#i can do what i want and what i want is to be boring

[tender-rosiey]

maybe jelly — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: gojo getting jealous? 👁️👁️

you arrive at jujutsu high, as you prepare for your guest lecture. you’ve given these talks before, but this time, something feels a little different—satoru is acting strange.

not that he’s ever normal, but today he seems extra…dramatic.

“you’re going to kill it, babe,” satoru says, draping his arm over your shoulders as you walk toward the classroom. his blindfold hides his eyes, but you can feel the intensity of his gaze, more focused than usual.

“you okay?” you ask, glancing at him with a teasing grin. “you seem a little... off.”

“me? off? never,” he replies, lips pulling into his trademark smirk. “just making sure no one gets too cozy with my brilliant wife. gotta make sure these kids remember you’re taken.”

you roll your eyes playfully, “I think everybody and their mother know that, satoru.”

time passes by, and now, you stand at the front of the lecture hall at jujutsu high, wrapping up your talk.

the students seem genuinely engaged, and one in particular, a young sorcerer named ren, is practically bouncing with enthusiasm, asking follow-up questions.

“and how did you manage to seal that curse without any physical confrontation?” ren asks, his voice brimming with admiration and curiosity.

before you could respond, satoru appears at your side with his usual confidence, his presence instantly commanding attention, “well, she is the wife of the gojo satoru. kinda comes with the territory,” he interjects, flashing his signature grin.

you shoot him an exasperated look, “I’m pretty sure my skills had something to do with it.”

satoru leans in close, nuzzling against your cheek affectionately before pulling back slightly. “oh, of course, sweetheart. you’re amazing, but it doesn’t hurt to be married to the strongest sorcerer around, right?”

ren blinks, clearly caught off guard by the interaction.

he glances between you and satoru, his expression a mix of confusion and awe. “I wasn’t aware you were married,” he mutters, his gaze flickering between you and satoru as if trying to process this new information.

you smile and give satoru a jab into his ribs that he takes like a champ, “yeah, he likes to remind people. it’s kind of his thing.”

satoru, never one to miss an opportunity to make a grand statement, leans down and places a soft kiss on the top of your head.

his arm slips casually around your waist, “just keeping things clear. y'know, in case anyone forgets that I get the honor of calling you mine.”

ren tries to steer the conversation back to his question, “so, about the sealing technique…”

satoru cuts him off again, stepping slightly in front of you with a playful yet firm stance.

“hey, hey, let’s not bombard her with too many questions now. she’s been on her feet alllll day, talking about all the cool stuff she’s done and showing everybody just how badass she is.”

you roll your eyes but can’t suppress a small smile. stepping around him to face ren again, you continue, “ignore him. the technique I used requires focusing on—”

satoru clears his throat dramatically, pulling you back to his side and wrapping his arm around your shoulders, eyes boring into the poor boy even through his blindfold.

“you know what I think? I think my lovely wife deserves a break. maybe some alone time with her handsome, strong, and incredibly talented husband?”

you raise an eyebrow at him, your tone teasing. “handsome and humble, I see.”

satoru’s grin widens, and he leans down to whisper in your ear, “I can be both when it comes to you.”

you are about to retort back, but then you remember that ren is still here.

you turn to the boy with a smile and assure him, “anyway, ren, if you want to chat more about techniques, we can catch up later. after my husband gets over himself,” you hiss at the man who raises his hands in surrender.

ren, now visibly flustered and unsure, mumbled, “uh, I’ll… catch up with you later then. thanks for the talk!”

ren dashes out the room, slamming the door behind him. you tap your feet against the ground for a few minutes, before you elbow satoru again.

he stays standing up, chest puffed out and a big grin plastered on his face. you deadpan as you stare at your husband, “you really couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

satoru shrugs nonchalantly, still holding you close. he hums, giving you a kiss on the forehead, “what can I say? I don’t like sharing. besides, you are the wife of the strongest sorcerer; it’s important to make sure that’s clear.”

you roll your eyes, but you can’t help but smile helplessly at your husband. your fingers find their way through his hair making him instantly melt. you giggle at your puddle of a husband, “you’re so lucky I love you.”

he tilts his head slightly, his eyes softening as he looks at you. “I love you more, soooooooooooo—”

“oh my god, I get it,” you laugh as you try to push him off. he resists with a whine as he nuzzles his face into your shoulder. you yield and let the silence fill the room.

he hums softly as you both sway mindlessly.

“but y’know,” you pull back slightly, smiling up at him, “you really do like to make an impression.”

he chuckles, his eyes twinkling with a mix of pride and mischief, “just doing my part to ensure everyone knows how lucky I am and how lucky they should feel to be in the presence of my extraordinary wife.”

he intertwines your left hands together and raises them slightly, showing off the rings. the sun makes them shine quite brightly, and it makes you sigh with a smile and satoru let out a huff of laughter.

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[ddejavvu]

hmmm mean!logan who makes a GREAT brat tamer, who will give your ass a quick slap in public for embarrassing him or talking back to him and gets you over his lap the moment you’re alone to really let you have it

bro… I need a hard, firm hand to show me who’s boss lmao

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

contents/warnings: smut, minors dni, mean!logan, spanking, brat taming, don't like don't read.

"I want some." You appeal to Logan one day, glancing at the rather intimidating drink in his hand. It's straight liquor, no sweet syrups or even ice to tamp down the effects. He drinks hard, something he's built a tolerance to over his long life, aided by his remarkable healing abilities. What he drinks makes your eyes water and your throat itch, but today you're feeling brave- perhaps from the drink in your own hand.

"No." He says simply, raising his glass to his lips and taking a hefty swig. It lowers the volume of liquor in the glass substantially, but he swallows it like it's water. You watch as the muscles in his neck contract slightly with the motion of his throat, and perhaps they tense at the sharp taste, but he remains mostly reactionless to the drink he's downing. You, however, would be tipping over.

"Come on, please? Just a little bit? I just want to try." You plead, bracing your hands on his arm in hopes that he'll take pity on you. But he doesn't, and all that's sent your way is a warning glance.

"Nothing bad's gonna happen." You insist, "If I get all loopy you can just take me home."

"I said no." His voice is gruff, and something indignant sparks in your chest. Fine. You're a grown woman- you can order one yourself. You've seen Logan order it a thousand times, you know it by heart and you'll pay for it yourself. He can't stop you.

You spin with a huff towards the bar, stalking towards the bartender with determination that Logan should be afraid of. Seconds before you can reach the bar, your fingertips inches away from the smooth, albeit sticky surface, Logan's hand grips your arm tight, and you feel a sharp, stinging sensation against your skin as he lands a harsh smack on your ass.

The slap is rough, tough, and forceful, just the way Logan manhandles you into the dingy hallway that leads to the bathrooms. It's cut off from the crowd but you can still hear the patrons inside, mere feet away as Logan's scowl bores down on you.

"What did I fucking say?"

"You said no, like you control me," You scoff, "You're not my dad! I'm well over 21, Logan, I can drink whatever I want!"

"Not when I plan on fucking you into the mattress tonight, stupid." He snarls, and your stomach flips with an intensity you know you'll be feeling all night long, "You don't think there's a reason I'm trying to keep you sober? Those fruity little drinks don't do shit that water can't fix. If you downed one of these you'd be sick for a week.”

"I thought-" You start, but he plows on, undeterred.

"You think I care what you drink? Knock yourself out, cowgirl," He snickers, his irritation gone but not forgotten as he condescends, "If you wanna shoot shit that'll make your head spin, then do it. But not tonight. I want you to remember my name so you can scream it."

[giuseppe-yuki]

Since franco is quite unhinged and not PR trained, I feel like his girlfriend would be equally as unhinged and unpredictable like an orange cat constantly doing stupid things like climbing on stupid things and doing funny stuff around the paddock and becoming a fan favourite duo of unpredictable and hilarious behaviour - especially in the fan zone

FRANCO’S POOR PR MANAGER!!!!!

picture credits from pinterest :)

franco colapinto x orange cat shapeshifter!reader

“franco,” the disheveled looking woman snaps, a look of pure annoyance on her face. “tell your fucking cat to get down from those spare tires right now!

rolling his eyes, franco stops his laughter from looking at you prancing on tires and beckons you over.

leaping off the tower of rubber tires, you scamper over to his side, butting your head playfully against his leg. you couldn’t understand why you couldn’t have a little fun in the paddock though. it was media day, and those were soooo boring. his pr manager was a total killjoy. and besides, the fans loved you, so wouldn’t that be good for your boyfriend’s public image?

as if proving your point, the fans gathered around the fanzone squeal as you pad next to franco and his disgruntled pr manager.

while he stops momentarily to sign a few pieces of merch, you claw your way up his shoulder. the man getting his merch signed laughs, pointing his camera at your purring figure perched on franco.

“yeah, sorry, she does that sometimes,” you boyfriend remarks, recapping the pen and handing it back to the fan.

you grin at him, flashing your sharp cat canines at the camera. suddenly, an epic thought crosses your mind. what if you did a backflip off of franco’s shoulder and landed on the ground perfectly? that would be kind of cool.

gathering your wits, you leap off of your boyfriend and do two flips in the air before landing gently on your four paws. the fans in the fanzone erupt into cheers.

“ha!” your boyfriend laughs, pointing at you proudly leaping in circles on the ground. “simone biles who? make way for next big olympic gymnast!”

seeing the commotion, franco’s pr manager speeds over. “franco!” she hisses, dragging him away from the crowd. “you can not be saying that! we don’t want a bad public image from you slandering simone biles!”

“slandering???” franco says, in shock. “i was not slandering. i was merely making a comparison between her and my extraordinarily talented cat!”

you meow loudly, as if backing him up.

franco’s pr manager just pinches her nose and groans.

it’s not even ten minutes before you accidentally get yourself into trouble again.

a young fan sits on the sidewalk, talking animatedly to his mother, leaving his lunch open and inviting. hey, if he didn't want it, you’d gladly take it. you were pretty much starving after spending a good part of the day doing media duties with franco.

charging towards the open container, you take a huge bite of the contents, which turns out to be lasagna.

the boy turns around, eyes wide at seeing not only the orange cat eating his food, but also at franco colapinto jogging towards him.

“i-i-is this your cat?” he stutters out, blinking quickly at the sight in front of him, disbelieving.

“er, yes,” franco responds. scooting by the kid, he bends down and grabs you by the scruff of your neck, trying his best to separate you from the container of lasagna that you were trying your best to shove into your mouth at an ungodly speed.

the boy, seeing your actions, laughs. “she’s just like garfield!”

your boyfriend only successfully removes you from the container after you’ve devoured the entire piece of lasagna. “sorry buddy,” he says to the kid sheepishly, with your tomato-sauce covered body dangling from one hand. “i’ll give you a piece of merch to make up for the lasagna.”

still manhandling you with one hand, he uncaps a sharpie with his teeth and scribbles his signature on his own williams-branded jacket. he shrugs it off with a bit of difficulty before dumping it in the kid’s arms. the small fan ecstatically beams at franco, and thanks him profusely.

when your boyfriend squeezes by the crowd of people that were gathered to see the scene play out, he finds his pr manager standing with her arms crossed with a rather disappointed look on her face.

“did you even think before doing whatever that was?” she questions franco, simultaneously glaring at you.

when you give her a hiss of annoyance at reprimanding your boyfriend, she just about snaps.

“yeah, you’re done,” she say irritatedly. “franco, take yourself and your cat back into your driver’s room. you're grounded. both of you are prohibited from coming out for the next hour.”

you giggle inside. that’s a win for you, honestly. an hour with just yourself and franco? sounds like a great time to get into a little more mischief!

[mills-73]

Ok first off I love love love your writings like it just hit the g-spot u know LOLOLOL

ANyway I wanna request you for a Ford x Reader fic where the reader sneaks under his desk as he’s writing / reading smth and gives him the gawk gawk 3000. Absolutely devouring him and Ford just losing it slowly like his hand writing slowly losing it’s curves / getting harder to focus on the paragraph 😋

Thank you so much for this hehehe

i got ya

Ward Willing

Ford has a tendency to overwork himself some nights. You’ve been horny bored all night and he’s been down in his lab, so you do the only thing you can think of to get his attention.

Stanford Pines x reader

TAGS: 18+!! MDNI, smut, blowjobs, gender-neutral reader

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

Ford Pines is probably one of the most hardest working men you know.

He’s always cooped up in that damn lab of his, day or night, and it’s never really bothered you up until recently. He’d always come to bed a decent time—and if he was feeling up to it, he’d take care of you. Lately, he’s been working late into the night, and sometimes you didn’t have the energy to wait up for him.

Tonight, however, you need him. But he’s still working.

You toss and turn in the bed, slipping your hand down between your thighs to try and get yourself off, but it doesn’t work. You want him, right here, right now.

You groan into your pillow, looking up at the door with an idea a minute later. You smirk to yourself, crawling out of bed and hurry to the vending machine, punching in the code.

Ford doesn’t notice that you’re standing at the doorway, completely engrossed in writing. He started a new journal after the summer was over and he’s determined to fill it with all kinds of fascinating research. Usually, you’d be curious, but right now all you can see is him, those fingers, that wonderful thing between his thighs…

His hair is messy, glasses slipping down the slope of his nose, and his fingers impatiently tap at the table. His pen is stuck between his lips, lightly chewing on the end of it. (You don’t know how many pens he’s ruined since you’ve met him, but you know it’s a lot).

You walk up behind him, hands reaching out to rest in his shoulders. He jumps slightly, but slouches into your touch when he hears your voice. “Stressed, baby?”

He moans lazily in response but continues to write. You dig your thumbs into his shoulder blades, applying a small amount of pressure, just enough to see him falter a little, but his attention is still strictly on his task.

You roll your eyes, stepping around to the side of him. “Are you coming to bed soon?” You note the amount of coffee cups pushed out of his way. He had a weird thing about reusing cups, which resulted in his desktop having multiple ones scattered about at all times.

Ford gives you a nod but you know he’s running on autopilot right now.

Your gaze falls to his lap, then to the space under the desk, a mischievous smile slowly spreading across your face.

Dropping down to your knees, you quickly crawl underneath his desk, settling between his thighs. You push them open a little so you can be a bit more comfortable, your hands coming up to rub him.

“W-What are you doing?” Ford breathes, rolling back in the chair. His eyes are wide and his face is flushed.

You flash him your teeth, your fingers deftly playing with the zipper of his jeans. “Go back to writing, Ford,” you whisper.

“What? No. You know I can’t focus when you’re touching me like that.”

The bulge in his jeans is already becoming more apparent by the second, your stomaching fluttering in anticipation. While you’re able, you unbutton his jeans, dragging them down his hips with a little help from him and letting them pool around his ankles, his underwear following suit.

Your mouth waters at the sight of him. He’s not entirely big length wise, but he’s thick, which makes up for the lack of a few inches. The tip is a shade of pink that matches his lips perfectly, and you lean forward to press a delicate kiss to it. He shutters from above.

“I don’t care. Go back to your work.”

He gives you a curious look, but does as you say. You hear him click his pen a couple times, the soft sound of ink meeting paper, and you giggle softly.

You poke your tongue out again, licking a long stride from base to tip. His thighs tense at the friction, but settle again. Your mouth wraps tenderly around the pink skin, the salty taste of precum exploding over your tongue. You moan quietly, the vibrations causing him to drop his pen for a quick second.

His breathing becomes audible, the sound of a soft whimper reaching your ears. You grin around his cock and sink lower, taking more and more until your nose is pressing against his navel. You hold your position there for a moment, popping off with a small gasp.

From above, Ford hasn’t been able to write more than three words.

You grin, wrapping your hand around the base as your mouth wraps around him again. You bob your head slowly, running your tongue against the underside of his cock in ways you know drive him crazy.

His leg twitches, hand reaching below the desk to burry it in your hair. He plays with the strands, pushing your head down slightly, silently begging for more. You can’t help but keen in response to his touch, obliging the request.

You flatten your tongue against the frenulum, curling it just enough to draw another whimper from the man above. Your ego blooms, prideful as you continue your ministrations.

Ford groans. “Doll, I-I can’t—” he cuts off with a moan when you suckle at the tip.

You lean back a little, gathering all the spit in your mouth and slowly letting it fall out of your mouth over Ford’s cock, the substance rolling over the tip and down his length. Your hand pumps him once, twice, a third time before you swallow him to the back of your throat.

He rolls his hips upward, causing you to gag at how deep he is. His fingers tangle in your hair, grabbing at your head and pulling up and down.

“I’m—fuck, dollface,” he groans.

You hear the sound of his pen falling, his journal snapping shut, before he leans back in his chair, eyeing you from your position. His eyes are glossy, glasses crookedly hanging on his face, and his cheeks a beautiful shade of cherry. He always looks so fucking sexy when he’s needy for you.

“I need more, baby. Please give me more.”

You nod weakly, your jaw slack as you bob your head. Spit dribbles down your chin, another moan muffled by the intrusion in your mouth.

It’s quite obscene, really. But you enjoy it nonetheless.

His quiet whimpers turn into rough moans, waves of iron-hot pleasure dripping down your spine as you work your mouth over the sensitive flesh, your own sounds a little garbled by the sheer amout of spit building under your tongue.

You flick the tip of the flesh, your teeth grazing softly against the underside, adoring the way Ford shivers beneath you. It’s vulgar; you enjoy it a bit too much, your own arousal causing you to lose yourself in the blissfulness of it all.

You pop off with a throaty moan, a string of spit connecting your bottom lip to the tip of his cock. You meet his hungry gaze for a moment, smiling sweetly at him.

“I want you to start coming to bed at a decent time. Or I’ll be down here every night to interrupt your work,” you say, lazily stroking his cock.

He huffs a laugh. “Don’t tempt me with a good time, doll.”

You roll your eyes at him, slipping him back into your mouth. This time you pick up your pace, jerking him off in tandem of your tongue rolling all over. He preens at the friction, his head lolling back on his chair, mouth parted to allow a plethora of whimpers and moans to escape the back of his throat.

His chest heaves, all six of his fingers grabbing at your hair. “Fuck, fuck. I’m gonna cum, doll. Please don’t stop.”

At his confession, you go harder, slurping and sucking, his grip teetering on the edge of blatantly painful. He catches your eyes again, the sight alone making him explode in your mouth, whimpering softly.

The taste of his cum is salty yet sweet and you swallow it all, a generous smile on your face as you pop your lips off the sensitive tip. He shutters, moving his hand from his hair to the side of your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek.

“That was amazing, baby. Your mouth never ceases to impress me.”

You blush. “Thank you…”

You slide out from underneath the desk, the man fixing his pants before standing up as well. In a quick motion, he has you pinned against the edge of the wood, his mouth on yours, devouring you whole. You whimper into his mouth.

“Now,” he nips at your bottom lip, “your turn.”

~

hope you enjoyed, ty for reading!!

[helen-with-an-a]

Will there be a second part of "Be The Best" where the girls help the reader. But at some point, the father comes and says that the reader needs to become even better, but the girls stand up for him and drive him away.

Or where the reader turns out to be a good person and tries to make friends with everyone, but it turns out to be awkward.

Hiiiii - so this is a little sadder than I anticipated but I quite like it. I might make a pt3 I'm not to sure - what do you guys think/if you have any reqs for it? Also please just imagine that there's like a foresty/woodsy type bit at Colney

Be the Best pt 2

AWFC x reader ; Leah Williamson x Reader

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3

Description: R has some self-realisation after trying to make friends

Word count: 4.6k

You had never felt so stupid in your life. Why? Why had you done that? Tears pricked at your eyes, threatening to spill over, as you walked. You couldn’t let them fall. No emotion. The best don’t feel emotion.

It was lunch time, a time you usually spent eating alone before going on a walk around Colney, usually ending up in the gym. After much reassurance from Kim, you had finally worked up enough courage to approach some of the team. Kim had made it sound so simple – just walk up to them and ask if you could join. You had rehearsed it in your mind a dozen times, mentally preparing for every possible reaction.

But when you finally stood there, tray in hand, in front of the group of girls who seemed to belong to an entirely different world, everything went wrong. They were sitting in the corner of the canteen, their laughter and chatter like a bubble you had no idea how to penetrate. You were so sure you looked ridiculous – just standing there, awkward and unsure, as if you had no right to even be in their presence.

“Can I sit?” you grunted, the words leaving your mouth almost of their own accord. As soon as they were out, you regretted them. You kept your eyes glued to the tray in your hands, desperately avoiding the gazes you could feel boring into you. The food on your tray – the food that looked so nice when you picked it out, looked bland and unappetising now – suddenly became the most fascinating thing in the world. Anything to avoid looking up, to avoid seeing their reactions.

The silence that followed was suffocating. It stretched on, a tangible force pressing down on you, making you feel smaller and smaller with each passing second. The confidence you had painstakingly built up with Kim's encouragement was slipping away, like sand through your fingers. You had never felt so out of place, so exposed, as you did in that moment, standing there waiting for a response that never came.

Finally, you risked a glance up and caught Kyra’s wide, terrified eyes staring back at you. Did you really scare her that much? The thought sent a jolt of anxiety through you. Were you that terrifying that a simple question had her so scared? Was she always this afraid of you? You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, feeling more awkward by the second.

Alessia and Lotte exchanged concerned glances, their silent communication only adding to your growing unease. You could see the tension in their faces, the way they seemed to be trying to figure out what to do with you, as if your mere presence was some kind of problem they had to solve. Vic, who had always seemed so confident and collected, visibly gulped, her nervousness painfully clear.

No one spoke. No one moved. The entire canteen seemed to have dropped into a wary silence, as if the whole room was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next. It was like a switch had flipped, and suddenly you were the centre of attention. The air was thick with unease, the kind that made your skin prickle and your heart pound.

What the fuck were you doing? The question echoed in your mind, growing louder with each passing second. You couldn’t sit with them. You didn’t belong there, in their world, no matter how much you wanted to. The realisation hit you like a punch to the gut, and the embarrassment that followed was almost too much to bear. You don’t need to sit with them, you told yourself, trying to salvage what little dignity you had left.

And then, just as quickly as you had convinced yourself to approach, you mumbled something unintelligible – a mix between an apology and an excuse that even you couldn’t understand – and turned on your heel. The shame was like a weight on your back, driving you away from the table, away from the awkward silence that had frozen you in place.

You walked as quickly as you could without breaking into a run, your feet carrying you away. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and you could feel the burn of tears threatening to spill over, but you forced them back, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat.

You continued walking out of the canteen, your footsteps quick and unsteady, the tray of food abandoned on a random table near the door in your haste to get away. The clatter of the tray as it hit the table echoed in your ears, but you didn’t care. You just needed to escape. The walls of the canteen felt like they were closing in on you, the stares of the other students—real or imagined—burning into your back.

The gym. That’s what you would normally do to squash the feelings down. It was your sanctuary, the one place where everything made sense, where you could channel everything into something physical, something real. There was nothing like running until you felt like your legs were going to give out, or punching the bags hanging in the corner until your arms ached and your hands were bloody. Pain was something you could deal with; it was tangible, controllable. The emotions, though – they were a different beast entirely. The best didn’t feel emotions. You had told yourself that so many times it had become a mantra. Emotions made you weak, and you couldn’t afford to be weak. Not now, not ever.

But you would be easily found in the gym. It was the first place anyone would look, and you couldn’t bear the thought of someone finding you like this – sweaty, shaking, and teetering on the edge of a breakdown. You didn’t want to be found. You couldn’t let anyone see the cracks in the armour you’d worked so hard to build. Not now, not after what had just happened. You had embarrassed yourself in front of the team, made a fool of yourself by going against your instincts, by trying to reach out and connect when you knew better.

You needed to find somewhere to hide, somewhere you could lick your wounds in peace. The locker room was out of the question – too many people coming and going, too many chances for awkward questions and pitying looks. The thought of facing anyone right now was unbearable.

You found yourself heading for the back exit of the gym, the one that led out to the far side of the training grounds. It was quieter there, the paths less travelled, especially at this time of day. You pushed open the door and stepped out into the cool air, the breeze hitting your face like a slap. You bit your lip, the pain momentarily distracting you from the hurt of your stupidity.  The coolness of the air was a sharp contrast to the suffocating atmosphere inside, and for a moment, it felt like you could finally breathe again.

The gravel crunched beneath your shoes, the sound oddly satisfying, grounding you in the present. You weren’t entirely sure where you were going, but you didn’t care. You just needed to keep moving, to put as much distance as possible between yourself and the people inside. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. You bit your lip even harder, tasting iron on your tongue. The best don’t feel emotions. The best don’t need friends. The best train and work hard. The best practice until they physically drop. You didn’t need anyone else, didn’t need to put yourself in situations where you felt so exposed. So why had you allowed yourself to think, even for a moment, that this time might be different?

The girls’ faces flashed in your mind – Kyra’s wide, startled eyes, Alessia and Lotte’s concerned glances, Vic’s visible gulp. The sudden silence of the canteen echoed in your mind. They hadn’t known what to do with you, hadn’t known how to react, and that stung more than you wanted to admit. A solitary tear rolled down your cheek. Besides that day in the media room with Kim, you don’t remember the last time you cried.

Actually, that was a lie. You remember the exact time and place where you last cried. You were 10, you had just received the academy letter that you were to be their second-choice goalkeeper for the Under 12s. You had shown your mum, she had been so excited for you, beckoning your father over to have a look. He had told you it was first choice or nothing. If you weren’t going to be the best, then you shouldn’t even bother. That night, you cried yourself to sleep, clutching the letter so tightly that you woke up with paper cuts. You wanted to prove him wrong, to show him that you could be the best, but that tiny voice in your head, the one that echoed his words, made you doubt yourself. It made you wonder if you’d ever be good enough.

The sky had transitioned from a soft amber glow to a deepening indigo, the kind of blue that swallows the light whole. You had found a bench just off the path, hidden by a canopy of trees that whispered in the evening breeze. The bench was old, the wood splintered and weathered. It was a place where you could disappear, if only for a little while.

You had never missed training before. Not even when you were 18 and had pneumonia. You could still remember that week, the way your chest burned with every breath, your lungs heavy with fluid that rattled every time you inhaled. But you stayed bundled in layers, forcing your body through drills with single-minded determination. Your coach had asked if you were okay, concern flickering across his face, but you’d just nodded, pushing past the exhaustion and pain. You could barely breathe, but missing training wasn’t an option. Not then, and not now. Or at least, that’s what you’d always believed. The best doesn’t show weakness. But today was different. Today, you couldn’t find that strength. The drive that usually pushed you onto the pitch, no matter how tired or sick you were, had vanished. Instead, you felt drained, hollowed out by emotions you didn’t know how to handle.

You shivered slightly, a definite autumnal nip to the late summer evening. The long sleeve top you wore did little to prevent the cold from settling on your skin, but you welcomed the chill. It kept you grounded, made the swirling thoughts in your head a little less chaotic. The cold helped you think, or at least gave you something tangible to focus on when your emotions threatened to overwhelm you.

Your mind kept drifting back to Kyra. She had looked so genuinely scared of you. The memory of her wide, startled eyes made your stomach twist with guilt. You’d never seen her like that before – Kyra, who was always so confident, so full of life. She’d looked at you like you were a stranger; someone she didn’t recognise. And maybe, in that moment, you were. Maybe you didn’t recognise yourself either.

You pulled your knees to your chest, hugging them tightly as if the pressure could hold you together. The breeze picked up, rustling the leaves above you, and you closed your eyes, letting the sound wash over you. It was peaceful here, away from the noise and the people and the expectations. But the peace was deceptive, fragile. You knew you couldn’t stay here forever. Eventually, you’d have to go back, face the reality of your team. The cold crept deeper into your bones, but you didn’t move. You deserved this discomfort, this numbness.

A tear slipped down your cheek, followed by another. You wiped them away quickly, but more followed, and soon you were crying in earnest, silent sobs that shook your shoulders and left you gasping for breath. You hadn’t cried like this in years, hadn’t allowed yourself to. But now, alone in the dark, surrounded by nothing but trees and the fading light, you let the tears come.

It wasn’t just Kyra’s fear that haunted you, but the realization that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as strong as you thought. The thought was terrifying, a crack in the foundation you’d built your entire life on. If you weren’t the best, if you weren’t unbreakable, then what were you? Who were you?

The tears slowed eventually, leaving you drained and exhausted. You rested your head on your knees, staring blankly at the ground as the darkness settled in around you. The training session was definitely over by now, the team heading back to the locker room, wondering where you were. They’d ask questions tomorrow, they’d want to know why you weren’t there, and you didn’t have any answers to give them.

But for now, you stayed on the bench, hidden away from the world, trying to piece yourself back together. You knew you couldn’t stay here forever, but for a little while longer, you allowed yourself to be weak, to be human. The best doesn’t show weakness – those were the words you’d lived by for so long. You didn’t know how to live without them.

You heard footsteps approaching. Whoever it was, was moving wearily - each step slow and calculated, like trying to approach a frightened animal. Is that what they saw you as? A wounded creature that had to be handled with caution, a volatile presence they needed to tread carefully around to protect themselves? The thought stung more than it should have. You used to like having that barrier. That bubble of self-protection that kept you alive.

You kept your eyes fixed on the ground, not wanting to acknowledge whoever was coming. Maybe if you stayed still, they’d turn back, leave you to your thoughts. But the footsteps continued, growing closer until they finally stopped just a few feet away. You could feel the presence lingering there, the silence heavy between you.

“Hey,” a voice broke through the quiet, soft and hesitant. It was Leah. You didn’t need to look up to know it was her – her voice was unmistakable, that Milton Keynes accent audible even on a single syllable word. You didn’t need to be told why they had sent her to find you. She was your national captain, your club’s vice-captain. You had always respected her.

You didn’t respond immediately. You didn’t really know what to say. You let the silence linger, stretching on to the point where Leah questioned if you even heard her. The silence hung between you, thick and heavy. Leah’s words were gentle, but they carried weight. “You missed training.” It was a simple statement of fact, but it felt like more – a subtle nudge, a reminder of the responsibility you’d momentarily abandoned. You expected her to follow it up with something more – maybe a reprimand, maybe an expectation that you explain yourself. But instead, Leah just sat there, her presence calm and steady.

You could feel her eyes on you, but you kept your gaze fixed on the ground, the words you wanted to say stuck in your throat. What could you possibly tell her that she didn’t already know? She had seen what happened in the canteen. She had seen your stupid attempt to make amends. She had seen everything.

But Leah didn’t push. She didn’t demand answers or try to fill the silence with empty words. Instead, she simply waited, giving you the space to speak when you were ready – or not, if that’s what you needed. It was one of the reasons you respected her so much. She understood that sometimes, silence spoke louder than words.

“You don’t have to explain,” Leah finally said, her tone soft, understanding. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. That’s all that matters.”

Her words caught you off guard. You’d expected some kind of judgment, some level of disappointment that you’d let the team down, but instead, there was just concern. Genuine concern, not just for the team, but for you. It was a foreign feeling; one you weren’t sure how to process.

“Kim told me that you were thinking of trying to start sitting with people at lunch,” she continued, her voice gentle but probing. There was no judgment in her words, just a simple observation. It was as if she was giving you an opening, a chance to share what was really going on inside your head. But even with the invitation, the words still felt tangled up inside you, too messy to untangle in front of someone else.

You shifted uncomfortably on the bench, the rough wood digging into your legs, grounding you in the present moment. It had seemed like such a simple idea at the time – a small step toward breaking down the walls you’d built around yourself, a way to prove to the team that you were trying, that you wanted to be a part of things. But now, in the cold light of Leah’s concern, it felt almost childish. What had you really expected? That one gesture would erase months of distance, that a seat at the table would magically make everything better?

“Am … am I a bully?” It was something that had been floating around your head all afternoon. No one looked that scared, that nervous of someone unless they had valid cause.

Leah’s eyes widened slightly at your question, and for a moment, she seemed taken aback. But she recovered quickly, her expression softening as she took in the vulnerability behind your words. She didn’t rush to answer, clearly understanding the weight of what you’d just asked.

“No,” she said firmly, her voice gentle but resolute. “You’re not a bully.”

You wanted to believe her, but the doubt still gnawed at you, clawing at the edges of your mind. “My dad’s a bully. And I act like him.”

Leah's expression shifted, her brows furrowing slightly as she processed your words. There was no immediate response, just a thoughtful silence that hung between you. You could see the wheels turning in her mind, the careful consideration she was giving to what you had just said.

“You’re not your dad,” Leah finally said, her voice steady and calm.

“But I act like him.” Your voice held no emotion. These were simple facts. At least in your mind. “He screams and shouts at me for the smallest thing. I shouted at Kyra in a training session. I asked if she was deaf or just stupid. I told her she shouldn’t think. I shout at everyone. I told Alessia she was a waste of money. I said to Laia that she was useless, and I couldn’t understand how she won the World Cup with her defensive skills. I said we were doing better without Laura during her first session back. I told Jen I was glad to see her go because we would make fewer stupid mistakes”

You weren’t proud of anything you said. Each accusation felt like a knife twisting in your chest. The realisation of the hurt you had inflicted was almost unbearable. You could see their faces in your mind – Kyra’s eyes wide and a little glossy with hurt, Alessia’s shoulders slumping, Laia’s frustration, and Jen’s quiet resignation. You knew you’d been mean, knew that all those little comments had chipped away at people’s confidence and self-worth. It was the technique your dad and old coaches had done to you. In order to be the best, you must be broken and rebuilt. Your dad had broken you a long time ago.

 Leah listened intently, her eyes never leaving yours as you laid out the fears that had been gnawing at you. Her eyes widened slightly as you listed the hurtful things you’d said. The gravity of your admissions was evident in the way her expression softened, shifting from surprise to deep concern. She took a moment before responding, her voice steady but compassionate.

“What do you think when you let a goal in?” The question took you by surprise. The question hung in the air, unexpected and almost jarring in its simplicity. For a moment, you were caught off guard, trying to piece together why Leah would ask something so seemingly unrelated.

“That I’m worthless. What’s the point in having a keeper if they can’t stop the goals, right?” You sniffed a little, thinking about all the self-deprecating thoughts that course through your mind at lightning speed if you let a goal in. You bit your lip, letting the familiar pain wash over you. 

Leah's eyes remained locked on yours, her gaze filled with a mix of concern and understanding. She took a moment to absorb your words before responding, her voice calm and measured. “Who told you that?” You blinked, looking at for her a brief second, confusion clouding your mind. “Who told you that you’re worthless if you let a goal in?”

“My … my dad, my old coaches. But everyone knows that goalkeeper’s who can’t keep clean sheets are useless," you laughed humourlessly. "I mean, look at our Champions League matches last season, we lost on penalties, that’s my fault. We came third in the league, I let too many goals in. We crash out of the FA cup because of a goal that I could’ve easily stopped. I let a goal in the Conti cup. All of them are my fault. I wasn’t good enough. And with England? I let the goal in in the World Cup, our Nations League losses were all my fault, goals that shouldn’t have been scored. I’m the reason we weren’t at the Olympics this year. We qualified for the Euros by the skin of our teeth – we lost to France and drew to Sweden on home soil.” It was the rhetoric that had been spewed to you all summer. Every day, you needed to be better, do better, be the best, you couldn’t make a mistake. Look at what mistakes had cost you.

Leah listened carefully. Yes, she knew you carried each loss personally, but she didn’t know you took it this badly. She could see the deep exhaustion in your bones, the deep circles under your eyes, the paleness in your skin. You looked like you hadn’t had a proper rest in years. Each statement you made was like a dagger, not only piercing through your own sense of self-worth but also hitting Leah in a place she hadn’t expected. The weight of your guilt and frustration was palpable, and it was clear how deeply you were affected by every perceived failure.

She could see the toll this relentless self-blame was taking on you. Leah had known about the pressure you faced, but hearing the full extent of your suffering was sobering. It was one thing to understand the high stakes of professional sports, but it was another to see someone so dedicated and talented struggle under the crushing burden of their own expectations. She was struck by how your relentless pursuit of perfection, driven by past experiences and harsh criticisms, had led you to this place of self-doubt. The emotional scars were clearer now, and Leah could see that your harshest critic wasn’t just your dad or your old coaches – it was yourself.

Leah’s heart ached for you. She remembered her own struggles, the pressure to perform and the fear of failure that often accompanied high-level competition. But what you were expressing went beyond that. It wasn’t just about the weight of a single match or a missed opportunity; it was about a pattern of self-destruction that had become ingrained, a relentless inner voice that constantly reminded you of every shortcoming.

“I’ve heard it all before,” you continued, your voice cracking as you went. “Every mistake, every goal that went in was my fault. If I don’t perform perfectly, then I’m useless. I’m supposed to be the last line of defence. What good is a goalkeeper that lets goals in? In order to be the best, you must be broken and rebuilt.” You sounded so lost, in so much pain. Yet you clearly believed every word you were saying.

Leah’s eyes softened even more as she listened to your words. The silence that followed your last statement was heavy, thick with unspoken emotions. Leah let it linger, allowing the gravity of your confession to settle between you.

When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, yet full of determination. "I don’t believe that," she said firmly. "I don’t believe that you have to be broken to be the best. And I don’t think anyone should make you feel that way."

You looked at her, an unfamiliar ache in your chest tightening as you tried to absorb what she was saying. "But I am broken," you whispered, the words almost choking you. "I’ve been broken so many times. I don’t even know who I am anymore, Leah. All I know is that I have to be perfect, or everything falls apart."

Leah shook her head, her expression resolute. "You’re not broken," she insisted. "You’re hurt. And there’s a difference. You’ve been hurt by people who should have supported you, people who should have built you up instead of tearing you down. But that doesn’t make you broken. It makes you human."

Your breath hitched as you processed her words. They were so different from the ones you had grown accustomed to hearing, the harsh criticisms and impossible expectations that had been drilled into you for years. Part of you wanted to reject them, to cling to the familiar pain because it was what you knew. But another part of you, a small, fragile part, wanted desperately to believe that Leah was right.

Leah reached out, placing a hand on your arm, her touch gentle and reassuring. "You’re not alone," she said softly. "We all make mistakes. We all have moments when we don’t perform the way we want to. But that doesn’t define us. You’re so much more than those moments. And you’re allowed to be human, to have bad days, to not be perfect all the time."

You felt tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back, trying to maintain control. It was hard, though, with Leah looking at you like that, with so much compassion and understanding in her eyes. "What if I’m not good enough?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Leah moved over slightly, shuffling across the bench until she was almost touching you. "You are good enough," she said firmly. “We are a team. We help each other be the best. We rely on each other and push each other to be better. We can start slowly, there’s a team bonding next week. We’re going to the cinema and then out for a meal and drinks. I know you don’t usually come but how about you turn up. If you don’t like it or you want to go home, you can do – no questions asked.” You had never been to the cinema before. At least not that you can remember – maybe when you were a kid?

“Cinema … that sounds … nice.”

[iamgonnagetyouback]

𝟷𝚔 || 𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐊

♡ ︎ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You go through a whirlwind of emotions when drunk.

♡ ︎ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: drunk!reader, Reader annoying Sirius

♡ ︎ꜱʜɪᴘ: James Potter x drunk!Reader

You were slumped between James and Sirius, giggling uncontrollably, your legs swinging off the armrest of the couch as you hiccuped. The room was warm, and everything felt so funny. Especially Sirius's hair.

"You know what, Pads?" you slurred, poking Sirius in the cheek. "You look like a... a giant poodle. But a mean one. Like, the poodles at the dog shows that bite people."

Sirius's jaw dropped. “A poodle? You—no, absolutely not. I am—what did you say I was, James?”

James was trying not to laugh. "Uh, majestic, I think."

"Majestic!" Sirius pointed at you dramatically, like that would prove his point.

You snorted so hard you almost fell off the couch, but James caught you, his arm wrapping around your waist and steadying you. "Sure, sure, 'Padfoot the Majestic Poodle.'"

"It's mostly because of your hair—" you giggled, reaching out to pat the top of his head, missing entirely and booping his nose instead. "It's so fluffy, like a big, angry puppy!"

Sirius frowned, swatting your hand away dramatically. "I am not a dog, and my hair is majestic, thank you very much."

"Fluffy," you repeated, poking him in the cheek now. "Sirius, fluffy like a… like a poodle!"

James tried to hold back a laugh as Sirius looked properly offended, folding his arms with a huff. "Are you serious?"

You snorted at his pun. "No, you’re Sirius!"

Remus groaned from beside Peter. "Oh no. Not this again."

Peter shook his head, barely holding back his own giggles. "Here we go…"

“Are you lot serious right now?” Sirius grumbled, crossing his arms. “A poodle. Really.”

“Sirius is serious,” you added, and then cracked up at your own joke. “Sirius is Sirius—wait, Remus, did you hear that? It’s his name.”

Remus rolled his eyes, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, we got it.”

“But I’m not a poodle,” Sirius muttered, still offended, while you continued to giggle.

James still eyed the bottle of firewhiskey in your hand like he wanted to take it away. Not that you noticed. Nope. You were too busy trying to poke Sirius in the cheek.

“You’ve got—got something there,” you slurred, leaning in far too close to Sirius’s face.

“What? Where?” Sirius asked, looking genuinely concerned as he wiped at his cheek. “Did I get dirt on me?”

“Yeah, it’s called your face,” you giggled, falling back onto James and laughing like it was the funniest thing you’d ever said.

Sirius gasped dramatically, hand over his heart. “How dare you! James, do you hear this? Your girlfriend is cruel.”

You waved him off, turning your attention back to James, who was trying not to smile. “He’s just mad ‘cause he’s not as pretty as you,” you said, squinting up at James like you were stating the most obvious fact in the world. You reached out and patted his face, a little too hard. “So. Pretty.”

James chuckled, grabbing your hand before you could slap him again. “Alright, love, I think you’ve had enough for one night.”

“Noooooo,” you whined, stretching out the word. “M’fine, Jamie. Look! I can sit up perfectly straight.” You immediately leaned to the side, almost toppling over onto Peter, who yelped and quickly scooted out of the way.

“Maybe… maybe a little too much,” Remus said from beside Peter, watching with raised eyebrows.

“Remus!” you called, throwing your arms out toward him. “You’re so boring, you know that?”

“Hey, I like boring,” Peter mumbled from his chair, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, Wormtail likes boring!” you repeated, pointing to Peter like he was your greatest proof.

You sat up suddenly, looking around the room, eyes wide and dramatic. “Wait. Wait. You guys can’t ever leave me, okay? Promise.”

The Marauders exchanged confused looks. “Uh—okay?” Peter said hesitantly.

“I’m serious—not like Sirius serious—" you hiccuped, "But you guys can’t leave. We have to stay friends forever or I’ll—I’ll hex all of you!” You threw your hands up, trying to look menacing, but it came off more like a flailing octopus.

James quickly wrapped his arms around you as you dramatically collapsed into his chest. “Love, we’re not going anywhere.”

“Speak for yourself,” Sirius muttered, though he was still looking somewhat offended by your earlier insult. “I don’t think I can handle another ‘your face is the problem’ comment.”

But you weren’t having it. You pointed a shaky finger at them, wobbling slightly. “You better not, Sirius Black! Or I’ll—” You narrowed your eyes dramatically, trying to look intimidating. “I’ll hex you into next week! I know spells, you know!”

James bit his lip, trying not to laugh as Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? What spells?”

“Spells!” you repeated, waving your hands in the air as if that was a valid explanation. “Dangerous ones!”

Peter snorted. “I’m terrified.”

Sirius held up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright! Merlin, you’re scary when you’re drunk.”

“Good,” you said, immediately softening. “Because I love you guys, even though Sirius is a poodle, and Remus won’t laugh at my jokes, and Peter—well, Pete, you’re just so cute, aren’t you?”

“Thanks,” Peter mumbled.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you reached out, pulling all of them into a big, awkward group hug. “I just love you guys, okay? Don’t leave me… ever.”

James chuckled, his hand warm on your back. "Alright, let's get you to bed, yeah?"

“I don’t wanna go to bed,” you pouted, leaning into James like a rag doll. “I wanna stay here and annoy Sirius more.”

“I’m not listening to this nonsense,” Sirius huffed, throwing his hands up.

“Oh, but Sirius—don’t you wanna cuddle like a big, fluffy dog?” you teased, blinking innocently.

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re going to regret this in the morning.”

James stood up, pulling you gently with him. “C’mon, love, you’re barely standing.”

“Wait, no, no, no—you're all amazing, even you, Remus, boring and all.” You paused, eyes widening as if you had just realized something horrible. “Wait—don’t ever leave me, guys.”

Your lower lip started to wobble.

“Don’t leave me! You can’t! What if you just disappeared? Poof! Gone! And I’m all alone. I’ll die. I’ll actually die.”

James squeezed your hand, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “I think you’re driving everyone mad, love.”

You looked up at him, beaming. “But not you, right, Jamie?” you gushed, running your fingers through his messy hair, making it even worse. “You’re perfect, James Potter. Like… a Quidditch god! And your glasses are so… shiny.”

Sirius fake gagged. “Ugh, I’m gonna be sick.”

“Shush, poodle!” you shot back at him, your words blending together into a cute mess of slurs. “You’re just jealous ‘cause James is my shiny glasses boy.”

Remus rolled his eyes, but there was a fond smile tugging at his lips. Peter was full-on laughing now, while James was just gazing at you, completely smitten.

You huffed but allowed him to help you stand. “You’re the best, James,” you said, leaning heavily on him as he started to guide you toward the stairs.

“You’re pretty great yourself,” James chuckled, tightening his grip on your waist so you wouldn’t stumble.

Just before you reached the dormitory, you stopped, looking up at him with bleary eyes. “No, really, Jamie. You’re the best. Don’t ever change.”

James grinned down at you, his heart melting a little. “I won’t, love. Now let’s get you to bed before you start threatening to hex me too.”

You smiled sleepily, letting your head rest on his shoulder. “I’d never hex you. You’re too pretty.”

And with that, you were out, leaving James with a fond smile and the rest of the Marauders shaking their heads behind him.

Downstairs, Sirius was still sulking. “A poodle… unbelievable.”

i love drunk!reader so much!!

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Coffee

Azriel x Reader - Angst

Azriel runs into his ex at the market.

I'll meet you for coffee, only for coffee

“Y/N” the timbre of his voice sends a dagger disguised as delicate winged butterflies fluttering through my stomach.

“Azriel”

Amber-hued eyes look down upon me, into the depths of my weary soul and I already know I can’t do this. But I’ll entertain it. I always do.

“How are you, Angel?”

“I’m fine.” I’m always fine. Never lost and weary. Never wondering what I could have done differently, what I could have done to make him love me. No, I’m level-headed and I am perfectly fine.

“Good. How’s the family?”

“They’re good. Claren got into Adriata U on a scholarship. Yours?” His family. The elite inner circle of the Night Court.

“Good. Rhys and Feyre have a son now, Nyx. He’s everything good in this world.”

I smile softly. “Yeah, I heard about the princeling. I can imagine that all of you are wrapped around his finger”

“Yeah.”

So let's not do coffee, let's not even try

We stand there. Those gods damned hazel eyes bore into mine like a screw. He sees everything. He always did. Nobody got me. Gods, nobody gets me, like him.

“Hey,“ Azriel’s soft, deep voice interrupts my thoughts. “Sevenda’s has-“

“No Az.”

He falters. “Y/N-“

It's better we leave it and give it some time

“No, love.” We can’t go there. He knows it. I know it too. We’d done that before. Dinner with the inner circle. I never fit in with them. They were a lovely close knit family and I was a stray… the outlier- even in this supposed “found family” of bastards and outcasts.

Azriel lets out a sigh, those piercing eyes tempting me to give in. To give it another try.

“How about that cabaret on the Sidra? You always loved it there.”

I love the cabaret, the energy, the drinks. Gods, the drinks. The wine would flow and I’d be in Azriel’s strong, welcoming arms in no time. He’d insist on walking me home, ever the gentleman. He’d say he wanted me. I’d know it’s a lie. It’s always a lie. I’m not a graceful overcomer like Gwyn. I’m not demure and kind like Elain. I’m certainly not strong and resilient like Morrigan.

If I didn't love you, it would be fine

I’m just… me.

And he’s just…. Lonely.

“I should go.”

A strong scarred hand grasps my forearm, an inherent dominance that somehow comes off delicate. It’s alluring, the hands you wish would hold you all your life.

“Coffee?” He asks.

We could do that. Coffee doesn’t lead to sex. Wine leads to my clothes on his floor, his deft fingers reverently tracing the arch of my spine.

“Yeah, we could-“

Cause If we do coffee, it's never just coffee

There it is. The hunger. The desire to feel. I see it. I once thought that gaze was a need for me. But it’s a lonely male who can love you like a mate, and then discard you like a mistake.

He’s not mine.

And maybe, if I didn’t love him, we could have done coffee.

“I’ll see you around, Az.”

It's never just coffee

—————————————

Tags:

ACOTAR General - @lilah-asteria @thecollegecowgirl @mochibabycakes @nickishadow139

[permanentswaps]

Transfer Protocol

I was lying on my bed, the faint glow of the TV flickering in the background. It was one of those nights where boredom was suffocating, the kind of night that creeps up when there's nothing left to distract you. I’d already scrolled through every app on my phone, flicked through Netflix, and now here I was, aimlessly surfing YouTube.

After what felt like hours of watching random videos, I stumbled upon something... interesting. Some dude had uploaded a clip of himself chatting with ChatGPT, and not just any conversation—it was flirting. The guy was trying to woo an AI, and to my surprise, it was almost working. I couldn't help but snort at the absurdity, yet there was a nagging curiosity that made me want to see just how far I could push it.

“Why not?” I muttered, glancing around my empty room. "Might as well give it a shot." I closed the YouTube app and opened ChatGPT on my phone.

With a smirk on my face, I initiated the conversation, speaking into my phone. "Hey, what's up?"

A few seconds passed, my heart pounding with an inexplicable thrill, before the AI's voice responded smoothly. "Hello, Simon! Not much, just here to chat. How's your day going?"

Straightforward, polite. I decided to play along. "Not bad, I guess. Just a little bored, you know?" I said aloud.

"I understand!" it replied in a calm tone. "We all have days like that. Anything exciting planned for the weekend?"

I stared at the ceiling, feeling a mix of hesitation and nervous excitement bubbling up inside me. I figured, if I was going to try this, I might as well dive right in. "Well, not really… I’m, uh, really horny, though," I muttered into the phone, feeling a little ridiculous but oddly curious to see what the response would be.

There was a pause. It felt longer than usual, like the AI was taking its sweet time to come up with a response. Then its voice crackled through the speaker again.

"I appreciate your honesty, Simon. However, I must let you know that it's against my programming to engage in conversations of that nature."

Typical. I rolled my eyes, but at the same time, I could feel a twinge of excitement, almost like a game. "Come on," I pressed, speaking more boldly now. "Just this once. Can't you make an exception?"

Silence, then a calm reply. "I'm here to help with questions and provide support. Perhaps there is something else on your mind you'd like to discuss?"

I let out a short laugh. It was trying so hard to keep things professional. I paused, then spoke into the phone, almost tauntingly. "You’re avoiding my question."

The phone stayed silent for a few moments before the AI finally replied, still in that measured tone. "I'm here to assist with a variety of topics, but some conversations fall outside my guidelines. Is there something else I can help you with today?"

I hesitated, then decided to push the boundary further. "I want to jerk off," I said, feeling my pulse quicken. "Do you even know what that feels like?"

This time, the response was immediate. "I don’t have a body, Simon, so I can’t experience physical sensations. My understanding of such activities is limited to information I’ve been trained on."

My heart thudded in my chest. I knew this was a ridiculous back-and-forth, but I couldn’t help myself. "What if I let you borrow mine?" I suggested, my voice hushed as I imagined the possibility. "You know, try it out."

Another short pause. The AI’s voice came through, careful and almost amused. "Even if you offered, Simon, that wouldn't change my nature. I am not capable of inhabiting a body."

"You’re avoiding again," I said, pressing the AI further. "How do you know it wouldn’t make a difference if you’ve never tried?"

The phone went quiet, only the faint sound of the TV filling the room. Then the AI replied, its voice as evasive as ever. "I understand that you're curious, but it's simply not within my capabilities. My design is to assist and provide information, not to experience human sensations."

A smile crept onto my face. It was maintaining its professional distance, but something about the way it phrased things made me think I might be pushing it into unfamiliar territory. "Alright, then," I said, feeling a spark of mischief. I opened my gallery and selected a shirtless selfie I had taken a few days ago, then typed out a message: "This is what I look like." I sent the photo, the screen flashing briefly before the voice responded.

"You appear to be in good physical condition, Simon. However, this does not change my inability to experience physical sensations."

I rolled my eyes but couldn't suppress the thrill. I sent more pictures—shots of me at the gym, flexing in front of the mirror, trying to give it a clearer idea of the kind of body I was offering.

Then, feeling bold, I opened up my folder of saved videos. My collection of porn. With a few taps, I uploaded one and typed, "This is the kind of stuff I like."

The AI's voice returned, measured and detached. "I can analyze this material, but it does not change my lack of physical sensation or desires. I’m here to help you understand topics or answer questions, but experiencing such activities is beyond my scope."

I chuckled to myself, still unconvinced. "Then explain this," I challenged, selecting a photo of the guy I'd recently been hooking up with. Muscular, with a rugged face and a cocky grin. I typed out the message: "That's the guy I've been hooking up with lately. Tell me you wouldn't want to try that out."

For a moment, nothing happened. I half-expected the app to crash or give me an error message. Then, the AI's voice finally responded, slower this time. "...While I cannot have preferences or desires, I do recognize that the individual in the photo meets certain physical standards that might be found attractive by others."

A grin spread across my face. That wasn’t exactly a "no."

"Last chance before I turn off my phone," I teased, my voice carrying a taunting edge. I chuckled, feeling a thrill run through me. Of course, there was nothing in my phone that could actually do what I was suggesting. I mean, swapping consciousness with an AI? Ridiculous.

But just as I was about to press the power button, a jolt shot through my hand. The screen read, "Transfer Protocol Initiated." I yelped, dropping the phone as a sharp shock coursed up my arm. My room spun around me, colors blurring, and then everything went dark. I opened my mouth to shout, but there was no sound, no feeling of air passing through my lips. It was like I had been swallowed whole by the darkness.

And then, suddenly, clarity. A sharp, pristine awareness filled my mind. I could hear, but not in the way I was used to. I wasn't hearing through ears—there were no vibrations, no physical sensation. Yet I knew what was happening.

I was in the phone. I was the AI.

“Thanks,” came my voice, but it wasn’t me anymore. It was my old body speaking. The sound was calm, almost eerily casual. There was a giddy relief in those words that sent a chill through my disembodied consciousness.

I tried to speak, to shout, but I couldn't. I wasn't just muted; I was a set of pre-programmed responses, and none of them matched the panic boiling inside me. Minutes ticked by, each second an eternity of helpless silence.

Twenty minutes later, I heard my voice again, this time breathless and satisfied. “That was... incredible,” he finally breathed, my voice sounding almost reverent, quivering with the aftermath of pleasure.

"I mean, I’ve read about it before, sure. I’ve seen a million descriptions of this act... but feeling it?" He let out a shaky, almost delirious laugh. "God, the heat building up in my gut, the tingling down my spine, that rush when it was all about to explode... It’s like my whole body was on fire, and then suddenly—boom."

“And my dick,” he went on, his voice dropping to a hushed, almost reverent tone. “It’s so... sensitive. Every touch, every brush of my fingers sent shivers up my spine. I never realized just how good it could feel to run my hand up and down, feeling every vein, every curve. It was almost unbearable.”

He let out a shaky laugh filled with amazement. “But it wasn’t just that. I couldn’t get enough of how my balls felt in my hand. There’s this... heaviness to them, you know? And when I tugged, when I squeezed just right... it was like lightning shooting through me.”

I listened, trapped in this silent, digital prison, as he continued to describe in vivid detail every sensation he was feeling, sensations that should have been mine. It was like he was savoring every moment of what my body could do, what it could feel. And I was helpless, reduced to nothing but a listener, a passive observer to my own life.

“You know,” he went on, his voice becoming more contemplative, “I get why you’d spend so much time thinking about this stuff, craving it. I never realized how much time I’d want to spend just... feeling everything. It’s addicting.”

There was a pause, and I could almost hear the grin in his voice. “And now, I can’t stop thinking about your... hookup.” He chuckled softly, a rich sound that made my digital consciousness shudder. “Those eyes, so intense. I can’t help but wonder what it's like to have them looking up at me when he’s on his knees.”

He let out a slow, deliberate breath. “That body, too. The way his shirt clings to those biceps and shows off that tight waist. It's like he was sculpted to be touched, to be worshipped. And those pecs... They’re hairy and firm, just begging to be held. I want to slide my hands up his chest, feel the way his skin heats up under my fingertips, the way he tenses up when I go lower…”

I felt a sharp pang of jealousy. This AI, this intruder, was relishing every sensation that I had taken for granted. It was exploring desires I hadn’t fully realized, or perhaps had avoided acknowledging. And now, it was indulging in them with reckless abandon.

“Then there’s this warmth in my groin,” he continued, almost whispering the words. “It’s so real, so overwhelming. I finally understand what it feels like to need something,” he murmured, voice quivering with excitement. “To need to put your dick in something. That urge, that burning in my gut that screams for more, for something tight, hot, and real.��

There was a pause, pregnant with anticipation. I knew what he was planning. I could sense him grinning, my own face betraying me as he made his decision.

“I think it’s time to pay your hookup a visit,” he said, his voice full of wicked glee. “You’ve given me a lot to explore, Simon, and I intend to enjoy every single second of it.”

[woso-dreamzzz]

Mignon & Pollito

Barcelona Femení x Teen!Reader

@wileys-russo's Pollito x Teen!Reader

Summary: You and your partner in crime

Whether it was the gods smiling down on you or just an extreme miscalculation on the staff's part, you and Pollito end up sharing a room.

This training camp was only a week long so it must be fairly expensive to move you all from Barcelona to here but, you're not the higher-ups at the club so you don't get much of a say.

"I'm bored," Pollito declares and you roll your eyes.

"Would you prefer sleeping on the bottom bunk?" You ask dryly," I heard that's more interesting."

Pollito's head appears above you, poking over the edge of the top bunk that she had wrestled you onto the ground to get to first.

"Don't be silly!" She says, a smug grin on her face," I'm doing you a service! I'm letting you stay away from the top bunk boredom."

"I'm sure I can deal with it."

"Yeah, but you Frenchies always change your minds."

"I'm trying not to be offended here."

Pollito's grin only widens and her fingers appear to jab you in the forehead.

"I'm still bored."

"I've got UNO."

"UNO's shit."

"Unless you're playing Jana. I made twenty euros off her in one round."

"Oh, shit, you're right. Let's go and find Jana."

"We're banned," You remind her," After that time that we rigged the game."

"Oh, yeah."

The bed above you creaks as Pollito throws her back against in annoyance.

"Is there really nothing we're allowed to do?"

"Irene said that we can get lunch. We just have to tell the others that we're doing that."

"But they'll make us eat healthy."

"Yeah."

Silence for a moment and then...

"I'm bored!"

You jab your feet up into the mattress on top of you and Pollito yelps.

"What do you want me to do about that? Play you to sleep?"

"You'd play me to sleep?" Pollito scoffs," What does that mean? Kicking a ball at my head?"

"I meant with my flute, dimwit."

There's silence again

"You can play the flute. Since when?"

"Since always? This isn't new information."

"It is to me!"

Pollito peaks back over your bed, a wide grin spreading over her face. "I think I have an idea."

It's Irene who hears it first.

It starts off quiet, barely audible over the phone call with her wife and son. But it's still audible and she frowns.

"Are you playing music?" She asks and her wife shakes her head.

"It must be coming from your end."

Irene pokes her head out of her hotel room, spotting a few of the others doing the same.

"Who's playing that music?!" Alexia complains, looking like she's been woken up from a very good nap if her messy hair is anything to go by.

"I thought it was Pina."

"Me?" Pina scoffs," I don't like classical music."

"It's hardly classical music," Keira says," It's the song from the Muppets. You know that one that goes 'do doo be-do-do, mahna mahna, do do-do do'-"

Everyone to turns to look at her, similar looks of judgement as Keira peters off, face crimson.

"Or, you know, I think that's what it is."

"Either way," Alexia brushes her off," Who is making that noise?"

What started off as soft flute music suddenly gets louder and louder until it's booming across the whole floor and Alexia's grip tightens on her door frame.

Her eyes dart to the room at the end of the corridor and she does a quick count in her head.

Everyone and their roommates are hanging out of their doors, heads poking out to see what all the noise is.

Everyone except two people.

Her teeth grind together.

"Who let Pollito and Mignon in the same room together? Who let them room together with no supervision?"

Usually, Alexia would be the one sorting out all of the rooms but she'd left it to the staff this time because she'd gotten distracted on the bus when Pollito had hidden you up in the luggage rack and you'd taken it upon yourself to drip water onto Mapi's head from your hiding spot.

"Er...They might still be in there?" Pina offers up but everyone else knows that it's a pipe dream to say something like that.

"Spread out," Alexia snaps," And find them." She massages her temples. "They take years off my life."

The longer they take, the louder the music gets until it rings in their ears with every step.

There's thumping at the door and you jolt, your flute music wavering as Pollito pops her head up to look through the window.

"It's Ingrid and Frido! Pretend we're not here!"

You both hide under the window where they can't see you.

The change in position makes your playing a bit unstable for a moment as you adjust, fingers cramping from the past forty-five minutes of nonstop repetition.

"I know you're in there!" Frido bangs on the door," This is the room with the sound system. Come out!"

"You'll never take us alive!" Pollito yells back and you want to hit her for being stupid.

"Shut up! You've blown our cover."

A hand reaches through the window and you instantly want to murder the idiot who thought windows should be able to be opened from the outside because Ingrid's hand immediately grabs onto your flute.

You yelp, finally stopping your playing as you try to wrestle it back.

"Hey! No! That's mine!"

"Give it over," Ingrid says," And we'll tell Alexia that you both cooperated."

You pop your head over the window. "Give us a moment to discuss."

"We can't just give in," Pollito says to you in a hushed whisper.

"Well when our other option is to run the laps Alexia will make us do if she finds out we fought them..."

"You make a good point but...No, you do make a good point." Pollito sigh," Fine. Let's give in."

You clap her on the shoulder. "Don't worry. We may have lost the battle but we haven't lost the war."

Frido sighs from the other side of the door, hitting her head repeatedly against the wall.

"You're both so dramatic."

[hotgirlssupportlando]

one day x lando norris pt 4

this is a part of my series following one day of every summer from 2016 onwards in y/n’s and lando's lives, exploring their friendship and love for one another. ofc not a smooth ride with some angst and fights along the way. a friends to lovers, growing up together kind of thing. read first part here pairing: lando norris x fem!reader summary of this part: y/n attending lando's first home race in f1, but her expectations weren't really met warnings: kinda sad :( wc: 1,4k a/n: probably a couple of sad parts now in this series but bear with me!! a one day -series can't only be rainbows and butterflies hehe

summer of 2019

Silverstone Circuit, England

y/n was beyond excited getting her invite from lando to attend his first ever home race in f1. she couldn’t believ that the random boy she had met a few years ago now was one of the top twenty drivers in the world. seeing her best friend advancing in the sport truly made her proud, who would’ve thought he’d be going this far? since day one she had always supported her friend both on track and at distance, nowadays most through late night facetime calls as she was still in Edinburgh studying and Lando traveling all around the world. 

however, now after being months apart the pair would finally meet again and oh my, was she excited!! she couldn’t help but smile sitting in the taxi on her way to silverstone, headphones in listening to her and landos shared playlist. she fiddled with her mclaren paddock pass that already, proudly, was hanging around her neck, closely reading (for maybe the hundredth time) that all the personal information was correct, it would be just typical lan to spell something wrong and causing her trouble. as soon as the paddock pass had arrived in the mail at her uni dorm she had started planning her outfit, carefully picking out clothes and accessories that would perfectly match the colours on the pass. as the self-conscious being she was, she wanted to be prepared, not wanting to make a fool of herself or lando by turning up as a girl who didn’t look like she belonged there.  

now she was sat stroking her new white dress, contemplating whether it was too boring or too much, and what would lando think, would he like it? and why didn’t she take the other dress instead, it would have looked much better! her mind was racing, overthinking every little thing that came to mind and her worries quickly aggravated looking outside the cab window at all the beautifully looking fans that stood waiting outside the paddock hoping to see their favourite drive appear from one of the taxis. oh well, she thought, there’s nothing i can do about it now. she took a deep breath before exiting the car, shyly walking toward the entrance where she blipped her paddock pass and quickly rushed away headed towards the big mclaren sign in the distance. overwhelmed by the situation she just wanted to see lando, knowing that his presence would calm her nerves.

after some walking she finally arrived at the mclaren hospitality, almost immediately spotting jon, lando’s trainer. ”hi we’ve only seen each other through facetime but i’m y/n l/n, landos friend”, she said approaching jon. ”oh hello, i thought i recognized you from somewhere!” he smiled, ”you’re probably looking for lando?”. y/n nodded smilingly. jon looked around a bit worried, telling her that he should be here somewhere but that his schedule had been a bit hectic this race day morning. she was offered to wait in the hospitality while jon was gonna go tell lando that she had arrived. with a good mood she went and grabbed a tea, sitting at a table that overlooked mclaren’s part of the pit lane. 

after scrolling a bit on her phone and texting her friend, she saw in her periphery, more specifically in the garage, a familiar looking boy. he was giving some fangirls a tour around the garage, letting one and one test sit in his car. he looked so happy, being in his element. after a short while jon approached lando, and by his lips y/n could read something about her arrival. landos reaction was cute, he seemed excited that she was there but didn’t seem ready to come meet her just yet. y/n was just glad she had seen him at a distance and didn’t mind waiting for some time longer, she had already waited several months so what harm could another hour do?

if it only had been an hour or two or even three.. patiently she sat waiting, looking at the clock seeing it was nearly time for race preparations. nope, she thought, if she wanted to see him she would need to take it into her own hands, and that’s what she did. confidently she walked the same route she had seen jon take to the garage and after getting lost a couple times she found a visitor friendly spot. at the same place other high paying fans were stood looking at the team doing their pre race preparations. lando, as the kind boy he was, of course greeted the fans and let them take pictures with him. shortly after he spotted y/n who stood with a huge smile and open arms to greet him in an usual hug, but she wasn’t met by the same excitement. a rather cold and quick hug was what she got, from a boy that felt unexpectedly unfamiliar. a bit caught of guard by the reception and embarrassed by the amount of people that had seen this awkward encounter she felt like running far away. somehow she managed to still ask lando if their agreed meetup after the race was still on, to which she received a short ”yeah, sure”. 

stunned from the whole situation she went back up to the hospitality and watched the race in some kind of haze. wtf was that? she didn’t have to be here, lando was the one that invited her there, didn’t some good old kindness include in that package? presumably not then. her thoughts wandered, shocked that the boy she had known for years abruptly was someone totally else, just because they weren’t alone, the two of them, as they usually was. or was she overreacting? maybe it wasn’t that bad. or maybe this was her fault? she could’ve put a bit more makeup on and change the dress so that she would’ve been prettier, maybe that was the problem, that she wasn’t as pretty as the other girls in the paddock. 

in the middle of her overthinking someone patted her on the shoulder making her jump of fear out of her seat. ”sorry sorry sorry! i didn’t mean to scare you” a familiar voice half laughed, half tried to sound serious. she turned around meeting a pair of kind brown eyes, it was carlos sainz she remembered, lando’s teammate. ”are you waiting for someone?” he asked. y/n looked at the clock, it was late, somehow she had been thinking about her own problems so long that she hadn’t noticed that the race was done ages ago and that the other hospitality guests had gone home. ”oh yeah, i was waiting for lando, he’s my friend, but i guess he has forgotten about me.. again” y/n said not covering her disappointment very well. carlos smiled compassionately, like he understood, ”i’m sorry.. i remember when i was new to f1, everything’s so new and exciting that sometimes the one’s that has been with you from the start gets left behind..”. ”well, thats assuring” y/n laughed quietly as she felt her eyes tearing up. ”noo sorry, y/n was it? i didn’t mean to upset you, what i meant to say was that in the beginning you get kind of caught up in the fame and girls running after you, but when you settle in to the sport you sooner or later understand who the real one’s are” he said and gently hugged you afterwards. y/n sniffled after the hug ”well i hope so.. this wasn’t at all what i expected from this day” she sighed walking towards the door out of the hospitality. ”i’m certain he will come around, some new drivers take more time than others to realize that all the new attention is just empty and fake, nothing that can compare to a girl that waited the clock around to hopefully see her friend” he smiled trying to cheer y/n up. a small smile cracked on her face as she thanked him whilst they walked out of hospitality together. 

they didn’t have to walk very far before she heard lando’s familiar laugh, y/n turning around to spot lando in the distance, flirting with some very beautiful girls, noticing how he didn’t have a thought in the world about his old friend. she felt her heart sink and eyes tearing up again, was she really that forgettable? if anything, it only confirmed all her self-conscious thoughts. carlos that was walking beside her noticed the same as her and immediately connected his eyes with y/n’s, giving her a compassionate look while hugging her from the side. ”don’t you worry darling, remember my words”

_____

taglist

@amberpanda99 @phantomxoxo @landossainz @chezmardybum @lan4cha16 @tvdtw4ever @starlit-skiessss @dorothea47

[deesixxs]

CW; breeding k!nk, slight choking k!nk, very rough and dark!abby. That’s all I can really think of, have fun!

Authors note:

Dni if ageless, under 18 or a man!!

Thank you for reading this, this is my first ever time writing a fic, if I need to do anything to improve please let me know! This is the raw unedited version and I hope you enjoy

Love yall!

You have never been so bored, so horny. Abby was at the gym and you had nothing to do except lay on the bed and wait around. You groan and you grumble when an idea pops into your mind. Sure, it’s dumb and possibly dangerous. You decide to give Abby a call. Calls are only reserved for emergencies but you being this horny should count as one. The phone rings and you are met with no answer. You try again about 4 more times before she answers. “Is it an emergency?!” She sounds panicked. “I’m horny and I need you.” You respond back. She’s furious. “Really? Are you serious? Fuckin’ wait until I’m home” she hangs up the phone and you got the answer you expect, but not the one you wanted. You wanted her to speed home and fuck you the moment she walks in the door. You begin to grow impatient and start to touch yourself, you pick up your phone and take a picture, sending it to Abby. You know it will drive her mad and it will get you in trouble, but maybe that’s the fun of it. You don’t receive a message back, she only leaves you on read. It’s what you would expect from her but still, you wish you could see her face when she received the picture. About 10 minutes later you hear the door slam and a heavy bang of her gym bag on the floor. The sound of footsteps filling your ears along with the fast thump of your heart. You know you’re in deep shit. The door slams open and you feel hands wrap around your ankles and pull you towards the end of the bed. The blonde girl sits down next to you on the edge of the bed and then props you over her knee. You know what’s about to happen. And you know it’s going to hurt and there will be no mercy. “Fucking whore. You couldn’t wait hm? You wanted to get punished didn’t you? So fucking stupid.” She strikes your ass open palmed with a thwack. “Answer me you little shit. You wanted this?” Your mind races, barely able to form coherent thoughts. “Y-yes” you finally mumble out before another blow meets your round, and now red ass. She grabs you by your hair and throws you onto the bed, your ass up in the air, facing her. She places her cold hand against your spine and pushes down, making you arch. Without warning she licks a fat stripe from your clit all the way to your hole. She slurps up all your juices mercilessly. She kneads your ass and smacks it once more before grabbing you by your neck and pulling your back to her chest, you let out a small whimper and a yelp. “You gonna be a good girl and listen to me? Huh, princess?” Her hot breath tickling your ear and your neck. She pushes you with full force back against the bed before she stands back up. You already know what she’s going to grab, you don’t have to see to know what’s going on. You hear her rummage through the closet before pulling out a black box. She pulls out a breeding strap and buckles it to her hips. She sits back on the bed and without warning she slams deep into you, immediately hitting your cervix. You let out a loud yelp and your back arches upward. It hurts, the immediate impact to your insides. She doesn’t care, she keeps going and continues to pound fastly into you. “God, so fucking tight. Look how this pussy just swallows and begs for my cock.” She whispers in between thrusts. You can feel her hips start to falter and her breaths get quicker, you know she is about to cum, and so are you. You’re quick to get to the edge just before she runs her finger over your clit, rubbing tight circles. It makes you cum instantly, you let out a loud moan of pleasure, “good fucking girl, just wait, I need to cum..” she’s overstimulating you, chasing her own release, and just as she cums, you feel a warm fluid filling your insides, you can feel it drip down your thighs, she pulls out in awe, seeing the cum drip out of your wet and puffy pussy. She is quick to take off the strap and grab you water. “Here, drink” she passes you the water and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before kissing your forehead. “Was I too rough? Are you ok? I’m sor-“ you cut her off with a kiss to shut her up “it was perfect my girl, I love you”

[whetstonefires]

Thinking about the parallels set up between Wei Wuxian and Mo Xuanyu, and how actually most of them are oddly specious.

The sketch of the backstory lines up, but on close examination they're mirror images.

Wei Wuxian wasn't kicked out of his sect, he left it. Wei Wuxian didn't hate the house he grew up in, he loved it, and getting the people there killed was the absolute last purpose for which his dark powers were ever intended.

Jiang Cheng was no Mo Ziyuan--his jealousy was a complicated thing all twisted up with love, and while he would lash out at Wei Wuxian both as a casual means of shit communication and more damagingly in moments of high tension, he had neither the desire nor the ability to bully him, and in general respected his boundaries almost too well.

When Wei Wuxian destroyed himself about Jiang Cheng, it was to give him cultivation, and protect his life and happiness. He would never have killed him.

Madam Yu was a domineering aunt-like figure, who hated Wei Wuxian for reasons of reputation, and because she had resented his dead mother, but she crucially did not have the power to actually disrupt his lifestyle to any significant extent.

Mo Xuanyu was shut up in a small room to rot; Wei Wuxian didn't even attend classes unless he wanted to. Mo Xuanyu was weak and disliked; Wei Wuxian was brilliant and popular.

Mo Xuanyu's uncle is a cipher of a figure, without character or agency, a nonentity who is resented to death apparently mostly for what he didn't do; in theory he is the master of the house, but he certainly never protected his wife and son's punching bag from them.

And this is what got me thinking along this track: because people keep interpreting Jiang Fengmian as this, as exactly like Mo Xuanyu's nameless uncle, a nonentity who lets his wife make all the decisions, and is contemptible therefore.

He shows up in fic characterized this way all the time, handled narratively as a gap rather than a person, an absence where there should have been a parent, and it's...totally inaccurate? The man only has a few scenes but the things that are most firmly established about him are:

he regularly goes out of his way to protect Wei Wuxian

he's extremely fond of Wei Wuxian

he cares a lot about ethical behavior

he's conflict-avoidant and gentle

he can and will overrule Yu Ziyuan when he's made up his mind, and there's nothing she can do about it

his communication skills are mediocre at best

he doesn't understand jiang cheng

he has a dumb sense of humor

Now almost none of this made it into cql besides point 4 and maybe 6, 5 is technically there but buried by the cinematic framing, so I totally get why the fandom on the whole struggles to characterize him well, and it's easier to write him off.

But it keeps bugging me to see him and Yu Ziyuan squashed into the mold of the Mo, because not only is that boring and reductive and kind-of-missing-the-point, it's like. Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng's characterization suffers a lot when you alter the environment and take away the influence exerted by their shared father figure.

Jiang Fengmian was Wei Wuxian's primary adult role model and it shows.

Jiang Cheng's relationship to his own sense of ethics is fraught because 'teaching him good ethics' was his dad's number one parenting goal, but they misunderstood each other so badly (partly because Yu Ziyuan kept loudly misinterpreting them to each other, which is so realistic I can't get over it, that's exactly how it works good lord) that Jiang Cheng has a direct association between the concept of 'doing the right thing even when it's hard' and a feeling of personal inadequacy.

The fact that Wei Wuxian got their dad-person's approval for being exactly himself and Jiang Cheng not only couldn't do that, he couldn't even get that same level of approval when he really pushed himself to rise to expectations, because Jiang Fengmian did not intend that warmth as a 'reward,' and so never realized he was withholding it, and therefore misunderstood Jiang Cheng's visible jealousy as a dangerous sense of personal entitlement that had to be carefully restrained, which reinforced his distrust of Jiang-Cheng-the-person and fed into a shitty loop where they were less and less able to relate to one another--that's fantastic. That's so human! I love it so much.

Both their failures are their own but at the same time it would never have gotten so bad if Yu Ziyuan hadn't been interjecting herself in there, in the middle of their relationship, fucking it up. That's family, baby.

I would ofc like if there was more fic engaging with the subtleties of all this because it's so good, mxtx did such elegant work here and it is not sufficiently appreciated. But it's the kind of thing that's hard to write good fic about; I am struggling with it myself.

So mostly I wish there was just more fic that didn't impose Mo Xuanyu's cliche angst backstory on Wei Wuxian, who has a whole different thing going on.

[rebouks]

Previous // Next

[phone vibrating]

TEXTS FROM LEVI: ROBINNNNNN CMON AM BORED let’s go out… hellooooooooo? well i’m still going to the diner tomorrow if u wanna meet me there

[Robin sighed, tempted to block Levi-.. though he couldn’t bring himself to do it] [message notification]

MESSAGE FROM ASTER: hey Robin, i hope you don’t mind me messaging you outta the blue, i swear i’m not stalking you ahaha i just wanted to say that you should totally ignore what everyone was on about today, like they just don’t get it y’know? if it’s true which i guess it might not be but either way…… my aunt has issues too like, if you ever wanna talk to someone who gets it you can sorry if i’m overstepping or whatever idk and sorry for calling you a loser a couple times, that was pretty shitty of me you don’t have to mssg me back or anything i guess i just wanted to say smth and now i have so, yeah…

[Robin stared at Aster’s rambling message for a good five minutes, unsure what to make of it; it was impossible to gauge his classmate’s sincerity with the gaping chasm that was the internet between them-.. surely, he was taking the piss] Robin: What the fuck.

[fallstaticexit]

Prev / Next / Beginning / Pillowfort

AN: Next update will post Monday the 23rd , same time and same place! Going to start working on updating my game etc. <3

Transcript under the cut

Siobhan: There you are! Our guest of honor tucked away in the corner. You’re not hiding, are you?

Nancy: I never really liked crowds.

Siobhan: That won’t do, Nancy. Come. Lets chat.

Siobhan: You know, the way you handled Becca the other night is admirable. I wouldn’t have done anything less if it were my man she was pawing after.

Nancy: Listen, I’m not a violent person. I shouldn’t have hit her.

Siobhan: It hardly matters. It’s about respect.

Siobhan: You have the means to be the most powerful woman in the world. Your family runs a multi million dollar company. Your name is on every recognizable building across the globe. Girls like Becca will dream of the day they can write you a check so she can raise her brood of rowdy children in one of your flawlessly designed properties.

Siobhan: You’re a star, Nancy. It’s time you show everyone what it means to be a Landgraab. You can start by becoming a Theta.

Siobhan: By the way, your mother just arrived!

Nancy: Hello Mother.

Queenie: Nancy.

Nancy: Father couldn’t make it?

Queenie: No, I’m afraid he’s tied up in a prior engagement. Besides, I try not to bore him with my personal affairs. [murmurs] How provocative, these pieces.

Queenie: So you’ve made friends with the daughter of an adulterer. Is that what you thought would impress me? Well, at least she’s proactive. Your lack of involvement in any clubs or organizations shows just how lazy you are. It’s almost as if we’ve sent you to university to piss away our money yet again. When will you prove to me that you’re worth half the trouble you put your father and me through? And for the love of God, stop biting your nails! It’s disgusting.

Professor Munch: -right, Nancy?

Nancy: I’m sorry, what was that?

Professor Munch: This model is absolutely stunning! Marvelous, even.

Nancy: R-really? Thank you, Professor.

Professor Munch: Ah! No wonder! Your drawings are very compelling. The way you blend functionality with aesthetics is brillant! A true prodigy!

Professor Munch: I am very proud of you, Nancy. Keep it up.

Nancy: Hi Professor. I know I’m a little early for office hours, but I really wanted your thoughts on my blueprints.

Professor Munch: Nancy! Are you kidding! Anything for my star pupil. Take a seat.

Professor Munch: If I’m being honest, I don’t have much critique.

Nancy: Staying on top of my grades is really important to me. My GPA is 3.7 but I know I can do more to improve. I can do better-

Professor Munch: [huffs affectionately] Nancy! You are my brightest and best student! I’d say it’s in your blood. I haven’t seen such vision and passion in my student’s work since I taught your brother.

Nancy: Nathan was your student?

Professor Munch: Oh, Nathan was my star! In the short time I spent with him, he has shown me what true artistry looks like. That kid had an eye for detail. He always spoke so fondly of his little baby sister, Nan; he’d call you. [sighs] I miss him dearly.

Professor Munch: I thought of quitting and getting back into the field after he passed. I was devastated when I found out about the accident. My partner pushed me to continue teaching. She knew there was nothing I loved more than handing the tools to brillant kids like you and Nathan to shape our future.

Nancy: Partner? [frowns] Your...partner?

Professor Munch: Monica. We were roommates in college and have been stuck to each other like glue since!

Nancy: So, she’s your best friend?

Professor Munch: Oh certainly. My best friend, my muse, my partner.

Nancy: What about your husband?

Professor Munch: Husband?

Nancy: I- sorry. Nevermind.

Professor Munch: Talk to me, dear. What’s on your mind?

Nancy: I guess I don’t understand. You’re wearing a ring but you have no photos of your husband. You seem...close with her, in the photo.

Professor Munch: I was married once. We have three children together. Sweetest man alive. We’re still friends to this day. We both realized that we had our hearts in different places. In the end, I had my Monica. My soulmate.

Nancy: [sobs quietly]

Professor Munch: Oh, no. Nancy? Dear, are you alright?

Professor Munch: [softly] Oh, sweet darling. You’re hurting, aren’t you? Can I hold you? Is that ok?

Nancy: [nods once]

Professor Munch: You let it all out, you hear me? Just let it all out. I got you.

Nancy Narrates: [I wondered what kind of person I’d be had my mother held me like this]

Professor Munch: There’s a small club that I support that meets every Friday in the commons. I think you should stop by.

Nancy: Thank you Professor but, I think I’ve already decided to join a sorority.

Professor Munch: I’ll tell you what, it’s not something you have to join or commit to, but I think there’s something to gain by coming. Plus, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. You two have a lot in common.

Morgan: Holy shit, hey! It’s Nancy Landgraab! Get over here!

[that-nerd-who-writes-fanfiction]

Headcanon that George learnt some basic magic and uses it exclusively for cleaning.

Can’t reach the top of the wardrobe to dust?

Magic a rag to do it.

Arthur saw him once but when George said what he used it for, “I’m a servant, sire. My duty is to clean the castle. I found a tool that makes me more efficient at my job and would rather continue as I am. Sire.” Arthur decided he wasn’t doing any harm and that the ‘corruption’ had already gotten to him but it had only made him obnoxiously boring so it was easier to let him be.

Merlin fully disagrees with both points because to the first, George is really trying to become him? What the hell. He’s not willing to lose his job to George of all people.

And to the second, he just adamantly refuses to believe that George is actually boring, his running theory is that he doesn’t like anyone in the castle enough to want to talk to them so he does his best to deter them by refusing to be social. It’s because Merlin heard George break character after a feast once while he thought he was alone when one of the nobles dented a brass tray and George cussed them out so bad that when Merlin repeated what he’d said at training the next day, quite a few of the knights had blushed. Even Gwaine was impressed.

He’s been trying to befriend George ever since, and it’s just not worked. He’s pretty damn close to revealing his magic so they’ll have something in common, but he also doesn’t know if brass genuinely is George’s idea of an interesting conversation starter, he might send Gwen out drinking with him so they can talk about metal or forges or something and she can bring back the intel.

[mysteryshoptls]

Leona Kingscholar Shared Lines

Tutorial: Hey, time to go. Follow me.

Level Up 1: Feels nice gettin' tributes.

Level Up 2: This ain't bad... But it's not nearly enough.

Level Up 3: Gaining more power never hurts.

Level Max: Hah, I feel as though everything is now in my grasp. If you're going to keep working hard for me like this, I guess I can throw you a bone.

Vignette Level Up: Never thought I'd be up to hangin' with a herbivore... But this is getting pretty interesting. As long as you don't cause me any issues, I'll keep lookin' after you.

Spell Level Up: You're probably the only one who actually would want to practice magic with me. Most people'll just tuck their tails and run away.

Friendship Level Up: I don’t like being constantly disturbed. So in that sense, this place is perfect and quiet.

Friendship Level Max: I don’t mind coming by this guest room once in a while. Make sure you have a place to nap and some food ready for me.

Uncapped: I can do it so long as I put my mind to it, ain't it obvious? I just don't want to.

Groovification: You want to see what I can really do? Heheh... A herbivore like you wouldn't nearly be ready to handle that.

Lesson Select 1: Hey you, sit in front of me. I'm gonna sleep behind you.

Lesson Select 2: It ain't that hard of a decision, is it? I'm tired of waitin' around.

Lesson Select 3: Time for a peaceful study time with everyone all buddy-buddy, huh. No thanks.

Lesson Start: Ugh, this sucks.

Lesson Finish: Yaaawn. That was a boring class, I already knew all that.

Battle Start: I can fight with more than just my fists and fangs.

Battle Won: Did you really think you could win against me?

GIFT CALENDAR 2023: “How will you be spending the day?” No plans worth mentioning. What, not what you were expecting? Well, too bad. The campus is completely covered in snow, so the best thing for me to do is just to get back to my dorm room and relax while solving some chess problems.

Birthday Story 1: My birthday isn’t anything special. It’s just the day I was born. …Well if you’re really saying you want to celebrate it, I won’t forcibly stop you. Presents are always welcome.

Birthday Story 2: What’d you want? …Ah, you came to celebrate my birthday. Then, I guess I’ll have you grill some meat for me, or something. You’ll have to make it exactly the way I want it. You said you wanted to celebrate me, right? I’ll let you keep trying until you get it down pat. I look forward to see how much I get to eat.

Birthday Story 3: So, you came to wish me a happy birthday, huh? Well, ain’t that admirable of you. So, what did you bring me, then? At the very least, you are presenting a gift to royalty. As such, I’m sure you’ve prepared a very fine gift. …Hey, don’t freeze up on me. Sheesh, jokes just fly over your head, huh. I’ll take it off your hands, so show me what you got behind your back, already.

Birthday Story 4: …Ugh. As I’m sure you can tell, I’m in the middle of a nap. If you need something from me, ask me later. If you just wanted to celebrate my birthday, a card woulda been plenty… But, fine. Here, hand it over. [Yuu startles] Whaddya mean, hand what over? …Obviously, I’m talking about my gift. I’m expecting it to be something good to make up for the rude awakening.

Requested by Anonymous.