request is denied and I sentence the defendant to serve a period of seven rotations of community service.”

With a bang of a loud gong the court session came to an end. The Tenvalen’s rose to their feet and looked as if they were to pluck Wei’ran and run when the orderly stepped between them and unholstered his electro-maul. They were sure they could easily overpower the orderly, but more would come and the pair would be trapped inside the court building. They instead chose to leave and report their situation up the chain and look for a more diplomatic solution.

When finally it was just Wei’ran and Horris Wei’ran spoke.

“I didn’t request a litigate.” He said softly. He eyed up the human who was replacing the papers back into his suitcase. “I didn’t even get a phone call after they nabbed me.”

“No, but you have some important friends that like to keep an eye on you.” Horris admitted, locking up his briefcase with a loud click. “When they saw you taken they gave me a call and told me to get you out of trouble.”

“You call this getting me out of trouble?” Wei’ran laughed. “Seven rotations of community service?”

“It beats being locked in a Tenvalen maximum security lockup, guarding your holes every time you drop the soap in the shower.”

Wei’ran paused at this and said nothing. “The trick is not to admit you are free of guilt; just not the guilt you are being accused of. You muddy up those waters enough and before you know it you’ll be swimming to freedom again in no time.”

#humans are weird #humans are insane #humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #scifi #story #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01

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searchingforserendipity25 · 12 days ago

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universal constants.

spoilers for star trek lower decks.

'but you love arguing, darling.'

'i do not!'

'indeed you do. about books, of course, and experimental xenobiology theories. although i do think your proposed treatment plan for the vulcan sexual fever really is too experimental - '

julian spluttered. 'that's not arguing! that's - that's chatting, conversing. you know, establishing a lively debate, a repartee, in a context unrelated to, oh, i don't moving across the multiverse for the foreseeable future -'

'you can hardly blame me for enjoying myself. cardassians flirt by arguing, as you may know.'

'there is a time and place for flirting, garak!'

'naturally, naturally. but there is an extreme circunstance you are failing to consider.'

julian lifted his chin, arms crossed in the way that never failed to make garak's blood warm.

'which is?'

he smiled, sly and slow, in the way that never failed to make julian lean closer to catch his eyes.

'you are wonderful to aggravate, my love.'

flaring nostrils, and a mouth that nearly managed to stifle its expression.

'flattery will get you nowhere.'

'historically false. if i may say so.'

'you may not. and i know what you are doing, the way.'

lifted hands, an universal gesture in every universe: an offer, an humble request. 'would you enlighten a poor fool?'

julian stepped around him. closer, closer, until he warmed the air around him.

garak's scales shivered with the most welcome static. every time it was a sensation like no other. reality insisted on his husband's existence: pressure, warmth, and a pulsing energy that was his own only.

such a light in his eyes! no one could doubt the truth of him, beneath that arch glance. light turned into matter making itself stubborn and kind and aggravating all the time, with a will like no other, and garak could not credit his fortune, sometimes, he really couldn't.

'i may not be made of carbon, elim garak,' julian reminded him, rather smugly. 'but i can feel the physical alterations, shall we say. such an acceleration of muscles and blood flow! terribly wound up with all this battle rush and shameless teasing, aren't we? it is very flattering; but this cardassian's husband argues by arguing, on occasion. take that into consideration, dr. garak.

'duly noted, dr. bashir,' garak said, tilting his head diffidently. 'however can i make it up to you?'

garak was a surgeon, and not just a surgeon. he was happily married, for one. not many of his fellow elim garak's could claim such a privilege, in their dealings with julian bashir.

any universe, as long as they were together. as long as he could see this happen again and again, the moment julian's eyes crinkled for him.

the thrumming in his bones where julian leaned his weight on him, a real weight, the realest thing in all the worlds.

'you can argue with me a little more, a little better,' his husband said. sly, and slow, fingers pressing lightly on his back, careful of his bad shoulder. 'for a start'.

#garashir #elim garak #julian bashir #lower decks spoilers #if there are any inconsistencies the fault is fully mine #midnight posting but the day demanded a celebration and a tiny tribute!!#my fics #star trek lower decks #julian bashir x elim garak

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handweavers · 1 month ago

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several instances in the last year or so where i have been forced to reckon with the fact that in some ways i am still rather naive and trusting much like a dog, in a way that is a bit humiliating. i do not expect others to have bad or selfish intentions because i do not have those intentions, and am often hoodwinked by false kindness and flattery, and unwilling to admit when someone is a worse person than i thought. if you are kind to me i assume it is because you are kind and not that you want something from me; i assume sincerity in others because i do not know how to be anything but sincere. i hold onto the idea that someone is salvageable far longer than others do, even privately, to the point where it would be embarrassing to admit it. i am sentimental past any sense or reason. people will speak terribly of me behind my back and lie about me and i will still think well of them; i try to be angry and wear the anger wrong like an ill fitting coat. someone mistreated me and i am upset by the circumstances in their life that made them believe they had to do that; i am upset they did not choose differently. my cousins who are the only siblings i will ever have pat my head and say things like oh honey and i tell them i did see it coming but i wanted very much to believe in their capacity to make better decisions, and am deeply saddened when they prove my instincts right. i know when someone is not good for me but i see who they could be if they chose to be honest with themselves. i think a lot of people are content to lie to themselves constantly and they become so used to it they don't know how to do anything else. i lie to myself too from time and time and it never lasts very long because i can't bear it. people will make themselves sick trying to find ways to believe their own lies and implode their lives in the process. i have watched my own father do it and i know the signs and symptoms. it's difficult to watch because you know things would be different if they could just face the truth but they are too afraid. when someone doesn't know who they are and they want you to be the one to tell them but that's not how anything works. but people do not react well to being told these things

#i cant tell you who you are and i cant make you tell the truth. but i hope you figure it out all the same #i would be devastated if you didnt

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tadpolesonalgae · 1 year ago

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Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 6

Pairing: Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

A/N: Are things really getting better?

Warnings: honestly I don’t think this one’s that bad—comparatively, nodding instead of communicating, progression that I was not emotionally prepared for.

Word Count: 5,528

-Part 5- -Part 7-

“You could move in with me.”

Golden eyes meet your own, shining with sincerity. Maybe that’s the sunset.

Lips quirk, attention returning to the Sidra. Marking the small diamonds of teal and turquoise that gleam between the multitude of reds and yellows. A beautiful rainbow of colours. “Funny, Bas.”

“I’m serious,” he says, eyes weighing on your cheek. “You could help out, if you’re worried about being a burden. You’ve got the brains for it—it’d barely take any effort.”

You shake your head, firmly dismissing the idea, “it’s not that… I just couldn’t.”

“Why not?” He asks, clothing shifting as he readjusts himself. You peer down into the river, allowing the breeze to push and play with your feet—hanging over the ledge. Beneath you, Bas has laid a picnic blanket, the two of you sat cozily, side by side.

“It would be too much,” you reply, looking down the river. Peering at the restaurants that line it’s bank, preparing for the influx of customers that sweep in around this time. Eager to watch the colours flicker and dance. “I can’t ask that from you.”

Bas blows out a deep breath, the air bubbling from his lips. Laughter creeps into your eyes as they flick to him. He raises a single, dark brow, amusement gleaming in his gaze. “You know you sound like a horse when you do that.” Bas grins, full lips pressing together as he repeats the sound. Your own hurt as they stretch into a smile, “stop it. This is supposed to be a serious conversation.”

Amusement dances in his eyes as he takes in your feigned glare. “You didn’t seem to be taking it particularly seriously,” he counters, tucking one knee beneath his chin, propping it on his forearm as he watches you. Locks obscure some of the gold in his eyes as he peers at you from beneath a raised brow. “And your solution was to whinny like you were sulking?” You shoot back, smiling faintly.

“Well, maybe if you actually rode your horse from time to time, he wouldn’t be so grumpy,” he mutters playfully. A surprised laugh bursts from your lips, landing a knock to his shoulder in chastisement. He doesn’t so much as budge—merely smiles, propping his jaw on his arm instead of keeping the lower portion of his features obscured.

“I don’t know what you’re laughing about,” he grins, watching the Sidra reflect in your eyes. “I’m laughing at the fact you would willing compare yourself to a horse,” you return. “Why not something more majestic? Like a lion?”

“Is that what you think of me? That I’m a lion?” You try to suppress your smile—why do you even bother when you’re around him? “Would you rather I compare you to a rat?” Bas barks a laugh, loud enough to draw a few sets of eyes, your own widening at the volume.

“Your flattery could use some work,” he says, still smiling. Tension releases your shoulders, breath easing from your lungs. A cool breeze flutters by, making you shiver. He shifts closer.

“What’s stopping you?” He asks gently, allowing the quiet to calm the two of you. Lips purse, teeth prodding your lower one. “I just couldn’t,” you murmur, “like I said: it would be too much.” His brow narrows, attention remaining solely on you.

“How?” He asks. “It would just be for a little, yeah? Until you find something to do.”

“But what if I don’t find something to do? Then I’d just be a dead weight, and I’d have to go back without having done anything,” you say, softly. “I wouldn’t be able to face them.”

Bas shifts again, lowering both legs over the edge, his thigh pressing to your own. “You’re smart. You’ll find something.” You roll your eyes at his false confidence. “You have nothing to base that on,” you smile, attention briefly flicking to him. “But I appreciate the reassurance.”

“Nothing to base it on,” he scoffs. “You read essays for fun. What other sources do I need?” You release an indignant huff, stubbornly setting your gaze back on the river.

When he figures you’re ignoring him, his hand darts behind you, quickly pinching your backside, before returning to his lap. You start, then turn to glare at him, “Bas.” He gives you one of his grins, and you falter. Heat settles in your lower belly. “I think it would be a nice arrangement, don’t you?” He drawls, roughly. “You wouldn’t have to sneak around as much. Could just roll out of bed and straight into mine.”

Something dark and syrupy gathers between your legs and you glare at him harder, heat warming your skin. “We’re in public, Bas,” you chastise, eyes darting around to make sure no one detects the shift in your scent. No one except for the male who’s leaning in a little closer now, nosing at your throat with interest. “Then maybe we should go somewhere else, yeah?”

Golden eyes lock with your own, darkened with hunger. It hits you like a kick in the stomach; muscles practically melt. “You’re way too good at that for my liking,” you breathe, already having trouble looking away from his mouth. Lips lift into a smirk, sharp eyes gleaming, “well I get a lot of practice, don’t I?”

Teeth push into your lower lip, and all it takes is the few seconds you look away from him to make up your mind.

You need a night to empty your head. To feel again.

And Bas is the perfect relief.

————

The story repeats itself, more familiar to you than anything else in your life.

Hot breath tickles the nape of your neck, lips lifting into a helpless smile as you attempt to move out of the way. Arms wrap snugly around your waist, dragging you across the mattress, back flush to his naked front. Hair brushes against you, clean and rough, making you squirm in his grip. Vaguely trying not to wake him.

It’s over when he huffs a soft laugh onto your skin, and you lightly elbow him in the ribs. “Bas…” you laugh quietly, rolling over to face him. Golden eyes cut into your own, already clear despite sleep weighing his lids. “Trying to sneak away?” He asks, mouth quirked in a faint grin. You roll your eyes, noting the beams of sunlight streaming in from the circular skylight. Brow furrows, “what time is it?”

His expression mirrors your own, raising to peer over your head at the old clock mounted on the opposite wall. “It’s eleven thirty. About.”

You groan into his chest, ducking back beneath the covers. Count to seven. Pop back out. “I should be going, shouldn’t I?”

Bas quirks a brow, watching you fondly, well-accustomed to the questions you ask yourself. Watches as you sigh again, then roll over, allowing you to leave. Especially when it gives him a view of your lovely body, softened by sleep as you move lethargically to find your clothes. Pick them up. Set them on the bed. Move for the washroom. He uses the time to steady himself.

In retrospect, you were pretty quick—the two of you up and out of his house before the hour hand struck one. Walking up the short path through the garden that leads to the River House before half past.

“I’ll see you in a couple of days, yeah?” He checks, hands tucked into his pockets. Casual and at ease. Comfortable in his skin.

Lips quirk playfully, “greedy.”

His mouth matches your own, “you’re just as bad as I am. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

“I’m not the one who was at attention first thing in the morning, Bas,” you whisper, smiling as his golden eyes gleam. “I’d be a little confused if you were, dove. Very flattered, though.”

Lips part in a grin, cheeks aching from your time spent with him. “Okay, I’ll drop by in a few days,” you smile, aware of your own reluctance to return to the house. “Try not to lose your head in the meantime.” Hand presses down on the handle, door swinging open, a gust of cool air greeting you.

Bas grins—one of his grins. “I’d be happy to give it to you,” he teases, eyes gleaming with amusement and a drop of sincerity. “Whenever you want, dove. It’s your call.” Heat flushes your skin at his offer—what even sex can’t decriminalise to your mind. He retreats a step, gold flashing in the sun as he grins easily, “you can’t hide from it forever. One day, yeah? I’ll show you how good it can be.”

You want to reply, but he’s already sauntering off, hands still tucked in his pockets, casual and leisurely. Bastard.

His offer repeats, how nonchalantly he regards that particular intimacy. As if it doesn’t go against the very root of human society. The foundations you were brought up on. Highlighting a primary difference between here and where you grew up. Women aren’t supposed to enjoy sex, let alone have it to themselves.

Sighing, shoulders weighed down, you allow the door to close at your back. Already missing him.

Walking into the entrance hall, you spot a parcel sat atop the entrance table, beside the vase filled with flora. Eyes flick about the room, checking no one’s around as you make for the stairs, aiming for your room.

“You aren’t going to take it?” Azriel asks, appearing in the doorway leading to the sitting room. You still, blinking. Turn around warily. “Pardon?” Hazel flicks to the package, “the parcel. Aren’t you going to open it?” Attention moves to the table between you. “That’s not—… I didn’t get anything?” You say, shifting on your feet.

“The note says it’s for you,” he replies, remaining the other side of the room.

Debate your options. Slowly walk forward, picking up the package. The note is indeed carrying your name. Flip it over to read its underside. In a clean, elegant script is scrawled: For your education.

Brows narrow, turning the parcel in your hands. No note saying who it’s from. Maybe it’s a late birthday present? “Thanks…” you murmur, absently, “I would have walked past it.” Eyes squinted in confusion, you make to turn around, interested in unwrapping it. Discoveries to be made.

“Eris left it.” Azriel states quietly. Intrigue vanishes, feeling like you’re holding scorching coals.

Gaze lifts to meet his own. “He did?” It seems he enjoys stirring up chaos.

Azriel nods, attention never leaving you. “Did he mention what’s inside?” You ask hesitantly, loosening your grip on the hard rectangle. He shakes his head in answer, making you sigh.

“And I suppose you want to know what’s inside?” You ask, grim smile on your lips. His throat rolls, eyes flicking away. “I would appreciate it if you let me know once you open it.” Blink away your surprise. Nod slowly. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Okay.”

Hastily clear your throat, emotion clogging your chest. Turn to head to your bedroom. “Are you feeling better?” He asks, again causing you to stop. Peer at him close, wary. “I am…” you hedge, watching him closely.

He nods, “good.” Shifts on his feet. “I’m glad.”

Your heart skips a beat, staring at him with poorly concealed surprise. Something flickers in his gaze, eyes briefly flitting away from your own, allowing you to shift your features to cover what you’re feeling.

“Yeah, I had… I had a good morning,” you mumble, peering down at your feet to hide the flush on your cheeks. He hums in acknowledgement, and your toes curl in your shoes, something warm and tender spreading across your breastbone. “Pillage any bookstores while you were out?” He asks, enough sincerity to have your lips stretching wide into a grin, cheeks aching all over again, painful enough you have to try to force it away.

“Not today. I thought I’d leave some for Nesta,” you reply, meeting his gaze. His features are neutral, but the edges of his irises are softer—warmer than normal. You quickly look away, stomach fluttering wildly. Too many butterflies suddenly resurrected for you to handle.

A peaceful quiet calms the room, allowing you some time to temporarily bask in the warmth of his approval.

“About our conversation, a few days ago…” he begins gently. Carefully. You shift on your feet, but don’t flee from the spot.

“I’m sorry for how I went about it,” he settles on. “Eris… There are some awful people in this world, and what he did to Mor…” he blows out a breath, shoulders loosening some of their tension. “I wouldn’t want that happening to you because he’d managed to convince you he could be trusted. I couldn’t forgive myself if that happened,” he admits quietly. “None of us could.”

Your heart rises up into your throat, pounding wildly as your eyes meet. Hazel calm, and steady. Tough and reassuring. You manage a weak nod of your head, fingers tightening on the package. “It’s fine,” you say gently, too overwhelmed to manage much more. “I’d already… You don’t need to apologise,” you reassure, fighting to keep your voice from trembling. “I’d practically forgotten.”

His eyes flicker, then he nods, accepting your assurance. “Then I won’t keep you any longer.” You nod back, mirroring the movement, “yeah. Okay.” It takes you a moment to remember yourself, clutching the parcel tighter, “I’ll go open this now, then.” You give him a smile before you turn, managing to ascend the stairs without turning to see if he’s still there.

Lungs hold at full capacity, near bursting with something warm and fuzzy as you peel back the brown paper, removing the string keeping it together. Take a few minutes to scan the pages of the volume, attention flitting mindlessly over diagrams and neatly written essays, quick to reach the end. It looks interesting, titled: Prythian: An Anthology of Discoveries.

While flicking through, you catch glimpses of constellations, depictions of your solar system, detailed illustrations of the planet closest to your own—further from the centre. Near the end, one in particular catches your attention: three overlapping ovals, appearing to make up a six-petaled flower that contains some small dots at its heart. Intriguing. Utterly fascinating.

You reach the final page, and make to flip back to the beginning, intending on reading each passage in detail, but—you’d said you’d let him see. He’s trusting you to follow through, and you’re not going to disappoint. Not now he’s allowing you some leeway.

So you hop to your feet, and make your way to where you saw him last, happily handing it over for inspection. Hazel flicks over the cover, taking in the title, scanning the first few pages in detail before shutting it again. “Thank you,” he says softly, “I’ll go through it quickly and then you’re free to read away.” A smile lifts your mouth, heart fluttering as you nod your head. “It’s fine,” you say, “take your time. I get you’re busy.”

Then you turn, not wanting him to see the deep flush on your cheeks—embarrassingly warm—and hurriedly make your way back to the silence of your bedroom. Clean and tidy, at last.

Heart pounding, you lean against your door. Replaying the gentle talk he’d given you. It’s been too long since he’s acted like that, breathing becoming shallow at the memory alone.

Slowly, you inhale a deep breath, pressing against the wood as you slide down, until you’ve reached the bare floor. Hand slides across your chest, feeling the drum of your pulse. Hold the breath to steady your lungs.

And when that breath releases, relief crushes down with it.

Finally.

Finally, you’ve gotten something right.

————

Days pass in a blur, and you find yourself pondering what to wear.

Bas had told you to find him in a couple of days, and quite frankly, you’re looking forward to it. Azriel will be done with your book soon, too. Probably either today or tomorrow, making your heart flutter. So many exciting things happening all at once! So many things to be happy about! It’s exhilarating.

The sky is clear as usual, sun beating down onto the cobbled streets. The flower baskets hanging either side doors and windows sway, leaves and petals glowing in the warmth, curling at the edges. You should wear something loose, to keep cool.

Before you know it, you’re ready and dressed, descending the staircase when knocks are landed to the front door. Golden eyes gleam with mischief when you answer, refreshing breeze sweeping in, playing with your skirts. He’s in the front garden, dark locks tied back, a few that aren’t long enough to reach framing his features. The carved beauty of his cheekbones, the cut of his jaw, the spark in his eyes…exhilarating.

“Bas,” you greet, smiling. “What are you doing here? Did you miss me?” He rolls his eyes, hands remaining tucked at his back, something rustling as he shifts. “Just making sure you weren’t going to chicken out, dove,” he says cockily, lips parting in a familiar grin. “And, well, I got you these.” From behind his back he pulls out a paper wrapped bouquet, containing pink and white baby’s breath. The flora is dried to keep it preserved, so it will store nicely in your room, without demanding any particular care.

Your can feel your features stretch as a smile overtakes your entire face. “Bas, are you serious?” Tentatively, you accept the menagerie of flowers, eyes gleaming as you peer into the swirl of colour, so complimentary to one another. He shrugs, “you seemed down last time. I thought these might brighten you up a little.” You meet his gaze, gold soft around the edges, and you feel yourself melt a little inside. “Thank you, Bas. You really didn’t need to.” You turn back to the bouquet, smiling.

“I wanted to,” he replies, nonchalantly. “So go put them up in your room, yeah? Then we can go out and have fun.”

You nod absently, making to head back inside, “where did you even find them? These don’t look endemic to the Night Court?”

“New shop,” he calls, “had all these long names in the window. Guessed you’d like stuff like that.” Lip press together in a smile, hurrying into the entrance hall and up the stairs, setting them on the table before returning. “Did you pick these out because they were the nicest or because they had the most complicated name?” You hop down the last step, mindlessly glancing at the table in the centre of the room.

“You couldn’t waterboard the title out of me,” he admits, a smile lighting his eyes. “Something like Gyrophilia Panicrolilia.” A snort bursts from you at the tangle of consonants.

“Gypsophilia Paniculata,” you amend, “from the Caryophyllaceae family. Same as carnations?” Bas sighs, “of course you know the name.”

“No,” you laugh, trying to make it clear you’re being sincere. “I just read a book on botany the other day. Otherwise I swear I wouldn’t have known. It’s a coincidence.” Bas gives you a look as if he doesn’t believe you, making you smile wider. “Well, shall we?”

You’re about to cross the threshold when you hear your name being called from the sitting room, boots lightly scuffing on the floor as to not surprise you. Stiffening, you turn to face Azriel, stood in the doorway. Hazel pierces into you, having already marked the guest at the door. A strange feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. He doesn’t like Bas. “Yes?” You ask, fingers wringing together.

Boots move forward, making you tense as he steps fully into view, coming to stand at your side. Golden eyes flick over the male, his familiar lips quirking and you send him a sharp glance. He barely managed to keep his mouth shut the last time they collided. “Azriel,” he greets, inclining his head ever so slightly. “Bas,” he returns, features neutral. Anxiety swarms the pit of your stomach, turning to fluttering butterflies when his fingertips graze the base of your spine. Tension seeps from your shoulders, attention helplessly attracted to his gravitational pull.

Hazel remains locked on gold for a second longer than necessary, before latching onto you. Skin prickles beneath his focus, features flushing with warmth despite the breeze. “I thought I’d let you know I’m finished with the book,” he says calmly. “Feel free to collect it whenever you want.” Slowly, you nod in acknowledgement. Swallow. “Okay,” you manage, world fading a little around him. “Is there a time that’d be good for you?” You ask, attempting to steady out your heartbeat.

Azriel pauses, thinking. “After dinner would be good,” he settles on, and you nod.

“Okay,” you answer, “I’ll knock after dinner, then.” His eyes flick to Bas briefly, and you tense. Are either of them going to clash? “Well,” you break the silence, not waiting to find out. “I’ll see you later.” You offer one of your better smiles. He nods, still watching Bas. Step forward, falling into pace beside him, heading out into the bright sun-warmed streets of Velaris.

“You heave really questionable taste, you know that?” Bas states once you’re both down the street, out of ear-shot. Smile, and roll your eyes. “Isn’t that obvious? I spend so much time with you.” He snorts, shoving you lightly. “I’m serious,” he says, eyes gleaming, “you looked like you were about to start glowing.” The laughter stumbles in your chest, coming out a little strained, but you manage to persevere. “Very funny, Bas. Now can we change the subject?” You offer, glaring at him playfully.

“All I’m saying is you picked a difficult guy,” he comments, eyes scanning the shops. Sighing, your attention flits into different windows, picking out all sorts of items and antiquities. “Why don’t you two get on?” You subvert, trying not to peer at him to mark his reaction, “I’ve never seen you quarrel with anyone else?”

Bas shrugs, “how should I know. We’ve barely ever spoken before.” Your brow dips, but he finally seems content to let the subject drop. You’re more than happy to let it slip away.

————

“Come in.”

Toes curl at the sound of his voice, but you gently push away the heat, stepping into his office, scanning the room curiously. He’s sat at his desk, piles of paper neatly stacked a few inches from the edges, ink pots and quills as well as a few daggers litter the remaining space. Typical decoration for him. The room is fairly sparse of personal touch, save for a rug laying atop the floor, muffling to step of your feet.

“Hi,” you say quietly, smiling as hazel latches onto you. Giddiness warms your heart, melting your bones to soft liquid. “I hope I didn’t disturb you.”

Azriel straightens in his chair, setting aside whatever report he was inevitably filing, giving you his full attention. “No, actually. Perfect timing—I was just finishing.” A sigh breathes from your lips, tension seeping from your shoulders as you step further into the room. “Was everything okay? With the book, I mean,” you ask, automatically seeking out the neatly bound volume.

He nods, standing as he picks it up, handing it over. “Do you know why he gave it to you?” Blink once. Redirect your attention to the anthology, gently plying it from his hands, bringing it to rest against your torso. Like a strange, make-shift shield. “Not really,” you admit. “We had a brief talk about my orrery, but he seemed fairly disinterested.”

“Your orrery?” He asks. “Like the one Rhys has?” Your head raises by itself, meeting his piercing gaze. Eyes sparkle as you nod, grinning, “mine’s a little smaller—by quite a bit, actually. But ‘Lain got it for me and” —you shift the volume into one of your arms, Azriel’s hands flexing at his sides as if you might drop it— “it’s the most beautiful creation I’ve ever seen. It’s utterly incredible. I’d love to show you sometime—it’s so intricately carved, and the texture is rendered so lovingly.” You stop momentarily to ease in breath. “But really, it’s utterly incredible.”

Azriel looks vaguely surprised. “I think that’s the quickest I’ve ever heard you speak,” he comments, gaze flitting to the book, “I didn’t realise you had an interest in science.” Heat flushes your cheeks, torn between clarifying that you aren’t trying to disprove the existence of the Mother, and telling him more about the worlds and the universe. Telling him everything you can think of regarding the subject, actually. It’s all perched on the tip of your tongue, ready to be recited with perfect accuracy.

“Did you have a good day today?” He asks instead, knocking you off your feet. Memories of the stars vanish, replaced by a blank space. Blink once. Twice. Nod slowly. “Yeah…I did,” you answer softly, unaccustomed to being asked after. Clear your throat. “What about you?” You fumble out, “have fun doing your” —peer at the stack of reports on his desk, wincing— “…work?” He nods back, “I suppose. It’s out of the way, now.” You nod in acknowledgement, fingers itching to tangle with one another.

“Okay,” you say, softly, “remember not to overwork yourself…” You chicken out, unable to finish with his name. Toes curl in your shoes. Just the two of you. Two people in one room. Two people alone. Alone together. Heartbeat spikes. Book shifts in your arms. Deep breath.

“I—… There’s something…you might…” you fumble, skin flushing, unsure what to say. “I mean, it might not— You might not need to know, but maybe it would be better to tell you? But I don’t…” Embarrassment weighs in your gut, numbness gliding down your back. His attention weighs into you, making you shift to your other foot, resting the heavy book on your hip. He holds out an offering hand and you mindlessly return the volume, wringing your fingers. Deep breath.

“I…sometimes glow.”

He blinks. Nods for you to continue. Bite your lip.

“It’s only really been my hands…” you say quietly, “but they glow, quite brightly, sometimes. It’s kind of green…maybe a bit yellow? —like Starfall.” He nods again, silently telling you to continue. Tongue flicks out to lick your lips, finding them dry. “That’s…it.” Shift on your feet.

“When did it first happen?” He asks, causing you to perk up again.

“Maybe a month…” —his brows narrow— “or a fortnight ago? I’m sorry, I can’t really…” He nods in understanding. “That’s fine,” he reassures, easily sustaining the weight of the thick volume. Gestures to his desk. You follow him around the furniture obediently. Heart flutters when he motions for you to sit in the chair. His chair.

“Do you remember what you were doing when you first started glowing?” He asks, though his voice is a distant pleasure in your mind. Attempting not to lose your mind as his warmth wraps around you, his scent seeping into your clothing, seeping into your skin.

Your name sounds on his tongue, and you blink, looking up at him. Blink away the fogginess. “Would it be easier to talk elsewhere?” He suggests, gently. Shoulders a little stiff. You swallow, hurriedly shaking your head, “no, I’m fine…just remembering.”

He nods, “if you want to move, that’s fine.” You nod back. Pry your tongue from the roof of your mouth. “It was when we went to the… With Elain? To…” Lips press together. She was going to see Lucien. Hazel flickers briefly, but he waves it off, gesturing for you to continue. Heart flutters. Swallow again.

“And…you know I ended up in the river?” You ask, gently. Dips his head in response. Bite your lip in embarrassment. “Well, I got…quite angry about it.” Surprise lights his eyes, but he keeps his mouth shut, allowing you to finish speaking. Nod to yourself slowly, “and I got back up onto the path and…hit…him.” Dip your head, peering down at your feet, anxiety twisting sharply in your gut. Nausea rising. “Please don’t let him know I told you. He’ll probably be furious if—”

A surprised laugh cuts you off, making you look up at him.

There’s a dimple to one corner of his lips, the edges curved upward, and he’s laughing. Hand covering his mouth, attempting to quiet himself. You stare.

Air ceases flowing.

Mirth dances in his hazel gaze, while the laughter stops as quickly as it started, but… You stare. Eyes lock. You can’t look away.

Azriel gestures for you to carry on. “Go ahead.”

“That was” —clear your throat of the sudden raspiness— “that was the first time it happened.”

“Did Eris see?” He asks, making you stiffen. Yes, he definitely saw.

“I’m not sure…” you hedge, shifting in the seat. “It happened quite quickly, so maybe not?”

“If there was enough time for you to notice, it’s more than likely he did, too,” Azriel reasons steadily, settling back into a strategising mindset. Hard eyes flick to you, “you should have told me this earlier. Why didn’t you say anything on the way back?”

“I was scared,” you whisper. The words out before you can stop them. Humiliation burns through your stomach lining. “Anyway,” you murmur, softly, trying to tuck deeper into the chair. To take up less space in his office. “I only noticed because of the feeling. Not particularly the colour.” Burning is quite difficult to ignore.

Quiet stretches between you, making your nerves wriggle.

“Please don’t be angry,” you manage, looking up at his unreadable features. “I know I should have said something, but I just— There wasn’t a good time,” you finish quietly. Duck your head. You should have told them sooner. “A good time,” he repeats slowly. Processing your excuse.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. Unable to look at him.

Azriel sighs deeply. Flexes his hands. Folds his arms. “You know you should have said something,” he says at last. Bite the inside of your lip. Nod your head. Quiet stretches. “Any information regarding your magic,” he begins, “is information you should not be giving out. It jeopardises our unified front. Imagine if he had brought it up during a meeting without us knowing. Can you see how that would have gone?” You nod your head again.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat. Head hanging between your shoulders.

He sighs, weight settling in your stomach. “Better now than later,” he says at last, and relief crushes into your bones. Shoulder slumping as you settle back into his chair. “You should tell Rhys, or Feyre, whoever you’d prefer, and we can start figuring out what’s going on with your magic. Okay?”

You stare at him. Slowly shake your head. His eyes narrow.

“No,” you mange. “No, I don’t— I’m not telling them.”

“You can’t hide your powers,” he chides, giving you a look that doesn’t settle well in your stomach. “You’ve told me. It’s no different.”

“No,” you repeat. Still shaking your head.

“Then I’ll have to tell them.”

“No,” you say, panic working its way into your throat. “No, you can’t.”

“I can,” he counters, “it’s the right thing to do.” Eyes narrow, “why are you against it?”

“I was there, you know,” you remind, gripping tight to the chair. “When Nesta—” Cut yourself off. Try again, softer. “When she was deteriorating.”

“I can promise you won’t be forced to train relentlessly every morning. That was solely to give her something to latch onto.” His brow narrows, watching you intently. “And she’s done well. Very well. You shouldn’t be scared of becoming like her.”

“Give me a month,” you ask, hands gripping the arm rests either side of the chair. “Give me a month, and if I haven’t worked anything out, I’ll tell them.” Azriel pauses, marking the trembling of your fingers.

“A week,” he offers.

“A fortnight,” you counter, joints practically splintering in your knuckles.

Hazel glitters in the low light. Then he nods, reluctantly. “A fortnight.”

————

Arms ache from the bound volume. Dust motes shooting out as it thumps on your desk—pushed up against the wall.

Cough, waving away the particles. Sit down. Stare at the anthology with dull eyes.

It’ll be exciting once you start. Just open the first page, and you’ll be alight again.

(A fortnight.)

Spine creaks as you flip open the book; your brow dips. There should be a stamp of some kind—an indentation to say where to return it to. It’s always right on the inside, yet there’s nothing here.

Frown deepens, running fingers over its insides, tracing the ribbing. It’s thicker than you’re accustomed to. Nails catch a the edges; you blink. Slide deeper, carefully prying the paper from the edge, as if it’s been stuck down from age.

A dull smile dusts your lips, spotting the stamp you’d been searching for. Triumph sparks and dies in the blink of an eye as you pull the paper from the book—clearly misplaced.

Ink catches you attention. Probably an annotation from some past scholar. Raise it to the light to see clearly.

Heart stutters. Take in the clean, elegant script.

Hello, cygnet.

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