#the referee is fucking terrible for both sides

[a-ginger-from]

I'm genuinely so frustrated by this match

[samsalami66]

Don't Go Kicking My Heart

Another part of the soccer au, it is time for fluff and trauma! Enjoy!!

Read on ao3!

Today was the first day of a new era. A new age of football.

The world of sports would remember this day. 

The day Morpheus Ateleios, winner of the European Golden Shoe, first played for Fiddler’s Green, the highest ranking football club in all of Europe. 

Or, well, the day he first trained with them. His first match was still far off, the next season only started in a few months after all, but today was his first day as a part of the team. He would face the players for the first time not on opposite sides of a field, but as a teammate. 

Morpheus was about to be sick, standing in front of these unfamiliar training facilities in the middle of London, miles away from Wych Cross and Roderick’s now cold and dead body. The distance wasn’t enough. No distance could make up for the ache he still felt in his bones, in his muscles, for the bruises slowly healing on his back and chest. 

But thinking about the ghost of Roderick Burgess still being imprinted on his skin was not what really got to Morpheus’ stomach. 

No, it was the fact that he would face Robert Gadling for the first time as a colleague. A part of the team. 

Gadling was… well, to say Morpheus and him did not get along would probably be an understatement. They had a bit of a turbulent history. 

Said history might have involved red cards for both of them during their latest match, following a disagreement they had decided to solve with fists rather than words. 

It hadn’t been one of his proudest moments. 

There was just something about Gadling, something that set him off in the worst way possible. Morpheus wasn’t a pleasant person to be around, he’d admit, but Gadling would stare at him with such distaste, it felt entirely unwarranted. Jessamy would say it was jealousy, because Morpheus was clearly the better player between the two of them. But who knew, perhaps the Fiddlers’ star player was simply a homophobic asshole, like so many others in this sport. Maybe Roderick had a point when he said that nobody would want to play with him or share a locker room if they knew about him, about his fantasies. 

Perhaps he had been right to announce them to the world.

But god, was he really about to walk into a locker room full of people who would rather have him dead than anywhere near them? Would they refuse to undress before him, just like the Riggers had done? And what would Gadling do to him in the privacy of a training facility, where there was no referee to step between them, no cameras pointed in their direction? 

Fuck, all of this had been a terrible idea. He should leave, should tell Gilbert that he simply couldn’t play for this club, that he would have to find another player, that there was simply too much antagony and hatred and-

“You alright there, mate?” A voice, all too familiar, sounded from behind him. Morpheus couldn’t help the yelp that escaped his lips at the sudden appearance of Robert Gadling right in his personal space. He had been too caught up in his thoughts and didn’t even notice that the other man had approached him. It took every ounce of self-control Morpheus possessed to school his face back into something less terrified as he turned towards his old rival. 

“Why do you care?” He replied, venom dripping from his words. All it earned him was a raised eyebrow. 

“Well, you look like you’re walking to your death sentence. Mind, I don’t actually know what you’re doing here, of all places, but I’m pretty sure the death penalty was abolished in 1969 over here in the UK.” Robert Gadling looked thoughtful for a moment, one hand coming up to scratch at his beard, and Morpheus was left to stare at him. None of this answered his question. “Unless you committed treason of course, the death penalty for that was abolished in 1998 I think. Not that it matters much, both are in the past now, but the more you know!”

There was a moment of silence after Gadling stopped talking, one in which Morpheus contemplated if he should pinch himself for the unlikely reason that this was all a dream. Though surely not even his brain could come up with such impossible scenarios all on its own. After all, he knew nothing about English history. 

Perhaps if he didn’t answer, the other man would leave. 

But no such luck. Robert Gadling was not fazed by his silence. 

“Not a fan of history, eh? Fair enough, I guess it’s not everyone’s cuppa tea.” Gadling winked at him then, and Morpheus decided that perhaps pinching himself wasn’t the worst idea after all. A stab of pain shot up his arm, but, again, no luck. This really was no elaborate nightmare. Gadling was talking to him. “How about a joke, then? Something to wipe that mopey look off your face?”

He did not wait for Morpheus’ answer. He would not have gotten one anyway, but it was still rude. 

“Why’s Cinderella bad at football?” Morpheus was dreading the answer to this question more than he had dreaded entering the facilities in the first place. Robert Gadling waited for a moment, if for dramatics or simply to torture him, Morpheus didn’t know.

“Because she lost her shoe and ran away from the ball!” 

It was an awful joke. Really, it might be in the top ten of the worst jokes Morpheus had ever heard. And yet, he felt the familiar feeling of laughter bubbling up from deep within him, a sort of hysteria he simply couldn’t control, couldn’t stop as it was about to simply burst from his chest. 

Perhaps it was the whole situation that made him hysterical, the stress of the past few days that came crashing down on him that had sent him into delirium. Or, maybe, he simply wasn’t very sane to begin with.

Morpheus tried desperately to clasp a hand over his mouth in order to stop the horrible noise from escaping his lips, but it was a futile attempt. Waves of laughter shook his body and the sound, only slightly muffled by his hand, spilled into the air between him and Robert Gadling. 

Morpheus knew that his laugh was horrible. Back at school people had held their ears whenever he laughed, much later people had simply asked him to stop whenever he couldn’t catch himself in time. Roderick had had the cane. But Gadling did not do any of those things. 

Gadling was simply… looking. He looked… amused? Fond, perhaps? Morpheus couldn’t really see through the tears that were building in his eyes as he tried to calm down. But he had to be imagining things, nobody had ever looked fond when confronted with his joy. And Gadling… Gadling hated him.

Didn’t he? 

“Looked like you needed that.” he said, tone warm, and Morpheus wasn’t too sure about it anymore. “Come on, I’ll bring you wherever you need to go. And call me Hob, yeah? My friends usually do.”

Robert Gadling clapped a hand on his shoulder, and Morpheus had never felt so unsteady on his feet or in his world-view. 

It was minutes later that the two of them entered the training facilities of Fiddler’s Green, Gadling chattering away at Morpheus’ side as if they were old friends. He talked about anything and everything, topics seemingly unrelated to one another, though somehow Morpheus managed to keep up with the jumps in his stories. How he went from a camping trip the team went on last month to when he went fishing with his father when he was younger, to the anatomy of grasshoppers they had presumably used for fishing, and the physical differences between grasshoppers and crickets. 

It was weirdly familiar, so similar to how his own brain worked. Though he could never verbalise his thoughts like this, without overthinking every single word. Gadling didn’t particularly seem to care if he could keep up, just kept talking and gesturing as they walked. 

It was… calming. Morpheus found himself hoping that he didn’t stop any time soon. 

But, of course, they had a destination. And once they reached it, Gadling slowly came to a stop in his rambling. Before them were the doors to the locker rooms, through which Morpheus heard voices, broken up by laughter, louder than he had ever experienced a locker room to be at Fawney Rig. 

The Riggers hadn’t talked much to one another. Certainly hadn’t laughed together.

“Right, Gilbert should be with the other guys. Do you want me to get him or come inside?”

Considerate. Morpheus wished he didn’t have to go into this room. But there was no point, if he was supposed to work and play with these men in the future. 

“I would come in, if you don’t mind.” 

God, Morpheus hated how small his voice sounded. Gadling must be aware of what he was actually asking. The question Would you allow someone like me into your changing rooms? hidden somewhere between the lines. But the other man simply raised an eyebrow at him, smiled fondly and held the door open for him. 

“I wouldn’t have asked if I did.”

Morpheus remembered very clearly how the Riggers had once asked him to come inside the locker rooms after Roderick had outed him, just to close and lock the door in his face. 

It had been three years since he last stepped foot into a shared locker room. And Robert Gadling invited him, his rival, inside with a smile. 

Morpheus hoped the tears stinging in his eyes weren’t too obvious.

As they entered, member after member turned to look at them with an air of surprise and curiosity. One of them, blond, American, and with a devastatingly handsome smile, whistled and waggled his eyebrows in Gadling’s direction. 

“Did you finally have the guts to talk to Mister Dreamy without starting a fight, Robbie?”

When Morpheus turned to look at the other man, he could see that his tanned skin turned red around his cheeks, all the way up to his ears. Huh, Morpheus hadn’t known that Gadling felt embarrassment over their common disagreements on the field. He had always seemed very confident in his anger.

“Shut it, Cori. He’s here to talk to Gilbert.”

Just as Gadling said it, the man in question looked up from some papers he had been studying, with a smile spreading over his face. “Oh, Mister Ateleios!” Gilbert stood quickly to offer him his hand, which Morpheus took without much hesitation. The coach of Fiddler’s Green was a homely man, soft and welcoming in every way Roderick hadn’t been. “It’s wonderful to have you, son, just wonderful! I’m glad to see you’ve found your way just fine.” 

Morpheus couldn’t remember when someone had last called him son. Perhaps when he had last seen his parents… some six-odd years ago. Though, honestly, his father had stopped calling him son long before that. It made a part deep within him ache to hear it again, from a stranger nonetheless. But he couldn’t get emotional in front of all these people, not now, so he forced a smile and a nod, and hoped his voice didn’t break when he answered. 

“Yes, Mister Gadling was kind enough to lead the way. I am honoured to be here.”

The elder man patted his shoulder, fatherly, and Morpheus was a hair’s breadth away from breaking down. 

“Glad Robert could make himself useful at least, when he’s already never on time.” Gadling pouted at that, but didn’t otherwise react. Such a statement from Roderick would have had the entire room cowering in fear. But these men weren’t afraid. It was strange, but at the same time filled Morpheus with hope that this perhaps wasn’t a huge mistake. “And now that you two are here as well, it’s time for the big announcement, wouldn’t you say?”

Gilbert hadn’t warned the team of him? With all their history? Either the man had incredible trust in his men or he didn’t care much about Morpheus’ physical well-being.

Morpheus was about to be sick after all. 

“What’s the announcement, boss?” a raven-haired man asked from their right, curiosity in his voice. Or was it mistrust?

“Well, boys, Mister Ateleios here approached me a few weeks ago, asking to become a part of the team. And I signed him on, of course. He will take Paul’s place, since his spot opened up with the end of last season.” 

Morpheus closed his eyes, preparing himself for protest, for judgement, for insults. All of it would be reasonable, and he wasn’t stupid enough to hope for a better reaction. He had landed Gadling in hospital once, for Christ’s sake. He would be lucky if nobody resorted to violence in the face of what must feel like betrayal from their coach-

“Oh fuck yeah, we will kick ass this season with Morpheus on our team!”

Gadling’s excited voice cut through the silence like a knife through butter, and suddenly the whole room erupted into cheers. Hands found his shoulders and back, patting them with enthusiasm as Morpheus blinked his eyes open in surprise. The men were smiling at him, not a hint of malevolence in any of their faces. Robert Gadling was practically vibrating with excitement, his eyes shining like those of a child at Christmas. Nobody had ever looked at Morpheus like that, like his presence was a thing to look forward to. 

It would change, surely. They were happy to have his skills on their time, were looking forward to a successful season. That was all. 

It would change. 

Morpheus was sure of it. 

- - - 

The next day, Morpheus was the first ready for training. He was early, really. Dreadfully early. When Roderick said training started at eight, he had expected the team to show up at six at the latest. But apparently the Fiddlers were less inclined to begin a day so early. 

No matter, a few extra hours would not do him any harm. 

He could warm up already, set up a few exercises. Perhaps it would reflect on his conviction to be a valuable player for the team, so they would perhaps forgive his lack of character. 

It was as good a plan as ever. 

He started off with stretching his legs and feet, before moving onto his arms and neck. It was calming, to spend some minutes in tranquil silence, simply feeling the muscles in his body stretch and loosen for the day ahead. Just as he was about to start his last set of stretches, a voice came from the side of the field, which almost caused him to strain his neck with how fast he turned around to look at the source. 

Of course, it was Gadling. 

“Did you hear about the team whose back four was only two fullbacks?”

That. Didn’t make any sense. What was that supposed to mean? Had he been supposed to do preparations for today’s training? Research the teams they would be playing? Gods, if he had already missed such a vital task on his second day they would never tolerate him, they would put him on the bench and find a different player, they-

“Apparently they're double stuffed.”

It was another joke. A pun. A horrible, terrible, awful pun. 

Morpheus couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him, half-delirious, his heart beating so fast in his chest he felt a bit faint. 

He hadn’t misstepped. No reason for punishment. He was okay. 

Except that he was laughing, freely, before Robert Gadling. 

He really had to get a grip on himself. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep the laughter in, couldn’t stop, not even when tears were running down his cheeks and his stomach felt like he had done a hundred situps. 

Gadling was smiling when he came closer, as he seemed to do so very often since they had met in front of the facility. He sat down next to him, mirroring his current position, and Morpheus couldn’t help but smile back at him as they began to stretch together, Gadling once again regaling him with stories and anecdotes and seemingly random facts. 

It was nice. 

Morpheus had absolutely no idea how to deal with it. But he decided to simply accept it for what it was. 

- - - 

On Saturdays, the Fiddlers met for drinks. 

It was an unspoken rule, a tradition, and Morpheus had been invited during that first week of training with the team. Therefore, it was important to leave a positive impression. 

He arrived, dressed in a tux and carrying a bottle of wine, at the address Gadling had sent him. It was… not a real restaurant, nor another place he recognised. It didn’t seem to be a place where any of the other players lived either. The sign on the front of the building read The New Inn and from inside Morpheus could hear the same laughter and joy he had come to associate with the locker rooms of Fiddler’s Green. 

They were a loud bunch, almost irritatingly so, if it weren’t for the warmth their company provided. Spending time with them was easier than it had ever been with the Riggers. 

Upon entering Morpheus was greeted with cheers and whistles, and he realised very quickly that he was immensely overdressed. The team sat around a large table towards the side of the room, dressed in jeans, t-shirts and hoodies (except Ken and Cori, those two technically wore shirts, though Morpheus was not entirely sure that they could really qualify as such with how little they were covering.). Gadling sported a fading band-tee about two sizes too large and sweat-pants.

Gods above, Morpheus would stick out like a sore thumb. Why had nobody told him about the dress-code?

“Looking good, Dreamy!” Cori called over the cheers, a grin on his face. “Dress to impress! Robbie will look dreadfully underdressed next to you.”

The man in question kicked Cori underneath the table. 

“Ow! What, it’s not my fault you roll from your couch upstairs right down to drinks night!” 

The tips of Gadling’s ears turned red at the other man’s words, and Morpheus almost felt the need to defend him. After all, it was his being overdressed, not Gadling being undressed, that was the faux-pas here. 

But in the spirit of good impressions Morpheus simply sat down on the free chair next to Gadling and placed the bottle of wine on the table. It was immediately nicked by Mervyn, an appreciative whistle leaving his lips as he read the label. “Good stuff, Dreamy. Cheers!”

That nickname, twice already this evening. Morpheus wasn’t entirely sure if it existed to make fun of him or was simply a thing these people did. It had been there since day one, and apparently the team wasn’t about to stop anytime soon. It… did not bother Morpheus too much. He had never had a nickname. Roderick had only ever called him Morpheus, and he had only ever said it with hatred, disappointment or cold detachment. Never with humour, joy or fondness, had never used it to tease him. 

“Why did the winger miss the match?”

Gadling’s voice, quiet and right next to his ear, quickly pulled Morpheus out of his thoughts. It was a question. Had he missed a part of the conversation? Was he supposed to answer? Or, no, it wasn’t another one, was it…?

“He was busy chasing ball.” 

Oh, fuck, it was another one of Gadling’s horrible, god-awful puns. That was it. Proof that Gadling hated him, had just been nice to him to gain some twisted sort of amusement. Morpheus knew the laughter was coming this time, knew he was helpless against it bubbling up in his throat. He didn’t want to face the whole team as they were subjected to his laugh. Surely they would tell him to stop, to keep quiet, to leave the inn, laugh at him. 

But there was no helping it. With his face hidden behind his hands, Morpheus allowed the sound to spill over and mix with the laughter around them. Seconds passed by, and the noise around him did not stop. Conversations continued, drinks were drunk, and nobody seemed to react at all. 

Ever so slowly, Morpheus dared to raise the hands from his face and to peek into the group of people around him. 

Nobody was batting an eye. 

Stunned, and more than a little confused, Morpheus let his hands drop to his lap. Beside him, Gadling was nursing his beer, almost as if he hadn’t just tried to embarrass him in front of the entire team. Or… perhaps he really hadn’t tried to. Nobody was laughing at him after all. Nobody was shouting at him to keep quiet or to go outside. 

Almost as if it were okay for him to just… be. 

- - - 

About a month later, Morpheus sat in his apartment on his day off. A Sunday. The first of the month. 

It was a quiet day, warm and sunny and the only sounds were the birds chirping outside.

That was, until someone decided it would be a brilliant idea to abuse his doorbell. Probably some reporter, or an obnoxious fan. They would get bored soon. Very soon. 

Ten minutes later, the doorbell was still ringing and Morpheus had had enough. 

“Gamo to kerato sou. People nowadays have zero respect for privacy.”

Morpheus was ready to yell at whoever was standing behind the door, scare them off so they would never show their face here ever again. 

But behind the door was Gadling. And Cori. And Matthew and Mervyn and John and Ken and… even Gilbert was there. Gadling was holding a cake in his hands. Self-made, by the looks of it. 

The frosting read Happy One Month Anniversary!

Morpheus was about to cry. 

He couldn’t help it. He rushed forward, right into the arms of Robert Gadling. Because this must have been his idea, insufferable, incredible man that he was. Considerate. God, he was always so considerate. Cheering him up with stupid puns every single day, forcing him to relax, to trust, to breathe, to be. 

Forcing Morpheus to enjoy his company. Seek it out even. He didn’t do hugs. And yet, here he was. 

“Thank you, Hob.” he whispered, so only Hob could hear. The arms around him tightened, and the other man pressed his cheek against his own. 

“Anytime, Dream.”

[sitp-recs]

Hi Liv!!! I’ve seen you have an draco injury/disability reclist but I was wondering if yoy knew of any fics where harry had an injury/disability??

thank you!!

Hi anon! Yes definitely, here are some hurt!Harry for you:

Wield Me by @tackytigerfic (E, 10k)

Draco Malfoy, blacksmith, is renowned through the magical world for his skill and exquisite creations. He could quite easily spend the rest of his days making pretty trinkets for the fae court, and being handsomely rewarded for the privilege. But why take the easy route when instead he could get involved in a dangerous mission with Unspeakable Harry Potter (who also happens to be Draco's... well, he's something, isn't he?). A little story about learning to strike while the iron is hot.

The Snitch-Maker by Omi_Ohmy (T, 21k)

Draco is content with his Snitches, with the tap tap tap of his hammer, and the tiny gears and sharp scent of metal in his workshop - until one day Harry Potter appears, asking for help to solve a rash of Snitch-tampering in the Quidditch world.

Fearful Trill by @vukovich (E, 29k)

Harry should have come out and met someone when he was younger. He should have seen a doctor about the pain in his hip while youth was still on his side. Now, he's made his peace with dying young, but maybe not with dying alone.

If an Injury Is to Be Inflicted by @shealwaysreads (E, 45k)

Harry Potter disappeared a year after the Battle of Hogwarts, and with him went all hope for true change in magical Britain. Three years later, Draco indulges himself and attends his first Dog Fight—the infamous underground fights with no rules, no referee, and no points system bar blood on the floor. The game was simple: you win, or you die.

fly like paper, high like planes by @harryromper (M, 47k)

Harry Potter, Head Coach of the Appleby Arrows, is very content leading a quiet life. He has a doddery old house-elf who makes his breakfast, a team of players who love Quidditch almost as much as he does, and a Kneazle that curls against his damaged leg at the foot of his bed at night. The absolute last thing he needs is a fit, tattooed, and wildly talented Draco Malfoy back from living his life on the margins.

Harry Potter and the elusive day off by pleasebekidding (E, 71k)

Auror Potter needs a fucking break. He is wiped. He is exhausted. He probably didn't intend to put himself into a magical coma but these things happen. And who cares, really? He is comfortable in a house where he has hidden away all the shit he can't deal with.

Merlin Works in Mysterious Ways by lordhellebore (M, 82k) - cw: major permanent disability

When Harry is forced to form a Blood Bond with Draco Malfoy under threat of death, he thinks his future will consist of a cold home and sexual frustration. But when a group of left-over Death Eaters decides to stir trouble, their lives change completely – and it takes them both some years to figure out whether it’s for better or for worse.

Balance, Imperfect by @bixgirl1 (E, 91k)

When Harry sustains an injury in the line of work, he no longer knows how to navigate the life he loved, and finds help and solace from the most unexpected source.

Any Instrument by @dictacontrion (E, 131k)

Draco Malfoy wouldn't go back to England for anything less than an exceptional case. Being asked to figure out why Harry Potter can't control his magic might be exceptional enough to qualify.

The Ordeal of Being Known by @lou-isfake (M, 146k)

When Auror Potter is anonymously cursed with silence by being forced to hide his own voice inside his mind, there's unfortunately only one person in the country with the qualifications to fix it: Certified and Licensed Healer Legilimens, Draco Malfoy, specialist in Mind Curses and Afflictions. It's obviously a terrible idea, a disaster waiting to happen, but Draco's never been able to back down from a challenge... especially from Potter.

[terrainofheartfelt]

okay could you do dair 23 or 26

Dair + 23 …in relief.

(there was another request for dair + 26 so that shalt be answered later <3)

(in the meantime, some 5x24 canon divergence as self care <3)

Dan knocks back the shot Serena hands him with a wince. Tequila. Whenever Dan shoots tequila he makes ill-advised choices. Which is why for his birthday two weeks ago, he and Blair drank Manhattans before feeling each other up in the bar bathroom. 

Whiskey goes with Blair, warm but harsh, sweet and sharp, burns down through his chest like being in love. Tequila is dangerous. Tequila is…well…Serena. 

“Okay, okay, time-out,” Dan pleads, making a T with his hands, trying in vain to referee his own life.  

Serena laughs, her smile glinting around a wedge of lime. “Don’t give up on me now, Dan. I never took you for a lightweight.” 

He snorts. “Yeah, well, anyone’s a lightweight when they ingest tequila on an empty stomach.” 

He hasn’t eaten all day. He couldn’t make himself. His stomach has been twisted up in knots ever since those fucking Gossip Girl blasts. He’d stupidly thought that drinking would help, but it’s only made it worse. 

Serena pats his shoulder sympathetically. “There’s food around here somewhere. I’ll flag someone –” 

She lifts her arm, and despite his compromised state, Dan is able to spot the danger. He stumbles backward and pulls Serena with him, out of the way of a passing waiter, narrowly saving the both of them from being doused by an entire bottle of champagne. 

“Whoa,” he brilliantly comments, then reflexively drops his hands from Serena’s arms to his sides, releasing her.  

She only steps closer, looking at him with concern. “You okay?”

He chokes on an hysterical laugh, because no, he is clearly not, and suddenly everything in the party becomes too much. The noise, the people, the terrible music, the lighting, the dense, cloying air of a hundred over perfumed American aristocrats, and is he that drunk or is Serena still extremely close to him?

“Uh – yeah.” He rakes a hand through his hair—it’s so hot in here that he wishes he could chop it off now, or at least have a hair tie on his wrist like Jenny always does. “I just – I need some air.” 

He takes a step back, and Serena immediately follows him. “I’ll come with you.” 

“No, Serena –” he snaps, then catches himself, his stomach does a violent flip. Personal space has never been much of a thing with them, even as friends, but now Dan feels on the precipice of something dangerous. “I’m pretty sure I’m gonna puke. And I know that dress you’re wearing is worth more than my book deal, so –” he waves a vague hand, and turns and walks away before Serena can protest again.   

Dan ends up on the sidewalk in front of Grand Central. Given the spring humidity and all the city smells that come with it, the air outside the Campbell isn’t much better, but at least out here Dan can be alone for a moment. 

He knows she means well, but Serena’s hovering only makes him feel worse, like she’s already decided what choice Blair is going to make. 

Dan supposes if anyone were qualified to weigh in on Blair’s choices, it would be Serena. But no, Blair hasn’t really let Serena know her for a long time now, and maybe Dan is partially to blame for that, but — he’s too drunk to follow this thread right now. 

He leans back against the wall to steady himself. He’s already out here, public transportation hub at his back, it would be pretty easy to make a getaway, spare him the humiliation of waiting around for the rest of the night. 

But, what if?

He tips his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. Too many trains of thought, too much tequila to chase them down. 

“Dan?”

He wrenches his eyes open. No way. 

“Oh thank god,” he mutters, pushing himself off the wall and into Blair’s arms, pouring all the relief he can’t speak into a kiss. 

“Mm – Dan,” she pulls back, but holds her grip on his lapels, keeping him close. She wrinkles her nose, impossibly cute, and he loves her. “You taste like a distillery.” 

He loves her. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, tipping his forehead against hers, wrapping his arms tighter around her waist. 

“I’m so, so sorry,” he repeats unevenly, apologizing for more than just the tequila breath. For being drunk now, for serving her that stupid ultimatum, for nearly giving up on his end of it, for saying too much and scaring her off. 

“It’s fine,” Blair says with a long-suffering sigh as she twines her arms around his neck. “I love you anyway.”

Dan gapes at her, dumbstruck. Blair Waldorf has a singular talent of rendering him speechless. “You’re gonna have to tell me that again when I’m sober.”

She giggles and pulls him in to kiss him again, distillery be damned.

[koifishart]

I want to be Your Koi Fish - Nine Tails

Warning: +18 content, criminal underworld, intercourse, strong language - and so on

Fanfiction based on: "Baki" by Itagaki Keisuke

>26<

While waiting for his wife to sort things out with Orochi, he watched more duels. They were interesting, he couldn't deny that. Women turned out to be very inventive in the fight, using not only their strength, but also the opponent's weight. Amazing craftsmanship. Another contestant was just leaving, a red ponytail and a shiny blouse flashed before his eyes, when he heard a terrible bang. One of the partition walls crumbled, Katsumi fell out from behind it and an angry Hanabi came out.

- And if you dare to insult my husband again, or point out his lack of care, believe me, it won't stop at one wall. - she snarled dryly, and he thought he sensed a note of satisfaction. - I'll fuck you to the afterlife.

He grunted in appreciation. He hadn't expected his wife to be so hard on the matter. He glanced quickly at the screen, then waved his hand at her.

- Hana, Shizuka is coming to the Arena. - he said, completely ignoring the still confused karateka. - Come on!

She ran over, immediately turning her gaze to the beginning of the fight. He felt a small arm slipping between shirt and jacket, wrapping around his waist, hooking a finger on the waistband of his trousers. If he remembered correctly, the red-haired Miss Soga was a pacifist, so what was she doing at the tournament? Like the rest of her siblings, she was a master swordsman, but what if she couldn't use a weapon? Her opponent did not impress with height, she was rather similar, but visibly more muscular and aggressive. She was amused by Shizuka's cute appearance, which her sister-in-law didn't seem to pay attention to. As soon as the first blow flew in her direction, she did a neat somersault to the side, and a moment before landing on her legs, she curled around her own axis, undercutting her opponent's legs. Agile and finesse stood on the ground waiting for a reaction. This one came quite quickly, a small woman, remembering the previous attack, tried to reach the red-haired girl's legs and block them, but the sister-in-law swerved out with a dance step, serving another roundhouse kick, sending her opponent to the other end of the arena with force. This was not what he had expected from the by far sweetest of his wife's sisters, even though he had seen her personally extricate herself from the clutches of one of the fugitives. The announcer did not fail to comment on this.

- This has never happened in this Arena! - he howled happily. - Does the pretty and charming Soga Shizuka know Brazilian martial arts?!

- If only... - Hanabi replied. - Capoeira, ju-jitsu, tai-chi... She loves everything that is airy and apparent. The more fluent the style, the more willing she is to learn it.

- You always said she was against violence, didn't you? - Hanayama was surprised.

- "Pacifist" and "defenceless" aren't synonyms, honey. - she explained.

They looked at the screen again. It was over. Shizuka's opponent gave up the fight. Chiharu was already waiting in the corridor, and in the stands around him the inseparable, screaming Tokkoutai gang. Cameras caught the woman throwing herself into his arms, placing a kiss on his cheek.

- Yui is next. - the wife murmured softly. - It will be a slaughter.

She wasn't wrong. The muffled sound of the drum starting the fight was enough for the opponent of the black-haired master of the niten-ichi-ryu school to jump at her at high speed, and she moved away a bit so that, as if she was playing with a rag doll, she knocked her out in a few moves, knocking her into the ground. Scary, especially since she didn't seem to have used much force. The referee immediately declared the winner and Yui headed to Seryuu's corner.

- My Yang is walking over dead bodies. - Hanabi nodded silently. - To me.

>>><<<

There was no doubt that both of them were equally fed up with Grandpa's whining about which one of them should take over the school. For them, the matter was clear, only he could not adapt. Hanabi decided to remove herself, and since that didn't work...Yui challenged her. She saw that look in the direction of the camera. She knew exactly where to look, they sensed each other. After a while, she was back in the waiting room with Shizuka. They approached Mr. and Mrs. Hanayama to watch more fights. They weren't particularly spectacular from their point of view. All the more likely it could turn out that Yin and Yang would face each other in the final. It wasn't long before they called out Hana again, but the next fight wasn't as challenging as she'd expected. She was back before she knew it, and another woman was filling the line in the treatment room, waiting for her wounds to be sutured. It was no different with the next opponent, Mrs. Lieutenant. However, it turned out that Shizuka's second match could be a real challenge. It was enough for them to enter the arena - the difference is visible to the naked eye. Compared to the almost two-meter-tall blonde with a charming face, whose biceps resembled a head rather than an arm, the 175 cm red-headed pacifist was quite meager, despite her wide hips. Hanabi sensed her older sister standing next to her.

- Oh, she won't come out whole... - she muttered gloomily, crossing her arms over her chest. - Testosterone boosters and steroids...

She was right. It was hard. Shizuka went to the most drastic methods and techniques she knew, and the hardened Norwegian kept getting up. Both were dripping blood from fresh wounds. The cup of bitterness overflowed when the huge opponent broke one of Miss Soga's slender fingers. The redhead fell into a wild fury, slashing with successive blows, to finally wrap around the blonde, dislodge both shoulder joints and, jumping down, hit the solar plexus. Even such a big woman didn't stand a chance. She fell on her face and the audience roared with joy, chanting the name of the staggering woman.

The paramedics managed to bandage her fracture and she herself joined the family when Tokugawa himself appeared among them. He was trembling with excitement, almost like when the fights were between his fighters and the sumo wrestlers.

- Really, I did not expect such emotions! - He crowed happily, running up to the redhead. - A beautiful fight, in style!

- And so far the last in my career. -  Shizuka replied with a smile.

- WHAT?! But why?! - groaned the distraught organizer.

- I only went into the fights out of curiosity, which was satisfied. Nothing else keeps me ranked, and you don't want my next match to be a scam or forfeit, do you, Gouroukou-san? - she murmured, using one of those looks you can't refuse. - That would be a very un-exciting solution. Please give my place to someone else. Thank you.

- I wholeheartedly support! - Chiharu replied, still surrounded by a wreath of girls, gently embracing their mother with his arm.

- Take it easy, Tokugawa-san. The last fight will satisfy your cravings. - old Soga replied loudly, putting his hands into the sleeves of the haori, looking suggestively at the two youngest granddaughters. - I swear. Yui is the only one who can bring out Hanabi's full potential. Little Fox will win, I'll bet all my money on it!

He left with the owner of the Arena, and Hanabi silently agreed with him. Yes, it will be an exciting match. However, he will not allow for the result that grandfather dreamed of.

_________________________________

*memory that is a fragment of one of the special chapters - Tenko Kitsune

** Goroukou - [jap.] Noble Elder; title bestowed as a sign of respect;

[ramblesbambles]

Why do I hate you. You've done nothing but be my friend but I hate you.

Do you remind me of myself? Your hubris, pseudo-intellectual thoughts, the act of wanting to be different, chronically online behavior... Or is it something else. I wouldn't be surprised if it was my own reflection that I'm stabbing but you are... Awful. Not in the way you're actively sabotaging, being a narcissist, or anything. You just wanted to be my friend. Though I am the one with the poison, I used you for attention. My fear of being alone wrapped you in a false relationship. And yet... I hate you. It's not because I don't want to feel loved or have an attachment. I simply hate you.

Your fashion, your stride, your thoughts and speech. I hate it. You stare at me with those dim eyes as I tell you of my woes, to just try to fix me. Listen. I've told you to listen, but your experiences of being an online dweller make you the unhelpful mediator. You become the two faced fuck you are. Maybe mom and dad fought too much. Maybe you don't have control of your own life so you choose to mediate in others. You're a terrible referee. Going to both sides of the battlefield. Spitting on decaying bonds and bullying either side. You are no intellectual. You take things too literally. I am not either but your wet cardboard personality haunts me in my dreams. Dank, glintless eyes. A fantasy you spew. Incompetence is your name and I wish to kill you.

You never confided in me (except for AI and distanced companions you've never met in person), your words have nothing in them and I've never cried, rejoiced or got mad for you. I couldn't feel emotion for you. You barate your maker, you enact in rebellion to spite them. You feel fake. You are fake. You are a child in a... Whatever your body is. Feminine yet you're a man. Smaller than what you think you are. Imagining yourself as the lion that does no wrong. When I have I heard you say anything beyond a sorry? No "I was wrong", no self reflection. Disgusting. No future beyond false hope, no place is these lies you tell yourself. Inhuman.

My words come from a place of hate and immaturity. Narcissism, projecting and self-loathing. But dear God I hate you. I know it's best to keep to myself and learn to not keep a bond that actively makes me the greater evil in the end. This is no "I'm the victim" plea. I am wrong for keeping you beside me and I need to grow from it. But my conclusion remains; i hate you.

[alittlelove4u]

domestic tokyo revengers characters

„in 12 years, please stay away from me“

including: Ran Haitani • Takeomi Akashi • Ken „Draken“ Ryuuguji • Manjiro „Mikey“ Sano • Baji Keisuke • Kazutora Hanemiya • Hanma Shuji • Kakucho Hitto

warnings: none, just pure fluff

sunday mornings with Ran in your shared bed, talking to each other as quiet as possible so your kids don’t notice you’re already awake and you can have a flew minutes together.“ Do you think we could drop them off at my brothers?“ he’d suggest with a sly grin.“Last time we did that, he thought them how to play poker.“ You giggle.“Then Kaku, they love uncle Kaku.“

Later on he’d always make breakfast for the five of you with the twins on his side, claiming they wanna help him.

Takeomi falling asleep on the couch with your child in his arms after a long day of work for they’re watching the nth Disney movie and only waking up as feels them jump on his stomach. „Dad, wake up! You’re gonna miss the princess ball!“

He has watched this money enough times to know every damn magical animal and song yet sings along with the little brat in his arms, even dancing for he can’t say no to his little angel.

Darken and your daughter taking Halloween way to serious and making it their mission to scare everyone in the family at least one time. I’m talking about fake blood, soundeffects, spiders. Just so they could scare you and your other kids to death.

What he doesn’t know is that you and your oldest child are planning a revenge on them, causing him to scream like a maniac in the middle of the night.“Aha! Don’t fuck with me, old man!“ your oldest would laughs, after scaring them and enjoy the sweet revenge.

Mikey would cook for you whenever you have a bad day, or at least he’d try his best. The whole house would be cleaned, music in the background and even candles. Everything would look so lovely until you actually sit down and try the meal he prepared to find out it takes like chipboard. But at least it makes you smile and so he doesn’t mind it. You’d just order food and spend the evening on the couch.

Your kid is terribly embarrassed by Baji whenever the two of you would attend a game of them. Your husband is their biggest fan and so it’s only logical that he’s also the loudest. He’d yell and clap and root for them in every match, ignoring all the other parents who’re eyeing him like a psycho for its only a football match for middle schoolers. This man has and will start a fight with the referee, so you better not leave his side.“[title], can you tell him to calm down, he’s embarrassing me in front of my friends,“ they’d complain but you’d just shake your head.“No can do, sweetheart.“

Kazutora waking up in the middle of the night because your little boy is screaming again and he doesn’t want you to get up. After some time you’d notice that your husband isn’t back in bed and so you’d look for him, just to find the man in the nursery. The baby is asleep again and a grin grows on your face because they still have his hair on their little hands, not letting him go. He’d smile and bite the inside of his cheek so he wouldn’t curse or scream for that little human in his arms is plugging out half his hair.“You want some help?“ you giggle quietly whereupon he quickly nods.

If there is one thing Hanma can’t resist, except for you of course, then it’s your son’s puppy eyes. He loves spoiling him with whatever he wants. New toys? Done. Video games? There is a whole closet filled with them. Phones, clothes, trips. Whatever this little brat wants, Hanma will get it.

„You can’t just buy him a car! He’s 17!“ You’d yell as the two of them would come home in a black mercedes.“But look at his little face, he’s just so cute.“ Hanma would squeeze his cheeks and talk to him like when he was a baby. You’d just roll your eyes and smile. Yeah, you both love spoiling him.

Kakucho becoming completely domestic after you have children. You were getting older but not that old! For the first time on months, you had the house for yourselves and instead of going or doing something exiting you spend your evening on the couch, enjoying the silence.

„You know, now that the kids are at the sleepovers, we can’t be bothered by anyone,“ he said with a sly smile on his face, looking over to you.“Are we thinking the same thing?“

In the span of a second has the man thrown you over his shoulder, to rush into you bedroom.

[rocorambles]

Mending the Cracks

Pairing: Daishou x Reader

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Choking, Spitting, DDLG, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Overstimulation

Summary: Daishuo prides himself on his cool and collected facade, his ability to not let anyone see past his polite and put together appearances unless he wishes them to. But Kuroo has always had a special talent for getting under his skin and now it’s your turn to help mend the cracks the messy haired captain has accidentally created.  

OR

Roco once again turns a request that should have been just a rough jealous angry spicy PWP fic into a whole angst/fluff/comfort fic WITH rough jealous angry spice~

Your heart sinks as the referee blows the whistle signifying the end of the game, pride and disappointment swirling in a confusing mixture inside of you as you rush to your feet, already making your way out of the stands and towards the locker rooms. It had been a good game, a great game, one Nohebi should be proud of regardless of the end result, that Daishou should be proud of. Yet, you know that’s the farthest thing from what any of the boys are thinking of as they dejectedly shake hands with Nekoma, another chance of Nationals taken right from underneath their noses, Daishou’s last chance of Nationals gone, just like that. 

You should be paying more attention to your surroundings, especially in such a crowded building with masses of spectators and athletes, but you’re too focused on rushing to your boyfriend as fast as you can, barely dodging the crowds and receiving more than a few dirty looks from people you accidentally bump into in your haste. But it doesn’t matter. All that matters is comforting your lover, being there for him and reminding him that he’s still the most amazing person you know regardless of how one game went. And determinedly you quickly hook around the corner of the hall, only to yelp when you crash into something firm, the impact making you stagger back. 

Mortification rushes through you once your body steadies itself and you fumble for words, stuttering out apologies when you realize what, or more specifically who, you’ve run into, practically diving to pick up the knee pads the other has dropped because of your carelessness. You can barely bring yourself to look up at the other person’s face, already cringing at the look of irritation you know you’ll receive (and frankly, deserve). But it’s the polite thing to do and your eyes slowly travel up and up a long, lean frame, only to blink in surprise when you see the amused smile on a handsome cat-like face as he plucks his knee pads from your hands. 

He looks...familiar and you take a second to appraise him, eyes widening in shock when you recognize the Nekoma uniform and, emboldened by his lack of annoyance, you shyly smile, politely congratulate him on his team’s win and earning their ticket to Nationals. 

You’re secretly glad your boyfriend is nowhere in sight, already knowing how childishly competitive he can get, especially where Nekoma is concerned. And you know he’d throw a fit if he saw you “consorting with the enemy”. But it’s the least you can do after running the poor guy over. Plus, Daishou really only has an issue with one person on the team and what are the chances that this athlete is…

“Oya? It’s not everyday someone decides to literally run me over. Nice to meet you. I’m Kuroo Tetsurou.” 

Crap. 

You pray to anyone who’s listening that Daishou doesn’t walk in on this scene, can only imagine how bad it would look to be caught chatting with Kuroo Tetsurou of all people only minutes after Nekoma had swiped Nohebi’s chances of Nationals away from them, even before you’ve talked to your own boyfriend. 

But when it rains it pours and unknown to you, narrowed eyes scowl at the both of you from down the hallway. 

If Daishou’s honest, the outcome of the match isn’t surprising. Nekoma has always been a stronger team than Nohebi, as aggravating as it is to admit. But it doesn’t make the loss any easier and he knows he’s just looking for a reason to pick a fight when annoyance curls inside of him at how quietly and respectfully Kuroo shakes his hand, not a hint of the other’s usual provoking or teasing after the match is over. He knows it’s out of sportsmanship, but he can’t help but believe he sees his own self-pity reflected in those feline eyes. And he storms out before he accidentally makes a scene, mustering every last bit of his snake-like charm to plaster a smile on his face and force out some pleasantries and kind words to his team, all the while wanting nothing more than to rush into your arms and lock himself away as he comes to terms with his dreams being dashed. 

So imagine the stomach sinking shock he feels as he rounds the corner in his search of you, only to stare in disbelief as you smile up at literally the only person in this entire building who he’d rather you not ever meet, the person who led the team that had just crushed his team’s hopes, seemingly in no hurry to excuse yourself. 

Shock makes way for hot fiery fury fueled by jealousy and insecurity and before he can fully register what he’s doing, he’s storming towards you, startling both of you when he suddenly cuts in between, rigid and stiff with hostility and anger as he shoves his face mere inches away from Kuroo’s surprised one. 

It’s startling to say the least to have his view of you suddenly replaced by a larger figure and Kuroo instinctively steps back, uncertainty filling him when he sees heavy shadows of pure unadulterated ill-intent in Daishou’s eyes.

Interactions with the Nohebi captain are always playful, even if the stinging words aren’t always exactly lighthearted and Kuroo enjoys their bantering and rivalry underscored by respect for each other that both captains would die before admitting to. But this...this is different and Kuroo can’t help but think that somehow they’ve accidentally crossed the line to a point of no return, that something terrible is on the verge of happening, jaw instinctively tightening and fists clenching in self-defense.  

“Winning wasn’t enough for you, so now you’re trying to rub more salt in my wounds by hitting on my girl?” 

Oh. OH. 

Kuroo KNEW you looked familiar, unsure where to place you, but it all makes sense as his brain quickly puts the pieces together, frantically working under pressure as the snake in front of him rattles his tail and hisses. You’re the new girlfriend he’s seen in all of Daishou’s social media posts recently. And suddenly it’s his turn to fumble over words as he tries to calm the furious athlete in front of him, desperately trying to find a way to de escalate the situation without having to resort to anything physical, trying to reassure the other captain that it’s not what it looks like, wincing at how cliche that phrase sounds. 

You’re frozen as you watch the taller man continue stammering explanations, stunned by the feral aura radiating from your boyfriend, unsure what’s the best way to approach the situation without exacerbating the issue. But when you see Daishou take a step forward, your hands fly to the back of his jersey, harshly tugging at the fabric in a bid to drag him away from Kuroo, to keep him from doing something stupid that he’d regret. 

You wonder if you did the right thing as you cower when he whirls around to face you, pinning you down with a practically murderous gaze. But then you see it, underneath the blazing fires of his eyes, the vulnerable insecurities he keeps so deeply hidden within him, that he’d shared about to you in full confidence, raring back to life and tearing him up inside. 

Am I not good enough?

The question is unspoken, but you hear it clear as day and you want to scream at him, touch him, anything to wipe away the torment in his gaze. No, you're more than good enough. So much more. And despite the way you feel like a tiny mouse about to be swallowed whole, you easily let him drag you away, mindlessly following him and lacing your fingers with his bone crushing grip. 

It's silent as you scramble to keep up with his determined pace, clutching at his arm and pressing against his side in quiet obedient comfort, a reminder that you're with him every step of the way, out of your own desire and love for him. And although his countenance remains stony, your heart swells when he instinctively leans into your touch, the dark fog around him lightening just a bit. 

Not a word is said even as he locks his bedroom door behind the two of you, even as he pulls you onto his bed, wrapping his body tightly around you not unlike the creature he's nicknamed after. 

And you let him, ignoring the discomfort you feel as he constricts your body too tightly to be comforting, murmuring how amazing he was on the court, what a respected captain he is, how you know there's still so many opportunities for him in life, volleyball, anything he wants even if Nationals wasn't his fate. 

But when he remains silent, you nervously take a deep breath, knowing it's time to address the elephant in the room. 

"Suguru, you know I love you, right? I only have eyes for you and no one else. Kuroo-"

You squeal in surprise when you're suddenly pinned to the bed by a toned body, gasping when a hand wraps around your throat rendering you silent, whimpering at the venomous look staring down at you. 

"Don't say his fucking name, especially when you're in bed with me." 

But you need to explain! Need to clear the air! And you desperately claw at his hand digging into your neck, struggling to force words out, only to moan when lips crash down on yours, a tongue slithering inside of your mouth and ravishing you, fangs harshly nipping at your lips in a warning to remain silent and pliant. 

You pant for breath when he finally pulls away, trying to reach up and cradle his face in your hands, keep him still as you explain everything to him. But your efforts are futile and you moan when he promptly spits in your mouth the second you try to open your mouth to speak, body instinctively grinding against his when the hand on your throat tightens once again, mind busy trying to obediently keep his saliva in your mouth while simultaneously breathing through your constricted airway. 

"Not a single word from you unless it's about me and how good I'm making you feel, understood? Swallow." 

Daishou trained you well and you're quick to gulp down the pooled liquid in your mouth, baring your neck in submission as his lips and teeth possessively mark the expanse of your neck, sucking and biting marks you know you'll be proudly wearing for days afterwards, traveling down and down as your clothes are pulled off and haphazardly thrown away. 

The room fills with breathy moans and sighs as you let him have you, let him mark every inch of you, relishing in the slight twinges of pain you feel when teeth sink in too deep, when lips suck too hard all over your collarbones, the valley between your breasts, your rib cage. But you wail when he deems you sufficiently marked, a hot wet mouth wrapping around one of your nipples, fingers harshly twisting and pulling the other. 

"DADDY!"

Pride soars inside of Daishou at the nickname, a name he knows only he’s lucky enough to hear from your lips, and he pulls away from your aroused bud just long enough to spit out a few choice words. 

“That’s right, baby girl. I’m your daddy. I’m the one who takes care of you. I’m the one who makes you feel good. So why the fuck did daddy find his precious girl chatting it up with some other man like a dirty little slut? Daddy not good enough for you anymore?”

Your head swirls from the degrading words, thighs clenching at hearing his endearing terms for you, but tears pricking at your eyes when you hear the trickle of doubt that seeps into his last question. Shame floods through you as you frantically shake your head, salty droplets leaking from your eyes as you begin to sob, desperately clutching Daishou’s sides and trying to pull him closer to you. 

“No, Daddy! Never! Only you! You’re my only daddy. I love you. I’m sorry! I’m your good girl. Please let me show you that I’m your good girl?” 

Daishou chuckles, warm fondness beginning to take off the frostiest edges of his insecurities as he watches you flail and fight against his hold in your pursuit of making him feel good, your greedy fingers trying to drag him closer to you, your hips grinding and humping his hardening cock like a bitch in heat as you babble and beg to ride him, suck him off, help him cum. 

It’s heartwarming in the most depraved way how loyal and dedicated you are to him, how easily you’ll let yourself fall into debauchery just to please him. And in his heart of hearts, he knows deep down that you’d never betray him, that you love him just as much as he loves you. But the heart and the mind aren’t always on the same page and he can’t help the way his eyes narrow and his stomach twists uncomfortably when he replays the scene of Kuroo and you in the hall, even though he knows the chance of you being swept away so easily by someone else is close to null, even though he knows Kuroo is a decent enough man to back off once he knows you’re a taken woman. 

“Settle down, little one. I know you’re a desperate slut for daddy, but today you’re going to behave, okay? You’re going to lay there, let daddy thoroughly remind you who you belong to, and thank me for it, understand?” 

It’s a rhetorical question and you barely have time to nod your head before Daishou’s blunt cock head is pressing against your already drenched entrance. You claw at the bedsheets when he suddenly slams in balls deep inside of you, your sopping wet folds easily making way for his cock, and your toes curl at the abrupt stretch, eyes already shamelessly rolling to the back of your head from the sensation of finally being stuffed full. 

“Daddy, so good, daddy, daddy, daddy” becomes your mantra, barely discernible amidst your wanton moans as he hardly gives you time to adjust before he’s starting up a brutal pace, hips slamming into yours, balls slapping your ass with every thrust. It’s embarrassing how close to the edge you already are, how you nearly came just from his cock stretching you full, but you can’t help it when Daishou knows your body even better than you, when your pussy is practically molded just for him, trained to be his perfect cock sleeve and you wail as you fall to pieces around his cock, body convulsing and mind shattering from the overwhelming pleasure. 

But he doesn’t let up, continuing his relentless onslaught, smirking down at how broken you already look, drool and tears staining your wrecked face, incoherent babbling and wails slipping past your lips as overstimulation begins to wash over you, body now shaking uncontrollably as pain and pleasure swirl inside of you. 

“That’s it, baby girl. You’re doing so well. Keep on taking it. Fucking take my cock! This is what you were made for. Being daddy’s cock slave that he fucks silly. Going to use you until you can’t even think about anyone or anything else other than daddy’s cock.” 

There’s nowhere else he’d rather be than in between your legs and he swears he could die happy like this, cock buried deep within your tight pussy, would happily live the rest of his life bottomed out inside of you if he had the chance. But he’s only human after all and he can feel his end approaching, balls tightening and pace becoming wild and erratic when he hungrily devours the sight of your lewd state as you dopily smile, brokenly chanting “I’m daddy’s cock slave”, slurring thank yous over and over again. His hand reaches down to furiously rub your clit and all it takes is your second fall from grace, the sensation of your tight walls clamping and clenching around his cock, milking him of all his cum, to empty his balls inside of you. 

It’s silent again save for both your shaky breaths as you come down from your respective highs and Daishou carefully slumps down to the side of you, pulling you to also lay on your side, wrapping you in his arms as your lower bodies remain connected, hooking his chin on top of your head and letting you burrow into his neck and cuddle up beside him. 

But despite all his earlier bravado, you can feel his scales shift and skin shed as he reveals his softer, more vulnerable side, can feel him slump and his defenses crumble in the way he clings onto you, and you wriggle out of your comfortable position, ignoring the throbbing between your legs and all over you body as you determinedly reposition yourself until the two of you are face to face, forehead and noses pressed against each other. 

“Suguru, I love you. I love you so much. You’ll always be more than enough for me.”

You smile at the love and hope you see reciprocated back at you in your lover’s eyes, giggling when it’s quickly replaced by panic and embarrassment as he holds you at arms length, staring in dismay at all the punishing marks he had left all over your body before frantically nearly crushing you as he pulls you tightly back towards him, apologies spilling from his mouth for being so rough, a stupid stereotypically jealous boyfriend. And you roll your eyes as he suddenly starts raving and ranting about how this is somehow all Kuroo’s fault, shutting him up with a forceful kiss of your own, a playful smirk sitting on your face. 

“You told me not to mention his name and yet here you are, going on and on about him right after we’ve had sex. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re a little more interested in him than two rival captains should be. Should I be the jealous one?”

You bite back a laugh at the look of pure disgust on Daishou’s face as he stares agape at you, jaw slack and open wide in disbelief at your blasphemous lies, using whatever latent talent you have as an actor to tap a finger to your lips in a parody of an inquisitive thoughtful gesture. 

“I’m pretty open minded, Suguru. We can invite him for a threesome if you want. Ooh! Who do you think would top? Kuroo? You’d look so pretty on bottom for once, don’t you think? Or would you prefer to shut him up-”

You squeal in laughter and surprise when you’re suddenly being suffocated and crushed by a heavy weight on top of you, Daishou flipping the two of you over and laying his whole weight on top of you, shoving your face into his chest and grunting at you to shut up as he nuzzles his face into the top of your head and closes his eyes to rest, dragging you to an exhausted slumber with him as his breathing even outs and lulls your own heavy eyelids into shutting. 

Somewhere else in Tokyo Kuroo sneezes out of the blue, curiously wondering if someone is talking about him.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Google and France agree on ad-tech interop

It’s (mostly) great that Big Tech monopolies are finally facing regulation.

There are two bad things about monopolies:

I. They cheat their customers and suppliers because they know they’re the only game in town, and

II. They use their money to legalize harmful practices.

Here’s a Type I example of how Google uses its monopoly power to cheat: Google controls the ad-tech market they rig it in their favor — they represent both buyers and sellers, and they compete with them, and they advantage themselves.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/11/20/sovkitsch/#adtech

But Google’s ad-tech stack also has a Type II monopoly abuse: the ad-targeting systems Google sells are extraordinarily, harmfully invasive. They get away with this privacy abuse because they convert the money they get from rigging the market to lobby against privacy laws.

There’s a real danger that competition authorities seeking to blunt Google’s monopoly will get Type I and Type II abuses mixed up. It’s great to force Google to run a clean ad marketplace, preferably by forcing it to divest of the units that compete with its own customers.

After all, it’s nearly impossible to detect “self-preferencing” in complex markets — like, did Google place its own ad rather than a higher-bidding third-party because it was cheating, or because its algorithm assessed the third-party ad as fraudulent?

And if so, was the algorithm itself designed to overblock third-party ads as potentially fraudulent while applying a more lax standard to the ads that Google sells — and makes more money from?

The entity that runs the market is the referee. Referees shouldn’t also be members of one of the teams. Period. Obviously. I mean, come on.

The problem is that breaking up a monopolist is really hard. It can take decades and cost billions.

So regulators, out of ignorance or desperation, continue to allow referees to have a stake in the outcome, and instead seek to improve competition in other domains, especially Type II domains — those bad actions that monopolists get away with because they’re too big to stop.

That’s what’s going on in France right now. The French competition regulator just fined Google $268M for anticompetitive ad-tech abuses. Included in the settlement — which Google says it won’t fight — is a mandate for interoperability in ad-tech.

https://techcrunch.com/2021/06/07/france-fines-google-268m-for-adtech-abuses-and-gets-interoperability-commitments/

Interop is a great remedy for anticompetitive markets, and indeed, it makes tech a prime target for competition enforcement. When companies are forced to interoperate, their “network effect” advantages can be obliterated, by lowering switching costs.

https://onezero.medium.com/tech-monopolies-and-the-insufficient-necessity-of-interoperability-aafba94f1eb3

Interop is a great solution to Type I problems, problems caused by a lack of competition. But it’s a terrible solution to Type II problems. If a monopolist got away with doing something horrible and abusive, we shouldn’t fix that by improving competition.

The last thing we want is competition in practices that harm the public — we don’t want companies to see who can commit the most extensive human rights abuses at the lowest costs. That’s not something we want to render more efficient.

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/04/fighting-floc-and-fighting-monopoly-are-fully-compatible

Unfortunately, that’s what the French interop remedy for Google does. Rather than abolishing or curbing targeting (substituting noninvasive content-based targeting, reliant on the content of a page rather than the identity of the user), they’re helping everyone target users.

As Google wrote in its corporate comms about the ruling, it will improve interop by creating a way to share ad-tech data with third party competitors. This is such a fucking monkey’s paw.

https://blog.google/around-the-globe/google-europe/some-changes-our-ad-technology/

There’s going to be more of this. In the UK, the Competition and Market Authority’s otherwise excellent report on ad-tech calls for widespread access to “attribution,” where ad-tech follows you around forever to see if an ad leads to a sale.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/01/you-are-here/#goog

There are two kinds of entities agitating for more tech competition and interop. On the one side, you have smaller ad-tech firms and telecoms monopolists who want competition in commercial surveillance.

On the other side, you have public interest groups like EFF, calling for interop as a way to help people escape high-surveillance digital environments by allowing them to take their data with them and maintain their social ties.

https://www.eff.org/wp/interoperability-and-privacy

Interop can be fully privacy-compatible — indeed, interop can be a way to weaken tech to open space to enact and enforce strong privacy rules.

But there’s some forms of competition — competition to invade your privacy — that we should reject altogether, not enhance.

[whumpasaurus101]

The Collab of Clueless Chaos - Chapter One

Okay aaaa i have been looking forward to writing this for so long oml. SO this is a collab with Tabea ( @happy-whumper ) and I!!!

Olivia and Nick all belong to @happy-whumper.

Tabea’s Masterlist / My Masterlist

CW: ‘dog’ fighting / fist fighting / cursing…. I mean it's asher and olivia,,,,, there’s a lot of cursing ngl…. xD / Dislocated limb / blood being brought up. / lmk if i missed something!! <3

Antonio chuckled as Asher was dragged into the changing room by the ear. “Let fucking go of me!” Asher yelled, trying to tear Rodger’s grip off of him. “Quit whining like a fucking baby and get in here.” Antonio stepped forward off of the lockers, “Asher! I’m glad you decided to come today!”

“Didn't have much of a fucking choice, did I?”

Antonio forced a laugh and suddenly his face turned cold, “Funny… hold out your hands.” Asher raised his eyebrows, “Why?” Antonio rolled his eyes, “Just do it.”

“No.” Antonio looked up at him in disbelief, “Excuse you?” Asher snickered, “I don't fucking want to.”

“Asher,” Rodger warned in a low voice.

Antonio took two fistfuls of Asher’s shirt and tugged him closer, “Listen here you little shit, hold out your fucking hands or I swear to god I’ll make you and trust me when I say that you don't want me to.” Asher clenched his jaw, nostrils flared, “Let me go first,” He forced through a clenched jaw.

Antonio waited a moment before finally letting go. Asher slowly held out his hands, quickly putting up his two middle fingers, and started laughing. Rodger was quick to give him a wallop on the back, instantly making Asher stop. Antonio rolled his eyes, grabbed one of Asher’s hands, and started wrapping his hand in boxing tape.

“You better win out there tonight,” Rodger commented, sitting on one of the benches. Asher rolled his eyes, “When do I not win?” Rodger sighed, “Alright, drop the cockyness, if you lose tonight, you will regret it. Do you understand me?” Asher scoffed, “Rodger, honey, you don’t need to act all tough in front of Antonio! I mean, come on, it’s obvious you’re crushing on him but this, this is just a bit O.T.T, don't ya think?”

Rodger was at a loss for words for a moment before quickly remembering himself and slapping Asher hard across the face. Antonio but his tongue trying not to laugh at how red Rodgers face was. “Finish wrapping his hands and get him out of the ring, we don’t have all fucking day.” And with that, Rodger left, slamming the door behind him.

An awkward silence filled the room and Asher couldn’t help but speak up, “Sooooo, the feeling’s not mutual?”

*

The lights shone brightly onto the boxing ring, Asher sat on a stool in the corner of the ring while Antonio massaged his shoulders.

There was a girl in the opposite corner. A girl. As much as Asher hated to admit it, she looked scary… fierce. Her hair was tied in a messy ponytail with strands of hair pulled out in the front. She was giving Asher a murderous look. Asher looked to Antonio who was now in front of him, “A girl? I’m fighting a girl?” Antonio raised his eyebrow and chuckled, “Yes, you got a problem with that?”

“No! It's just… well, isn't it unfair on her?” Antonio laughed again, “Sure, we’ll see if you still think that after the first round.” Asher’s eyebrows furrowed, “I mean, she can't be as strong as me i-” the bell rang and Antonio yanked Asher up and shut him up by shoving his mouth guard in his mouth. “Win this, show us that you're stronger than her.” he patted him on the back and shoved him into the centre of the ring.

Asher rolled his shoulders and straightened his back, raising his fists as the girl stepped forward, her handler stepping away from her and retreating back to the front bench outside of the ring. The referee came into the centre of the ring. Asher held out his hands offering for them to touch gloves to show respect and sportsmanship but the girl simply looked at them and scoffed.

“3,2,1, fight!” The ref called. The two fighters hopped from each foot, fists raised over their faces. As Asher got bored he finally yelled over the crowd, “Well, ladies first.” The girl sneered, “Yeah, that's why I’m waiting for your first move, dickwad.” Asher growled and went to punch her straight in the face. The girl was quick to block it and deliver her own one, which Asher was unsuccessful in blocking.

“Jesus, who’s that girl he’s fighting?” Alicia asked, impressed. “Olivia Riley,” Antonio spoke, not taking his eyes off of the ring watching every one of Asher’s moves, “Owned by Nick Bennet.” Jack shrank in his seat as he anxiously watched Asher. He hated seeing him in the ring. Normally he’d be throwing punches and kicks without stopping but it looked like this wasn’t going to end well.

“Giving up already?” Olivia scoffed, slightly out of breath. Asher quickly stood up, spitting out his mouthguard and wiping the blood from his mouth, “Never!” Olivia snickered and spat her gum shield out as well, “Alright fucker, let’s see what ya got.”

Asher growled and pounced forward, managing to get a combo, a right hook, a jab, and a kick to the side. Olivia let out a grunt as she clung to the mesh wire of the ring. Asher chuckled, “That, that’s what I got.” Olivia forced herself back up, resuming her fighting position, “Jesus Christ, not another dude who has cringey comebacks.”

Asher scowled, “Oh jeez, I'm sorry, am I offending you?” Olivia growled and ran towards him, throwing punch after punch to his face. Asher managed to block the seventh one and kicked her in the hip. “Jesus Christ, when is this round going to end?” Rodger huffed. Antonio sighed, “I don't know, his opponent should be on the ground by now.”

“You know, you can stop going easy on me,” Olivia panted, spitting out blood and raising her fists again. “Hah.. funny. Do you always talk so much in fights?” Asher asked, dodging another punch. “Hmm, no, just with the fun ones.” The bell rang and they both retreated to their corners, being sure not to turn their back on each other.

Antonio rushed to the corner, “Asher, what the fuck is happening?” He hissed, shoving a water bottle in his lap. Asher chugged the water, glaring at Olivia who was doing the same in her corner but with a smirk. “She's good, she's fucking good Antonio. Why the fuck is she good?” Antonio glanced at Olivia and back to Asher, “That's a lesson you should learn, never underestimate your opponent. And- where the hell is your mouthguard?” “I don't need it, it makes me sound dumb.” Antonio looked at him, baffled, “Sound? You shouldn't be talking!” Antonio slapped him hard across the face. “Get your fucking brain in the game, you need to defeat her, that's the only important thing here. You're not here to make friends, you're here to win these fucking matches so do it, do you understand?!” Asher sucked his gums, only to be slapped one more, “Yeah! Jesus fuck, yes.” The bell rang again and Antonio shoved him out of the seat.

“Awww, someone have daddy problems? Looks like he doesn't think I'm not roughing you up enough,” Olivia snickered. Asher stayed silent, stepping in and punching Olivia straight in the stomach. “Oh you little shit!” She hissed, hunched over. Asher kneed her in the head and she fell to the ground. He took his chance to make Olivia as weak as he could. He delivered three more kicks until he was pulled back by the referee. “Enough!”

He looked at Antonio who still wore a cold face but gave him a nod of approval. Asher rolled his shoulders, wiping the blood and sweat from his brow. “Five seconds,” The referee announced. Olivia grunted and tried to get to her feet but fell.

Jack allowed himself to relax, Asher was winning. 1-0 to Asher… this is going to end well… it will.

The bell rang to end the fifth round. Asher was slumped in the stool in his corner. Blood seeped from his nose and a gash above his eyes. Antonio roughly shook him, “Do you have any fucking idea what the score is?!” Asher stared blankly in front of him. “Asher, I swear to god, I am running out of patience right now!”

Jack could see how Rodger was seething in his seat. He was ready to murder Asher right there and then. Alicia combed her hand through Jack’s hair and rubbed right behind his ear. She gently pushed his head so it rested against her shoulder as her long nails massaged his scalp, whispering praises in his ear.

His whole body was tense but he took his opportunity to close his eyes, he couldn't watch the gruesome fight any longer. “Hey! Alicia, your fucking bitch isn't watching the match!” Alicia sighed, “Yeah, so?”

“So, he needs to watch it so he knows what will happen if he suddenly becomes useless.” Jack whimpered, nuzzling his head further into Alicia, making her laugh, “Jesus, fine, just don't be all moody ‘cause your stupid mutt is losing terribly.” She pushed Jack’s head off of her chest but still kept one hand massaging his scalp.

“You know,” Asher panted as Olivia and he returned to the center of the ring, “I’m only going easy on you. Like, you know, 'cause you're a girl and all.” Olivia laughed while shaking her head, “Uh huh, sure. Well then, mister strong man, if you're going ‘oh so easy on me’, let's see who wins this round.” Asher gulped, he opened his mouth to say something back but the bell rang and Olivia leapt on him.

The last round, -just like in every other match-, was the worst one. Adrenaline pumping, bruises blooming, each pet desperate to win so they wouldn't be hurting any more than they already were. Asher managed to land more punches and kicks than the other rounds… but so did Olivia.

There was less than a minute left and Asher was doing pretty good! That was, of course, before Olivia had him on the ground and suddenly pulled his shoulder in a direction it definitely shouldn't’ve gone in. a burst of pain exploded in Asher as his vision went white, “AAARRGHHHHH!!!!!” The bell rang and the round was over. Olivia had won.

Antonio quickly ran up to the ring to assess the damage. Asher was rolling around on his stomach, punching the floor with his good hand. Antonio pushed down his worries and put his cold face back on, “Asher! Quit causing a scene, get up, c’mon.”

“Fuck off Antonio you fucking piece of SHIT.” The pain was excruciating. Antonio showed no mercy as he quickly yanked Asher up by the shoulders, making Asher scream from the unbearable pain. He thought he was going to pass out, maybe he was going to.

Jack shut his eyes tight and put his hands over his ears, he couldn't bear listening to this. Alicia looked to Rodger, feeling how he was practically shaking from anger. He quickly shot up out of his seat and stormed off, slamming the door behind him.

Asher did in fact pass out. He woke up with a fright in the doctor’s room of the dogfighting building. He went to sit up quickly but his shoulder immediately lit up with pain. He fell back down to the bed. Katherine, the kind nurse from his first day, walked over to the bed, “Ah, Asher, welcome back! We still need to-”

Rodger burst through the door, “Get out,” He ordered Katherine who had no other choice but to obey. Once Rodger and Asher were alone in the room, Asher’s breathing was uneven as Rodger advanced towards him. “Do you have any fucking idea how much money you fucking cost me out there?! I mean, that was fucking pathetic and downright embarrassing!” Asher dropped his eyes to his lap, clenching his jaw, “I-I'm sorry.”

“Sorry?” Rodger scoffed, “Oh yeah, you better fucking be! Oh I’m going to make you be so much more than sorry, do you understand me?” Asher's breath left his body but he quickly nodded. There was silence until Rodger took a step forward to examine Asher’s bandaged shoulder, “Does it hurt?”

Asher gulped and nodded slowly, “Y-yes sir.” Rodger grabbed him by the shoulder and dug his fingers into his shoulder, relighting the fire of pain. Asher screamed and Rodger spoke over his screams and whimpers, “Remember what losing feels like, it feels like this. Now get up, we’re going out to dinner with Nick and Olivia.” Rodger let go of his shoulder and pushed him away, “You have five minutes,” and with that he left, yet again, slamming the door behind him.

My taglist: @likeit-or-whumpit@milk-carton-whump @yesthisiswhump @as-a-matter-of-whump @appy-polly-loggies @happy-whumper @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @myst-in-the-mirror @tears-and-lilies

Tabea’s taglist: @starnight-whump @jordanstrophe @froggywhumpy @whumpasaurus101 @as-a-matter-of-whump @jojothepanwithoutaplan @myst-in-the-mirror @whumpsweetwhump

Thank you for reading!!! (∩^o^)⊃━☆

[mrthomasdoherty]

What do you think of Kurt’s relationship with:

Rachel

Mercedes

Santana

any other friendship with girl? Brittany or Tina?

Oh boy. Okay.

Rachel: hate it. Hate the way it transitioned to sudden besties out of no where. Hate how it turned Kurt into her cheerleader 90% of the time while she took the 10% to reciprocate (Swan Song for example, that was a good pep talk from her to him). Hate how when he's not with New Directions, she's happy to help him try for a solo because he's her "only competition". Yet, when he tries for leading man material at McKinley, she too laughs in his face. When he gets the NYADA letter and she doesn't, she turns his excitement into her pity party. When he wins Midnight Madness, she turns it into "I guess I'm not talented enough and won't audition for anything". I hate how when she ditches him for fake friends who bad mouth him, she doesn't see that as a red flag to ditch them, until they vote for him and not her. I hate how she manipulates Elliott into claiming Kurt kicked her out when it was her own damn choice, and disowns Kurt when he didn't automatically take her side by playing referee for her outlandish claims against Santana. I hate "my best gay", it isn't cute, it isn't quirky, it's stupid and Kurt Hummel does deserve a better best friend who doesn't just use him to hoist themselves up. I'm glad Colfer called it the fuck out in his episode, even if it was magically fine at the end again just because she showed up to his Peter Pan show - shocker. I hate how she destroyed him being the actual student president by cheating, but that's fine because she owns up to it I guess? Like they still had to claim the cheerleader the winner who did nothing all year, when they could've had Kurt who would actually have done something good, but aT LeAsT sHe WaS HoNeSt right?????? I mean she is the one who also decided to run against him for a hot minute too, but SHE DROPPED OUT GUISE. BFF'S. It would've been so much better if they both went to New York, and then agreed to be roommates because it would be cheaper and we see them expand into actual friendship from there. Kurt doesn't need to stay relevant as a character just by being Rachel's best friend on the fact they both are into Broadway. THAT is the stereotype. Because remember, he's gay and she has two gay dads, so meant to be in each other's lives. Also ew having Rachel as a surrogate, what the fuck. No. Keep that controlling person away from any child of Kurt and Blaine's, that'll just cause more problems.

Mercedes: Maybe it's Colfer and Riley's friendship chemistry showing on screen, but I love and will forever love this friendship. I love that Kurt can admit he's wrong with her! ON HIS OWN! No sob story, no passive aggressiveness, no call out. Him realizing encouraging her to lose the weight was wrong? Growth. No, it isn't a perfect friendship, but it didn't start out of no where either. Kurt being dumb with trying to set her up with dates so he didn't feel bad in befriending Blaine. Mercedes letting her religious blinders encourage Kurt to go to church with her - but at least she approaches this conversation honestly, she doesn't sugar coat it from her point of view, which is good. They're both honest with one another. They're in each other's corners. Kurt Hummel heart eyeing every time she performs is the best. And it's dumb that it got pushed to the back for season 3 and onward. It should've grown from high schooler kids to young adults like a fine wine, instead of getting overlooked. There was potential of Mercedes being the surrogate, or even just another egg donor! But you know, some people needed to be zeroed in on and characters had to be tied to that characters hip, and Mercedes wasn't it.

Santana: Can you imagine how great (or terrible) this could've been if Kurt remained on the Cheerios? We can dream! But what we got in S4&S5 was great. Nice bantering, a mutual respect and understanding becoming a thing over time. They made pacts! They swore to each other about things off screen! She and him would've made a dangerous duo in New York if Rachel never moved back into the loft. She could've encouraged him to loosen up more, he would've helped her unlock a more vulnerable side of emotions when it came to catching feelings! Would've loved to see them bonding more like they did with the boyfriend arms watching TV! We were robbed, and s6 destroyed it all together, so. I wish we could've seen them on double dates, with Dani and Blaine. I wish we could've seen her trying to hook him up with guys in season 4! But no, two Slytherin's teaming up is too dangerous I guess. Fuck you glee.

Brittany: In the first season, it's nice to see that Brittany was the popular girl but still showing up to Kurt's house and dancing with him. It's because of her he joins the football team, briefly, and we get to see him kick ass at it and make a win for the Titans for the first time in however long! That's a big deal. I'm glad that she also approaches him in his "straight" phase and offers to help. And I'm glad she encourages Santana to go support Kurt during Prom Queen. BUT ANYTHING AFTER THAT, is null and void. Because she suddenly becomes this overly stupid child who only wants things done her way. When she offers to help him with his running for class president, she only focuses on him being gay and that's it - because it makes him a unicorn? It's a homophobic school, you really think shoving it in the bullies faces won't get him laughed out of a win? And he ditches the idea last minute anyway, so why bother going with that twist anyway? And when he gives her the rundown on what he wants to do, she ignores him and does it her way. When he gets mad, all of a sudden it's poor Brittany, she was just trying to help, Kurt's a meanie face. And when he (stupidly) accepts her idea for the campaign posters, she's like "oh by the way, I'm running against you now sorry I didn't tell you lol". And the bullshit of season 6 of her telling him that he needs to get over Blaine, then magically wants them to be in her and Santana's wedding? No. Keep her as far away from Kurt as possible after season 2.

Tina: Remember when Kurt fake dates her first? Wouldn't that have been an interesting play throughout that episode? Seeing Burt ask about Tina, Kurt bringing Tina over for dinner, Kurt and Tina discussing this new beard-ship for his dad, and then when he comes out, she would've been so happy for him? WE WERE ROBBED, YET AGAIN. We see them being friends throughout the seasons, but there isn't any growth with it. We don't really see her and Kurt doing things outside of school again. We see her help him for his NYADA audition as Christine (which he replaces her for Rachel, big shock, fuck you). We see him defending her against the jock bullies in the hallway. We see them walking to glee club together. But there's still nothing expanded on so it just falls flat. Clearly she and Kurt talk still after he graduates, as they both enjoy gossip. But what else?! We don't know! It had potential for friendship outside of school and outside of just gossiping! But alas.

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

I am mostly seeking advice and probably some form of validation that I am not the one in the wrong here.

So, my husband's mother has been mentally and emotionally abusive to him his entire life, as well as very neglectful. The abuse was never physical, but she constantly manipulated him, made him feel like he is nothing and can do nothing without her, constantly belitled him and made fun of him, teased him to the point of provoking him to have mental breakdowns, called all his problems unimportant and fake when he complained, made him feel unwanted and unworthy and like no one will ever love him excet her, etc. She also never took care of him when he was a child, she would leave him alone at home for up to 12 hours a day sometimes when he was as young as 5, 6 years old, and did many other things that were, in my opinion, horrible and fucked up. My husband gets genuine anxiety and his blood pressure rises to dangerous levels when she is even brought up in conversation. So, with my help and at my advice, he changed his phone number, social media and everything and completly cut off his mom from his life. Since then he's been way healthier and happier.

Now, the problem is that his mom has my mom's phone number and started calling her to cry about how I am a terrible person and I "stole her child from her". My mom is on her side and says his mom did nothing "that awful" and that I should teach him to "forgive, not hate." But I didn't make him hate his mom, just to cut her out of his life because she was evil and toxic af. Am I wrong about this? Was I too drastic in helping him cut her out of his life? I think I did the right thing, but my own mom had me overthinking this to death and I just don't know anymore. Please help.

- Theo

Hello Theo!

First of all, thank you for opening up to us!

I can somewhat relate to your issue. My wife's mother is a massive source of anxiety for my wife, so I'm used to having play referee between them.

Honestly, it sounds to me like you absolutely made the right decision. Especially if the results have been that much for the better for your husband!

The pull of family is certainly a difficult thing to fight against, but it sounds like she is a highly toxic influence in your lives were she allowed to continue to interact with you.

Your own family takes precedence. I don't think it's hateful to cut her out of your lives. You're simply doing what's best for your families well being.

And I must applaud you both for being brave enough to do what you have to in order to maintain your husband's mental health. Your husband's trauma is valid, and ya's are both taking it appropriately seriously.

As for your own mother, I understand where she's coming from, but since she doesn't have the context that you have, I would just be gentle, but firm in your stance. You're not taking the position you are in out of spite or malice. Its simply the healthiest choice for you and yours at this point.

I hope you find some use and comfort from this, because I sincerely believe that even though it's certainly not the easy route, I do believe you are doing the right thing.

The door is always open if you have anything else you'd like to ask us, and I really hope things get easier for you soon!

Sincerely

Mod Red

[sunflowersteves]

Bloody & Bruised || Drinking Games

mob!bucky barnes x boxer!reader

𝒄𝒉. 𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: You, Shuri, Gamora, and Wanda all head to a new bar in town. You see a secret area that’s restricted, and of course, Wanda wants to see what’s behind it. The breath you hold ultimately leaves you as you stare at those cerulean blue eyes again.

author’s note: soo i’m liking this series wayyy better than before and I think it just flows better. I really like it and i hope you all do too!

warnings: drinking, violence, blood, a little angst, smut, fingering, [18+ only!!]

chapter one // series m.list // m.list 

You sighed, your hips joined Shuri's as you sat in one of the booths at the bar she asked you to come to the other day. You took small sips out of the stirring straw of your tequila sunrise. The sweet taste of syrup and tequila rushed down your throat, a nice burn following after. You’ve already had one before this, so you were getting quite buzzed.

It was nice feeling a bit dizzy as yesterday you were a ball of nerves from figuring out that the guy on the subway was a famous mobster. Shuri was luckily able to calm you down and promised to help you relax. You felt relaxed, considering you haven’t thought about him the whole time you were here.

You laughed as you watched a drunk Gamora try to get Shuri’s brother, T’challa, to go dance with her. Her words slurred together, but T’challa agreed as he was then dragged to the dance floor. There were bodies all around them, dancing next to them as they disappeared into the crowd.

You turn to Shuri to tell her something, but neither Wanda nor Shuri were paying any attention to you. You follow their line of sight to see them staring at a bunch of people walking into an area that looks restricted.

All three of you could see a bouncer in front of a doorway near the bar, letting people in and out of the secret area. Wanda’s eyes sparkled slightly, and you internally groaned. Whatever was behind that door, you wanted no part of it. You had a match tomorrow, and you didn’t want to get tangled in whatever the fuck.

Both Shuri and Wanda quickly turned to you with gleaming, begging eyes. You outwardly groaned at the sound of their pleas and begs. Wanda grabbed your arm and, you rolled your eyes. 

“Please, please, please-”

“Alright, alright. We can try to get in, but if we-” Shuri and Wanda drowned out your sentence with cheers of victory. You chuckled beside them while they shoved you towards the doorway. The tall bouncer looked at the two of you with a raised eyebrow.

“Names?”

“Wanda. Wanda Maximoff.” She stares hard at the bouncer as he narrows his eyes and tightens his folded arms across his chest. His lips were in a thin line, clearly unimpressed by Wanda’s reaction. She leaned a little closer with sneering eyes.

“You don’t know who I am, do you? Heard of Pietro Maximoff? One of the wealthiest men in the city? Well, that’s my brother.” She looked at her nails as if she was bored with the conversation. “I wonder what he would think about his little sister being turned down?” 

You and Shuri could only look at her wide-eyed at the scene in front of you. You never knew that Wanda had it in her to manipulate somebody like that with her money, it was kind of impressive considering she could never hurt a fly. You also didn’t even know her brother was some kind of wealthy businessman.

The bouncer stutters over his words and quickly moves aside, letting the two of you inside. You all cheer in victory and laugh together at the situation. “Damn, Wanda, that was harsh.” She just brushes it off with laughter as you continue down the hallway.

“Yeah, I bullshitted all of that. My brother works at that pizza place near my apartment.”

Your eyes look around the place, and it was not what you were expecting. You thought that it would just be a bunch of rich people snorting coke on a brunch of tables. You thought you were going to be bored as Wanda and Shuri bounced around to other tables talking to people. 

You were quite surprised to see a bunch of people surrounding a boxing ring, with two shirtless men fighting each other. Shuri smirked next to you, but you missed it, completely enamored by what was before you. Wanda dragged the two of you towards the front of the crowd. In the middle, the group formed a circle while two men had wrapped bands around their fists while they punched and dodged each other.

Pounding sounds of cheering escalate as one of the men punch the other one in the face, his body going limp and hitting the hard floor. However, not everyone cheers as some have to cough up some of their money because they lost the bet.

The referee walks up to the winner as he yells in excellence and pride, then walked around high fiving those who had bet on him. The ref quickly grabs the boxer’s fist and yanks it in the air, the crowd still cheering as loud as they can for the winner. They start to die down, the referee trying to calm down the mob of people so he can speak. 

“Who wants to challenge the winner?” 

The referee scans the crowd, looking for any sign of an opponent willing to fight the winner. For a short amount of time, there was silence. Considering that this boxer was notorious for winning all of his rounds, nobody wanted to challenge him.

You didn’t know whether you were just dumb, or it was the liquid courage that was coursing through your body as you blurted out that you wanted to join in on the fight.

“I do.” 

Your voice chimes through the silence of the ring; widened eyes glanced your way. The referee slightly hesitates before making a motion that beckons you forward and into the ring. However, not everyone has happy to see a woman challenging the winner.

“I’m not fighting a measly woman.”

Anger had coursed through your body, lying still on your stomach. All you did was roll your eyes at the boxer, a smirk coming forward across your face. 

“You think I’m inferior, and yet you won’t fight me? It sounds like you’re more afraid that I’ll challenge your authority and obscene masculinity.” 

Shuri and Wanda were backing you up with cheering while the crowd around the ring slowly started to join them. “The crowd wants her to fight, Jeff.” The man snarled at you as the referee gave you some bands. You took off the jacket that sat on your shoulders, which Wanda took immediately. 

The referee paused, making sure that you were good to go before the match started. You were now facing your opponent, a smirk teasing your face. This was a terrible shitty idea, but you couldn’t help but feel giddy at the adrenaline that was bouncing around in your body. It felt good to fight other than those with rules and guidelines. 

“Who are you fighting for?”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “For?”

The referee points with his finger behind you, and you whip around. A gasp leaves your lips at the man sitting in what looked almost like a throne. There he was, James Barnes, the asshole that you met on the subway. He had three women surrounding him with flirtatious touches. He almost looked like a king. 

Next to him, you recognized slightly as the henchmen in the subway. One was a man with blue eyes and blonde hair, and the other was a woman with fiery red hair. You assumed they were his most trusted partners. 

Your eyes narrow slightly at the man, and you turn around, facing your opponent again. You never saw the Mob Bosses eyes dancing around you with a humorous gleam.

“I’m fighting for myself.”

The referee shrugged at you before locking eyes with James, making sure that it was okay you weren’t fighting for the mafia. You infer that he gives a nod towards the ref as he nods back before turning towards you, telling everyone that the fight was about to start.

You were given a mouthguard that you placed in your mouth. Your eyes flutter close, and you take a deep breath, letting your senses calm itself as you prepare to fight. The ref starts to count down from ten, looking at the two of you as the crowd starts betting on the guy in front of you. 

You knew that no one was going to bet on you, none of these sexist jerks would be able to see how incredible you are unless you beat the shit out of this dude. To them, you have to prove yourself.

“Fight!” The referee breaks out of the ring, and your eyes snap open, watching the muscular man in front of you. He takes the first swing, which you were able to block easily. The crowd around you had gasped, definitely not expecting you to prevent that like it was nothing.

Your opponent narrowed his eyes and proceeded to swing another punch. Again, you dodged it with ease, and the boxer in front of you didn’t miss the sly smirk on your face. While he was distracted at thinking about his next move, you swung a right hook that connected straight to his jaw.

His body took the blow, and he almost fell backward, there was a bit of purple bruising already forming onto his now injured jaw. The crowd erupted in cheers and yelled at the amount of force you were giving. All Shuri and Wanda did was smirk, knowing that the man had offered defeat when you said you were going to fight.

The ref holds up his hand, and you stop for a second while he checks on the guy; he nods that he’s okay, and the referee jumps back into the crowd. The boxer groans in annoyance and narrows his eyes at your figure. He couldn’t even get a swing in and punch you in the face, which was something that never had happened before. 

This time, he went for an uppercut just as he thought you were caught off guard by the crowd cheering again. However, he was clearly wrong. This time though, you completely stopped his movements. You had quickly grabbed his fist, his punch wholly deflated. 

In fast movements, you quickly swing with your other arm and hit him square in the face, blood seeping out from his nose and onto your jaw, which you knew would be sore tomorrow. He stumbles slightly before looking completely stunned. His eyes were rapidly moving from side to side as his vision became blurry. He sunk to his knees, the crowd was now silent in shock.

Immediately, he was fully slumped to the ground now, eyes fully closed. The ref ran over to him, counting down from ten as he watched for any movement. He got down to one and was astounded as he looked at you, your face and body completely untouched.

Two punches, that’s all you gave for this man to be knocked cold onto the ground. You definitely weren’t fighting to just fuck around in the ring. The crowd had practically exploded, never before had they seen somebody K.O. someone in a matter of minutes. 

Shuri and Wanda, on the other hand, were extremely pleased with the rich men giving them all their money. They were delighted to have them cough up their riches. You turn around to see the mob boss stare at you with a look that you couldn’t quite decipher. 

However, his demeanor quickly changed into that of a cocky one as a smirk came plastered onto his lips. 

“C’mon, doll, you’ve earned an award.”

Your chest was heaving up and down from the fight. You let your eyes trail from the top of his head down to his shoes.

“I’m good, oh so dangerous mob boss.” 

A chorus of laughter left the red-headed woman at your remark while James just sneered. You were about to leave when his guards stepped a bit closer to you. 

“Not even going to stay for a drink?”

A sigh escaped past your lips, knowing you didn’t exactly have a choice with his guards. You could take these two; however, you figured this whole place was riddled with them so it was probably a wiser choice to just roll with the flow. 

You watched as the got out of the throne-like chair and fostered you to follow. Behind his chair was a red velvet curtain, which you assumed led to a private bar. His two friends, including the other guards, stayed still while you followed James into the private area.

It was quite dark and it was undoubtedly empty, not even a bartender was at the bar. It looked to be quite an old bar, lots of the finishing touches looked like they were from the twenties. He sat onto one of the barstools, swirling what looked like whiskey. 

“So, Bronx girl, where’d you learn to fight like that?”

Your eyebrows shot up as his question; you definitely didn’t expect him to remember you. He grabbed an empty glass and slid it over to you, pouring you a glass of whiskey. His eyes flicker over towards yours, and he chuckles at your expression.

“You left quite an impression, doll. I’ve never been turned down before.”

A sly smirk appears onto his face when you roll your eyes. You take a sip of the whiskey and hiss a bit at the burn but then let the oaky flavor fill your taste buds.

“My dad. He was one of the biggest boxers in Morris Heights. He taught my sister and me how to box at a younger age. He always said he’d get in trouble one day, and he needed to know we’d take care of ourselves.”

His lips curled into a smile as he took a large gulp os his whiskey, his eyes never left yours. 

“Bucky.”

You turn towards him a bit with confused eyes before taking another sip of your whiskey, now giving you numbness where your knuckles are bruised and bloody.

“That’s my name, my nickname anyway.”

You nod, turning towards him with a light smile. For the big bad and misogynistic guy that you met on the subway, this was someone you could potentially be friends with. Yeah, he’s a mob boss, but he doesn’t seem to see you as an object.

“Y/n.”

~

You don’t really know when the night progressed, but it very much did. Currently, your lips were locked with a certain mob boss and boy were his lips sweet. All night he would talk to you about old memories with his friends and he would even speak to you about his mother. You got to know who Bucky was, not some mob boss that rules over the city. 

He definitely didn’t treat you like you were some object, so you were just hoping all his riches and fame were a ruse. He had treated you like a gentleman all night, and as you got a closer look at him, he was definitely more handsome than you remember.

His lips were engulfing yours, his hot wet mouth swallowing you whole. His velvet tongue made its way into your mouth, leaving trembling kisses. He tasted like whiskey and faded mint, which made your knees slightly weak. Your hands moved down to his chest, prompting a sweet groan to erupt from his throat.

Your back was pressed up against the bar wall, touching some of the bottles behind you. Your legs were tightly wrapped around his torso as your kisses became hungrier. 

The whiskey bottle was long empty by now, the two of you had drank one whole. His hands were touching all over your body, from your legs to your stomach to your arms and your back.

You were both sloppy, tongues peaking out to wet each other’s mouths. 

You whimpered when he squeezed your hips, his slick tongue flicking against yours. A chuckle had lifted off his mouth at the sounds you were making from his touches. Your head was spinning, and your heart wouldn’t stop pounding in your ears. His hands moved down to the waistband of your jeans, and he hurriedly yet gently unbuttoned them. 

With your permission, which you gladly gave, his hand slowly reached down to stripe your slick folds. His middle finger circled around your entrance, which elicited a gasp from you. 

“You’re so wet, doll. All we’ve done is kissin’, huh?” 

All you could do was groan as he slid a finger inside, your walls slightly clenching at the feeling. Your hands were now pressed in a tight hold on his shoulders as he took his thumb and started to circle your clit. The sensitive bud felt good against his rough finger, your nails dug against his shoulder, which leads a dent in his tailored suit.

He wickedly smirks at the way you almost scream when he adds another finger, his throbbing cock was pressed up against your thigh. 

“You feel so good against my fingers, babydoll. Your moans are like a song.” 

You whimper as his fingers curl slightly, hitting the rough patch that was your g-spot. Your arousal was spilling out of you and onto his fingers, your clit was now very swollen and tender to the touch. He pressed fast, hot kisses against your mouth and cheeks, his tongue wetting every surface. 

You sucked in a breath as his fingers started to go in and out faster than ever, trying to chase that sweet release. You were almost there, that coil inside of your stomach, and the nerves that circled your cunt was about to pop.

“Bucky, please, I-”

“That’s it doll. I’ve got you. Cum around my fingers.”

A few pumps of his thick fingers into your heat, and you screamed his name, not caring who heard at the moment. Your lower body shook with pleasure as his fingers were riding out your high, which he then gave you much praise. 

His fingers were completely covered with your arousal. He never lost eye contact with you as he pulled his hand out from your pants and licked his fingers like they were lollipops.

His lips locked with yours as his hand lifted up to caress your cheek, and you tasted the sweetness of yourself. You grew dizzier, so you pushed your arms up to his chest, breaking your lips from his. You both sat there regaining strength, the sounds only heard was the club and you both panting. 

“My place?”

You quickly nodded, not giving a fuck at the moment. 

“Drax, get the car. Now.”

~~

next chapter

Bloody and Bruised: @xoasalxo @raven-rust @widowbite-legit​

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[trvelyans-archive]

You probably should’ve known that Gray would find you here.

Although, to be fair, you did tell him that this is where you go when you need a break. But you thought that, at least, if you didn’t tell him which bookshelves you wedged yourself between, he would never find you if he came looking. Unfortunately for you, he came looking. And he definitely found you.

You don’t know if he did it for your sake or Nick’s. Maybe that makes it all worse.

He lingers at the end of the aisle, scratching the back of his neck and scuffing a stained patch of carpet on the floor with the toe of his shoe. (You can’t see it from where you’re sitting on the floor - you only know that because you look at the same thing whenever there’s someone else in between the bookshelves doing something weird like looking for an actual book and you’re waiting for them to leave.) The lighting in the library casts odd shadows over his face, but you can tell he’s looking at you - and probably smiling sheepishly at you - and clearly waiting for you to make the first move.

Fat chance.

Nick doesn’t get it. He never gets it. He understands that you’re upset but doesn’t understand why, and trying to explain it to him is useless, especially because he can hear your internal monologue in real time and by now should have memorized all your problems as well as his chocolate chip cookie recipe. But he doesn’t, which means he should know to stop listening and tune you out when you’re thinking bad things about yourself - after all, it always leads to an argument - but he didn’t, and now you’re here, tucked away in the darkest corners of the library like an afterthought with the only person you want to talk to not knowing that because he can’t hear your thoughts from the end of the aisle.

You could ignore Gray, and he’d leave. That’s something you know very well.

But you wave him towards you anyway (and nearly roll your eyes at his cautious approach).

You don’t like to fight when Gray’s around. You both know that it upsets him, trying to play referee, trying to make it productive  - and he knows that it upsets you whenever he takes Nick’s side. Nick’s his best friend, of course, so he has every right to defend him, but... you just wish things were different. In literally every way there is.

“Hey,” Gray says as he comes closer, shoving his hands into the pocket of his sweatpants while the air conditioner above him rustles his stupid perfect hair and makes him look like the even more stupidly perfect love interest of a bad silent European film. “I didn’t think I’d actually find you. I almost gave up ten minutes ago.”

You don’t need to read minds to know what goes unsaid in the awkward silence that follows. I’m glad I didn’t. Though usually you’d be secretly pleased to know that, right now it’s just another nail in the coffin. After all, lately, things have been changing - he’s been taking your side a little more often, tentatively backing you up when you and Nick get in an argument. It’s easier that way because Nick’s much more likely to forgive him (especially considering you’re pretty sure Gray’s just doing it for show) but... that sucks, too. He can’t keep playing on both sides and wait for a truce that’s never going to come. Or, even if it does come, it certainly won’t stick.

But he’s not a quitter. And neither are you, at least not in this case. And that’s the worst of it - you really are trying.

Contrary to what it might seem like, you and Nick get along most of the time. You tease each other and make jokes and talk about stuff happening around the city and then, when you disappear up to your room to watch movies, he turns on the radio and bakes cookies or makes dinner or... well, whatever else he does after work. Living together works if you don’t spend enough time together for you be irritated by him, and if you don’t sit close enough to depress him with your thoughts.

But sometimes even tucking yourself away into the shadows doesn’t help. You should know that, because Gray found you in the library tonight anyway, and his eyes on you make you feel like you’re stuck in a fucking spotlight. Nervous sweats and buckling knees and all.

You sigh. “Maybe I didn’t want you to find me,” you say, trying to be nonchalant about it.

If this was Nick, he’d be met with a ‘fuck off’. Well, okay, maybe not that, but it’d certainly be implied. Gray is different, though.

Jerk.

“You would’ve hidden better if you didn’t want me to find you,” he says with a quiet laugh. He’s right, too, and it wouldn’t have been hard. You could’ve just grabbed a book and hidden your face behind it until he passed by the aisle, or, in a more extreme case, knocked down a couple of bookshelves as a distraction and then bolted in the middle of all the commotion. “I just... I don’t know.” He runs a hand through his hair, trying to look for the right words so you don’t actually bolt. “I wanted to make sure that you’re okay.”

You nearly sigh again, but you bite your tongue to hold it back. “I’m fine,” you insist.

“You’re not, Marian,” Gray says. His nose wrinkles as he frowns. “Mari.”

“What, can you read my mind or something?”

Unfortunately, the joke falls on deaf ears. If usually does when Nick and Gray are trying to be serious and you’re cracking jokes so you don’t cry or knock something over (usually your’s) or both. He sits back, stretching his legs out in front of him, and stares at the tips of his shoes. “It got intense back there,” he says.

“Yeah.”

He’s obviously waiting for you to take the lead on this conversation, but you’re not going to. He clears his throat. “So...”

“I don’t want to hear it, Gray,” you say with much less conviction than you’d like.

“I think you hurt Nick’s feelings,” he continues. Like you hadn’t said anything at all.

You try again. “I don’t care.”

Gray lets out a soft sigh, and you don’t know whether it’s from sheer disbelief or straight-up disappointment. “I don’t think that’s true.”

He doesn’t need to read your mind to know that you feel bad. He can probably read it on your face - with him, it’s your worst enemy. Of course you feel bad. Nick gave up his young adulthood to take care of you, and you can never thank him enough for picking up the slack and taking care of you after everything that happened with your parents. But that’s part of it. Fuck, that’s most of it. You can never thank Nick enough for everything. You’re a failure to your family. You’re a disappointment. You’re nothing but a big fat zero.

And you know that very well. The world has made that very clear. Why would you bother pretending any different? And why does Nick? Why does Gray?

“He should know better,” you insist anyway, because like hell you’re going to admit you’re the one at fault here. “I had a bad day, and he knows that, and he didn’t tune me out like he should’ve when he knew I was going to be in a bad mood.”

“He wants to help,” Gray says.

“I don’t want him to. We all know how therapy went, right? Poorly. And if they can’t fix me, what can Nick do?”

The words sting - you can see it on Gray’s face. Still, he pushes through. He perseveres. Because some people can do that, you think, and it’s something you always manage to forget. You certainly can’t. “He wants to be there for you. He just wants to help,” he repeats.

So do I. Gray doesn’t say it, but you know he’s thinking it.

“It just makes it harder,” You’re surprised at how quickly your anger has turned into exhaustion. Or maybe you’re not. “And I’ve told Nick. And he doesn’t get it.”

He sits back on the heels of his hands, thinking, and you stare at the space between you while you wait for him to say something. Bringing up therapy was a low blow - it definitely wasn’t a nice part of your life, and one Gray was unlucky enough to be a part of. One time you came home after a session and locked yourself in your room for a day and a half straight, and you’re sure Nick probably cried about it at some point before he and Gray managed to coax you out like some sort of wounded animal. It’s a painful memory. For all three of you.

That’s one of the few things you agree on.

“I know it can be frustrating,” Gray says finally, and you look at him again. “And I know he gets on your nerves. And I don’t blame you entirely, Mari. I know your condition can be...” He chews on his bottom lip, looking for the right words because he probably thinks there’s a chance he’ll scare you off. “Difficult. But Nick is trying to make you happy. He loves you.”

That’s all he can manage to say right now, apparently. Which you can’t blame him for.

After all, Gray doesn’t get it, either.

“Well, I love him too,” you mutter, looking at your shoes. There’s no point in pushing anymore - you’re tired, and you want to go home, and above all, you don’t want Gray to hate you. You already cause him much more trouble than you’re worth. “You could tell him that next time you see him.”

Gray chuckles. “Maybe you can tell him yourself.”

You roll your eyes. “Depends on how he greets me when I get home,” you answer. “If he goes in for a hug, I’m out. If he made a batch of apology cookies, then...”

That was another joke, but Gray must have heard it this time. You know that because his eyes light up and reaches into his pocket, fishing around for something until, a few seconds later, he leans forward and holds his arm out as far as he can without getting too close. In between his fingers are a couple of plastic-wrapped chocolate chip cookies. “He started making them right after your left,” he says, smiling kindly at you so the corners of his eyes crinkle. 

You lean forward a little, squinting at them knowingly. “Did you take one, Grayson?”

He laughs, reaching up with his other hand to scratch the back of his head. “Maybe,” he says. “But they’re for you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah.” He thrusts them in your direction again. “Truce?”

You meet his eyes and force a stream of several images through your brain. Frog guts. Crying children. Bloody zombies with terrible make-up and detached limbs. Sure, it’s all pretty dark - something you’ve become accustomed to - but it’s meant to keep people away, and it works for you. Most of the time. Not on Gray, though, who is still looking at you and smiling, and you wonder how he’s allowed to be so perfect when you’re the exact opposite, and why the fuck that’s the reason you love him, too.

You take the cookies from him, giving him a smile of your own. “Truce,” you agree. For now, at least, but to Gray, it seems like enough.

[artificialqueens]

Level Up, Chapter Ten (Branjie) - Holtzmanns

read on ao3 | word count: 4722

“It’s a great thing. Hey, can I be your momager? Kris Jenner style? Build a Mateo empire and all that?” Alexis’ face lights up, and Vanessa has to resist the urge to roll her eyes. Her sister never changes.

“You’re not even my mom. Besides, if you were a Kardashian, you’d be Khloe at best.”

Alexis pouts. “That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

AN: So…it’s been another month…oops. Sorry everyone! Real life is busy busy, but I’ve had time here and there to work on this fic so while it’s slow going, it’s still trucking along. Thank you guys so much for all the love you’ve given this fic so far, I appreciate it so much. Let me know what you think of this chapter as well! As usual, writ is amazing for betaing <3

Beep beep beep-

“Fuck.” Vanessa grumbles underneath her breath as she hits snooze on her alarm clock for the fifth time in a row, but looking at the 7:15 that flashes on the display, she can’t ignore her wake up time for much longer.

She’s back at work today, a shoot up in midtown. First day back after the tournament.

Not that Vanessa wants to think about it.

The evening after her last match had been a blur, the events mixing together and forming a grey cloud hovering above her brain. Maybe it’s good, though, because the last thing Vanessa wants to do is relive the way her opponent broke down the structures of her boxing skills as if doing so brick by brick.  Now, she feels no better than a beginner walking into their very first class. Hell, maybe Vanessa never had been.

Brooke must be so disappointed with her, now that yesterday’s events have had a chance to settle and allow for some reflection on their surfaces. She hadn’t wanted to show it much last night, being more concerned around whether Vanessa was okay. But now, the fact that her coaching skills are being wasted on Vanessa is probably sinking in, considering Vanessa wasn’t able to stand up to a little bit of a challenge in the ring.

The fact that Vanessa has the day off from training today feels like a blessing. She can push away the events of yesterday and hide them behind a wall in her brain, one strong enough to conceal all the humiliation and disappointment running through her veins, the types that feel like they will never clear out of her system again. She doesn’t have to peek behind the wall until tomorrow, until she’s back in the gym for another morning practice to relive how terribly she’d burned under pressure.

Vanessa reaches out towards her bedside table, fumbling around until she snags her phone by the popsocket in between her fingers just as it’s about to drop. The battery that flashes on the screen is low, nineteen percent, something that makes her frown. She’d definitely plugged it in last night when she’d gotten home, in between sulking on the couch and watching reruns of Malcolm in the Middle to try and wipe her brain. By the time she’d climbed under her covers and unplugged her phone, it had been fully charged.

The dropping battery, now at seventeen percent, is a far cry from being the most alarming thing on her screen. Not with notifications upon notifications on her lock screen from both Twitter and Instagram and, wait - one that says that Bad Bunny of all people has just followed her?

What?

Maybe Vanessa’s still in dreamland, one where she’s become a famous boxer or a rapper with connections in high places. Maybe her alarm clock is about to go off one more time to properly wake her up, because nothing about her screen makes any sense at all.

But then Vanessa’s phone starts to buzz and it’s Monet who’s trying to Facetime her, and she swipes and is about to grumble how it’s early in the morning, damnit-

“Finally! The legend herself is awake!”

“What are you on about?” Vanessa holds back a yawn as she pushes the blankets away from her legs, swings them over the side of her bed.

“You’re a meme, bitch!”

“Huh?” Vanessa’s brows push together as she heads to the bathroom to brush her teeth, phone held in one hand. “Was that Monique’s voice?”

“Not relevant.” Monet waves her hand, when a figure in the background shoots a smile to the camera. “What’s more relevant is the fact that your dumbass has gone viral. You’re trending on Twitter.”

“I’m what now? What the hell would I go viral for? I don’t do anything.” Vanessa mumbles, the toothbrush still in her mouth. “Except lose matches.”

“That’s sort of what you’re viral for.” Monique pops into the frame, a gleeful smile on her face. “Well, more like your little performance after you lost.”

Wait, what?

“What do you mean, performance? I don’t remember doing anything.”

Vanessa tries to ignore the way her heart is beating faster and faster as she spits out her toothpaste, trying to rack what’s left in her brain after actively pushing down the events of last night, because shit, did she do something stupid like have a tantrum? Throw a fit? She can’t even remember after trying to forget it all and the night feels like a blur to her, and fuck, if she’s gone and done something stupid…shit.

She’s real screwed now.

“Wait. You don’t remember?” Monet’s mouth drops open almost in sync with Monique’s and Jesus Christ, this would be funny if Vanessa wasn’t currently filled with a sense of impending doom. “You serious?”

“What did I do?” Maybe Vanessa’s voice gets a little bit squeaky but it’s a miracle that it even comes out at all, from the way that she’s about to implode on the inside.

Monet fiddles with her screen on the other end as a link pops up in Vanessa’s notifications. “Better you watch it yourself.”

Jesus Christ.

The link takes Vanessa to Twitter and fuck, it’s a video of her and her opponent after the match has ended, one that’s surprisingly good quality - probably all the professional cameras that were filming the final matches for some obscure sports network. On screen, Vanessa’s drenched in sweat and looking a little woozy but somehow her braids are still intact, and it’s nice to see that at least her opponent is looking equally as knackered. Though the referee raises the hand of her opponent to indicate the win and watching the events back, it does sting a little bit. They’re still in the ring as the tournament’s master of ceremonies makes his way over, a bedazzled microphone in his hand that sparkles under the bright overhead lights.

“That was quite the match, ladies! I gotta hand it to both of you because that was entertaining boxing. Let’s talk to you first, Vanessa, after that loss. What’s going through your head?”

Vanessa watches as her on screen self leans in towards the mic, a little bit unsteady on her feet. “Coulda done better. On that note…Miss Vanjie out.”

On screen, she sways a little bit, her eyes rolling back and-

Wait. She’d gone and fainted yesterday during the interview?

The camera pans to the floor for a second before focusing on the interviewer again, who looks only slightly alarmed as a medical crew surrounds Vanessa. “Well. That’s one way to make a statement.”

“What the hell?” Vanessa mumbles to herself, because…that’s what she’s viral for? Fainting?

What?

She goes back to the Facetime app where the call with Monique and Monet is still open, twin expectant expressions on their faces. “What’s so exciting about fainting? That’s embarrassing as hell.”

Monique looks delighted by the question. “You see, it’s memeable.”

“Very memeable.” Monet finishes, and Vanessa wants to bonk both of their heads together, really.

Text after text pops up from Monique on the top of the screen, all Twitter links and oh god, Vanessa’s almost afraid to see what they hold.  

But she has to know.

She clicks the first, the caption making her pause.

Interviewer: so why would we hire you?

Me :

There’s a cropped version of the video right underneath, and Vanessa’s not sure why she presses play, really, to hear herself say ‘ Miss Vanjie out’ and faint again.

Doesn’t get any less embarrassing than the first time she’d watched it. She clicks on another that Monique’s sent to her.

My mom: are you gay?

Me:

Vanessa can’t help but giggle because, well, the video does fit. She can’t deny that. She goes through the rest, and the way the captions get better and better is a little infuriating.

Me seeing a person from high school in public:

Me when my mom asks if I took the chicken out of the freezer two hours ago like I was supposed to:

When your professor calls on you in class as you’re about to enter REM sleep:

Good lord. Vanessa really is a meme.

She lets out a groan as she goes back to Facetime, Monique and Monet’s twin cackles an unfortunate soundtrack. “I’m really a meme. I’m a whole ass meme.”

Monet looks almost proud. “Yeah you are. ‘Miss Vanjie’ is trending on Twitter.”

“Okay, but what am I gonna do?” Vanessa almost doesn’t even notice the way that she starts pacing in front of her closet, in line with the way that her thoughts are beginning to race because fuck, this is going to be embarrassing.

Hell, it’s already embarrassing. She’s a meme, in a viral video and she’s trending on Twitter of all things for fainting at an opportune time and her mom’s probably seen it and her coworkers and the entire fucking world, for that matter. Jeez.

What does Brooke even think about all of this?

“You can’t faint your way out of this one, Vanj.” Monique snickers, growing into a full laugh when Vanessa groans, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Just a little too soon for that.”

Monet is oblivious to her internal turmoil, though, her face close to the camera on screen. “You have like, a hundred thousand followers on Instagram now. Pretty damn cool if you ask me.”

“I do? What?” Vanessa goes to the app, which opens for a split second before crashing. Damn. “Who the hell is following me?”

She tries to open it a second time and her notifications page refreshes every few seconds, with likes and comments pouring in on her recent posts. Most of them say ‘Miss Vanjie out ’, a fact that Vanessa does her very best to ignore. But hey, at least Monet is right. She does have a shit ton of followers now.

Woah.

“They want to follow the meme, the myth, the legend, that’s why. I bet you can get sponsorships and shit.” Monet’s looking excited, sharing a gleeful smile with Monique. “Damn. I shoulda fainted on television.”

“I didn’t faint on purpose.” Vanessa groans, flopping back onto her bed and trying to ignore the way her heart is pounding out of her chest. “It just sorta happened.”

It did. Not that Vanessa can remember it in the least, because the evening still feels like a blur in her brain, one that she had tried to bury in the initial embarrassment of losing the match but now, she’s not sure if she can.

It’s going to be a little bit harder to push the events of yesterday behind a wall when the whole world now knows about it. She’s going to need some Men in Black style memory wiping to even think about living in blissful ignorance now.

“Brooke said it was ‘cause you had low blood sugar. She was damn relieved it wasn’t from a concussion.”

Shit. Vanessa didn’t even think of Brooke’s reaction to her fainting, after seeing her dad go through what he did all those years ago-

“I should call her.” Vanessa rushes out, biting her lip. “Talk to you later?”

Monique waves. “See you, meme legend.”  

Vanessa rolls her eyes as she hangs up, trying to wipe her clammy hands on her pants before calling Brooke. She answers on the first ring, her eyebrows creased and a worried look on her face.

“Thank god you’re okay. You feel okay?”

“I’m a meme.”

Brooke’s anxious expression melts away, her eyes beginning to crinkle as she holds back a laugh. “That you are. How did you even manage that?”

“I dunno! I forget most of it!” Vanessa runs a hand through her hair, because hell, that’s a question she wishes she had the answer to. “Did that actually happen?”

“You bet it did. Next time, I’m giving you an extra protein bar before your third match of the day. Your energy was just drained.”

“Speaking of the match…” Vanessa trails off, busying her eyes with her closet to pull out some clothes because what is she supposed to even say, really? “I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?” The confusion on Brooke’s face is genuine when Vanessa looks back at the screen, her eyebrows creasing together and it’s almost worse, really, to have to actually explain. Pick it apart.

“For losing. For not really taking in the coaching that you were trying to give me between rounds. For being overconfident during the match, I don’t know.” Vanessa lets out a breath. “I just…I feel like I let you down.”

The words really begin to settle in as they leave Vanessa’s lips, crystalizing in the air. This tournament had been the first one of hers that Brooke came to, and she just had to go and lose the last match in a blisteringly pathetic way. Does Brooke regret coaching her? Having her name attached to someone like Vanessa?

Vanessa lets out a breath as the thoughts build upon one another, filling up more and more space in her abdomen, but Brooke shakes her head. “You think I’m disappointed because you lost a match? Unless you’re the Hulk and have something to tell me, it’s impossible to win every single fight that you enter. You’re not invincible, and guess what? Boxing is hard. Really hard. Even making it to the finals on your first try is something that you should be proud of.”

“Yeah?” Vanessa doesn’t mean for her voice to come out so shaky, she really doesn’t.

Brooke for her part smiles, though it doesn’t do much to calm the beating of Vanessa’s heart in her chest. “I, for one, am proud of you. Not only for the matches that you won, but for that last one. Even when it was tough, you kept pushing until the very end. You gave it everything you had.”

Vanessa makes a face. “Quite literally.”

“Had a feeling you were going to make a splash somehow. Didn’t think it would be by becoming a meme.” Brooke keeps a straight face for approximately three seconds before bursting into laughter, and Vanessa groans, flopping back onto her bed.

She’s never, ever, going to live this down. Ever.

“At least it’s a funny meme. Could’ve been worse.” Vanessa sighs.

She supposes she’s lucky it wasn’t as humiliating as it could have been. Though as she’s trying to think about it, Vanessa’s not sure how to make it even more embarrassing. A nip slip? A crowd reaction shot?

“Speaking of which, the gym is getting tweets from news outlets trying to write about it. They want a first hand scoop.” Brooke snorts.

Vanessa raises an eyebrow. “Seriously? Are you kidding? What sort of wack news outlets want to write about a meme?”

“Think of places that start with ‘b’ and rhyme with ‘uzzfeed’.”

“Ah.” Vanessa nods, because that makes more sense. She pauses, looking at the way Brooke’s face is smiling and kind, when she doesn’t necessarily feel like she deserves it. But maybe, Brooke’s just that nice. “Also…thanks. For what you said.”

“I am proud. Real proud.” Brooke’s smile is soft, reaching her eyes, and it makes Vanessa want to reach into the screen, give her a hug. “As far as students go, I got lucky.”

“Even though I turned into a meme?”

“Especially because you turned into a meme. Don’t let the fame get into your head, though. We have practice again bright and early tomorrow.” Brooke clicks her tongue as she winks, and it’s nice, because for a minute, everything just feels normal.

“Looking forward to it.”

Vanessa hangs up the call and maybe she’s feeling a little bit better after talking to Brooke, her heart not quite threatening to break her chest open anymore. Sure, the threads of disbelief are still hanging over her head in webs because this doesn’t feel real, not really, all the notifications on her phone and the way that Monet and Monique had gleefully told her the news, giddiness mixed in with a little bit of jealousy. Vanessa’s not at the point of wanting it, not just yet. She’s not sure if she’s going to get there, just not the way that her friends would.

But hey, maybe it’ll be fun. And she has no other choice but to roll with it, does she?

“What the fuck?”

Alexis’ exclamation of surprise echoes from her bedroom and it’s enough to make Vanessa amble over, see what she’s up to.  “What?”

“How the hell did you get verified on Instagram? Totally not jealous or anything, nope.” Alexis huffs and Vanessa scrambles onto Alexis’ mattress beside her, peering over at her screen.

And there it is. A fancy blue check beside Vanessa’s 245k followers, which, when she refreshes her page, grows to 250k. Holy shit.

“But that means at least two hundred and fifty thousand people have seen that stupid video. Lord almighty.” Vanessa groans, walking over to Alexis’ bed so that she can hide her face in the blankets, as if it will hide her from everything else, too.

Two hundred and fifty thousand people now know what Vanessa looks like, and know about the idiotic things that she tends to say under pressured situations. That many people have decided to follow her on Instagram, which up until now has really only featured makeup looks and silly pictures with her friends.

Alexis pats her shoulder, looking a little too calm for Vanessa’s taste. “Technically the video on Twitter has millions of views, so I’d say the number is a bit higher.”

Vanessa’s stomach turns. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Who said I was trying to do that?” Alexis waves a hand. “Listen, mom and I are the ones you should be thanking. We made you go take boxing classes, right? Now you can be an influencer.”

“You say that as if it’s a good thing.” Vanessa makes a face. A nice gift from them, truly. All Vanessa’s wanted in life. To be a meme of all things, a fucking meme.

One that Bad Bunny follows.

“It’s a great thing. Hey, can I be your momager? Kris Jenner style? Build a Mateo empire and all that?” Alexis’ face lights up and Vanessa has to resist the urge to roll her eyes. Her sister never changes.

“You’re not even my mom. Besides, if you were a Kardashian, you’d be Khloe at best.”

Alexis pouts. “That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Whatever Khloe, this Kim has to head out to work.” Vanessa stretches, lifting herself off the bed to grab her bag as she hears Alexis huff from her position on the mattress.

“Who says you get to be Kim?”

The thing about owning a business is that there is always work to be done.

There are bills to pay. Parents to call. Equipment to order. It never ends, not when Brooke is the sole one responsible for making sure everything gets done the way that it should.

Not that Brooke minds it too much. She likes being at the gym, even if she’s getting work done - the place is always comfortably busy, with classes taking place, athletes training on their own, parents cheering on their kids. The hum of activity in the gym is easy to tune out and becomes white noise that is comforting, a reminder of what she’s used to. The gym is a second home at this point, the banners on the wall and the constant stream of the classes as familiar to her as breathing.

It’s a home that she likes to be in.

So that’s why Brooke is there at 8 p.m. on a weeknight, despite the fact that today is Vanessa’s day off before training starts again tomorrow. She still has things to do in her office, always does and sometimes, it feels better than just sitting at home.

“Three kids fell over dramatically and yelled ‘Miss Vanjie out’ as I walked into the gym just now. Their instructor did not look amused.” Vanessa’s head peeks past the doorway and Brooke ignores the way her chest feels a little bit lighter from hearing her voice, seeing her face. Confirming the fact that she’s still in one piece.

“What are you doing here? It’s your day off.”

Vanessa shrugs, leaning against the doorframe. “I got bored. What are you doing here? Do you live here? Serious question, is there a bunk tucked away somewhere in this office?”

“As convenient as that would be, I haven’t fully lost it yet, so no.” Brooke snorts.

Vanessa plops herself down on the edge of her desk, her matching lilac sweatshirt and sweatpants dwarfing her frame while making her look cozy. “I was going stir crazy after work.”

“Hmm?”

“At home.” Vanessa shrugs, her legs swinging a little as they dangle. “Don’t wanna do any chores, can’t talk to Alexis ‘cause she won’t shut up about the fact that I’m a whole ass meme. Can’t go on social media ‘cause it keeps crashing. Also, some reporters found my number and won’t stop calling me. That’s weird, right? Where’d they find that?”

Vanessa bites her lip as she fiddles with her hands on her lap, and the sight makes Brooke’s chest tighten. Sure, Vanessa is smiles and bravado personified, someone with an uncanny ability to charm the pants off of anyone who interacts with her, but her current situation is…exposing. It’s as if she’s put on display under a lens for the whole world to see and react to and share their thoughts on, and worst of all, it’s not in Vanessa’s control, or anyone’s control for that matter.

And despite Vanessa’s charisma and extroverted personality, Brooke understands how it can be unsettling. She’s been there, after all.

If only Brooke had a way to protect her. She’s her coach, isn’t she? Shouldn’t she know what to do? Except no rulebooks that Brooke has thumbed through have ever come with instructions on what to do when an athlete becomes an internet sensation. Especially when most of the time, athletes are trying to make it big on purpose.

Brooke lifts herself up, ambling around the desk to sit down beside Vanessa. There’s a vulnerability in Vanessa’s eyes that’s not often visible when others are around, like her teammates. No, it’s an expressiveness that Vanessa has allowed Brooke to begin to witness over time - the softer sides of her, the ones that are less polished and ready for an audience, and Brooke doesn’t want to ever take it for granted.

She holds out her hand and Vanessa intertwines their fingers without a second thought, their hands fitting together like pieces of a puzzle despite their difference in size. Vanessa’s palm is warm and there’s no way that Brooke can actually feel her pulse through their grip but from the way that Vanessa’s looking up at her, she wonders if their heartbeats are in sync.

Brooke looks at Vanessa, really looks at her. She’s someone that Brooke has trained for a while now, someone who is trying to convince her to marathon Bad Girls Club, someone who Brooke considers a friend - Vanessa’s her friend, right? Is that what they are? Vanessa texts her memes while she’s at work and makes Brooke laugh more than she ever thought she could during training sessions and that’s what friends are supposed to do, aren’t they? At least, Brooke thinks so. Sure, Vanessa is her athlete and someone that Brooke trains and there’s a certain level of professionalism that goes into a coaching scenario but…it’s different. This is different.

Vanessa is more than just her athlete. She’s someone that Brooke cares about, someone who deserves everything and Brooke just wishes that she could give it to her, make her happy because her smile is the cutest thing and always lights up a room. So it makes sense, then, the way that Brooke’s heart tugs, seeing Vanessa like this, her shoulders slightly slumped and her leg bouncing from anxious energy.

“I wish I could control it, y’know? I feel like it’s a beast that’s definitely outta my skill set ‘cause last I checked, ‘Miss Vanjie’ was still trending on Twitter. How is a dumb meme spreading so fast?” Vanessa pulls out her phone, her eyebrows scrunching together when the screen is already lit up with notifications. “Christ on a bike.”

If only there was a way that Brooke could shield Vanessa from all of this - no, not shield her, but rather help her wield the spotlight that’s been cast on her. Somehow give her a chance to sit in the driver’s seat with control over what her new audience can see. Brooke wracks her brain, trying to think back to her professional boxing days and how she’d managed her career. Well, not that she’d done the managing, Detox had done that for her-

Oh.

“I don’t know if control would be the right word, but managing, maybe? I know someone who might be able to help with that.” Brooke ventures, because hey, it’s been years since she’s talked to Detox, much less been a client of hers but maybe she’ll have some suggestions.

Maybe she’ll even take Vanessa on as a client of her own.

Vanessa raises an eyebrow. “Who? The lord himself so that he can control all of social media?”

“What? No,” Brooke snorts, “though I like that suggestion. I was thinking more in the direction of my old manager.”

Hell, Brooke doesn’t even know if Detox is still in sports management anymore because it’s been years, after all. Though Brooke supposes it’s never a bad idea to at least look into her - having someone that she already knows and trusts is better than a random sleazeball who could be trying to fleece Vanessa for a fat check.

Brooke’s definitely not going to let Vanessa be taken advantage of, that’s for sure.

Vanessa looks unconvinced. “A manager? Slow down, ‘cause I’m not even a pro yet. I’m apparently the most amateur boxer to box this side of the equator, from that tournament. Wouldn’t a whole ass manager be a little fast?”

“First of all, continue that negative self talk, and that’ll translate to more reps during tomorrow’s morning workout.” Brooke gives Vanessa a look and her sheepish smile is enough to make her own expression soften almost immediately.

“Aye aye, captain.”

“Second,” Brooke continues, “you may not be a pro boxer just yet, but you seem to have splashed into the mainstream in a more memorable way than any pro boxer will ever be able to achieve. You have a platform now, and that’s not something that’s easy to get.”

“A platform built on a meme.” Vanessa mumbles, and Brooke nudges her shoulder.

“It’s your platform. Your microphone. Sure, it’s not exactly what you expected, but what big break ever is? It’s your turn to figure out what you want to do with it.”

Vanessa bites her lip. “You make it sound easy.”

“Sure as hell won’t be easy. Fame never really is, honestly. But I’ll be here with you to navigate through it and figure it out. If you’ll have me. Help you discover what kind of stage you want to have.” It’s presumptuous, Brooke knows, because she’s only Vanessa’s coach after all and it’s not like they’ve been working together for years and years, and maybe Vanessa doesn’t even care that much.

But then Vanessa’s throwing her arms around Brooke’s neck, and Brooke’s face is pressed against the soft cotton of her hoodie and it’s funny, really, how well Vanessa fits in her embrace, from the way she almost curls up against her. “You better be. You’re my coach, which means we’re automatically ride or dies, right? Isn’t that how it goes?”

“Is that how you want it to go?”

“Is that how you want it to go?“ Vanessa pulls back and the sudden uncertainty in her eyes makes Brooke want to reach out and smooth over her furrowed brow.

But she doesn’t. Instead, she pulls Vanessa back into a hug. “It’s definitely how I want it to go.”

“Good.” Vanessa’s voice is muffled as she shuffles closer in their hug. “Now call up your friend Detroit or whatever her name is, ‘cause we need her advice.”

“Detox?”

“Close enough.”

Find me at @plastiquetiaras ! Let me know your thoughts if you feel like it

[satonthelotuspier]

🐰 Untamed Spring Fest 2020 🐰

Day 15 - Growth - 1.6k

More Jiang-Wei family feels, back in the main timeline though. It’s not easy being the youngest sibling in the newest relationship.

CW for implied past manipulative relationships.

With Patience Comes Growth

Jiang Cheng was always particularly fast out of the changing rooms and into the swimming pool; if the three Jiang-Wei siblings hadn’t been such water babies and had a requirement to be submerged in water at least three times a week there would have been no way anyone would be able to coax him out of his clothes in public.

Wei Wuxian trailed more slowly behind him, accompanied by a chattering Jin Ling and a carefully listening Lan Yuan.

It was early and the pool was reasonably quiet, only a few other people swimming careful lengths and one or two with children around the same age as the 8 year old boys.

Jiang Yanli was already in the pool too, she completed her current length with quick, strong strokes, and came to hang off the side next to Jiang Cheng while Wei Wuxian and the boys climbed in.

She waited until their excited chatter drowned out her quietly spoken words, before she reached over to press at the bruise on Jiang Cheng’s collar bone.

Wei Wuxian grinned, he’d already been told to mind his own fucking business when he took the opportunity to tease the other about it, but Jiang Cheng wouldn’t dare tell Jiang Yanli anything of the kind

“I was going to ask how you’re doing, A-Cheng, but I don’t think I need to” she teased, and as expected a look of half-embarrassment, half-frustration crossed the other’s face, along with the hot flush, as he clapped a hand over the telltale mark.

“A-jie” he exclaimed, a soft whine in his voice. How frustrating for Jiang Cheng to not be able to respond with his usual vitriol.

She chuckled softly, then patted his cheek, “I can’t believe you still get so easily embarrassed A-Cheng, do you think we don’t know what happens between adults in a relationship?”

“I would think you’ve both been married for so long you’ve forgotten” was his quip, to which Jiang Yanli slapped him on the shoulder with a look of surprised amusement on her face, one which Wei Wuxian mirrored. Honestly, if he wasn’t a respectable parent now he would have taken great amusement in disabusing Jiang Cheng of that notion, to the point his flush turned ten times brighter. Unfortunately Lan Wangji had trained him to respectable fatherhood.

They chatted and swam while the boys fooled around and had mini races and competitions, then after they had tired themselves out Jin Ling called out, “It’s time for your race, uncles”

A staple of their swimming sessions.

Wei Wuxian swam over to the edge of the pool.

“Ready to lose again Jiang Cheng?” he teased as the other joined him on the edge.

“In your dreams Wei Wuxian. A-jie is referee and has final say”

“Agreed, but it won’t help you”

They were fairly evenly matched in the water but Wei Wuxian was probably ahead on overall wins, and today went true to form with him hitting the side half a second before Jiang Cheng, who reacted with his usual drama of just sinking below the water.

Jiang Yanli dived after him and dragged him back to the surface.

“So dramatic, Jiang Cheng, such a sore loser” Wei Wuxian mocked.

***

They followed up their swimming session with a trip to the park, and Jiang Cheng collected coffees from the shop on the corner across the road.

“I don’t know where they get all their energy from” Jiang Cheng murmured as he sat between them on the bench while they watched the children scamper over the climbing frames and sipped at their drinks.

“You were twice as energetic” Jiang Yanli teased him, “if we didn’t bring you and A-Xian to the park every day to run your energy down none of us used to get any sleep” she patted his knee. “Anyway, Jiang Cheng, tell us how things are really going with Xichen-ge”

“What? Why?” Wei Wuxian had to admire how Jiang Yanli pinned him down on the subject, she was a master at getting information out of the pair of them. They’d never been able to keep secrets from her.

“Because we’re your family, and we want to know you’re happy”

Several expressions crossed Jiang Cheng’s face. He had never been able to verbalise or demonstrate tender feelings well, and it made him just as uncomfortable to be on the receiving end. He liked being babied, he just didn’t like being told he was loved or cared about.

“It’s OK” he said tentatively, then he glanced at Wei Wuxian, chewing his lip thoughtfully, “it’s good” he added, then; “Lan Xichen made a couple of decisions without deferring to me this week, and he actually said he didn’t really feel up to it when I asked him if he wanted to go to the cinema”

Things that didn’t mean much in the course of a normal relationship, but actions that for Lan Xichen were quite momentous, considering the relationship he had come from.

“Nice” Wei Wuxian gave him a quick pat on the shoulder, then, because he knew that was probably about all Jiang Cheng could take on the sharing front, and after checking A-Yuan was still out of earshot, “No need to ask whether the physical side is any good at least” he flicked Jiang Cheng’s t-shirt, right over the spot where they’d noticed the love bite earlier that day.

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng launched himself at Wei Wuxian, and they fell over the bench and into the grass, as Wei Wuxian laughed helplessly at the expression on Jiang Cheng’s face.

***

Lan Wangji zipped the last of his equipment away in his sports bag as Lan Xichen hefted his own. There was a soft smile on Lan Xichen’s face, one that warmed his eyes gently. It was the look Lan Wangji hadn’t seen on his brother’s face for too long, something real and warm and genuine.

“You’re happy” it wasn’t a question; it didn’t need to be with that look offering all the proof needed.

Lan Xichen startled, like he’d been lost in a particularly happy thought that Lan Wangji had interrupted.

“Yes, Wangji, I am” Lan Xichen took a drink from his sports bottle as he waited for Wangji to pick up his own bag.

“I’m glad, brother” Lan Wangji did so, and followed him out of the changing rooms. They met a couple of times a week, sometimes with Lan Qiren and some other board members, to play squash. “Are you going to Jiang Wanyin’s apartment tonight?”

Lan Xichen shook his head, “Not tonight, he’s having dinner with some old university friends. Tomorrow though” that soft smile again.

Although privately Lan Wangji still held some concerns for his brother, he was glad things were so obviously going well for him. Lan Xichen’s previous relationship had been terrible, and although Lan Wangji accepted that his brother-in-law wasn’t a bad person, Jiang Wanyin came with many complications; ones Lan Wangji really hoped wouldn’t hurt either of them as they tried to build their relationship together.

“Wanyin smiled at me yesterday, Wangji, and I thought I was going to have a heart attack. Have you ever seen Wanyin smile?”

Lan Wangji wracked his memory, and he could probably count on the fingers of one hand the times he’d seen his brother-in-law smile with anything other than self-mockery or sarcasm.

“He realised I was looking, and he didn’t kill it dead like he usually does when you catch him out. He just carried on. Then he hugged me”

Jiang Cheng initiating tenderness was also something worthy of note.

“I’m truly happy for you, brother” he said sincerely.

***

Later that evening as Lan Wangji held Wei Ying spooned against his front as they settled to sleep Lan Wangji passed on the good news.

“Brother told me this evening that Wanyin initiated a hug, and smiled at him without pretending he hadn’t afterwards” he nuzzled at Wei Ying’s ear and the other hummed in contentment.

“That’s good. We all agreed the person to take Jiang Cheng on would have to be patient with him. He’s a good man, just damaged”

“Like brother” Lan Wangji agreed, squeezing Wei Ying. The other held onto one of his forearms gently.

“If it soothes some of your worry, Lan Zhan, Jiang Cheng said Xichen-ge hasn’t automatically deferred to him on all decisions this week, and he expressed a preference without being pushed on it”

That was very soothing; he hadn’t realised how groomed his brother had become until Wei Ying reported how utterly deferential to Jiang Cheng’s decision making he had been in the earlier days of their relationship.

It highlighted how little they knew of what happened behind closed doors when both parties kept their secrets; Lan Xichen otherwise was proactive, a decision-maker, and leader; he had even been the pursuer in the two’s relationship, but as soon as he and Jiang Cheng had settled into dating seriously he had turned into a completely different person. Although Jiang Cheng wasn’t the most patient person in the world it had seemed something he was willing to extend to Lan Xichen.

He was glad his brother-in-law was having such a positive effect on his brother’s happiness.

“It seems they’re being very good for each other, Lan Zhan, enabling the growth the other needed” Wei Wuxian murmured, “they’re doing each other the world of good”

“Mn” Lan Wangji couldn’t argue with that assessment at all.