#Knee and ankle definitely but it almost looks like there's another joint in some of her early doodles! It's a bit hard to parse

[sysig]

I somehow forgot how fun Spider Bites is to draw ♥ (Patreon)

[sunshineandchemistry]

“I’m almost done,” Joe says, adding another layer to the image. He zooms out of the image until he’s not staring at individual pixels and selects the brush tool. He’s starting to regret offering to touch up all the photos taken at the fundraiser for the local animal shelter. It’s been eight hours since he’s started and he’s so tired that every time he blinks, he sees Photoshop’s stupid interface.

Nicky mutters something that Joe assumes means ok; it’s hard to understand the mushed-up syllables when Nicky won’t remove his face from Joe’s neck. It’s a small price to pay when he gets to have Nicky plastered all along his front, clinging to him like a baby koala and blowing warm puffs of air into his neck that have finally stopped tickling. He’s a steady weight on Joe’s lap and Joe doesn’t care that he’s lost all feeling below his knees twenty minutes ago; he would cut off his legs to keep Nicky right where he is.

Joe pats Nicky’s back before returning his attention to his laptop. Five more photos and then he’s done. Just five more. He can do this.

The next hour crawls by. Nicky has miraculously fallen asleep curled around him, snoring softly into his neck, arms still wrapped around him. He’s kept a steady hand on Nicky’s lower back, afraid that if he lets go, Nicky will fall backwards and wake up.

Joe saves the last image, uploads it to the shared google drive and instead of slamming his laptop shut like he desperately wants to, he gently lowers the screen down, unwilling to make any unnecessary noise and wake his tired heart up.

Nicky continues to snore softly into his neck; Joe wraps both arms around him, closing his eyes and tucking his face in Nicky’s shoulder. Joe yawns. He’s so tired. He should probably get them both to bed; otherwise, they’re both going to wake up tomorrow with some pretty stiff joints that’ll be a pain to wait to heal. He yawns again.

A couple more minutes won’t hurt.

—

Nicky is not a fool. He’s more than aware of the way Joe has been slowly tightening his grip around him, the silent hurry up beginning to creep onto the verge of uncomfortable. He twists his head to press a kiss to the mop of unruly curls. “Ten more minutes,” he promises and receives a grumble in response. Nicky laughs softly. “You can go to bed; I’ll be there soon.” Joe makes a noise of outrage that Nicky interprets as how dare you imply that I can leave you and wait on our cold bed, alone?

Nicky rubs Joe’s back in a silent apology, hoping that it’ll get Joe to loosen his grip a little now that it’s definitely in the uncomfortable zone. He has to force his ribs to expand with each breath, but if Joe thinks that Nicky will take them both to bed because breathing is a little harder, he’s going to be sorely disappointed. Nicky’s a champ at handling low oxygen situations.

He goes back to his Word Document, to his dumb history assignment that is wrong but he can’t say is wrong without explaining that he was there when it happened and it did not happen the way the book and every historian currently living thinks it happened. They should change the course name from Italy’s History to Italy’s Fiction, Nicky thinks as he types another wrong sentence.

Joe rubs his face into Nicky’s neck, hard enough that if they were regular humans, his skin would be a vibrant red right now. “Five more minutes,” Nicky begs, fingers moving furiously over his keyboard. “I have one more paragraph and the conclusion.” Nicky stiffens as he feels the delicate press of teeth on his neck. “Two,” Nicky corrects, the last point isn’t even that important. It adds virtually nothing to his argument; Nicky only wanted to put it in because he could.

There’s probably more typos in the last paragraph than in the entire document. Nicky can’t find it in himself to care as he saves and submits the paper. Joe’s grinning. Nicky doesn’t have to look at him to know that he is; he can feel the way Joe’s lips are stretched around the cord of his neck, still faithfully clamped between his teeth.

“You’re a brat,” Nicky tells him, palming Joe’s ass for support as he stands up. Joe bites down the teensiest amount—brat—and hooks his ankles behind Nicky’s back.

They have a good night.

—

Ficlets by the lovely @oldguardhc

[wordsablaze]

All Trussed Up

day one, where dick disappears from comms and the others eventually find him tied up in a painfully unconventional way...

A/N: channelling my batfam love into fics this year,, whumptober prompts: barbed wire / bound

-

The last thing they’d heard through their comms was Dick crying out in pain.

And it's highly uncommon for any of them to hear him sound pained so it was surprising enough to catch everyone’s attention. Unfortunately, they’d all been wrapping up their own situations and they’d lost communication with Dick before being able to ask him what was happening.

“Can’t this vehicle go any faster?” Damian asks, and nobody blames him for his cold tone because they know how close he is to Dick.

“We’re going as fast as we can,” Bruce replies.

Damian sighs. He knows they are, even the batmobile can’t entirely hide the effects of going at such high speeds so of course he can feel the wind racing past them, but it still doesn’t feel fast enough. Nothing will feel fast enough until they find Dick.

They’ve already been slow enough to react that Dick is in pain and they have no idea what’s happening to him. Not to mention that none of them had heeded his hesitation and accompanied him in the first place so it’s really partly their fault for ignoring his warnings. Though they’re definitely going to have to scold him for not being straightforward with them.

“I’m here. I’m going in,” Jason says through comms.

“No. Not alone, wait for us.” Bruce snaps. His voice is cold and fierce and it’s really just a testament to how concerned they all are that Jason actually sighs and agrees to wait. To be fair, he doesn’t have to wait long - it’s only another few minutes before Bruce and Damian are arriving too.

“Took your time,” Jason grumbles as soon as they’re within earshot.

Damian only nods, sharing his frustration. “And now we’re wasting time talking. We need to find Nightwing.”

Jason mutters something under his breath but Damian kindly pretends he’s oblivious to it and the two of them follow Bruce, who’d taken their brief bickering as an opportunity to head inside. They’re met with almost a dozen men immediately, Jason ducking and pulling out a gun as Bruce grabs Damian and ducks. They too join in the fight as soon as Bruce has spun them around and Damian has wriggled out of his grasp, all three vigilantes hardly breaking a sweat between them.

“Overconfident fools,” Damian mutters darkly once they’re all unconscious.

Jason snorts in amusement before catching himself and clearing his throat. “They probably just weren’t expecting a whole cavalry.”

“Then they shouldn’t have been so unprepared,” Damian says, rolling his joints to make sure he’s actually as unscathed as he feels.

“They were prepared enough to catch Goldie off guard,” Jason argues, although he doesn’t look comfortable with the point he’s making.

“Less bickering, more searching,” Bruce interrupts. “We’ll split up, report if you find something before I catch up.”

And with that, he disappears through the side door on the left of the building, leaving them with the one straight ahead. Damian shares a sideways look with Jason that neither of them will later admit to before they head through the door, not quite sprinting but close to it.

Damian sees him first.

He stops dead in his tracks, Jason crashing into him with an unnecessarily loud curse before his common sense catches up with his anger. At which point he curses again, but softly this time. “Nightwing?” he asks, stepping forwards hesitantly.

Damian swallows whatever emotion it is causing the lump in his throat at the sight of Dick sat slumped against a pipe of some sort, his legs folded up in front of him and his forehead resting on his knees. He shakes his head to rid himself of the fear that automatically fills him whenever he sees Dick so still and unlike himself before rushing forwards, kneeling next to his brother.

Dick flinches at the sound of their arrival, lifting his head. They can’t see his eyes because of the domino mask - which is thankfully intact and leaves them one less problem - but both Damian and Jason gasp at the sight of what they’d used to gag him; the grey material pulled between his teeth and around the back of his head had looked normal from a distance but even in the low light, they can now see that it’s not fabric, it’s wire.

Barbed wire.

Damian is so outraged that he forgets what he’s meant to be doing. It’s Jason who shoves him out of the way and reaches behind Dick’s head to undo the knot, wincing when his efforts cause the barbs to dig into Dick’s skin and make him stiffen, his eyebrows scrunching up in pain.

“I’m going to burn their entire operation down,” Damian vows as he shifts his attention to Dick’s ankles, which are similarly bound with the same barbed wire.

He tries his best to be gentle but it’s inevitable that the wire ends up digging into Dick’s suit as he unravels it, both of them wincing each time it does.  In fact, he’s trying so hard to be slow and careful that he’s made almost no progress before Jason gets the wire out of his mouth. Dick cries out before he can stop it, spitting blood that seems to have collected from where a barb had dug into the inside of his cheek.

“Nightwing?” Damian asks carefully.

Dick breathes heavily for a moment before looking up again, offering Damian a small smile. “Hey, Lil- Robin. You alright?”

Jason snorts. “We’re meant to be the ones asking that.”

“Sorry,” Dick mumbles sheepishly, leaning his head back against the pipe behind him. “Where’s B?”

“Right here,” Bruce says from behind them, kneeling beside them all with pliers in his hand; Damian mentally kicks himself for not thinking of looking for something to cut the wire instead of trying to simply undo it.

He doesn’t voice that, though, he’s too busy looking at the small scratches along Dick’s face, the way he winces and bites his lip to stifle a groan when Bruce frees his arms and then his legs, the blood that seems to be welling all over his skin all because some cruel fools had decided they were better than using rope like everyone else.

“Report?” Bruce asks once Dick has pulled his arms in front of himself, rubbing his wrists where his suit has torn through.

Dick shrugs. “Not much more than the obvious. Possibly some bruised ribs?”

“Still, no more galas until your face has healed back to its stupid perfection,” Jason says with a smirk, the relief clear in his voice anyway.

“Guess you’ll have to go in my place until then,” Dick replies, laughing when Jason frowns and folds his arms like a toddler.

Damian can’t bring himself to say anything - he's not sure he knows how to verbalise what he's feeling - but as they all get to their feet, he silently slips his hand into Dick’s, squeezing gently. Dick smiles down at him in return and keeps him close as they head out so he figures the sentiment is conveyed anyway, and allows himself to finally stop worrying and smile back.

-

short and sweet because i'm aiming to complete every day and i simply don't have time for contexts ^.^

-

thanks for reading !! masterlist | dc sideblog: @batfamvibes 

[devildomimagines]

This is a bit self-indulgent, but how would the brothers react to an MC that not only has a high pain tolerance but can relocate their limbs? I fell down the stairs and didn’t notice my ankle was broken and I remember relocating my arm one time when it got dislocated in some other accident without reacting much.

MC can still feel the pain but they can handle it like a champ and fix/adjust whatever injury they have with a poker face

Hello Anon! Happy to take the request but dude(gnc lol) your body, please be careful! Thank you for your patience, I hope you enjoy~

Belphegor

First of all, what the hell?

He knows humans and they shouldn’t be able to bend like that.

You made him question his understanding of human anatomy.

Once he’s over that, he calls you weird in the most affectionate way lol.

Kind of amazed that you showed him something he’s never seen before.

After chapter 16 events, he knows you have a high pain tolerance so he finds himself constantly asking if you’re ok?

There were a few times when you had been hurt but didn’t even notice until he asked.

He swears you’re an injury magnet but the two upsides are that you don’t whine about it and can fix any dislocations yourself.

Belphie has stress dreams about you getting seriously hurt but you don’t recognize you need help.

The only way to quell his fears is to stay with him when he sleeps so when he wakes up and sees you’re fine he can go back to sleep.

Beelzebub

He has a high pain tolerance too so he often forgets you’re human and that your body is much weaker than his.

Once gave you a really excited but hard high five and it dislocated your wrist.

You popped it back in with ease but he was so apologetic.

You aren’t mad though, it didn’t even hurt and you’re back to normal already.

He’s like those big dogs that are so excited to see you that you can’t be mad when they take you down by jumping on you.

Belphie reminds him that there are things that you can’t do and to be careful with you.

He’s protective of you when around others but he almost always forgets his own strength when handling you.

There could definitely be times when he’s pulling you along to a restaurant he wants to get to and just dislocates your shoulder.

Again, another easy enough fix to pop it back in but Beel treats you to meals all week as an apology.

If there was ever a time where you actually vocalized your pain, he’d know it was serious and get you to a hospital right away.

Asmodeus

He’s at first more worried about your skin scarring with cuts and scrapes you don’t notice and leave to scab over messily.

The first time he sees a dislocated joint though, he has sympathy pain and asks if you’re ok and if you need a doctor.

When you say no and relocate the join yourself, he grimaces. It’s not a pleasant experience as a bystander.

He doesn’t know much about human anatomy but he figures this is not the norm.

You’re making him stress and it isn’t a cute look!

Asmo gets protective so you and him don’t have to suffer through relocating your limbs.

If there is even a chance you could get hurt, he’s pulling you aside to help him with something.

Being a demon means that he also has a pain tolerance but he’s aware humans are generally weaker.

Although you’ve assured him many times that it doesn’t hurt, he still treats you to a relaxing bath or massage after an incident. 

Surely your body might not be giving you the signals it’s hurting but he figures dislocating and relocating your limbs that often can’t be good. He hopes he’s mitigating any lasting damage on your joints/muscles/nerves with the warmth of the bath or the relaxation of the massage.

Satan

He would be disturbed but so intrigued. 

Relocating limbs was definitely not in any books he read about humans.

He has so many questions!

Does it hurt? Not for you but you know for others it would.

How often does it happen? Not too often but enough to have a handful of stories about it.

What joints can do that? Fingers, toes, shoulders, knees, elbows, and ankles just to name a few.

Satan may or may not subtly test your pain tolerance with unsuspecting pokes or gradually increasing his force behind back pats, high fives or pulling you along to different locations.

His experiment leads him to conclude that although you’re not feeling the pain, your body is certainly reacting to his tests. There were bruises where he poked a little too hard.

Afterwards, he dials back his research with you as a test subject but picks up more books about human anatomy.

He knows you’re sturdy and you could take a lot but he treats you gently anyway.

Leviathan

You know his “Whoooaaa!”

Yeah, that is definitely his reaction seeing you fix your dislocated joint.

He thinks it’s super cool, a total boss move.

He has no idea that humans are not supposed to do that and at the very least it should hurt.

Belphie mentions it’s not normal and Levi somehow thinks it’s even cooler.

You’re weird! Like him!

I could see our local snek bro being double jointed or something along those lines.

Your high pain tolerance doesn’t come up until he accidentally whips you with his tail and he knows it should have hurt but you just shrugged it off.

It’s definitely a relief that he doesn’t have to worry too much if it should happen again by accident. He was just excited and turned too quickly, that’s bound to happen again.

When he’s bored, he’ll say, “MC, do the thing!” and you put your arm at a funky angle and he watches everyone’s grimace with a look of pure joy.

Mammon

Kind of freaks out the first time he sees you with a dislocated shoulder.

He’s practically dragging you to get help, he doesn’t know what the fix is but knows enough about humans to know you need something.

Once you calmed him down enough, you can pop the sucker right back in front of him.

If demons can faint, he almost does. You had him so worried!

After that initial time, he almost boasts about how great you are, you don’t need a doctor, you can fix it yourself! No problem!

Don’t blame him when he tries to exploit this though. He might get the idea to tout you around as you have a dislocated joint, asking for pity donations.

It’s up to you if you go along with it or take the moral high ground.

He’s generally gentle with you by default, having never threatened you with violence like his other brothers. 

Mammon was kind of surprised that you weren’t phased when Beel slapped you on the back as he laughed at your joke. It looked hard and it made Mammon wince.

If you shrugged it off then so did he. He trusted if you needed help or anything, you’d ask him since he was your first.

Lucifer

Maybe the first time he’s been surprised in a while was watching you relocate a joint.

He knows human anatomy just from preparing for the exchange program and that was not something he prepared for.

Hesitantly asked if you were ok?

When you shrug it off, he’s concerned.

May just take you to the doctor to be certain.

He’s pretty protective after that. Although you confirmed it didn’t hurt, it would look bad on Diavolo’s grand plan if you kept getting injured.

Lucifer would be grateful that you aren’t going to come crying to him at a drop of a hat since he has enough to deal with.

Of course he would drop everything if you needed medical attention, don’t think that his daily duties would take priority in that situation.

Still can’t cure himself of chronic worrying though and will check in with you often.

You had better be honest with him, he has to report on your general health regularly so it’s in your best interest to let him know when you’ve been hurt or dislocated/relocated limbs.

[fanfic-phoenix]

Obitine Week 2021 - Day 3: Domestic

Rating: General

Word Count: 664

Read on AO3

“Grampa Obi’s just being grumpy.”

Obi-Wan considered mentioning that, despite the general state of his limbs and joints, he was far too young to be a Grandfather - and perhaps Uncle might be more accurate? - but decided against it, lest Satine point out how much he loved it.

“Force.” Obi-Wan groaned softly as he levered himself up from Padmé’s less-plush-than-previously-anticipated carpet, ignored by the twins as they sped to the other side of the living room where their jigsaws awaited. His knees creaked audibly. “Living Force and stars’ end.”

Satine looked up from her reading, utterly unbothered. “Are we being a little dramatic, Ben, my dear?”

“We are not being dramatic, Satine, my darling,” he huffed, limping over and collapsing onto the sofa beside her, flopping his head uselessly against her shoulder. “We are in pain.”

“Are we?”

“I am in pain,” he corrected. “Apparently kneeling down to play speeders is getting a little beyond me.”

“Alas,” she sighed, threading her fingers through his slowly greying hair. “My shining knight grows older.”

He attempted a glare, but it was a rather poor attempt, undermined by the almost tooka-like purr he let out when she scratched her nails against his scalp.

“Alas,” he managed finally, a little sleepily, “the noble duchess forgets she’s six months older than her knight.”

“The noble duchess wears it better.”

“She does indeed.”

Obi-Wan drifted alarmingly close to nodding off against Satine’s side as she read, able to ignore the pain in his knee as long as she ran her fingers through his hair, soothed by her low voice in his ear as she read passages of her book aloud for him to hum consideringly at, or offer a sarcastic comment on.

Eventually, however, she set her novel aside, kissed his temple, and called to the twins, “How is your puzzle coming along, my dears?”

“We’re fine,” Leia insisted quickly.

“It’s tricky,” Luke said, only a second behind her.

There was a long moment of silence as the twins glared at each other. In time, however, Leia relented. “Maybe we need some help.”

“Definitely we need some help,” Luke said, poking her cheek.

Satine’s eyes shone with repressed laughter, and Obi-Wan just… looked. Committed the sight of her to memory. Studied the slight twitch at the corner of her lips, the rose flush high on her cheeks, how her blonde hair fell to frame her face…

She raised one eyebrow and he smiled at her, perhaps a little sheepishly, before standing, offering her a hand up. She took it, of course, standing elegantly, but the look on her face could only be called teasing.

“Are you sure you’ll survive another playtime on the floor?” she asked, brimming with mock concern. “We could always fetch you a pillow. Or a chair, perhaps.”

“That was rather harsh,” he complained as they took their place beside the twins. “One day you’ll have this same problem, my dear, and I shall remind you of this.”

“He won’t,” Leia reassured her, crawling into her lap and burying her face in her velvet dress. (Leia had something of a fascination with textured fabrics, which Anakin put down to Padmé’s outfits.) “Grampa Obi’s just being grumpy.”

Obi-Wan considered mentioning that, despite the general state of his limbs and joints, he was far too young to be a Grandfather - and perhaps Uncle might be more accurate? - but decided against it, lest Satine point out how much he loved it.

In any case, before he thought of a response, Satine said, “He is, isn’t he?”

Obi-Wan huffed, reaching over to tweak Leia’s nose as she shrieked.

“Very grumpy,” Luke said, the tiny smirk on his face so reminiscent of a young Anakin that Obi-Wan felt the years between them like a gut blow. “The grumpiest.”

“The grumpiest?” Obi-Wan asked, once he’d got his breath back. “A rather bold claim, young Luke, don’t you think?”

And with that, he grabbed Luke by the ankle and dragged him over, fully intent on tickling him to within an inch of his life.

Of course, the jigsaw was nowhere near complete when Anakin and Padmé arrived home, walking in to find Obi-Wan thoroughly defeated, the two twins sitting triumphant on his chest whilst an unsympathetic Satine laughed helplessly at the sidelines.

[winterscaptain]

permanent.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: just in case you missed it, i published a family tree for the hotchners! at this point, jack is married to bella and living in d.c. she’s a journalist for the washington division at the new york times and is generally pretty awesome. as always, lemme know what you think!

words: 3.1k warnings: language, hospital setting, canon-typical injury

summary: “write your injuries in dust, your benefits in marble” - benjamin franklin. au!december 2035

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next?

“Come on, Soph! Go, baby, go!”

Your daughter is a vision. She streaks across the field, her green and yellow uniform almost melding with the grass as she keeps control of the ball. You can’t see her face too clearly, but you know she’s scanning the field with the same intensity you see in Aaron’s face beside you. 

Isaac plops down on the bench behind you, home from Los Angeles for winter break. “How’s she doing?” 

Aaron half-turns his head, keeping his eyes on the field. “Going for a hat trick - if she makes it, it’ll be her third this season.” 

“Excellent.” 

Caroline, down the field with her choir group, lounges happily between the legs of one of her friends, eating popcorn. When she sees you looking, she waves at you.

You wave back for a moment before your attention’s caught by a collective gasp and Aaron’s hand shoots to your forearm. You turn back to the field, but you missed it. 

Everyone’s moving and you don’t know why. 

With shocking agility for his age, Aaron all but leaps down the bleachers and onto the field. Your eyes search for Soph, but there are too many people on the field, all of a sudden. 

Caroline’s standing on the seat of the bleachers, her friends steadying her with their hands on her arms and ankles. 

There’s a hand, soft and scared on your shoulder. “Mom?”

You open your arms, and your nearly-grown son ducks under it, curling into you as you stand. “Do you want your earbuds?” 

You feel him nod and you pull them out of your bag. His trembling quiets a little after he fits them in his ears. 

There’s a clamber, and Caroline appears at your side. “What happened?” 

“I don’t know. I wasn’t watching.” 

She exhales, shaky and worried. “Where’s Dad?” 

“On the field.”

But where? 

You find Aaron, his salt-and-pepper hair stark in the autumn light. He’s talking to the referee, his brows low. 

You hear sirens. 

+++

“Oh, hey! What’s up, Mom?” 

You almost hate to ruin his mood. 

“Jack, honey, can you get down to the house at any point tonight?” 

You try not to grip the handle above the car door too tightly as Aaron races through the suburban streets, following the ambulance. Soph was definitely lucid when they loaded her up, but definitely in a lot of pain. 

“Ye - Yeah...Why?” 

“Soph’s headed to the ER - something happened on the soccer pitch today and her knee…” You shake your head. “I dunno. Her knee looks really bad.” 

“Fuck. Okay.” You hear him shuffle around and click his mouse - checking his schedule. “I can get down there after my last meeting at four - I’m headed there in a few minutes, but won’t be able to swing any earlier. I’d cancel it, but it’s literally SecDef and the Joint Chiefs and -” 

“That’s fine - I just need someone at the house with the kids until one of us can get back. Elliot’s at baseball practice until six and I’m not sure if -” 

“I’ll be there. I’ll get El and then I’ll swing by for Isaac and Caro if they’re still with y’all down there.” 

You glance over at Aaron and nod. He heaves a sigh of relief and mouths Thank you. 

“Thanks, Jack.” 

“Yeah. See you soon. Love you.” 

“Love you, too.”

+++

When you’re finally allowed in to see Sophia, her eyes are red and puffy with tears. Her right leg is braced and elevated at the knee. 

Her doctor explains the situation - dislocated knee and splintered patella with a torn meniscus and ACL. “This kind of traumatic knee injury poses a couple of issues…” 

He explains that the rehabilitation and surgery needs for both the ACL and meniscus are exceedingly different, and “It’s entirely possible Miss Sophia will experience permanent joint damage. However, we won’t know that until we have an orthopaedic surgeon look at it tomorrow.” 

“What about sports? Can I still play?” Soph tries to sit up farther, but Aaron’s arm shoots out, locking her against the bed across her shoulders. 

The doctor looks hesitant, and it’s all she needs to burst into tears again. Aaron moves, sitting on the side of the bed and wrapping her up in his arms. He looks over her head at you and your lower lip disappears into your mouth as you meet his gaze. 

You shift your attention to your other children sitting patiently behind you.

Caroline’s practically bit her nails to the quick - her hands looking more and more like her Aunt Emily’s as the moments pass. 

Isaac’s been sitting in the wide windowsill for the entire afternoon, his headphones on, staring out the window, his mouth tight and fingers tearing into the foam stress ball you keep in your purse. 

We’ll need another one of those. Or five.

 You get a phone call, and you step out. “Hey, Jack.” 

“Hey. Just got Elliot. We’re headed over to the hospital now. How’s she doing?” 

You sigh and press a hand to your forehead. 

“Oh, shit. That bad?” He asks. 

You don’t comment on his tell pickup. It’s in his blood, at this point. “Yeah. She’s definitely out for the rest of the season, and we’re looking at some long-term stuff, too.” 

“Fuck.” 

“Hey! I’m still here and she’s gonna kick your ass if you keep swearing in front of me, dude.” Elliot shouts from the back and it almost makes you smile. 

“I’m actually inclined to agree with you, Jack. We’ve got a dislocated and splintered patella in addition to a torn meniscus and ACL. It’s going to be a long rehab.” 

You hear a deep sigh into the bluetooth system in Jack’s car. “Well, I’ll stay here for the duration.” 

“No, no honey it’s alright. Your dad is home full-time and you’ve got a huge project reaching critical stages. Your room is all ready for you, but you really don’t have to hang around if you can’t manage the drive every day. And Bella -”

“Bells is looped in. She’s fine. She’s more than happy to tag out if we need to. Her deadlines are really loose right now what with the whole ‘nothing going on in Arlington’ thing this week. She’s heartbroken for Soph and wants to help where she can.” 

“Alright.” 

“Hey,” He huffs, sounding a lot like his dad. “I’ll let you go. I’ll text when I’m outside.” 

“Okay. Thanks, bud.” 

“Of course,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Anytime.” 

+++

Sophia’s sleeping when Alice and Hank come to visit later in the evening. Aaron went home a couple hours after Jack, planning to tag out with you later so you could get some sleep in your own bed before work tomorrow. 

Alice immediately embraces you, all but falling into your lap as you hold her. She’s shaking.

“Is she okay?” 

You push her back, smoothing some wayward edges at her hairline. “She will be.” 

Alice’s dark eyes fill with tears, and you brush them off her cheeks as they fall. 

“She’ll need your help, though. It’s gonna be a long time before we figure out what’s permanent and what’s not.” 

Alice nods and retreats, sitting in the plastic chair by Soph’s side, folding her arms on the mattress and laying her head on them. “Hey, Sofa,” she whispers, though Soph can’t hear her. 

“I haven’t heard that one in a while,” you tell her. Sofa is a nickname Derek gave Sophia when she was little. No big meaning to it, but it stuck. 

You wouldn’t be surprised if she stayed there all night. 

Hank lingers by the door. In the shadow of the room, you could easily mistake him for Derek, but that concerned pull at the corners of his eyes screams Savannah. 

Eventually, he crosses the room and sits on the little lounger beside you. 

He takes your hand and you kiss his knuckles. “I bet this isn’t how you wanted to spend your winter break, huh?” 

A little laugh leaves him. “Maybe not, but little Miss Thing over here dragged me out the door before I could get two words in edgewise.” He gestures vaguely toward Alice and you actually smile. 

“Yeah. In my experience, Morgan women don’t fuck around.” 

“You got that right,” comes a voice from the doorway. It’s Savannah, fresh off her shift and still in her white coat and scrubs. She scours over Sophia’s charts and checks on her before sitting on your other side. 

“Do you want the bad news or the good-but-also-kind-of-bad news?” She asks, almost inaudible. You glance up at Soph but Savannah shakes her head. “She’s out - those pain meds will leave this entire visit a blur.” 

You sigh. “Fine. Hit me with the bad shit.” 

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” 

Savannah rests her elbows on her knees. “I’ve seen a knee injury like this exactly once before. No matter what you do, they can’t and don’t always heal right. She could need a mobility device permanently, even after she’s healed, and I can tell you now she won’t play again.” 

That’s okay. She’s okay. 

Better soccer goes than her life. 

Soccer is her life. 

You only know that Alice can hear everything when her shoulders start to shake. She doesn’t make any noise as she cries. She’s like her dad that way. Hank stands and places a hand between her shoulder blades, but says nothing. 

“Is that the worst of it?” 

Savannah nods. “Yeah.” She takes a breath. “The kinda good news is that she’ll be totally fine no matter what obstacles she may run into. She’s tough. I wouldn’t expect anything less from a Hotchner.”

She snorts. “Hell, I watched you bounce back from crazy life-threatening shit with a quip and a grin.” 

You raise your eyebrows and shrug. “I do what I can.” 

+++

Caroline curls into her father’s side, her double bed big enough to manage the both of them. It feels a lot like when she was little - she’d have nightmares or couldn’t fall asleep and Aaron would come and sit with her until her breath was even and slow.

“Dad?”

“Mhmm?”

“What’s Soph gonna do about college?” Caroline’s voice is small, nearly smothered in Aaron’s shirt. “She already has scouting offers and stuff.” 

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh. “I’m not sure. We’ll all have to figure it out together, won’t we?”

+++

Aaron steps into the room, closing the sliding glass door behind him. Alice, just as you predicted, snoozes next to Sophia, her head pillowed on her arms. Sophia’s upper body almost arcs around her and she managed to snag one of Alice’s hands in her adjustment. 

Those two…

Maybe he won’t escape the inevitable after all. 

Morgan-Hotchner? Hotchner-Morgan? 

He really only ever prepared to lose his name with Caroline. Soph always seemed far too… herself to take on a new one. 

We’ll see.

You’re asleep in the pull-out chair, your brow drawn and arms crossed over your chest. He approaches you as quietly as he can, putting his go bag down and sitting beside you. 

Much to his chagrin, you startle awake. 

“Sorry,” he says in a whisper. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

You shake your head. “You didn’t.” Talking through your yawn, you add, “Just had a weird dream is all.” 

Aaron pulls you close and you relent, tucking into his side with a hand pressed to his chest. 

“Did Savannah come by?” He asks. 

You nod. 

“What did she say?” 

You sniff a little, more from the antiseptic smell than any emotional response - that will come later. “Soph won’t be able to play again unless fuckin’ divine intervention or some shit comes along and fixes her knee from scratch, but she’ll be able to move around just fine with a cane or brace or something after a while.” 

Aaron can only imagine it now - fits and righteous anger about getting around the house, watching games from the bench - the list could go on forever. “She’ll hate that.” 

You hum in agreement. “Just another parenting challenge. Already have the rest of the gamut covered neurodevelopmentally, so we were bound to get a physical challenge at some point.” 

“Never more than we can handle.” 

Shaking your head, you note, “This one just might do us in.” 

+++

“I swear to God, if I see you in the office at all this week I’m gonna smash your kneecaps in.” Emily pauses. “Sorry. Too soon?” 

“No, no, it’s fine.” You laugh a little and Soph sits up, her brow asking a question. 

You answer, pulling the phone away from your mouth. “Your Aunt Emily told me she’d smash my kneecaps if she saw me at the federal building this week.” 

Soph snorts. “Nice. We could match.” 

You reach over and tweak her nose. “We already match.” 

“Hey.” Emily grabs your attention again and you put your cell back to your ear. “I’m serious. I don’t want you to be here. Stay home for Soph right now and I’ll sign off on it and turn everything in for you.” 

You roll your eyes. “I can’t believe you turned into Rossi, Miss I’m Past Retirement Age But Twisted the Bureaus Arm to Let Me Work Myself to Death.”

She laughs and hangs up, leaving you and Sophia alone again in the hospital room. She tucks back into her Jello, taking bites that are way too big. 

“How are you feeling, bug?” You brush her cheekbone with your thumb and she shrugs. 

“Can you hand me my headband?” 

You reach over and dig around in her back until you find the wide swatch of colorful fabric. She takes it from you and shoves it over her head, pushing her hair back with practiced ease. 

She’s just like her dad. 

What? Loyal? 

Yeah. But also chronically avoidant. 

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

She huffs, playing with her fingers. “I’m fine. I think.” Her breath is shaky. “I can’t really tell with all the meds I’m on, but it feels… really bad.” 

When she looks over at you again, her eyes are glassy, tearful. “I know I can’t play again, maybe not even run.” 

You reach out for her hand, but don’t say anything. 

“Momma…” She pauses, looking down at her blanket. “Momma, I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I feel like I only know how to play soccer. I don’t know how - I don’t know if I want to do anything else. I’ve never thought about it before.” 

You run your thumb over her knuckles. “Soph, you can do so much. You have a great strategic mind - you think in these big, creative webs. It’s such an asset.” 

“Don’t profile me.” 

“I’m not profiling you, baby,” you tell her with a smile. “I just know that about you because you’re my daughter.”

Her mouth twists. “Right.” She looks down when her phone buzzes. 

“Who is it?” 

The corners of her lips tip up. “It’s Alice. She’s asking me if I want anything from the drive thru.”

You mirror her little smile. “That’s nice of her.” 

“Yeah.”

+++

“Alright so you have twenty nuggets, large fries,” Alice digs around in the bag, taking things out as she speaks. “And… a vanilla milkshake.” 

“God, I love you.” Sophia wraps her hand around Alice's head and pulls her close, pressing a kiss to her temple. 

Alice laughs, deep from her chest. “Shit, Soph, if all I have to do to secure your love is get you crap chicken, sign me up.” 

“You could get damn close.” 

Aaron watches the girls sit beside each other in the bed, taking turns dipping their nuggets in the sauce. They’ve always been this way, exchanging barbs and affection in equal measure. Symbiotic in the extreme, one is never far from the other. 

You’re home, getting everyone else in bed and settled for the evening. Isabella drove in a night early - Jack’s headed back to D.C. apartment for a series of days-long meetings at the Pentagon regarding his latest project. 

Aaron’s excited to see her. It’s been a helluva thing to see his son married, even more surreal to know and love his son’s wife like his own daughters. 

His phone rings. 

Speak of the devil. 

“Hey, Bella.” 

Sophia looks over at the mention of her sister-in-law, and Alice looks beside herself with delight. As well as being a hit among the parents, Bella’s a winner with the kids, too. 

Some days, Caroline likes her more than she likes Jack. 

“Hey, Pops. Want to tag out?” 

“Sure. I’ll switch with you. How long do you want to be here?” 

He can almost hear her shrug. “Eh. I’ll spend the night. My column isn’t due until the end of the week and I’ve got it covered. Don’t need to work, don’t really need to sleep. Win-win.”

“If you say so.” 

“I do. I’ll be there in twenty.” 

She hangs up before Aaron can respond, so he just pockets his phone and takes the loss. Sophia, after taking a sip of her milkshake, asks. “Is Bella here all night?” 

“Yeah, bug. She’ll be here.” 

Soph and Alice share a look. 

+++

“Well, Bella has more patience than I do,” Aaron says, dropping his go bag at the bedroom door. “She’s stuck with H&M for the rest of the night at the hospital.” 

You laugh, wrapping your arms around him. “I’m glad the girls have company, and fun company, at that.” 

“Fair enough.” 

The two of you quiet for a moment, and you tuck further under his arm, placing your hand over his heart. 

“Aaron?” 

His hand traces up and down your back, slow and steady. “Yeah?” 

“What can we do for her? She sounded so… defeated today.” 

And it’s true. You’ve never seen Soph like that, even at her lowest. If you were honest, it scared you a little. 

“We can be her parents. That’s all. And she’ll figure something out. If she needs to take a gap year, she’ll manage. She and Alice can search for programs together.” He sighs before he continues, leaning back to look at you. 

“All we can do is ask her what she needs and support her as best we can.” 

+++

tagging: @avengersbau @ambicaos @angelsbabey @arganfics @averyhotchner @bwbatta @capricorngf @cevanswhre @crazyshannonigans @criminalsmarts @deagibs @forgottenword @genevievedarcygranger @hotchsflower​ @hotchslatte​ @hurricanejjareau @joanofarkansass @kelstark @kerrswriting @little-blue-fishie @lotties-journey-abroad @mandylove1000 @missdowntonabbey @mrs-dr-reid @pan-pride-12 @popped-weasels @quillvine @qvid-pro-qvo @reidingmelodies @reids-mismatchedsocks @roses-and-grasses @shesbiochem4 @ssahotchnerr @ssaic-jareau @ssareidbby @starsandasteroids @stxrrywildflower @sunflowersandotherthings @sunshine-em @teamhappyme @this-broken-band-girl @ughitsbaby @unicorn-bitch @venusbarnes @violet-amxthyst @word-scribbless @writefasttalkevenfaster @zizzlekwum @iconicc @avatarkorraswife @mooneylupinblack @ssworldofsw @nuvoleincielo @kaemarie23 @violentvulgarvolatile @abschaffer2 @ellyhotchner @rousethemouse @baumarvel @reidtomestyles @dreamsonthewall @jhiddles03 @willlemonheadsupremacy @infinity1321 @messyhairday-me @itsalwaysb33nyou @finnologys @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @hothothotchner @happyvol7 @ssa-holmes @mac99martin @ssahotchner99 @triangularroses @vagabond-ing @itsmytimetoodream @magic_in_the_eyes_of_the_beholder

[whimperwoods]

Arms of the Enemy - D&D whump - 16b

This is part 16b! It could be 17, but I want the whole wound cleaning thing to be kind of of a piece.

There is now a masterpost, which can be found here.

Castor is a warlock, in service to the Great Old One and the Dark Emperor, in that order. Ed is a fighter, a knight and battle master in the service of the True King of Lumenea. They have always been enemies. Away from it all, they might be able to become something else. Maybe even friends.

(This time: Ed blushes. Castor makes a choice.)

tw: aftermath of torture, tw: mind reading, tw: captivity, tw: forced to entertain captor, tw: wound cleaning, tw: medical, tw: burns, tw: he doesn’t want his butt touched, in particular, but that’s where some of the injuries are that need tending, but it’s not sexy, but it still probably needs a warning?, tw: bone setting

taglist: @redwingedwhump, @fanastywhump, @insanitywishes @bluebadgerwhump,@burtlederp, @newandfiguringitout, @kawhump , @extrabitterbrain, @kixngiggles​

***************

It hadn’t been particularly embarrassing before, lying on his stomach like this, but as gentle as Castor’s hands were on his ass, Ed still hated the sensation of being touched somewhere so private and, even more, the knowledge that the water woman was watching, staring, giggling periodically.

He knew more of the welts across his buttocks and thighs were closed than the ones across his back, but it didn’t mean much when Castor made full contact with one of the open cuts and he had to stifle another noise of pain.

“I know,” Castor murmured softly, “I’m sorry. I’ve almost got all the straw out of the wounds, though. That’ll be the worst part for a while.”

“It’s an interesting problem,” the woman said, her voice still sounding vaguely satisfied. “Doesn’t happen when you live in the water.”

Ed’s blush darkened, the burning intensifying across his face, his ears, and his neck, all the way to the tops of his shoulders. It almost itched, and he wanted to hide his whole head at once, just tuck the damp blanket he was lying on all the way around himself and hide.

Castor was right about the straw - once the open cuts were free of dirt and detritus, the gentle motion of the damp cloth across his posterior got at least a little less agonizing, if not less embarrassing.

By the time Castor was helping him into a pair of clean smallclothes they’d found in with the wizard’s old belongings, it was enough of a relief to have his more sensitive parts shielded that he almost managed not to think about the fact that he was wearing second hand underthings.

Castor seemed to notice, his eyes lingering a little too long on his flushed face before he helped him back down again. Every time he thought he couldn’t blush harder, his skin seemed to find a way, getting ever hotter and itchier.

Castor pulled him into a hug and he went willingly, burying his face in Castor’s shoulder so he wouldn’t have to look either of them in the eye. He took the moment to breathe, to calm himself.

“You ready to keep going?” The advantage to talking aloud was that he could feel the vibrations of Castor’s voice humming against his burning cheek, and he wanted to say no, wanted to ask to stay there, to ask Castor to just keep talking to him, but that would just drag out the whole thing, just keep him under the strange woman’s eyes for longer.

“Yeah,” he whispered, “Sorry.”

He didn’t know what he was apologizing for, but Castor accepted it with a soft little hum and the woman giggled again, keeping the hot, itching blush in Ed’s cheeks that he didn’t seem to be able to ease.

*****

There was a gulf in the pit of Castor’s stomach as he helped Ed back to the ground and started working on his left leg. Somewhere inside, he knew himself to be a coward. Ed’s right knee was as swollen today as it had been yesterday, his ankle was still broken, his foot still a grotesque mass of broken-bone swelling and bloody nail beds, and Castor didn’t know how to face those things, didn’t know how to fix them, and was chicken enough to start with the other leg, with cuts and burns he knew what to do with.

Their captor was clearly growing bored, an entirely separate problem he didn’t have any good answer for, either. She was moving around a lot more, restless, and he couldn’t help worrying that in her restlessness she’d find the amulet hidden in the healer’s kit or rush them back to the underground lake before they were finished or poke at Ed’s wounds again.

The cuts, welts, and bruises along the backs of Ed’s thigh weren’t good, but they weren’t as bad as the burns marring his better foot and running up his calf.

As soon as the soap touched Ed’s burns, he tensed again, the effort of staying quiet raising a thin layer of sweat across his brow, even as he failed to hold back soft grunts of pain in spite of the effort.

That, at least, might be fixable. Sort of.

<<I hate to say this,>> he began, tentatively, <<But I think she’s getting bored. You might need to make a little more noise.>>

Another grunt escaped Ed. <<So you want for me to - agh - scream for her? No more sweetness?>>

He sounded tired, and Castor couldn’t get his head around the comment. Was Ed tired of sweetness? Was he not? Was he just - tired? That was probably fair, all things considered, but it was hard to know if the exhaustion was the main thing, or if it was covering up the old irritation from before.

<<I don’t mean to be dramatic about it, or make extra noise. I just mean don’t work so hard keeping quiet. Let her - fuck, Ed, I don’t know. I just don’t like how restless she is.>>

He didn’t get an answer right away, but then he washed across one of the burns again, and Ed let out a yelp, the tension in his stomach relaxing as he stopped fighting quite so hard for silence. Castor felt his own muscles relaxing with him, even as a wave of guilt washed over him.

The yelps seemed to get the woman’s attention again, and she leaned into Castor’s back again, pressing against the bruises and reminding him with a twinge that they were there, but at least that meant she wasn’t focused on anything else, like the hidden amulet.

<<Thank you,>> he told Ed, <<And I’m sorry.>>

*****

Letting go of himself, letting out the little yelps and shouts his body wanted to make as Castor cleaned his wounds, felt strange, but as it went on, Ed adjusted, relaxed further, sagged into the ground and let the soft, now mostly dry blanket cushion him.

There was still something about it that kept the heat stoked in his cheeks, that ached through the base of his throat, and he found that he could only stand it if he kept his eyes locked on Castor’s face or the too-blue sky above them, away from the woman’s intently focused eyes.

Then Castor switched to his other leg, and any thought of silence, of embarrassment, of anything left him.

Castor pressed fingers against his swollen knee, touching it directly instead of trying to avoid it, and Ed cried out before he could stop himself, his back arching against the pain.

“No, hold still!” Castor half-shouted. “I need to know how bad it is.”

Ed wanted to answer, wanted to tell him off, to tell him how bad it was, but all that made it out of his throat was another full-bodied shout, one that left him breathless and gasping.

“Castor don’t-” he panted, “Don’t, please, I can’t-”

“Your, umm. Your kneecap is definitely in pieces.”

“Please, Castor-”

Ed made it up to his elbows, looking up at the warlock and meeting his eyes, more noticably blue than usual with the skin around them going faintly pale.

“I know,” Castor said, still blanching, “But if I can’t push the pieces closer together and bind them that way, it’ll never heal at all.”

“You can’t, Castor, I-”

“I have to.”

Castor’s hands were resting lightly around his leg, below the knee, and Ed could feel a faint trembling in them.

The woman’s grin was all teeth, her face no longer doing a particularly good impression of a human. “Oh dear. That is a problem, isn’t it?”

Castor broke eye contact with Ed, and even before the warlock spoke, Ed found his body reacting, letting out a soft, despairing moan.

“I’m going to need an extra set of hands, ma’am.”

<<Don’t let her touch me. Please Castor, don’t let her touch me.>>

<<I can’t fix your ankle. I already know that. But this one - this one I might be able to help. I can’t just - Ed I have to.>>

<<You don’t.>>

<<I do.>>

Ed cried softly, his eyes locked back into Castor’s again, but he could see the resolve building in Castor’s eyes, could see any hope of keeping the woman’s hands off of him fading, and this time he looked away first, closing his eyes and twisting his face away.

“Do it,” he said softly, not even sure, anymore, whether agreeing was a deal with the devil or, if it was, who was the devil.

The woman’s hands were not gentle, her fingers following behind Castor’s, pressing the two halves of his bone back together, her sharp nails digging into his flesh where it hurt the most. He screamed, his back arching again as his voice cracked, shooting impossibly high.

“I know,” Castor said, moving fast now, “I know. I’m moving as fast as I can.”

What Castor built both was and wasn’t a splint, strange and complicated and holding his kneecap in place from multiple angles, and when he pulled the bandages tight enough to dig into the swollen area around the joint, Ed screamed again, his voice trailing away to nothing and leaving a lingering hoarseness behind.

It was a relief when the woman’s hands let go, when the bandages were the only thing holding his knee too tight, but it still hurt, oh gods it still hurt, and he could feel his pulse thrumming through the knee, pounding harder at the base of his throat than it had before.

When Castor pressed gently against his ankle to find the fractures, the world went black.

*****

It was a relief to feel Ed drop into unconsciousness under his hands, because his ankle - gods, Castor didn’t know how to make heads or tails of his ankle.

“Do you need me to hold that in place, too?” The water woman’s voice was sweet and sickening, making his stomach crawl.

“No,” he said, his voice coming out unexpectedly hollow, “There’s no point. I can’t fix this one. I’m not even sure I fixed the other one, but with this one -” he sighed. “Just - I’m gonna bandage up his toes, but then I-”

Her pale green eyes were unreadable. He sighed, bowing his head just slightly as he knelt beside Ed, and looking down at her bare, half-webbed feet instead. “Please let me stay up here with him until he comes to again, ma’am. I - I don’t want him to wake up in the dark.”

Her sharp-nailed hand ran suddenly through his hair and he barely held back a flinch. “Hmm, sweet indeed. Yes, my friends will like that story, I think. Are you going to hold him? Cuddle up again? I hear humans like kissing. Or are you only kittens, after all?”

A blush colored Castor’s cheeks, and he knew two things all at once. One was that he’d never manage to carry Ed away from here, amulet or no amulet. Not with the woman still so - whatever it was that she was. The other was that there were only two ways to handle this, and he knew which one he could accept. He could either hurt Ed more, or he could give something of himself up choosing tenderness instead. He could hide away, keep himself hidden and let her be interested in Ed, or-

He blushed more deeply. “I want to wash his hair, ma’am. I - I always thought that felt good, having my hair washed, and I -” he bit his lip, blushing more deeply as he looked back up at her. If he was going to take the attention, he needed to take it fully. “It’s my fault, ma’am. I could have stopped this. Some of this. Maybe. And I didn’t. I knew, and I -”

The best lies were ones you couldn’t be sure were lies at all. The words came out as a hoarse whisper, his throat thickening up. “I didn’t stop this, and now I owe him,” he said, “Please, let me pay him back. He - he deserves something kind. He’s been through so much.”

Her head cocked to the side, and he knew it had worked.

“You can wash mine until he wakes up, then,” she said. “It does sound interesting.”

[ttylfedora]

Maybe a combo of smut 48 and 9? Coops or nuny?

Prompts 9 and 48

Thank you for requesting these anon!! I went for Nuny in the end😌 so sorry it took so long!

Prompts are from an old prompt list:

9: “Can they fuck you like this? Make you cum like I can?”

48: “Wanna bet?”

Characters belong to @lumosinlove

--

It wasn’t that Evgeni was jealous that there were guys and girls alike all over Jackson, it was just that he knew that the light hand placements on the shoulder would most definitely lead to something else and Evgeni wasn’t sure he could go another night listening to Jackson fucking someone to the point that they’re screaming his name. Was it wrong that Evgeni wanted to scream Jackson’s name the way the random hookups did?

It only took one more light hand tentatively running up and down Jackson’s shoulder blade before Evgeni was making his way over to the bar.

“Nado, we go home now, yes?” he urged. He clapped Jackson on the shoulder, eyeing the man that stood in front of him.

“I- yeah, sure?” Jackson stood up from leaning against the bar, passing Evgeni’s urgency off as something to be worried about.

“Hey, I didn’t catch your name or your number!” the guy next to Jackson said before they could leave.

“You not need it. Go get someone else,” Evgeni grumbled.

They walked outside, Evgeni’s hand a firm weight on the small of Jackson’s back. Once the fresh air hit them, Jackson turned around, opening his mouth to speak. Evgeni used this opportunity to crash his lips against Jackson’s, hands coming up to cup his face. Jackson smiled into the kiss, his own hands closing around Evgeni’s wrists.

“Was someone a bit jealous there?” Jackson teased.

“Be quiet,” Evgeni mumbled in response, lips never leaving Jackson’s.

The walk back to the hotel was fueled with almost touches and ‘never quite meeting the eye’ glances, the sexual tension between them being enough for a spark to turn into a raging fire. Evgeni had Jackson pinned against the wall almost immediately, hands resuming their position cupping his face.

“Zhenya,” Jackson started. However Evgeni didn’t give him a chance to finish, for he had started to trail his lips down Jackson’s neck, nipping lightly on the spot only Evgeni knew would weaken Jackson’s knees.

A low groan settled in Jackson’s throat, his hands coming up to rake through Evgeni’s hair, arousal firing through his body.

“You looked good tonight,” Evgeni said softly into the crook of Jackson’s neck, “everyone else notice too.”

Jackson’s head rolled back in pleasure, thumping softly against the wall behind him as Evgeni moved his leg between Jackson’s thighs.

“I doubt that,” Jackson said softly, fingers clutching the soft curls that had started to form at the back of Evgeni’s head. Jackson hoped the team would keep their win streak, mainly for the win streak, but more so to stop Evgeni from cutting his hair.

Evgeni stopped what he was doing and stood up straight, causing Jackson to groan at the sudden lack of contact. He took a deep breath as he placed one hand either side of Jackson’s head against the wall, framing him in, and brought his face down to meet Jackson eye to eye.

“You want bet?” he challenged with dark eyes.

Jackson could feel the arousal tug at the bottom of his stomach, his jeans becoming achingly tight at the sight of the man before him. He gulped loudly, breath becoming heavy as he struggled to find the words to answer the question laid out bare before him.

“What I thought,” Evgeni concluded. He trailed his hand from the wall along Jackson’s jawline, pinching his chin between his forefinger and thumb. As he placed a light kiss on the shorter man's lips, he trailed his hand down his chest, brushing lightly against his nipple through the thin fabric of the shirt Jackson was wearing. Evgeni continued kissing as his hand wandered lower, resting just above the buckle of Jackson’s belt.

His hand stayed there, a light presence among the heavy, tension fueled atmosphere of their shared hotel room. Jackson gulped again, eyes rolling to the back of his head as Evgeni slowly undid his belt. Evegni moved his other hand from the wall to cradle Jackson’s neck, thumb rubbing tentative, teasing circle to the space just below his ear.

“You very pretty, Jackson,” Evgeni mumbled against Jackson’s lips. Just the uttering of his own name sent him to orbit. The way Evgeni said his name had him touching the stars. Anything Evgeni did had that effect on Jackson.

“Zhen- please,” Jackson started, hoping to urge Evgeni into undoing his belt.

“Please what?” Evgeni teased. He was perfectly aware of the puddle Jackson was melting into in front of him. It spurred him on that much more.

“I- Zhenya-” Jackson’s words caught in his throat as Evgeni started to kiss down his neck, hands still ghosting over the belt buckle. Jackson needed them to move now. “God, please.”

“Please, what?” Evgeni muttered against Jackson’s stomach. He moved his hands to lift Jackson’s shirt slightly, peppering kisses along the waistline of his jeans. He had a firm grip on Jackson’s waist, almost bruising, to stop Jackson from squirming underneath him.

“Carry on? I stop.”

Jackson looked down to find Evgeni looking back up at him, eyes blown and focused. If it wasn’t for the wall behind him, holding him up as Evgeni pinned against him, he was sure his knees would have given out by now. Jackson nodded, as he let Evgeni undo his belt, fingers ghosting over the exposed skin. He unbuttoned Jackson’s jeans painfully slowly and it took everything Jackson had not to buck his hips in response.

As the jeans pooled around Jackson’s ankles, Evgeni started to tease Jackson further through the fabric of his boxers, lips ghosting slowly over his erection. Jackson gripped Evgeni’s hair once again, enticing a growl from the man knelt before him. Evgeni stood back up, picking Jackson up and throwing him onto the bed in a smooth swoop.

Jackson stared up in awe as the man that stood at the end of the bed stripped off his own shirt and jeans, climbing on top of Jackson and pulling him in for another kiss.

Evgeni’s hands found themselves against Jackson’s hips, thumbs pressing bruises as the kiss deepened. It was full of love and passion, full enough that Jackson found himself pushing up against Evgeni, craving more.

He was pushed firmly back into the bed as Evgeni removed his lips from Jackson’s. Jackson whined at the lack of contact, even if Evgeni was only reaching for the lube and condoms in his travel bag.

Evegni placed them on the bed next to Jackson, causing Jackson to look up at him in confusion.

“You can wait,” Evgeni teased as he lowered his lips to meet Jackson’s nipple. Jackson sucked in a sharp breath as Evgeni took it between his teeth, thumb and forefinger coming up to play with the other. Jackson bucked his hips up to meet Evgeni’s but Evgeni placed a firm hand on each to push him back down onto the bed.

“What I say?” Evgeni questioned. “No moving or I stop,” he reiterated.

Jackson’s head fell back onto the pillows, bottom lip firmly between his teeth as he refrained from moving. Evgeni ghosted his lips over Jackson’s boxers, hot breath causing Jackson to shudder slightly.

He looked down to find Evgeni smirking back up at him, hands coming back up to grip his hips. Evgeni slowly inched Jackson’s boxers down, causing Jackson to moan as the tightness was relieved. Evgeni lowered his head again, but only to laugh slightly as Jackson inhaled a breath, expecting Evgeni’s lips to meet his tip. Instead, Evgeni sat back up, hands once again returning to their place on Jackson’s hips as he flipped him over.

Jackson gasped as Evgeni lay over his back, kissing the joint between his shoulder and neck softly.

“You uncomfy, just say,” he whispered. Jackson nodded in response. Once he had confirmation, Evgeni smiled, blindly searching for the bottle of lube now lost in the sheets somewhere. He found it and spread some over his fingers, bringing them down to ghost over Jackson.

Jackson gasped, the wave of pure pleasure working its way around his body, settling fiercely in his throat, enticing a moan from him as Evgeni slipped his finger in. He bit down, lip trembling as Evgeni continued. Jackson's hands gripped the pillows as Evgeni pushed another finger in.

“Ev- ah,” Jackson moaned. Evgeni leant over him again, the low rumble of a laugh vibrating against Jackson’s back.

“I know,” Evgeni said, low and causing goosebumps to flush over Jackson’s body. He felt Evgeni remove his fingers, before lifting Jackson’s hips.

Jackson cried out, hands clawing at the pillows as another wave of arousal washed through him, cock dripping onto the sheets beneath him, teasing the release he was desperately holding onto. Evgeni’s hand traced up Jackson’s back, finger ghosting over his spine as he fucked into him, stopping at the nape of his neck. His hand gripped the hair there, using it as leverage to pull Jackson up against him. Jackson immediately brought his hand. up, seeking purchase in Evgeni’s hair, whilst Evgeni’s free hand wrapped around Jackson, pumping him in time.

“Can they fuck you like this, make you cum like I can?” Evgeni whispered into Jackson’s ear. With that, it was like a tsunami had hit him, causing him to shoot out over Evgeni’s hand, pornographic moans being elicited through shaky breaths.

“Can they make you scream like I can?” Jackson shuddered again, an endless stream of cum dripping out. Evgeni came shortly after, cock twitching inside of Jackson as his forehead rested on the top of Jackson’s spine.

“Holy fuck,” Jackson said breathlessly.

“I am a holy fuck,” Evgeni laughed, voice coming out just as raspy as Jackson. Jackson laughed slightly as Evgeni slipped out of him. He turned around, now face to face with Evgeni. He kissed him with just as much force before- this time with affection that wasn’t driven by lust. Evgeni kissed back, just as hungrily.

“We do that more often, yes?”

“Absolutely.”

[piningfor-pinestwins]

Natural Attraction - Bruised Egos (Stan X Reader Slow Burn; Eventual Not SFW)

Your group makes it partway through the dense forest before you lose daylight, grateful for the four flashlights that Fiddleford had stowed away for this. You’re stepping unsteadily in the midst of thorny brushes and thick vines, grateful for your sturdy boots as you step on less-than-solid ground and sink into some mud. Grunting with effort as you make your way up the slippery hill, you hear Ford swear from behind you as he does the same.

“Where do you think the thing would even be at night? What kinda birds are active in the dark?” Stan’s voice comes from behind you a little loudly, leaning heavily on a stick he’d found somewhere during the trek, using it to support his weight as he goes. Ford’s head whips around to find his brother’s form in the dark, giving a harsh “Shh!” as he continues onward. Stan murmurs a quick, “Sheesh, just askin’,” as he continues onward. You follow Fiddleford’s steady light from ahead of you, trusting the man as he continues his walk, and turn to quietly answer the man anyway.

Owls, mostly. I think you have nighthawks in this part of the country, too, You inform him, shivering. You nearly run your nose into Fidd’s back, finding the lanky man had come to a stop ahead of you to hold up a branch for you, after apparently being hit in the face with it. Taking it in hand, you murmur a thank you, pointing your flashlight to the ground for the twins behind you to duck under the thing when they get closer.

Ford ducks easily beneath the thing, murmuring a thanks to you as he does. Stan isn’t far behind, though the man nearly stabs into your foot with his makeshift walking stick. “Sorry, hon,” he quickly apologizes, lifting the thing out of the soft dirt by the toe of your boot. You smile fondly despite yourself, motioning him ahead with the beam coming from your flashlight.

Get moving, slowpoke. I don’t want you to get lost behind the pack, you tease in a whisper. He catches your smile despite the dim light of the moon and chuckles himself, shifting his walking stick beneath his arm, and flashlight into the other hand. His fingers land at your elbow as he tugs you along, the warmth of the digits seeping through the teeny-tiny holes of your sweater.

“Yeah, you neither. With your luck, our superbird’ll think you’re some sorta prey.” Stan’s voice is playful, and this close you’re able to make out the features of his smile despite the darkness surrounding you. You chuckle, walking beside him with your twin flashlights and his hold leading the way. Me? What about you? You argue back, You’re the one with more meat on your bones.

He snorts at that (only to be shushed by his brother once more), careful to watch his step and not be too loud again as he moves alongside you. “What, me? Honey, I’m all muscle--the thing wouldn’t want something as chewy as me.” You laugh louder then, shaking your head, only to have the light of Ford’s flashlight pointed at you. You can make out his frown and--jeez, what is he, your older brother? Sheepishly, you give him a little wave, biting into your bottom lip.

When his light goes away from your face, Stan snickers, having found getting you in trouble amusing. You move to elbow him despite his hold on your arm, and he chuckles as he jostles you in response.

Still giggling, you take one step in the wrong direction, yelling out in fear as your heel slides the wrong way against the soft ground. The joint twists as your weight starts to fall backward, and you drop your flashlight, the sharp pain in your ankle now an afterthought to the fear of a fall down to an unseen point below.

Ford and Fiddleford turn at your cry, but Stan’s already there, the hand at your elbow quickly landing at your forearm instead. In one swift movement, he tugs you to his chest, grunting quietly at the impact of your face against his sternum, budging half a step backward with his own force.

“Fuck--are you alright?!” Stan asks breathlessly, looking down at you with worry as he pushes hair from your face. You pant as you wince, your weight coming back to your twisted ankle. Heart beating in your ears, you don’t hear him very well. Looking up at him wide-eyed, his worry only deepens. “Hon, you okay?” He repeats, and enough of your brain is back to you that you’re able to nod in response, shifting your weight against him to ease off your hurt ankle.

Stan says something to the duo coming closer, but you miss the bulk of it as you try to slow your breathing, glancing back to where you would have landed--and, as it turns out, where your flashlight has landed. The plastic thing lies muddied and flickering, left useless on some rocks nearly ten feet below. Shivering from the cool wind that blows through, and from the realization of just how lucky you’d been with Stan’s touch, you clutch a little tighter to the leather arm of the man’s jacket.

“Alright, that’s it. With me gettin’ my face smacked with a branch, and her nearly dyin’, we’re wrappin’ this walk up for the night. Soon as we get past this line o’trees, we’re hunkering down for the night.” Fiddleford insists, looking to you apologetically. “I’m sorry, I should’a said something about the drop. I saw it, but only just ‘cause my light was pointed just right.”

I-It’s fine, you stammer, ignoring your white-knuckle hold to Stan’s sleeve and shaky knees. Ford huffs a sigh, scrubbing lightly at his face, “I’m glad you’re okay. We’ll...need to make up the majority of our movement during the day, then. It’s safer that way, anyway. God forbid one of us had found that fall while chasing our creature.” Your colleague turns, murmuring something to Fidds as he points toward a clearing past the trees, the both of them pointing their flashlights to make their way.

Stan’s hand lands carefully at your lower back, guiding you as he points his flashlight to the ground. “C’mon, I’ve got you. Take a deep breath, okay?” He murmurs the words quietly, and you feel the warmth of his hand sliding up and down the fabric of your sweater. You do as he says, exhaling a shaky breath. S-Sorry, about all of this, you whisper, taking another breath as you carefully step away from him, wincing at the feeling in your twisted ankle.

To your surprise, however, the hand on your back slides down your arm, catching your wrist with a light, but firm touch. Stanley looks at you uncertainly, and your slowing heart rate decides to uptick once more at the way his cheeks darken in the moonlight. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like...W-Well, I wouldn’t mind holding onto you until we’re out of these trees. If something happens again, I can...be here. Plus, y-you’re hurt. Can’t risk a fall on a bum ankle.”

You chew into your bottom lip, grateful for the warmth of his hand enveloping your own cold digits. He’s looking to you as if asking permission, a softness in his gaze that you’ve now seen multiple times from the stubborn man, yet you can never quite get enough of. Nodding, you give him what you think he’d been waiting for, and he shifts your hand in his, his thumb and forefinger becoming snug bookends to the knuckles on your own hand.

Clearing his throat, Stan glances over his shoulder to spot the steadily moving lights of his brother and F. Shifting his weight to move toward them, he squeezes your hand to get your attention too (as though your attention wasn’t already on your joined hands).

“C’mon, we shouldn’t get too far from those two. Is your foot good enough to walk on?” Stan’s gaze searches your face for pain, the beam of his flashlight pointed to your boots before you wave his concern away with your free hand. I can walk, just...maybe a little slower than I was, you look at him apologetically and he nods, moving to reflect the change.

Now on your hurt side, Stan switches the flashlight into his other hand, quickly wiping his palm against the thigh of his jeans before he takes your hand once more. He sticks his elbow out just slightly, allowing a makeshift armrest for your forearm as he leads you to take one step, then another.

Being sure to point his flashlight to the ground, he avoids your eye, casting you a quick glance as he pulls you alongside him. You follow along easily, still trying to catch your breath from the excitement of the near-miss and the...current connection. You almost want to thank him, but from the way his eyes stay turned down from yours, he’s definitely both focusing on the ground and not looking at you.

“Easy here, honey. Lean on me while we step over this root,” Stan murmurs, and when you do as you’re told, he easily takes on your weight as you both continue walking. Legs still shaky from adrenaline, you limp at his side as he guides you toward your research partners, further into the trees.

As you step over a log, leaning into his broad shoulders to do so, you take an extra moment to adjust your hand in his by entwining your fingers. He stills the moment you do it, looking at you with an unreadable tint in his moonlit gaze, but he says nothing as you continue walking. Nerves flutter in your belly, wondering if you’ve pushed this too far--maybe this handholding really was only supposed to be out of convenience, or to make sure you aren’t any more of a klutzy nuisance during this trip…

You’re certain that you imagine it when his thumb brushes against the back of your hand. You flush when you feel him do it a second time, more pronounced than the first.

When you look at him from the corner of your eye, his profile is illuminated by the moon. His jaw is set tight, and you can make out the dark flush of his cheeks as he pulls you close once more. He notices you’re distracted, the smallest lift of a smile at the corner of his mouth, but Stan clears his throat to will it away as he murmurs something about watching your step. You hobble your way over another pair of tangled-up roots before you find yourself stepping out from the dense woods, finally finding the small clearing that Fiddleford and Ford are already preparing.

Fidds is working on a makeshift ‘campfire’ for light (made of one of the flashlights pointed at one of the large jugs of water), making the light shift like the bottom of a pool on a sunny summer day. Ford is sitting on his knees, grumbling in frustration as he wrestles with the plastic rods of the portable tent.

Despite the light (which you’re grateful for, don’t get you wrong), you wish it was closer to a real campfire. You’re cold, and the dew on the long grass around your ankles is soaking into your skin, making the chilled breezes even cooler.

“Gimme your tent and I’ll get’cha set up.” Stan mumbles, releasing your hand from his and holding it out to you expectantly. You aren’t focused on his words, looking down at his hand, meeting his eye, and then coming to the realization with a quick, Oh! as you reach to unclip the tent bag from the duffel bag on your shoulder.

He smiles a little as he takes it from you, looking at you with something like amusement in his gaze as he looms over you, just a little. “Are you going to hold up alright while I do this, honey?”

You aren’t sure if it’s the tone of his voice, or his close proximity, or the way his brow quirks as he smiles at you, but heat floods your cheeks as you nod, trying to keep your cool despite your fluster. I-I’ll be just fine, thank you.

The brunet wiggles his brows at you as he turns away, stomping down some taller grass in order to flatten the area he’s planning to prep your tent. You push your hair behind your ear, shaking your head as he drops to his knees to unzip the bag holding the tent.

Damn him. Sincerely, honestly, damn him. You’d come here to work, to focus on the astounding artifacts and creatures waiting for you in Gravity Falls. But no, instead you’re enamored by him. You rub at your face, feeling the way your mouth screws up as you try not to think too hard about it...especially when the target of your misplaced focus is just feet away, effortlessly putting together your tent for the night.

You fidget with your hands as you watch him for a moment, one thumb brushing over the palm. If you concentrate hard enough, you think as you look down at your hand, you can forget the lingering warmth of his palm against yours, or the way your fingers entwined into his, or how you’d imagine his touch would feel somewhere other than your hand...

“How’s your foot?” Ford’s voice startles you from where you’d stared off at your palm, and you nearly jolt from the tree you’d been leaning back against. A pair of polydactyl hands catch your elbows before you can lose your balance too much more, pulling you gently to rest more soundly against the bark at your back. The brunet ahead of you quirks a brow with a short chuckle, “Now, was that because of your foot, or because I scared you?

You can’t just sneak up on me! You half-laugh in response, feeling heat in your face. You hadn’t meant to be so distracted, really. Ford smiles a little wider at your words, and you can see that all-too-quiet analyzing gaze pointed your way. Despite the low light, you think he can see your flushed cheeks, and you bring your hands up to cover the warm patches on your face. He nods as if confirming something, cheeky grin only widening, “What has you so distracted, hm?” Ford asks, and you suspect he’s teasing you. The ass.

L-Looking for our mystery monster, obviously. Since the rest of you are so busy, I thought I’d keep lookout, you give one solid nod, feeling the heat only spread beneath your fingers as you lie. Nothing to report yet.

“Well, glad someone worries,” Fiddleford’s voice comes from the direction of where Ford had been not long ago, and you look over the brunet’s shoulder to see the lanky man and Stanley both hard at work to put together the unfinished tent Ford had left in poor shape.

Your tent, however, is perfectly set up and ready for what additions you have to bring into it. Ford sees the two working and gives you a secret sort of smile, offering you an arm to help you toward your shelter. “I do worry,” He argues back, careful to support your weight as you lean against your friend, “But I trust her to be our lookout. Are you saying you don’t?” He winks at you as you make your way across the clearing toward your shelter for the night, and you smile as you turn the teasing toward someone else, for once.

You really should be more upfront with your feelings, Fiddleford. Just be honest, do you trust me? You grin as you ask the playful question, turning to look as the honey-blond man sputters and flusters, “O-O’course I do! I’m not one’a those backwards thinkin’ hillbillies who--who..!”

“Easy, easy!” Stan laughs, reaching to pat the man’s shoulder, “She’s just givin’ you hell, buddy. You’re right though--it’s good to know someone cares, seeing as Ford’s too busy getting handsy with his new assistant.” Stan grins cockily toward both you and his brother, which only makes both of you fluster.

“M-Me?!” Ford sputters a little loudly, and you’d almost laugh if you didn’t know where he was going with this, “I’m not the one who’s asking about how she was in college, or--oof!” He quiets himself with a grunt, and you move to pat his back as though you hadn’t just elbowed him in the ribs.

W-Well, uh, good to know you all respect me, and...enjoy my company, you laugh a little, acting innocent even as Stan catches your eye. He’s very much fighting a laugh, having watched you silence his brother. Ford quirks a brow at you, grumbling as he rubs at a rib with his free hand, “And to think, I came over here to help you to your tent.”

And I thank you, you grin, giving the arm you’re holding onto a little pat as the man rolls his eyes. He’s smiling a little when you make it to your tent, and you take a moment to shift and hand him your duffle bag, thanking him quietly as he ducks alongside you to help you into the tent. You thank him again as he lowers you to the floor of the shelter, finally smiling your way even as he rubs at his side while dropping the duffle bag to you. “Get settled, I’ll see if Fidds’ first aid kit has one of those ammonium chloride ice pack things.”

Thank you, you repeat, fiddling with the zipper of your carryon to open the thing. As the man steps from the unzipped flap of your tent, you call a soft, Sorry for the elbow, which only makes him snort a laugh.

“I didn’t know it was a sore subject, jeez.” He teases over his shoulder.

It’s more of, uh...not a subject at all, you correct with a wave of your hand and a little laugh, quickly turning your attention to getting your folded quilt from the duffle bag. The brunet quirks a brow, but doesn’t say anything as he purses his lips and makes his way from your tent.

You hear the three chatting amongst themselves as you set up your space. It’s definitely darker in the tent than outside of it, but you manage well enough to situate your quilt and pillow in a corner of the tent, patting the blanket down to be sure it lays flat. You pat around in the duffle bag next, searching for your pj pants. When you’ve found them, you make quick work of your boots and pants, wincing as you try to keep standing with your aching ankle.

You hear a quiet swear and the sound of fumbling feet as a flashlight beam shines against the flap of your tent. “Y’decent?” Stan’s voice asks, and you yank more frantically onto your pajama pants to get them up. Y-Yeah, one sec--! You call out, tripping over your own pant leg and falling over with an ungraceful grunt.

“Shit, did you fall again, toots..?” Stan murmurs, taking the liberty to open the flap and make his way in despite the fact that there’s still fabric resting low on your thighs. By some miracle, the flashlight beam points at the back of the tent first, allowing you just enough time to yank the pants up to your hips just as the light points down to where you are on the floor. The light makes you squint up at Stan, your nose wrinkled a little as you give him a little smile. He’s smiling down at you, clearing his throat as he kneels down to meet you.

“Honey, you can’t go tripping in front of me every chance you get.” He teases lightly, putting down the flashlight near you while his gentle hands help you sit back up. You shake your head as you sit up, stretching your legs out in front of you with a bashful smile, I promise, it’s not on purpose.

“So you aren’t fallin’ for me?” Stan asks, his voice low as he searches your face, gaze meeting your own. Despite the playful smile on his face and the quirk of his brow, there’s something that makes your stomach flip. You frown despite your fluster, feeling almost like the butt of a joke. Be nice to me, I almost died, you grumble, pushing lightly against his shoulder. He leans with the push, chuckling as he moves to sit beside you. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. I thought of the joke all the way back there, and...well, I couldn’t let it go.” Stan’s smile goes a little more tender, reaching over to pat your knee gently.

Stan perks up a little as he seems to remember something, patting behind him to find the plastic packet he’d brought in. “I brought you an ice pack for your ankle, if you think it’ll help. I think Fidds has some pain killers too, but you’ve gotta get some food in ya first.” You nod at his words, taking the thing from him and shaking it to activate the chemical reaction inside. I packed some snacks, actually, you look at him then, and his brows quirk as he reaches for the flashlight again to find the goodies.

In my bag, in a little tupperware with a green lid. It’s just peanut butter sandwiches, but food is food, you smile, stretching to put the finally-getting-cooler pack on your foot with a wince.

“Hopefully you packed enough,” he chuckles, tucking the flashlight beneath his chin to hold it as he digs into your duffle bag with both hands, “ ‘specially since I was your savior and all, back there, it’d be an honor for you t’share your dinner with me. So I don’t have to eat whatever F and Ford are inventing out there.” Stan teases with a glance to you and a grin. His hands stop their motion in the duffle bag, and you can see his cheeks darken in the low light of the tent.

You worry even without the confirmation of what he’s seen, sure that...well, something in that bag must have caught his attention. Y-You find the sandwiches? You question, moving slightly to check what’s in his hands before he quickly shuffles them into the duffle bag once more, “Shit--ah...Yeah!” Stan pulls the little plastic container from your bag, eyes widening at the neatly-folded pair of lacy underthings atop the box.

Your face heats as you quickly reach out to snatch the fabric away, crumpling it in hand and shoving it beneath your thigh, effectively sitting on it as you look at him wide-eyed. He fights a smile and loses, the grin on his face accompanied by its endearing dimple, both visible and tugging at your heartstrings even in the low light. “See, that’s what I was tryin’ not to do--sorry, honey,” Stan laughs, now passing the offending tupperware over for you to fidget with as he moves the flashlight to stand upright, pointing the light above the both of you to better light the tent.

Snooper, you scold him for the second time today, but this time it comes out in a mumble as you turn your attention to open the thing, a little smile on your face. You can’t be upset, you know it was an accident, but...well, despite the little embarrassment within you, there’s something else you can’t quite place.

He snorts a laugh, moving his hand up to cover his eyes, crooked smile still wide across his cheeks, “Here. Can’t snoop if I can’t see, happy now?” You glance up at him and smirk, picking up a cut half of the peanut butter sandwich and putting your hand out in his direction, waiting for him to uncover his eyes and take the makeshift meal.

“Y’know I can’t hear your head nodding, right? I need words, babe!” Teasing, Stan peeks at you from between his fingers, amber gaze falling to the sandwich half held out to him. “Oh, thanks--” He uncovers his eyes then, smiling still as he reaches for it and bites in greedily. You almost laugh, If you were so hungry, why didn’t you say anything before?

“‘Cause then one of those two would’ve told me to go hunt or somethin’,” He scoffs between bites, looking at you with humor, “Ford would’a picked me some sort of weird-looking thing to eat and said it’s ‘high in protein, just right for you Stanley’, an’ Fidds probably would’ve invented something for me to kill the thing with, like….I dunno, magic slingshot or somethin’,” Stan murmurs into his sandwich. You snort a laugh as you munch on your own half, kicking him lightly against one of his knees, They help in the best ways they can.

“Oh, sure--every way except actually hunting dinner themselves,” he laughs, moving his foot to nudge your leg back. You laugh too, shaking your head as the both of you eat. You eye him subtly, watching how he leans back against his palm, idly crossing his ankles as he looks around your (his) tent. “Y’know, ‘m glad this thing holds up good. I’d hate to think of you getting stuck with a bum tent, or just a little quilt on the ground, like you wanted,” Stan teases lightly, looking over to you with amusement as you both eat.

You shrug as you finish up, smiling as you wipe lightly at the corners of your mouth, I would have ended up fine, probably, you catch the way his gaze moves with your fingers at your lips, and you quickly glance away to warrant him the blessing of thinking he hadn’t been caught, Else fails, we’d all have just ended up cheek-to-cheek in one tent.

Stan scoffs a laugh, licking a stripe of leftover peanut butter from his thumb and sucking the remainder from the digit casually, releasing it with a quiet pop, “Like we were in the truck? I don’t think our cheeks could handle anymore squishin’ like that.” He glances over to you, catching your gaze as it drifts from his lips. Amber eyes crinkle in the corners when smirks, returning his thumb to his lips once more (you’re sure there’s no more peanut butter, and that he’s just torturing you). “Thanks for the snack, sugar, but I think I’m gonna turn in for th’night. Knowing those two, we’ll be awake way too early, and one of them will bitch all day because no one brought coffee--”

Already a step ahead of you, you grin, pointing toward your duffle bag. He casts a glance over and shakes his head, pointing that crooked smile your way, “Geez, you think of everything, don’tcha?” Stan winks at you as he moves to get up, standing hunched in the not-quite-tall-enough frame of the tent. He looks down at you, and you catch him look over your pajamas, smile giving himself away as he points down to your ankle, “Do you need any more help tonight, or are you alright?”

You shake your head, I think I’ll keep myself in for the rest of the night, thanks. As long as I don’t have to pee at some ungodly time, I’ll be fine. Stan snorts at that, taking the few steps toward the flap of the tent, “Just don’t cry to me if you end up dreaming of waterfalls,” He teases. You wrinkle your nose at the implication, but can’t hold back the laugh as you scold him for being gross, Stanley.

“Sorry, babe! You’re stuck with this gross man this whole trip.” Stan winks over his shoulder at you, grinning wider as he turns to leave, “Actually, reminds me--I should make a pitstop before I hit the boys’ tent for the night.”

Gross! You insist with a laugh, hearing him join in with a chuckle of his own. If you had a shoe nearby, you’d throw it at him. Goodnight, Stan. I’ll see you in the morning.

“See you then, babe. G’night.” He smiles in your direction, a genuine tenderness in his gaze as he ducks out from your tent. You shuffle your way to the flap to zip it closed, hearing the trio of boys giving each other hell as Stan returns to their shared sleeping space, but not being able to pick out individual words to hear what hell is being given.

Not that you mind, really; you are sleepy. A near-death experience and some….moderately embarrassing flirting will do that to a person. Using the flashlight Stan had left, you make your way to settling into your makeshift bed, remembering something from the general health class you had to take in college and using your duffle bag at the foot of your comforter as a way to raise your ankle. You fold yourself into the quilt easily, settling in for the night with a soft sigh that turns into a yawn on its way out.

Reaching behind your pillow, you pull out your journal, cracking the cover open and holding the flashlight beneath your chin as you write out some accounts of the day (and, when you remember it exists, adding the polaroid of the creature’s tracks over the terribly-drawn version you’d made). When you finish up with your entry for the day, you start to close the journal, instead seeing the pages open up to the one previous-- Stanley’s pages.

You glance to the flap in your tent, almost as if afraid he’d be standing there to catch you. You don’t know why it worries you--especially since you’ve added both a Fiddleford and Stanford page, to keep track of those two as well, but… There’s something akin to indulgence, you think, that stirs in your chest when you make an addition to this page. Today, it’s an addition to the ‘Likes’ list, (peanut butter, which truthfully doesn’t surprise you because the only food listed in the ‘Dislikes’ list is canned Spam), and today’s date with the simple, albeit shaky addition of Stanley caught me from falling into a ravine on our hike today.

Not wanting to go too into detail this late at night for fear of nightmares, you shut up the journal and return it to its place beneath the pillow, setting the flashlight beside the cushion as you turn the thing off. You settle in for real this time, tugging the blanket to your chin and exhaling a soft, slow breath to try and relax yourself into sleep. As your eyes start to drift closed, you have the inkling that you’ve forgotten something--though what it is, you’re unsure. It must not matter much anyway, as you’re pulled easily into the warm darkness of sleep.

--

It mattered.

A lot, actually.

You swear, Stan was either a medium without knowing it, or some sort of magical asshole who bestowed curses on you without you noticing. You’re swearing at him under your breath the whole way as you hobble into the woods to find a suitable spot to pee.

Much more relieved, you’re now making your way back to your tent, flashlight held tightly in one hand, a roll of toilet paper tucked beneath your arm, and your other hand outstretched to help you make your way through the trees and back toward the campgrounds. You shudder at the cool breeze that’s blown in, indicative of the upcoming cold front you’d overheard about on the television a night or two back. Finally seeing the campsite coming into view, you sigh, knowing you probably went further out into the greenery than you needed to, but….

Well, god forbid any of your research partners find you with your pants down.

Making your way closer to the campsite, you sigh, rubbing at your face sleepily. To say it had been a long day was a gross understatement; you were exhausted.

Which is why you worried that you were still in your tent dreaming, as you hear the fluttery sound of air moving somewhere near you. You look up just as quickly as you heard the noise, pointing the flashlight up to see better in the dim night light.

There’s nothing..?

Despite your rising nerves, you keep moving ahead, maybe a little quicker now as you point the flashlight to the campsite. You’re more aware of the life in Gravity Falls now; you know of the gnomes, the eyebats, the creatures who move in the dead of night who are, you think, moving with you even now. The familiar prickling feeling of being watched begins to scratch at the back of your neck, but when you glance behind your shoulder, only the darkness of the woods greets you.

A fluttering again, this time directly above you. You’re almost more hopeful than certain that you’re just hearing things, and instead of pointing the light to the sound, you motion toward your goal as best as you’re able to. You limp quickly, hearing the sound once more--closer, maybe just past your ear? You yelp in fear as your battered ankle gives way, falling into the plush grass mere feet from where you’re supposed to be sleeping. Pointing the flashlight up, you try to catch a glimpse of the thing that’s been chasing you, hoping to at least see the thing before it gets you.

Stan’s voice saying your name makes you jump from where you’re lying on the ground, whipping around to point the flashlight beam at him. He winces, blocking the light from his eyes as he moves closer to you. He must have been at least somewhat asleep, only in loose sweatpants, his hair mussed as it falls into his face. “Honey, what happened?” He asks, hurrying with his arms outstretched down to you. You’re trembling, but you hadn’t noticed, clutching close to the flashlight as you shake your head, Something was after me--i-it flies. I don’t know, you stammer, unable to get out one set sentence as his arms wrap around you. Stan lifts you easily, holding you to his chest as he looks up, trying to find the flying thing despite the dark.

“What’s going on--oh shit!” Ford’s voice calls, eyes following Stan’s gaze up just as your flashlight beam lands at the topmost branch of a tree. You feel the chest against you puff up, feeling Stan’s arms bracing around you as you hold your breath, too, looking up to try and find the source of the fluttering against your ears.

You spy the yellow eyes first, following them down to the large, feathery body of probably the biggest owl you’ve ever seen. Fuck, you whisper, all at once feeling foolish at the realization that it’s just… a common creature. Tears prick in your eyes, embarrassment and exhaustion melding into the response before you can stop yourself.

“Jesus, that damn thing--I thought I heard hootin’ somewhere in the woods, but...I dunno, I thought it’d be smaller,” Stan says, still holding you as he makes his way up the rest of the little hill that the campsite is situated on. “Even as big as this specimen may be, I don’t think it’s our offending creature at the Shack. Do you?” Ford’s voice asks you, and you shake your head, avoiding his gaze.

N-No, not at all. The tracks may be similar, but the ones back home are much bigger, you confirm, pointing the flashlight back down to watch the grass ahead. You realize that you haven’t put any weight back down onto your bad ankle, feeling the gentle brush of Stanley’s chest hair against your arm as he continues to hold you. You fight the urge to push out of his arms, especially when you feel your bottom lip wobble in protest to you trying not to cry.

You feel Stan shift his arms, the clearing of his throat echoing in his chest as he turns to face Ford. They seem to have some unspoken conversation about you while you’re pretending to ignore it altogether, and instead of listening, you hear the tree leaves rustle heavily overhead. The owl must have taken off.

“You poor dear,” Ford says, coming closer to where Stan stands with you in his arms. You’re not looking at either of them, waving Ford off with a little huff, I’m okay, it just scared me. I just need to crawl back into bed, today has b-been awful.

You bite into your trembling bottom lip, willing it still between your teeth as you give Stan a pat on his arm, signaling that you’d like to be put down. The brunet seems to understand, but hesitates, instead only slightly relaxing his grip of you. “Let’s get you back to your tent, then. You need the rest.” He soothes, taking a few steps in that direction. You give in, letting yourself be carried as you glance to see Ford (and now Fidds, who’d woken up sometime in the commotion) ducking into his own tent, rubbing at sleepy eyes and yawning all the same.

You don’t have to carry me, but thank you, you mumble quietly, stifling a sniffle as you rub your nose with the back of your hand. He shrugs, the motion shifting you as he pushes open the flaps of your tent, “No skin off my back, babe. Jus’ can’t risk you falling again. If you bust your head open, then I’ll only have these two assholes to deal with again, and I can’t let that happen.” Stan jokes, and despite your exhaustion it makes you smile, even if only a little bit. Still, the hot sting of tears wins out, and you’re only just able to wipe at your eye when the first one falls, just as Stan steps into the little tent with you. You feel him shift again to set you down, but he stops at the sound of a sniffle. “Hon, you alright?” He asks, and you can now hear the gravel that comes with sleep in his voice. You swear, you’ve never heard him be this tender, but it still sounds so familiar all the same.

Y-Yeah, you say, voice shakier than you want it to be, I just feel, uh...dumb, you laugh a little, and he frowns down at you, tilting his head to get a better look at you. You turn your head down slightly, still trying to hide under his attention, Thanks again for helping me. Again. The full situation washes over you in a wave, and you flush with your tears at the realization that he’s holding you to his chest--which would be embarrassing on its own, maybe, but he’s shirtless and you’re crying and, really, this isn’t a good look for you--

“Honey, y’gotta get outta that head sometimes,” He scolds gently, and you look up at him in confused surprise at his words. That almost makes him laugh, a little smile quirking at his lips as he guides you to your feet. “Careful,” He whispers, hands on your waist to keep you from putting too much weight on your bum ankle as you lower yourself to sit on your knees atop the blanket. You glance down, remembering the roll of toilet paper firmly tucked beneath your arm, and you toss the thing to the duffle bag, watching as it bounces off, and then lands haphazardly next to the thing.

“You had an iron grip on that thing, didn’t ya?” Stan asks, and you sniffle as you smile, After losing the flashlight the first time, I had to be sure to hold on tight.

It’s his turn to look at you with surprise, his little smile growing more genuine as he sits in the middle of the tent. He’s closer than he was when you ate together, but he isn’t imposing. He’s just...here. And that’s nice, you think.

“I’m not really the killjoy of this group, but you really should’ve said something before you left, toots. What if I wasn’t up, and you had to fight that thing all your own?” He asks, sleepy voice surprisingly a little stern. You glance over to him as you reach for your pillow, fluffing it idly before wiping a stray tear at your cheek. It’s your fault I had to go out, anyway, you argue lightly, sure his brow is quirked as soon as you say it, You’re the one who mentioned waterfalls.

“Aw, sorry, but you should know by now that I’m right about a lott’a things. It’s annoying as hell, I hear.” It is, you laugh with him, finally glancing up to meet his eye. You feel a little pitiful; foot and ego injured as you watch the kind man who both helped and hurt that cause.

Stan has this unreadable look in his eye, one you’re sure you’ve seen before, but it worries you all the same each time it happens. You glance down at your hands to avoid the shift in his gaze, but find yourself looking up again when he says your name like a quiet question, his brow furrowed at you with a tilt of his head.

“Are you doin’ okay? Today’s been...hell and a half for you, and I know you had t’be scared to death.” He reaches out, palm lying flat on the edge of the quilt beneath you, and though he leans to go with it, he doesn’t make any further move to touch you. You rub at your face with a sigh, pushing hair from your face as you start to nod.

I mean, the day wasn’t all bad, but...nearly falling however-many-feet down, and then being stalked by an owl weren’t the most fun parts, either, you admit, feeling the way your voice wavers when you do so. You shrug, smiling a little when you look at him now, and you try to ignore the way your heart pulls at his worried face, you do, but...with those amber eyes looking at you with such tender concern, you have to admit that it absolutely pulls, tugs, and twists at your heart. Damn him.

“I’d offer to take you back home, but I don’t think you’d like that. Plus, those two would get lost without you.” The brunet is careful in his word choice, something you appreciate. You reach to comfort him in the same way, reaching your hand out to lay atop his with a little rub of your thumb across the back of his hand, and his face softens a little when you reply, Absolutely they would, they don’t even know what kind of critter they’re going to face. Truthfully, neither did you, but you had theories. Though...somehow, you think, this isn’t the time to bring them up.

You can feel the energy between you shift before you see it, his palm turning upward to meet your own. The warmth of his fingers glides against your hand, fingertips curling just under yours to cup your hand with his own. He’s watching down at your joined hands, thumb brushing lightly against your four knuckles when he speaks again. “Are you, uhm...unhappy, that I keep trying to help you?” Stanley’s voice is soft as he asks the question, and you almost need him to repeat himself with the way your heart is hammering in your ears. When you don’t answer immediately, he continues, “I-I know that you’re strong. You’re very smart--well, no shit you’re smart, you’ve done all this for gods’ sakes--anyway,” He breathes, and you swear there’s a deeper color to his cheeks even in the dark here.

“I like helpin’ you. I’m not nearly as smart as you ‘n Fidds and Sixer, but I gotta be useful somehow. And you’re just, uh...easier to help, than the other two. You’re marginally less annoying, and...prettier, too.” Stan glances up then, his gaze searching through yours with an air of desperation. You can tell, there’s maybe more to be said, but his adam’s apple gives a decisive bob when he closes his mouth into a thin line. Whatever else there is to be said, it isn’t for tonight.

I don’t mind, you finally say, looking down at the way your fingers have folded nicely over his own. Your heart thuds against your chest, so loud in your own ears that you’re afraid you might shout these next words. You take extra care, then, to whisper them. I...may not like being helped, or I may get embarrassed or frustrated and run off sometimes, but...I do like you. And I don’t mind when you’re the one helping me.

You turn your wrist at an almost-uncomfortable angle to put the back of his hand upright without breaking his hold of your fingers, leaning forward just so to press a little peck to the back of his hand. Turning your hands back the right way, you look up to him, almost afraid of what his reaction may be. What if he laughs at you? Or finds you stupid, to think you could resist his charm? What if he stands now and leaves into the darkness of the wood to leave you alone and embarrassed and in need to explain the situation to your colleagues?

“Hey,” he whispers, and you realize that you’re so afraid of the what-ifs that you’ve almost missed his reaction entirely, though that’s the whole reason you looked. Stan’s face is certainly flushed, vibrant eyes forgoing their sleepiness as he looks at you with such entranced sincerity. For a moment, you think he’s forgotten what he wanted to say, but he interrupts that thought with a firm tug at your arm. Before you know it, you’re pulled off-kilter, leaning toward him, then closer, before you reach to catch yourself with your other palm against his chest.

His lips land on yours then, the gentle scratch of stubble against your face as you lean into him. This close, with your hand on his chest, you can feel the way his pulse mimics yours. You have half the mind to tease him, but the idea stutters out when the palm of his free hand slides up to cup your jaw. Stan holds you there as you kiss him, tasting just slightly of peanut butter and feeling so warm, your noses bumping together gently before he pulls back for a breath. You open your eyes to find him already looking at you, his gaze still sliding up from where he’d been looking at your mouth.

“Y-You’ve gotta get some rest, sweetheart,” He whispers, the newest petname settling itself very terrifically into the space carved into your heart by the last one, “We both should, uh...sleep.” You feel yourself nod, though you still lean into his touch against your face until he pulls it away. Stan bites into his bottom lip, clearing his throat as he pats your hand on his chest, and for once, you realize, the jokester is near speechless.

Moving your hand away from his body, he pulls your joined hands close to his face, pressing one last kiss there before his fingers release your own. Watching as he stands, Stanley pushes his hair from his face, rubbing gingerly at the back of his neck as he turns away from you and toward the exit. He stands there a moment, almost like he’s forgotten what he’d gotten up for in the first place. Though you aren’t exactly itching to kick him out, you smile as you give him the reminder.

Goodnight, Stanley, you whisper, and your heart does turns when he looks at you from over his shoulder. He’s brushing his fingertips against his lip subconsciously, the movement stalling when he meets your gaze. His dimple reappears for an instant, his smile at you wide and inviting.

“Goodnight, sweetheart. I’ll see ya, first thing in the morning.”

I’ll see you then, loverboy, you tease, giving him your first pet name. It doesn’t go unnoticed (for as not-smart as he claims he is, nothing goes unnoticed with this man), and he looks absolutely giddy when he leaves out the front flap of your tent. You think that you hear him trip and swear to himself, but he doesn’t return. The boys in the tent next door begin to murmur, and you suppose he’s found his way back in there when you hear his tell-tale laugh amongst the other voices.

You touch your own lips, reminding yourself of the feeling of his own there, and your heart goes racing again. You huff a little laugh of your own, shaking your head, and realizing you haven’t stopped smiling since that man left your tent. You settle into your quilt again, still exhausted, but much less tired than the last time you’d been here. Reaching under your pillow, you find your hardback journal once again, turning easily to the pages about Stanley once more. In one swift curl of cursive, you make an addition, just under your large declaration of Stan’s name at the top of the page.

AKA: Loverboy.

[ak47stylegirl]

Doctors Appointment: Chapter 9

Okay, we’re getting closer to the end here 😁 and yeah this chapter, Alan’s not having a good time. (so the same old, right? 😅😂)

I hope you guys enjoy! 😄

Past Chapters

@janetm74 @alexthefly @katblu42 @cg29 @inertplanetary @dragonoffantasyandreality

--

Scott sat crouched at the end of the parallel bars, watching as Alan tightly gripped the bars, braced legs trembling in place. Alan’s face was scrunched up in strained concentration, starring down at his feet. 

Alan hadn’t even taken a step yet, and his legs looked like they wanted to cave in. 

“Alan, I want you to walk towards your brother, okay?” Dr Suzzy as she stood within catching distance of Alan. “Now remember, it’s not a race, just go at the pace that you’re comfortable with...”

Alan nodded with a whimper, taking a shaky step forward. The first couple steps, while definitely shaky, were actually not that bad. But it quickly went down hill from there. 

Dr Suzzy’s eyes were analysing how Alan’s legs and feet behaved, watching each step Alan took. And she didn’t like what she saw...

“Come on Sweetie, you can do it...” Scott smiled encouraging, holding his hands for Alan to grasp once he got closer. “You’re doing so well, just a couple more, come on...”

Alan whimpered tearfully, disagreeing with Scott. He wasn’t doing well or good or...or okay?! This was so hard!!

But Alan continued his slow uneasy walk, not wanting to disappoint his big brother. 

But it was just so, so hard….

Dr Suzzy sighed at the sight, watching as Alan’s feet kept tilting slightly to the side. Which brought with it less stability, risk of injury and more overall difficultly walking.

In a healthy ankle joint, there would be some resistance from the muscles against bending the wrong way. But Alan’s joints were far from healthy, lacking vital muscle/cartilage that were crucial to a properly functioning joint. 

Alan’s braces were designed to give extra Alan that much needed support, and reduced the risk of injury. But they could only help so much...

“Almost there...just one more step, that’s it...” Scott smiled softly as Alan fell into his embrace, gently kissing Alan’s temple as he held his baby brother. “See, I told you, you could do it...” 

Alan just groaned, hiding his face in Scott’s neck. 

Dr Suzzy sighed, taking some notes down on her phone. It was plain to see that Alan had trouble controlling his limbs. Alan’s dexterity with both his limbs, arms and legs, were greatly affected by his chronic illness. 

Which in turn greatly affected Alan’s mobility and independence.  

Another then that was concerning Dr Suzzy, was the way Alan’s knees had been involuntarily leaning inwards, struggling to support Alan even with the help of the braces. 

It wasn’t a good sign. 

Dr Suzzy slipped her phone away, “Okay, let’s see if we can fix some of these difficulties you’re having….” 

—

“Okay, let’s move on to some balance exercises, shall we?” Dr Suzzy smiled, helping Alan move into a kneeling position on the foam mat. “We remember this one, right?”

Alan shrugged, pouting grumpily.

Scott was sitting on the mat, observing the exercise session in front of him. It was going okay so far, but…

But something worried Scott. 

Alan had been getting more and more snappy and temperamental as time wore on. Scott had a feeling they could be heading straight for a meltdown...

Dr Suzzy ignored Alan’s grumpy mood, “Okay then, quick refresher, this is the high kneel..” Alan’s back was gently straightened, his body making a L shape. 

Alan’s arms shot out to try and support himself-

“No…” Dr Suzzy gently moved Alan’s arms back, while supporting Alan’s torso with her remaining forearm. “Keep your arms and back as straight as you can, Alan.”

Alan’s pout deepened, glaring down at the floor as he listened, keeping his arms to his side. 

Alan was really struggling to keep his back straight. 

Dr Suzzy moved her forearm away, “I need you to balance as well as you can, for as long as you can, okay?” 

Alan nodded weakly, visible strain on his face as he tried to keep the kneeled position. There was no outside support, just Alan trying to balance the best he could.

It wasn’t easy…

“Okay, try not to sway….” Dr Suzzy corrected Alan, gently, nudging Alan’s back straight again. “And butt in, try to stay as straight as you can…”

Alan’s eyes narrowed, pout deepening more.

Scott could see he had to step in, “You’re doing so good, Allie-baby….” Scott smiled encouragingly, not even flinching as Alan’s grumpy eyes were turned on him. “You can do it….”

The next couple of minutes passed slowly for Alan, Dr Suzzy steadily having him do more things while in the kneeled position. 

Like reaching for a ball in front of him, then stacking foam blocks, Alan was doing modestly okay, but the strain was obvious…

Dr Suzzy pick up a foam ball, “Okay, now I want you to try and catch-”

“NO!” 

Alan crumbled to the floor, his face flushed red as tears streamed down his face. “N-No! I DoN’T WaNT-”

Everything had finally become too much for Alan.

Alan wailed, “I DoN’T WAnT To!!” Alan kicked his legs about weakly, digging his fists into his eyes. “I DoN’t WANT To!!” 

Scott sighed, moving over to Alan’s crying form. This was not the first time Scott had to handle a meltdown. From Alan or another little brother, the skill came with the role of big brother. 

But generally with Alan’s age, Scott had to deal with Alan’s meltdowns more often then any other of his brothers. (There was also the fact that with Alan, Mum wasn’t around and Dad...well, yeah...)

And those meltdowns?

They had unfortunately become quite frequent since Alan’s diagnosis. Alan’s young brain was under so much mental stress, and Allie just didn’t know how to handle it.

Scott placed his hand on Alan’s shoulder. 

“Sweetie-“ 

“No!” Alan shook Scott’s hand off, shaking his head back and forth as he continued bawling his eyes out on the mat. “I Don’T wANNA!” 

Scott frowned softly, knowing that Alan wasn’t intentionally doing this. Alan was just overwhelmed and at his breaking point…

But it was difficult not to begin feeling a little frustrated. 

Why won’t Alan let him talk? He was trying to help...

“Alan…” Dr Suzzy crouched down next to Alan, a caring and calm expression on her face. “What can I do to make this easier for you?” 

Alan’s tear-filled eyes looked up at Dr Suzzy, “I…I WAnNa Go HOmE!” Alan wailed, burying his face into his arms as sobs continued to shake Alan’s small frame. 

Dr Suzzy sighed softly, realising that she’ll need to try another method. 

“I WAnNa Go hOME! I WaNNa gO HoME!!” 

Scott gently pulled Alan onto his lap with a patient sigh, “Baby, I know you want to go home...I do...” Scott wrapped Alan up in a gentle embrace, cradling and rocking Alan ever so gently. “But that’s just not possible yet….” 

Alan just continued to sob, constantly crying, ‘I wanna go home! I wanna go home!’ into the crook of Scott’s neck. Scott grimaced slightly as his ears began to hurt from Alan’s cries. 

Ow, Alan really had a pair of lungs on him...

“Hey, Alan, look! I got someone that’s very excited to meet you….” Dr Suzzy smiled, crouching down in front of them again; holding a stuffed bunny in her hands. “Mr Rabbit!”

Alan glanced up with a thick sniffle, tears still streaming down his cheeks. 

“Mr Rabbit is sad that you’re upset..” Dr Suzzy made a sad face, making the bunny nod with a shake. “Do you want to give him a cuddle?” 

Alan nodded tearfully, arms reaching out for the cuddly toy. While Alan would have preferred his Thunderbird plushie, he wasn’t in the mood right now to be choosy…

Scott sighed, looking down at Alan with a sorrow-filled look, stroking his baby brother’s hair. Alan was still crying but thankfully for Scott’s eardrums, the loud screaming and wailing had stopped. 

“Why don’t you take a little break with Mr Rabbit here?” Dr Suzzy suggested softly, “and after, if you’re feeling better, we can continue….” 

Dr Suzzy gave Alan a slight smile, “Is that okay with you, Alan?” 

Alan sniffled into the bunny’s fur, thinking the question over. He really just wants to go home, so badly…

But he couldn’t!

“Y-yeah…” Alan nodded with a sob, snuggling deeper into Scott’s hold while cuddling the bunny close. He just wanted to go home…was that too much to ask?!

He was tired, he didn’t feel well...

Alan hiccupped, hiding his face in the bunny’s fur. 

He just...he wanted home...

TBC...

[heyitsyn]

Enough

a/n: your sensei has come bearing gifts!!! hope you like my gift and happy 100 follower milestone everyone!!!! thank you for the ultimate support and love you’ve given me despite being only in this writer community for only about a week!! i hope to share more milestones w yall and hopefully more stories!!! byeeee

oikawa tooru x reader

(this is the full and last part of the oikawa angst)

Strangers.

That’s all you were.

Years of memories that were created before you could even walk, gone and forgotten for a relationship that didn’t even last a year.

Your parents have stopped asking for you both to interact during dinner, eventually getting used to you both not showing up to joint family meals, and there were no longer interactions shared for the next 3 years.

Until that fateful phone call.

It was about 2 in the morning and you were woken up by the loud and strong vibration from your phone that laid on top of your pillow beside you. You groaned at being woken up at such an ungodly hour on a school day so you didn’t budge and went back to sleep. But it continued for how many times and you made an irritated noise before finally opening your eyes and snatching it up to shout at who was calling you so early and why they needed you so badly.

“Hajime, I swear-”

“y/n, thank God,” he breathed out. “I know, I know, Tooru, she answered and I’m talking to her right now. You’ll be okay, alright? Here, just squeeze my hand.”

There was a bad feeling in your gut and when you heard him talking to, apparently, Tooru, you were already putting on some sweatpants and a sweatshirt over your sleeping shirt before running downstairs to get your shoes and almost ripping the fridge door to get ice packs on both hands.

“Hajime, it’s his knee, right?” You asked urgently, rummaging through the closet to get your emergency bag.

You had a sigh of relief when you found the old thing and bolted out of the house.

“H-How-”

“Practice match with Karasuno. I saw it. So, what’s wrong?”

“The shitty bastard called me because he was hurt and he couldn’t move since he messed up his knee and ankle.”

“Seijoh gym, right?” 

Then there was a cry in the background.

“Yes. Now, please hurry, y/n. I know, Bakakawa! I’m telling her to hurry-!”

But you ended the call, focusing on biking faster, as fast as you could, because the longer he was hurt without medical attention, the riskier and bigger consequences were going to happen. His injuries were no surprise to you but hearing that pained shout from the other line got you to jump into action, regardless your feelings or your past.

Your bike was carelessly dumped to the side as you ran all the way to where you could hope was the gym building and you sighed in relief when you saw the bright light and the buff body of Iwaizumi Hajime pacing at the front.

“Haji!” You shouted and his eyebrows reduced from its intense furrowing before pointing behind him.

“I was already on my way to check on him when he called about being hurt but I had no ice or meds. You were my only option.”

There laid, Oikawa Tooru, clutching his ankle and knee with tears streaming down his face and his eyes tightly shut to block out anything from his sight.

Your knees slid across the floor as you quickly went to his side before you gently pried his hands from clutching his right knee and his ankle.

“Tooru,” you softly called out. His eyes flew open at your voice and his face crumpled up as a sob ripped through his throat and echoed through the gym. “It’s okay. I’m here now, it’s okay.”

You kept mumbling those words as you took off your sweatshirt and bundled it up so he could rest his knee on it. Iwa offered his jacket to elevate his ankle and you were hurriedly placing ice packs on his injured parts to prevent the bleeding in his tissues while taking out elastic tape so you could compress his ankle and knee.

“Tooru, listen to me, I know it hurts right now and I know you’re in so much pain but I need you to be strong okay? I know you hate taking pills but you need to be brave and take these so that the pain will be gone. They’re tiny little things so it won’t be hard but I’ll hold you as you take them, alright?”

Oikawa could barely register what you were saying as he was just focusing on your voice and the way your lips move.

God, has it been so long since you’ve last spoken a word to him that he completely forgot how your lips looked like as you pronounced each sound?

Only when you sat behind him and pulled him to your chest did he figure out what was happening. Iwaizumi forcefully shoved a bottle of water and gave him two white pain medicine pills.

He looked back at you to protest but once he saw your gentle smile did he breathe harshly before taking both pills at the same time and chugging down the water. You were about to scold him with the harm of taking more than one pill but quieted down when he made a hissing sound after he finished drinking.

“Breathe in and out,” you soothed.

He coughed and grimaced when it throbbed again. “But it hurts!”

Your brain began to race a thousand miles an hour to try and figure out a way for him to calm down but you were so worried that you couldn’t come up with anything. Then it struck you.

You haven’t done this in years due to the lack of interaction but this has worked every time he had a panic attack. By the looks of this, he was on his way to another one.

“Tooru, give me your hand, okay?” You laid out yours, only for him to shakily put his hand on top of it. 

You turned it over so his palm was up and your other arm wrapped around him so you could reach his hand. Then you began tracing.

“Star!”

“Cloud!”

“Moon!”

He shouted every answer as you drew shapes into his tan skin and you proceeded into using simple addition problems to get his mind off of the pain and into something more practical like numbers.

“4!”

“18!”

“26!”

Iwaizumi watched in amazement as you were able to keep Tooru from jumping over the edge by simply writing characters on his palm and his olive eyes only widened as his best friend reduced the volume of his voice into whispers.

“Monkey.”

“Turtle.”

“Bread.”

“Milk.”

“Tree.”

Then he fell asleep.

The poor thing must’ve exhausted himself from training and the pain and crying.

His slump form remained against you and you tightened your hold around him, your own tears finally falling.

“I was so afraid this would happen,” you whispered out, noticing Iwa’s worried stare at you. “When he started this bullshit in middle school, all this obsessive behavior for defeating that dastardly Ushijima, I was so scared he would break himself. And he did.”

You choked out a sob.

“Haji, he hit me, did you know that?” You whimpered, not wanting to see his reaction with the thought of his best friend hitting the girl he has been crying and whining about for years. “Actually, he was about to hit Tobio but I pushed him away and took it instead because I was responsible for him as his manager.”

The words continued to spill out and you didn’t give a damn that you were spilling this out on your ex-boyfriend/best friend’s best friend.

“He felt so inferior to everyone, against Tobio for his genius ability, against Ushijima for being able to beat him for years, everyone. And there was nothing I could to prevent him from feeling so.” Iwa has now sat on the floor, noticing the melting ice pack which was making water roll down the bag. 

“Instead, I was selfish and complained about not spending time with him because he was so obsessed with volleyball. For winning. But I really think I let go because I didn’t want to see him in any more pain. I didn’t want to see him torture himself anymore.”

Your fingers swept through Tooru’s damp forehead to push back the hair that stuck on the skin from his sweat.

“Then when he told me that I was actually a distraction and that he didn’t need me anymore, I saw it as the perfect opportunity. So I took it. And dammit, I feel so horrible. I will forever regret that I couldn’t help him and cut off all contact just because I was scared of what would happen next. Don’t you see, Iwa? I did this to him. This is my fault. All because I wasn’t there to stop him.”

Your tired, sad eyes finally met Hajime’s surprised olive ones.

“I wanted to talk, to rekindle at least friendship. But I knew that once I do, I’ll fall in love all over again and I’d be forced to watch him break and kill himself just for a damn trip to Tokyo. To hell with that. So I stayed away. I called him selfish but you see, I was the selfish one. It just sucks that I was able to realize it once it was too late.”

“Patellar Tendonitis.”

A normal person would’ve been confused with those words if it was directed at them but you knew what they meant, knowing they were directed towards the boy in your arms.

“Messed it up during training camp over the summer. Then his ankle got sprained. Shit went down from there.”

Your entire body trembled at the pain and suffering this boy went through and your tears flowed faster as he was so desperate for everyone’s approval that he covered it up with a smile and continued practicing.

Oh what a peculiar boy Tooru is.

“I shouldn’t have come-”

“No, you needed to.” Iwa cut you off. “For three years, he’s done nothing but mope around and cry for a girl he broke up with in middle school. During an age where you don’t even know what the hell love is, he sure got a pretty solid definition of that. And that definition, is you.”

“Iwa, you’re making me cry more!” You whined and brokenly laughed.

“It’s true,” he reasoned while leaning on his hands behind him. “This might sound creepy but he checks whenever your bedroom light is off at a certain time so he was sure you’d be able to sleep enough. If not, he secretly complains to your mother and she tells you to stop studying, right?”

You mutedly nodded, shocked at what you were hearing.

Was all that really true?

Has he been doing this since first year and throughout now?

“And this makes me feel more like shit.” Your voice cracked. “I want to just graduate and forget about this idiot and live my life. But I just can’t! Not when he’s doing this to himself.”

Iwa sighed, annoyed at his best friends’ stupid dilemma. “You know what, this thing Shittykawa is doing to himself, it’s always going to be like this. I’m sorry, y/n, but this is going to be our reality for the next few years. He’s already got his sights on playing professionally and that means more training for him to feel like he’s on the same level as those foreign players. But you need to accept him for that.” He chuckled and ran his hands through his spiky hair. “It took me a long time to accept it but he’s always going to be this shitty person who will continue to break himself just to earn a single point in a match. But to him, it’s worth it, right? As much as he pisses me the hell off, he’s still my friend and I’d just have to continuously check in on him and make sure he’s still able to walk.”

Wow, that was the last thing you would happen. Iwaizumi Hajime talking about Oikawa Tooru, the boy he always punched and threw around, with such pride in his voice.

“Just remember that, kay?”

It was a silent walk back home as you carried the boys’ and your bags while Iwa had the unconscious Oikawa on his back. Upon reaching his front door, you realized it was locked and you knew if his mother found you at the dead of morning, she’d give him an earful and that was the last thing you needed. So you offered your place, instead, taking his sleeping body straight to your room.

“Go home, Haji. He’s not going to school tomorrow so you can come over and keep him company so you don’t miss him too much,” you teased.

He grunted quietly before ruffling your head. “Like hell I would. But remember what I said, y/n. Don’t expect a change. Just accept what you have right now.”

When he finally left, you sat on the floor beside your bed, holding the hand of the currently wincing Tooru. He was having a nightmare and if you could guess, it was probably him being beaten by Shiratorizawa in a game.

“Look at me, years later from ignoring you, letting you sleep on my bed and trying to accept you. I’m truly pathetic, right, Tooru?” You whispered, leaning against his hand which was encased on your own. “During the practice match, you said you were being unfair, right? Well, I’m the one not being fair. After causing you years of confusion and pain, a mere few hours has caused me to accept you all over again.”

“Why?” His groggy voice startled you and made your grip loosen but he snatched it back up, squeezing it. “Why now?”

Your face twisted as new tears would emerge and you gave him a sad smile, “Because I just realized something. I realized that you, Oikawa Tooru, deserve to be loved. Just as you are.”

A sleepy smile appeared on his beautifully child-like face, “I’m glad.”

When you fell for him, you expected him to catch you or at least help you up. But no hand reached out for you. Then you realized that Tooru fell and landed the exact same time as you did so there was no way he would’ve been able to catch you or help you.

“Breathing the same air, in the same space, is enough to fall in love. I realized that it’s enough, actually more than enough.”

Despite just waking up, he was now able to fully process what you said and with the pain of his injuries and the lack of sleep, he was overly emotional and cursed as he started sobbing and crying.

You were finally going to take him back. You were finally going to be his again.

Your eyes softened at this and you delicately held his face in your hands, cupping it so he could look at you and boy, did his heart do a weird jump kick.

Your eyes were so warm, so full of love, that he felt naked under your gaze.

No cover, no mask, just love.

And it is enough.

“I will always regret those three years, Oikawa Tooru. But if you’d let me, I’ll willingly and diligently spend the rest of my lifetime making it up to you and helping you stand whenever you fall.”

He playfully glared at you then opened his arms for a hug, which you immediately accepted.

“You already gave your entire life to me once you promised to fall in love with me forever, baka.” You cringed at the nudge of his finger on your forehead but you smiled at him.

“I was, like, 10, Tooru.”

“But right at this exact spot, I started to fall for you and I knew there would be no one else that I’d love.”

“I’m still angry that you wanted to hit Tobio but I will have to punish you once you do something like that again, right?” 

“Hah?! Stop talking about Tobio, y/n-chan!”

“He was a literal baby, Tooru. Actually, if you try and hit any of your underclassmen, I’ll hit you. And there would be no milk bread for a month.”

“HAH?! MILK BREAD?! NO FAIR, Y/N-CHAN!”

“hm? But it’s totally fair, though?”

…

In the end the author completely lied regarding a sentence from earlier.

Actually a few sentences, but that’s besides the point.

There was no ending, no final farewells, just happy beginnings and hopes for the future with a few bags of milk bread.

Because years later, those same exact words were written on a different photograph. However, there wasn’t that much of a difference because it still held a smiling and happy family. But this time, it was you and Tooru, just with an additional baby boy and baby girl.

a/n: i teased you guys too much and im so sorry!!!! but i couldnt resist not giving them a happy ending and i was getting a lot of asks for at least a part 2 so i do what the people wants!!!! now i think i might take a day or two for a break but idk i might end up posting something tomorrow probably

[yuzusorbet]

Kikuchi-san’s book, partial translations

Akira Kikuchi is the trainer who accompanied Yuzu to many competitions in the past.  Since elementary school days, Yuzu has gone to his clinic in Sendai for therapy sessions after skate practice.  Last year (2019), Kikuchi-san published a book titled 'Strongly, beautifully, 30 Methods to train' (my translation from the Japanese title).   I read a Chinese translation of some parts.  Very interesting to see things from his perspective, and quite touching too, so I decided to translate them to share.  Not ideal to translate from another translation but I don't have the book, and usually Chinese fans' translations are pretty reliable. 

  *paraphrased means I summarised a few lines there.   *more info means I added notes for myself, and it's not from the book.

Chapter 1, part 5.  The muscles that were forged after the earthquake.

He became the World Junior champion, and also started school at Tohoku High School,  and at the age of 15, Yuzuru made his debut in senior level competition.  His 1st competition was Season 2010-11 NHK Trophy in Oct where he landed his 1st quad jump in competition and was in 4th place.   2010 Nov was Cup of Russia in Moscow, where he placed 7th. (more info: Japan nationals in Dec, he placed 4th.  Then 4CC in Feb 2011, he placed 2nd.)

At the end of his first senior season, the Great East Japan Earthquake happened.  (March 2011)

When the earthquake occurred, I was working, seeing 4 patients.  My home and clinic felt the shaking but were not damaged due to being on higher ground.  But very quickly, the electricity, water and gas were cut off.

[paraphrased:  Everyone was worried but preferred to stay on.]   I continued treating the 4 patients.  When they left, I closed the clinic temporarily.

Soon, people whose homes were washed away in the tsunami or destroyed by the quake took refuge in nearby sports halls.  When I heard about this, I brought a simple bed into the sports halls and did massages for the  people there.  That was how I spent each day.

The reason I did this was because I thought of my father that night after the earthquake.  He was a policeman and was very strict with himself.   He was upright and always thinking of the safety of others.  He lived his life for others and he is the man that I most respect.  If father was here, he would definitely go to the evacuation centres to do his best to help......

Giving a massage to people at the centre, I was just doing the only thing I could do.

Yuzuru also went through some hard days.

On the day of the earthquake, he went to his usual training rink 'Ice Rink Sendai' after school.   It was at the rink that he experienced the "shindo 6"  earthquake.  (More info: shindo 7 is the highest.  See this: robintlewis/what-is-the-japanese-seismic-intensity-shindo-scale.   On the Richter scale, this is a magnitude 9 earthquake.)

That child felt the strong shaking and I heard that he rushed out of the building wearing his skate boots.  Next to life itself, the most precious thing is his skates.  Figure skaters always put skate guards on the blades when they leave the ice, they would never let the blades be exposed.  Rushing out without his skate guards, he must have been very scared.

Staying 4 days in the gym of a school which served as an evacuation centre, he seriously thought about whether he should give up figure skating.

It was also figure skating that made him pull himself together.

His home rink was damaged in the quake and he lost his usual training place. His coach during elementary school days, Tsuzuki Shoichiro, inquired about him.  Tsuzuki-sensei is the one who gave Yuzuru his foundation in figure skating.  Before the quake, he was coaching at a rink in Yokohama.

Subsequently, Yuzuru went to Tsuzuki-sensei's rink to train.

About half a year after the quake, around October, Yuzuru who had returned to Sendai came to my clinic.  He told me about what he had been doing.

During that period, he was participating in commercial ice shows and earthquake charity ice shows all over Japan;  I knew about this.  "For the people affected by the disaster, I want to give them some encouragement," I had read his interviews in the newspapers.  In the 5 months after the earthquake, he skated in 60 ice shows throughout the  country.  "I hope that my activities can become strength for the victims"-- to have this thought, he must have pulled himself together.

"When I participated in ice shows, I could do some training if I arrived early at the venue, and the intervals between shows also became my own training time," said Yuzuru, looking straight into my eyes.  (more info: usually there are a few shows at one venue, eg. 3 shows spread over the weekend)

After such an unprecedented earthquake disaster, what had Yuzuru learned, mentally how had he changed, all these I was not sure.  But the moment I touched his leg muscles, I immediately felt his efforts and I almost cried.

Since elementary school, I had been seeing him almost everyday.  Even a small change in his body I would know.

The muscles forged after the earthquake told of days filled with harsh figure skate training, day after day.

Skating in ice shows "for the disaster areas", and practising fervently in between shows.  During the performances, he must have also put in all his efforts so as to "convey something to the people".

Moreover, the muscles developed after the quake were not only those used for jumping, they were also those for bearing the impact of landing.

Landing on the ice after a jump, the impact on the body can be a few hundred times the skater's weight.  To withstand such an impact, the muscles around the knees, the gastrocnemius muscles in the calf and the tibialis anterior muscles must be sufficiently trained.  If these parts are not strengthened, injury will happen easily.

In a short period of half a year, those muscles grew to such an extent.   How much jump practice did he do after the earthquake.  Falling down countless times and getting up again.  How on earth did he train to develop muscles like that.

Yuzuru's leg muscles are different from other athletes that come to my clinic. His muscles were not developed by specialised muscle training but were formed naturally though figure skating practice.  In other words, they are muscles that grew only for figure skating.

Until now, that child still mentions that he "does not know how to ride a bicycle".  In my opinion, I think it is because he does not want to develop muscles except those needed for figure skating.

The muscles used for cycling are the same as those for speed skating.  Speed skaters have cycling in summer training;  bulging leg muscles are necessary for them.For figure skaters, if muscles become big and bulging, the weight can be a hindrance to jumping.  But still, strong muscles are needed to do quad jumps and to bear the impact of landing. [paraphrased]

Yuzuru overcame the earthquake disaster and developed muscles for jumping quads and for bearing the landing impact in a good balance.

Those well-trained leg muscles are the external manifestation of his experience of the Great East Japan Earthquake and his determination to fight as a top skater.

- translated by me from this Chinese translation: weibo

-----------------------

Chapter 1, part 6. Overcoming pain in the hip joint

The first time I went along with Yuzuru in the team for a competition was in his 2nd year of senior level, the November 2011 Rostelecom Cup (Russia) in the Grand Prix series.  Traveling with a team to an international competition as a trainer, it was the first time for me.  Not only that, it was also my first time watching a figure skating competition up close.  What a disgraceful old man. Almost everyday I listened to Yuzuru talk about all things related to figure skating but I had never watched his competitions live at the venue.

I saw Yuzuru only at my clinic, diagnosing leg problems, applying tape to stabilise ankles, this kind of interactions, the relationship of a therapist and a patient, I felt this was enough.

I had the role of a 'sports trainer' before, but not for professional  athletes. Supporting local high school and junior high students, I was already very content.  I had served as 'team trainer' for the swimming, baseball, and track and field teams of Tohoku High and Junior High Schools where sports is very popular, and went with the athletes for competitions.

Once these children graduated, the relationship between trainer and athlete would end.  Those who wanted to continue their sports career, some would leave Sendai, some would get a professional trainer to guide them.

"Rostelecom Cup is going to start, Sensei, can you go together with me as my trainer?" Yuzuru asked me.  I answered in a relaxed manner, "Oh, alright."​

As an athlete, Yuzuru was steadily rising.

"Whether it's an international competition or the Olympics, let me be your trainer and take me along!"  This was what I said to him jokingly when he was in elementary school grade 4;  I don't know if he still remembers it.  But this kind of joke has really come true now, so I was actually feeling rather emotional.

This was also like a commendation from Yuzuru for the treatment he had received so far.  "Well, it's just doing the physiotherapy in Russia instead of the usual place in my clinic," this was how I thought at that time.

However, at that Rostelecom Cup, at the official practice, Yuzuru injured his hip joint (the joint between hip bone and thigh bone).

The injury was treated by a trainer sent specially by Japan Skate Federation.   I was just Yuzuru's private trainer.

I understood the situation fully when we were back in his hotel room.  The treatment for the injury had ended but the pain was still there.  I was very sure that it was not suitable for him to do more skating.  Even walking would be painful.

"In this situation, it's better to withdraw (from competition), isn't it?"   When he heard this, he said with absolute certainty, "Whatever happens, I will compete in Rostelecom Cup."  Actually for this competition, Yuzuru must win first place in order to qualify for the Grand Prix Final which is for only the top 6 skaters of the GP series.  He wanted to compete, no matter what.

From that moment, I felt for the first time that I have "joined forces with an extraordinary world".  Yuzuru was so focused on the competition, "want to compete", "want to win", these desires were way above any pain.  As a therapist, of course my advice was to withdraw.  But as a trainer, I had to respond to such intense wishes of the athlete.

All I could do was to take care of his hip joint.  I also taped his ankle, and then sent him off to compete.  I knew the pain of the injury was still there.

But, Yuzuru, he did it....... short programme and free skating both were ranked 2nd, but his total score of 241.66 was higher than other strong rivals like Javier Fernandez and Jeremy Abbott, and he achieved his first victory in the GP series.

At that moment, witnessing it with my own eyes, I was crying.  Even though he received treatment, his hip joint injury was quite serious.  Any jump would be very painful, especially when landing, he would feel severe  pain.  In spite of this, for the free skate, he made a mistake only for the quad jump, the other 7 jumps were all successful.

For the first time, I realised it was such a cruel world that Yuzuru was fighting in.​

In the spectator stands were many Japanese ladies and they were looking at me with a surprised expression "why is this old grandpa crying so much??"  But it did not matter anymore, I did not care how others were looking at me, I was crying my heart out.  I was so happy..... really so happy.

That Rostelecom Cup was my first experience as a trainer stepping into the figure skating world.

After this, I did not accompany Yuzuru to any more competitions.  I stayed in my clinic treating patients, and sometimes I would treat Yuzuru who came back from travels.

​After Rostelecom Cup, Yuzuru rose rapidly at an astonishing speed.

For the GP Final, he was 4th, then at 2011-12 World Championships, it was his first time at Worlds and he achieved 3rd place.  At the age of 17 years and 3 months, he broke the record for the youngest World Championship medalist in Japanese figure skating men's history and ascended to the podium.

Then, from April 2012, Yuzuru moved his training base from Sendai to Toronto, Canada.​

Before he had overseas competitions, I saw him almost everyday at my clinic.​ We had been together for the past 10 years.  So I would miss him quite a lot.

But it's for becoming stronger that he went to Canada.  For greater improvement in figure skating, he made the decision to move to Toronto.  He has already "graduated" from my place here.

"Sensei, I'm going off!"​

And just like each overseas trip, Yuzuru set off from Sendai, and started on another journey.

- translated by me from this Chinese translation: weibo

This is the book on Amazon Japan: https://www.amazon.co.jp/

(I will share parts from Chapter 2 soon.)

[chibsytelford]

3 is the perfect number

Jax Teller x Chibs Telford x Reader.

Authors note - so myself and @rebel-without-cause-x​ wrote this together. We were just thirsting over our men, which turned into this fic. Sorry not sorry.

Words = 2263

Warning = mentions of smoking weed, sex, some swearing.

Taglist = @agirllovespasta​ @everyhowlmarksthedead​ @naytraydr​

Saturday night only meant one thing, getting drunk, high or laid. Or even all three.

 “Girl, are you ready yet?” Lyla shouted upstairs. 

 “Gimme 5” you laughed as you shook your hair out before slipping on your Timberlands. 

 You and Lyla were an odd combination, she was quite girly and you were the complete opposite. But somehow you were like peas in a pod. 

 “I will leave without you” she laughed. 

“God I’m coming” you laughed back taking one final look in the mirror, smirking at your appearance. Your cut off Nirvana shirt gave a glimpse of your cherry red lace bra and your shorts were cheeky. 

 Running down the stairs you heard Lyla whistle at you. 

 “Damn girl, someone is planning on getting laid tonight” she smirked. 

 “Too right, it’s been a hot minute” you sighed. You had recently come out of a very toxic relationship and now it was only about having fun. “Now let’s go because I’m gonna die if I don’t drink something alcoholic soon”.

 “Always the dramatic one” she chuckled as she locked up. 

 You and Lyla headed into the Sons clubhouse where the party was in full swing. The bar was the first stop of the night. You flashed a flirty smile to the guy manning the bar and ordered 4 shots and 2 vodka and cokes. 

 “Cheers” you both giggled in unison, as you clinked the glasses together. The music was loud, the air was filled with the smell of weed. This was your kind of party. Slamming the glass down on the bar you and Lyla headed to dance in the middle of the floor. 

 As you swayed your hips seductively to the beat of the music you noticed more than one person had their eye on you. There was two people to be exact, and you knew them really well. Jax Teller and Chibs Telford. 

 A small smirk appeared on your face as an idea popped into your head, you just didn’t know if the boys would be up for it but you definitely were. The music changed and was more of an up beat tempo. Your hips gracefully moved to the beat as you winked at Lyla, dropping to the floor pushing your knees out, before bouncing back up and popping your bum out. 

 If it wasn’t obvious you had gained the attention from Jax and Chibs, it definitely was now, as they stared at you open mouthed.

 “I need another drink” you laughed as you ran your hands through your hair. Every action you did had a bit more effort in order to drive two boys insane. Slinking over the bar you winked at Chibs before leaning against the cool wood and ordered a glass of whisky. 

 “You gonna share that joint or what” you giggled holding your hand out to Jax. 

 “Lass ye surprise me every day” Chibs smirked placing his hand on the base of your back, and the flash of jealousy in Jax’s blue eyes didn’t go unnoticed. 

 Jax slammed the joint in your hand and you took a drag. You smirked, knowing full well that the blond haired, blue eyed man didn’t like the fact Chibs was touching you. 

 “Brother, can you grab me a beer?” Jax asked Chibs, and swiftly moved closer to you as the other man went off to find Jax a beer. 

 “What, do you want to touch me too?” You teased Jax. 

 The man didn’t waste any time and pulled you flush against him. Your chests were now touching. 

 “You knew fine well what you were doing, dancing like that” he growled ever so softly in your ear. 

 “I was only dancing” you giggled whilst innocently biting down on your bottom lip. 

 “Yeah, just dancing” he nodded running his tongue over his bottom lip as he took the joint out of your fingers. 

 Soon enough Chibs returned, standing behind you with his chest pressed against your back, he passed the beer over your shoulder to Jax before resting his hand on your hip. You were well and truly sandwiched between the two guys. 

 “Wanna dance Chibs?” you smirked, tilting your head to look up at him. 

 “With you lass, I’d do anything” he grinned squeezing your hip. 

 You knew before you started this master plan the chase would be fun, but now you were putting the plan in place it was hotter than you thought, having two guys getting jealous at the other ignited something in your core and you didn’t know how long you could keep it up. 

 You grabbed Chibs’ hand and dragged him to the middle of the floor. As you did that, you looked back to see Jax giving you both daggers. You waggled your finger at him in a ‘come here’ motion and he put down his beer and padded over. 

 At this point Lyla was dancing with her old man Opie not too far from you. You had Jax behind you, and Chibs in front, and god it felt good. The heat radiating from them both made you tie a bow at the front of your shirt, showing off even more of your red lace bra. 

 Jax put his hands on your hips, and Chibs held your shoulders and you held his. You shuddered at the sudden touches, you grinded against Jax, making sure not to leave Chibs out, by running your hands up and down his arms. The 3 of you completely lost in the middle of the floor. 

 “I think you are paying Jackie boy a bit too much attention lass” Chibs whispered huskily in your ear. 

 “We can’t have that now can we” you giggled as you spun around so Chibs was now behind you. Even from the loud music you hear the almost animalistic growl that left his lips as your ass ground against his groin. Jax’s eyes were completely hazed over, partly from the buzz from the joint and partly from lust. 

 “Red suits you baby” Jax winked as his fingers ran just under the material causing a breath to get caught in your throat. 

 Soon enough the song came to an end, and you were starting to get breathless from the dancing and the heat that was radiating from the boys. Lyla walked passed you rolling her eyes at the fact that you had both the president and Vice President of the club practically fighting for your attention.

 “Darlin you are gonna have to choose who you want because you are driving me crazy” Jax breathed in your ear nipping it softly. 

 “Actually I don’t have to choose” you giggled. 

 Both men stared at you dumbfounded. 

 “What are you saying?” Chibs asked as he manoeuvred you back over towards the bar where it was a bit quieter. 

 “I’m saying, I don’t want to choose between you, because I want you both. Together”.

 This rendered both men speechless. They both looked at one another as if asking ‘should we do this’. 

 Jax was the first to break the silence. “Are you sure? You know we won’t go easy on you”.

 “I don’t want you to go easy on me, I’ve wanted this for a while, and tonight I thought fuck it, I’m going to do it” you were starting to become very confident and needy and you showed this by grabbing one hand of each man and leading them to one of the rooms through the back. 

 “A guess this is happening Jackie boy” Chibs nudged Jax playfully. 

 Letting go of their hands as you walked into the room, you had your back to them, in one quick motion you pulled your shirt off and started fumbling with the button of your shorts. After a couple of choice words your shorts pooled around your ankles. Stepping out of them you turned to face both guys, their jaws pretty much hit the ground as they drank in the little red number you were rocking. 

 Lifting your leg up onto the bed you seductively ran your hands down your leg to untie your boot, quickly doing the same to the other one. 

 Looking over your shoulder, both Jax and Chibs were stood there staring, casting your eyes down you smirked at the tightness in both their jeans. 

 “Well boys” you whispered seductively “you just gonna stand there or what?”. 

 As soon as the words left your lips the Kuttes were off, and their clothing was being tossed around. 

 Chibs was the first one to make a move, his hands ghosted down your sides, as he placed a few hot kisses down your neck, causing a small moan to escape your lips. Between the assault on your skin and feeling his hardness behind you, you felt the heat starting to pool between your legs. 

 Grabbing Jax’s chain you pulled him closer to you before slamming your lips against his so forcefully, your teeth clinked together. Your hands found their way into his hair tangling in the blond locks. 

 You knew by the morning you would be sore, tired and skin would be littered in little purple reminders of this night. One thing was for sure you knew you would be coming back for more. 

 Slipping your hand behind you, sinking it into Chibs’ boxers, you wrapped your hand around his length causing him to growl against your skin. A sudden chill ran across your chest causing your nipples to harden at the change of temperature. Jax took one of the hardened buds in his mouth making you moan, the feeling of him nipping, along side the hot kisses Chibs was placing down your neck was driving you wild and both of them knew that as your body squirmed under their touch. 

 “We haven’t even started yet love and ye are a whimpering mess” Chibs smirked against your skin as his hand slipped under the only bit of clothing left on your body. 

 Running his fingers through your slick folds, you felt your knees buckle under you, luckily Jax stopped you falling. Squeezing your eyes closed as Chibs teased your clit. 

 “No open your eyes darlin’” Jax grinned looking up at you. 

 “Fuck” you breathed leaning back into Chibs as his fingers worked magic, you were coming apart at the seams and fast. 

 Soon enough you had been thrown on the bed, on all fours. Chibs was stood behind you and without warning slammed into you making you scream in pleasure. There was nothing gentle about his thrusts, each one hitting the spot every time. Whilst you were distracted Jax grabbed your face in his hands forcing you to look at him. 

 “You gonna take my cock like a good girl” he smirked as he tugged on his dick. 

 Words were a struggle so all you could manage was a nod. 

 “Good girl” he winked as you took his hard member in your mouth, gagging every so often. 

 With every thrust it took you closer to the point of ecstasy, the high you were feeling was unlike anything else you had ever felt. Suddenly both boys stopped and pulled out causing you to whimper at the sudden feeling of emptiness. 

 “Ye holding in there lass?” Chibs chuckled as he ran his fingers across your back. 

 “Yeah” you gasped, as Jax slowly slid into you. 

 The night was filled with many orgasms, a lot of moaning and screaming from all three of you. 

 Flopping back down on the bed you tried to catch your breath as Jax passed you a lit cigarette. 

 “Well that was something else” Jax yawned before placing a kiss on your bare shoulder. 

 “Hmm mmm” you mumbled. 

 “Come on lass lets get you cleaned up” Chibs smiled as he reappeared with a wash cloth. “Then we can sleep” 

 — — —

 Slipping out of the room, leaving box Jax and Chibs snoring away, you went on the hunt for coffee. Lyla spotted you instantly smirking at the state your hair was in. 

 “Fun night?” she winked passing you a mug of steaming hot coffee. 

 “Best night ever” you grinned as you sipped your drink. 

 “So the last thing I knew you had Jax and Chibs all over you and then all three of you disappeared” she said. You smirked at her as she connected the dots. “Wait BOTH of them?” 

 “Yeah both of them” you winked before turning your attention to the door. 

 “So that’s where my shirt disappeared to” Chibs laughed as he made his way over to you. 

 “You mean my shirt now” you smirked raising your eye brow at him as his hands found their way onto your shoulders squeezing away the tension. 

 “How you feeling’ this morning lass” he whispered placing a kiss on your forehead. 

 “I’m good” you nodded “sore but so worth it” 

 You handed Chibs your mug of coffee to share with you. “You’ll need that after last night” you told him with a wink. 

 Jax was next to emerge from the room. “I was wondering if you were sneaking out this morning cause you regretted last night” he smirked as his blue eyes twinkled as he looked at you. 

 “I have no regrets what so ever, and I know you boys don’t either with the way you were both huffing my name last night”

 Chibs spat out his coffee at your remark not realising Lyla already knew what happened. 

 “What, you think I wouldn’t tell my best friend about the best night of my life?” You giggled grabbing Lyla’s hand, and the coffee from Chibs and left the clubhouse to spill all the beans about the previous night. 

 One thing was for sure, you were going to make it a habit. It’s true what they say, 3 definitely was the perfect number.

[busybeeofpositivity]

Puzzled - Chapter 1

Summary: After walking home from a movie night at the theater, Thomas is kidnapped and put into a strange room he can’t escape from. The people who caught him want him to put six different puzzles together. Sound easy enough, right? Well, not if the puzzles have anything to say about it, and they have a lot to say about it.

Characters: Thomas, Logan, Janus, Virgil, Patton, Remus, Roman, and a few ocs that aren’t nice

Ships: None

Rated: T for violence

Warnings: kidnapping, Thomas whump, mentions of a broken nose, being physically assaulted, falling unconscious, inescapable rooms, questioning of Thomas’s sanity, not knowing whether Thomas is awake or not, intimidation, the sides are sympathetic even if they’re a bit mean this chapter

Words: 3,495

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Chapter 1 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Slowly he returned to consciousness. Either the world shook or his body throbbed that hard it physically moved. He couldn’t open his eyes to figure it out. His tongue was dry. The smell of stale blood clogged his nose. Was it broken? It sure hurt like it was broken.

Slowly he was able to get one hand under him, then two, but the second one hurt more than the first. On shaky arms, he sat upon his knees. The world spun, and he nearly lost his balance and fell backward, but a quick hand behind him kept him upright. He slid his legs into a pretzel position. The wooden floorboards underneath him offered no comfort for his sore legs, which wasn’t an unusual feeling since his house was mostly hardwood, but it definitely wasn’t welcome.

Slowly, he blinked his eyes until they were open. Well, this definitely wasn’t his room.

At first, he couldn’t see much. The square window high above him, even though it was uncovered, showed nothing but dark outside. The only source of light he had was the crack underneath a door across the room. He wondered what was on the other side. Could he even keep his balance long enough to crawl over to it? Could he even see anything?

As his eyes adjusted more, he noticed a door to his left slightly ajar, but it was pitch black inside. Along that wall also sat a mattress on the floor maybe big enough for one person and a single blanket and pillow. He rubbed his arms. Without his jacket on, one blanket certainly wasn’t enough to keep him warm. The only other piece of furniture in the room was a dresser with a mirror, and on top of the dresser sat a box of some sort.

No noise came from the door. In fact, it was deathly quiet outside. Was the place he was in abandoned? How did he even get here?

Wait.

He was walking down the street after watching a movie at the theater. He remembered his brothers making fun of a thirty-year-old man going to see a kid's movie alone, but he didn’t care. The visuals were really beautiful from an artistic standpoint, and the musical score was memorable and hummable. Yeah maybe it was cheesy and predictable, but it was fun, and he hadn’t laughed that hard in a while.

With how rough life was right now, sometimes a little escapism made things easier.

Anyway, he was minding his own business, you know, as one does at midnight when they’re walking home from the movie theater to their house, when someone jumped him from behind. He remembered someone trying to press a cloth to his face. He remembered punching the back of his hand into their nose. He remembered getting free and making a break for it.

He remembered someone tackling him to the ground. He remembered landing a good elbow to their gut and toppling them off. He remembered another person slamming him up against the wall. He remembered hearing his nose crack against the bricks. He remembered another cloth pressed to his face then…

Nothing.

The memory cut off there.

Who were those people? What did they want from him?

Footsteps echoed down the hall. He swallowed. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked those questions, because he wasn’t sure if he wanted to find out the answers. The footsteps grew closer. He instinctively pressed his back against the wall and held his knees to his chest. There was nowhere to hide, so might as well make himself as small a target as possible.

The door opened, and a dark shadow filled the doorway. The light hurt his eyes, and he blinked to try and adjust them. Heavy footsteps tap, tap, tapped across the floor.

“Ah, you’re awake,” the voice said. It was deep and husky like the person smoked thirty packs a day. “I was hoping they didn’t beat you up too hard.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but the only thing that came out was a squeak. Well, there went any of his chances of looking intimidating.

The stranger chuckled and shook their head. They said, “I’m sure you have a lot of questions, Thomas Sanders.”

The sound of his name leaving that man’s lips froze his heart. How- why- what-

“Relax. I read your driver’s license.”

Oh.

The person continued, “Really, it’s unfortunate you were the only one out at night. Didn’t your mother at least teach you to walk with a buddy?”

Thomas didn’t humor the person with a reply. Instead, he asked, “Who are you?”

“You may call me Bennett. He/him if you please,” Bennett responded. “And what do I call you? Are you okay with Thomas?”

“I guess,” Thomas replied. “He/him too, please.”

“Very well. Now, as I said, I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here. Do you see that box on the dresser?”

Thomas looked over to his right and nodded his head. Bennett walked over and picked the box up. Thomas eyed the door warily. Could he get through before Bennett could stop him? A pain in his ankle when he moved his foot told him no.

Bennett picked up the box on the dresser, opened it, and dumped its contents out on the floor. Pieces of wood scattered everywhere. Thomas flinched as the sound overloaded his senses. Eventually, the sound stopped, and a pile of tiny wooden pieces laid on the floor.

“These are puzzle pieces. There are six puzzles here all mixed together, all color coded. Your job is to solve them.”

“Me?” Thomas said, his voice still scratchy. “Why me? How am I supposed to solve those? I don’t even have a picture to look off of.”

“You’ll figure it out. Use your intuition,” Bennett said as he walked toward the door.

“Hey wait-”

“I suggest once the sunlight hits the window, you start. You have a lot of work ahead of you.” Bennett turned toward Thomas one last time before he shut the door and most of the light off in the room.

Thomas sat there listening to the beating of his own heart in his chest. Six puzzles? With all those pieces, that could take ages! And why him? Why couldn’t this Bennett person just solve the puzzle himself?

Thomas sighed. Maybe Bennett didn’t have any friends to work on the puzzles with or couldn’t do puzzles himself. Wait- no excusing the villain! Bennett still kidnapped him! Maybe if Bennett would’ve just asked nicely Thomas would’ve helped if it was that important to him.

Thomas fished in his pocket for his phone, but he didn’t have any hope of finding it. Of course it was gone. Why would they leave him with contact to the outside world? He wished he knew what time it was, but his watch was gone too.

Well, since it was dark outside and he couldn’t really solve the puzzles on his own right now, Thomas volunteered himself to test out the bed. Slowly on wobbly legs, he stood up and used the wall to help steady himself as he made his way across. His knees only gave out twice, and Thomas considered that a win.

With a heavy thud, Thomas flopped onto the bed. It wasn’t uncomfortable so much as it was hard. The blanket was as thin as Thomas thought it would be, but it was about as warm as a throw blanket, so not too bad. The pillow, however, sucked. Thomas used his arm to prop his head up as he rested his back against the wall.

The pile of puzzle pieces seemed to stare at him from the middle of the room, and Thomas blinked. What was up with them? Why were they so special?

Thomas figured he wouldn’t get his answer just staring at them and let his eyes slip closed. With a gentle breath in and out, Thomas let his mind start to drift away.

The light from the morning sun gently woke him from his deep sleep. His body didn’t move from its position, meaning he was stiff as hell. Thomas sat up, his joints creaking and his muscles aching. With a gentle stretch, he extended his spine as far as it would go.

After blinking a few times, he unfortunately found out he did not, in fact, make it home from the movie theater and this was, in fact, not a horrible nightmare.

Now that he could see the room a little better, he could see the door from before that led to only darkness led to a bathroom. Oh, thank goodness. Thomas went there first, did his business, then stepped out to stare at the mountain of puzzle pieces in front of him.

He groaned. There had to be a million pieces to these puzzles, and he didn’t even know where to start. Thomas sat down in front of them and examined the pieces. They had all sorts of different colors on one side, but a solid color on the back. Huh, maybe the solid color was a clue to which puzzle went where. Thomas figured maybe he’d start there. He put all the pieces in a pile according to the backs.

Piece, by piece, by piece, Thomas placed the puzzles in a pile. It seemed there were six colors: red, yellow, green, light blue, purple, and navy… or was that indigo? He never was good at telling the difference. At least that theory was matching up.

The red pieces were all sorts of different sizes and shapes. Some had completely smooth sides while others had multiple notches to join the pieces together. None of them were the same. They almost seemed to shimmer in the low light, like every piece shined bright like a diamond. It must’ve been glitter.

The green pieces were like the red pieces, but for some reason, they seemed to bend in Thomas’s hand, like they were not meant to be flat on the floor. For some reason, they felt slightly slimy, but Thomas imagined that’s because of how rubbery they felt. Hopefully they were just flimsy and it wasn’t a 3D puzzle.

The light blue pieces were all geometric shapes, like triangles, squares, circles, hearts, and stars. Some of them were tiny while others were the size of Thomas’s palm. Some of them Thomas didn’t even know the name of. The colors were bright, and the puzzle pieces themselves made Thomas feel warm and safe.

The yellow puzzle pieces all looked the same: a square with two holes on the top and bottom and two connectors on the left and right. Only a few broke this pattern and had a smooth edge, which Thomas assumed meant they were the edges. It looked simple until Thomas realized there were two different pictures on the same side, meaning matching them together was going to be a nightmare.

The purple pieces were all different sizes of the same rectangle shape, and they had the darkest colors out of all the puzzles. Every time Thomas picked one up, he felt like he’d never finish them. They felt… wrong in a sense like they were angry he picked them up. It was probably his own self doubt eating at him though.

The navy (or indigo) pieces were the only ones that looked like a normal puzzle, but all the pieces were the size of his fingertip. There had to be at least a thousand pieces to that puzzle alone, and unlike the others, the pictures on this puzzle were in black and white instead of color.

It took Thomas until lunch to sort about half of the pieces. Someone knocked on the door to bring him a bologna sandwich with cheese and a small bag of barbecue chips and a bottle of water. It wasn’t Bennett, but they weren’t keen on introducing themselves whoever they were. They almost looked sad that Thomas was there, or maybe that was just Thomas’s bad judge of character painting this person as sympathetic when they shouldn’t be.

Thomas sighed. Maybe he should take a break. His stomach growled in agreement. Thomas stood up and walked over to the tray of food. He didn’t realize how hungry he was until he ate everything.

After Thomas finished his food, he went back to sorting. Each pile had over 300 pieces in them already, or maybe it was 400 because he lost count more than once. It didn’t matter. The pile in the middle started to shrink, and that was a win in his book.

Eventually, before the sun went down, Thomas finished separating each of the color coded pieces into a separate pile. He wiped his face with his hand and let out a yawn. His back cracked as he sat up, too stiff from being hunched over all day to enjoy the puzzles in front of him. Thomas yawned. His eyes stung and his brain was exhausted from all the mental work, even if it was just matching colors.

After looking out the window and deciding it was a good time to call it quits for the day, Thomas climbed into the bed behind him and bundled himself up in the blankets. A heavy sigh escaped his nose. He stared at the pieces in the six piles, his eyes slowly blinking until they closed from exhaustion.

Thomas must’ve been extremely tired again because when he woke, he was still in the same position he fell asleep in. His neck cracked as he moved it off his arm. The sun didn’t peek through the window, but judging by how light it was outside and how many clouds were out, it was sometime in the late morning.

Thomas sat up in his bed and cracked his back. He swung his feet over the side of the bed and rubbed his hands over his face twice. After doing his morning routine in the bathroom, he walked back into the main room and figured he’d start working on the purple puzzle first.

Thomas blinked.

What-

When he looked at the floor, the neat piles he made the night before were gone. Instead, they were all scattered around the floor. Did someone come in and knock over the piles in the middle of the night? Thomas groaned. All that work yesterday for nothing!

Thomas collapsed onto the floor and grumbled under his breath. Well, back to square one. He reached over to pick up a purple piece in front of him.

His fingers burned.

Thomas let go of the piece with a startled cry. He fell back onto his rear and stared down at the puzzle pieces. Were there sharp edges? Did he cut himself? Thomas examined his left thumb and index finger, the ones that picked up the piece. There were no marks, but the skin was red.

“What the heck,” Thomas grumbled. He looked down at the puzzle piece. Maybe he picked it up too hard. Thomas reached down to pick up the piece again.

‘Don’t.’

Thomas’s fingers hovered above the puzzle piece. His head glanced around. It sounded like whoever said that was right in front of him, but he didn’t see anyone.

Thomas swallowed thickly. He moved his hand closer to the puzzle piece.

‘I said don’t.’

Thomas withdrew his hand and asked, “Who said that?”

Maybe someone was watching him from a hidden camera. Thomas looked around the room, but he couldn’t find any black balls or anything showing he was being recorded. Not even a screen. Of course, the cameras could’ve been so well hidden that he’d never see them.

No one answered his question, however. Thomas stared down at the pieces and sighed. Maybe he imagined it. Maybe he was so tired and hungry he thought he heard someone. Maybe he had a brain injury from when he was attacked. Maybe-

The purple piece burned him again as he picked it up. Thomas cried out in surprise and bit back the curse hissing through his teeth.

“What?!” Thomas yelled to the darkness.

Nothing answered him again. Thomas let out a long sigh through his nose. Maybe he wasn’t meant to solve the purple one first. Maybe he should’ve started with another color. Thomas reached out for a red piece to his left.

‘By the will of the gods themselves you will not touch me.’

That was a different voice than the one from before. Thomas took a deep breath in.

“Okay, what is going on?” Thomas growled. He held his forehead in his hands. “Who keeps talking to me and what do you mean stop? The whole reason I’m here is to solve these puzzles. Do you want me to solve them or not?”

‘NO.’

Thomas jumped back. There were way more than two people telling him to stop now. Thomas tried to still his beating heart. What was going on? This had to be a hidden television show or something. Maybe a lab experiment or something. It couldn’t be real.

Thomas sat on his knees and leaned down over the puzzle pieces, his palms pressed against the wooden floor.

“Why not? What is going on? Who are you? Why would you lock me in a room and ask me to solve a puzzle then tell me not to?” he asked.

‘Because we don’t want you here.’

Thomas blinked. “Who’s we?”

Silence answered him. Thomas swallowed thickly. He asked again. “Who’s we?”

‘We.’

Thomas waited for an explanation, but none came. He sighed and leaned back on the balls of his feet. “Is We your name?”

‘No, there is no We. Just us.’

Thomas chuckled. “Hi, us. I’m Thomas.”

Whoever they were groaned at his joke, except for one that started to laugh. Thomas counted that as a victory in his book.

‘Good one, Thomas.’

“Thanks,” Thomas said as he crossed his legs back into a pretzel position on the ground. He sighed through his nose, “Well, now that you know my name, can you tell me yours?”

Silence answered him once again. Thomas sighed. He rubbed his hand through his hair.

“Do you even have names,” Thomas asked, “or am I seriously imagining talking puzzle pieces?”

Silence answered him once again. Thomas asked a few more questions, but whoever they were didn’t feel like talking to him anymore. He sighed through his nose and looked over at the door.

“Look, I don’t want to be here,” Thomas grumbled. “I don’t even know where I am or why these people want me to solve you- I mean the puzzles. I’m just a guy from Florida who probably eats too much pizza.”

None of the voices spoke up again. Thomas sighed. He decided to leave the puzzle pieces alone and maybe get a little more sleep. Heck, for all he knew, this was all just an elaborate dream still. When he opened his eyes, the pieces would all be separated and he’d be able to work on them and get the heck out of here.

Hopefully, anyway.

Thomas wrapped the blanket around his body once again, but this time, he slept so his back faced the puzzle pieces. He was tired of looking at them. All he wanted to do right now was go to sleep and pretend his problems didn’t exist anymore.

He’d deal with everything after he woke up.

.

..

...

‘Who is this guy anyway?’

‘Didn’t you hear him? He said his name was Thomas.’

‘Yeah, I know, but like, why him? What’s so special about him?’

‘Now, now, everybody’s special.’

‘Sure they are.’

‘Well, he is talking to us, which isn’t something anyone else has been able to do, so there’s that.’

‘Perhaps he’s more unique than I initially gave him credit for.’

‘Unique or not, he can’t be doing this.’

‘I don’t know. There’s something about him that I like.’

‘You like everyone.’

‘He does have a point, Doctor Gloom.’

‘You just like him because he’s cute.’

‘So?’

‘And fuckab-’

‘Please leave the rest of that sentence to the imagination.’

‘Whether we feel any sort of special connection to him or not, we cannot let Thomas put us back together again.’

‘But-’

‘No buts.’

‘Haha, butts.’

‘You know that is not what I meant. Prevent him from putting us together no matter the costs. We cannot be rebuilt. You know what happens if we are.’

‘I know, but-’

‘No. We were broken apart for a reason, and we’re going to stay that way.’

‘Even if I do miss staring at my reflection.’

‘Even if it means hurting someone who didn’t do anything wrong?’

‘Ah yes, because touching someone without their consent isn’t wrong.’

‘He didn’t know.’

‘Thomas could very much be here of his own volition and tricking us all into believing he is innocent.’

‘So we’re all in agreement?’

‘Of course.’

‘I guess.’

‘Naturally.’

‘Right. No matter what, we will not let this Thomas person put us back together. Now, scatter yourselves again before he wakes up.’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ To be continued ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[justlightlysedated]

another band au:

Michael gets to Liz’s five minutes before the party is officially supposed to start, and Rosa is walking out of the apartment building, holding the door open with her foot when she spots Michael so that he doesn’t have to be buzzed in.

“Aren’t you late?” He asks, looking down at his watch.

She rolls her eyes at him, and pushes away from the door making him have to scramble forward to stop it from closing.

“We don’t play until the basement is full,” she says. “Liz is still getting ready.”

There is a loud beeping sound, and when Michael turns it’s to see a blonde hanging out of the passenger window of a van.”¡Ándale, Rosita! We don’t want to keep our fans waiting!”

Rosa rolls her eyes again while she bounds down the steps not paying attention to Michael anymore.

“Llamame Rosita otra vez y te voy a arrancar la lengua de la boca,” she says with a smile, sounding extremely sweet while she drags the side of the van open and gets inside.

The blond who has to be either Cameron or Alex, the members of the band that Rosa joined a few months ago, who he knows Liz hasn’t even met yet, like Rosa is keeping them and the band a secret, just flutters her eyelashes in exaggeration. “Oh I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

Rosa slides the door shut, and the van is squealing away before the blonde can even get back in her seat properly.

Michael just shakes his head and walks into the apartment building, heading up the three flights of stairs that will lead him down the hall to Liz’s place.

The door is propped open when he gets there, and he can hear the sounds of salsa coming from the kitchen, and Mr. O’s singing as he moves around.

He walks in without announcing his presence, and Mr. O waves at him from the stove as he makes his way through the living room and down the hall to the room that Liz shares with Rosa.

He doesn’t knock as he enters the room to find Liz lying flat on the bed, trying to button her skinny jeans.

He kicks the door closed and grabs the guitar propped against the desk, before he sits down on the rickety computer chair that rolls back with his weight, hitting the desk.

He settles the guitar on his lap, and is about to tune it when Liz jumps to her feet, bouncing in place a little to stretch the pants out.

“I hate it when Papi washes my jeans,” she says, turning to face him, and then making a low noise.

“Oh no,” she says, and Michael looks up at her to see that she’s eyeing his outfit.

“What?” he asks, feeling a little self conscious.

It’s not like the fact that he’s a foster kid, who aged out in the system, and is right now living in a cheap rundown apartment on the bad side of town, is a big secret. Liz has known him since they were both in preschool. She was there when he lost his mom, and it was because of her and the Ortechos being his emotional support system that the state department decided to put him in homes that were always close by.

He’d worn his best pants, the ones without any holes in them, that were still slightly worn in the knees and the hem and a faded blue plaid shirt over one of his plain white undershirts.

“We’re going to a party Mikey, not the mall!”

Michael makes a face at that. “I’m not going to dress up like Rosa.”

Liz rolls her eyes. “You don’t have to look like Rosa. You just have to dress like you actually go to shows. And right now you look, wholesome and nice.”

Michael makes another face at that.

He lets Liz bully him into her closet, and then lets her bully him out of his clothes and into a pair of skinny jeans that don't clear his ankles since he fits in her jeans since his ass isn't as big as hers, but Liz is the shortest person that he knows. She throws a pair of boots at him, and a tight black shirt, and just rolls her eyes, when he pulls the blue plaid shirt over it.

"Now," she says and turns around holding a brush and a straightener like a weapon. "Your hair."

"No fucking way," Michael says, moving backwards towards the door. "We don't have the time. And anyway, I'd rather die first."

Michael raises a hand to his hair, and pushes the curls falling over his forehead back, only for them to fall back into place.

If Michael's apartment caught fire (which seems likely to happen on a good day) there were two things that he would take with him when he went, his laptop and the bag where he keeps all the products he uses to keep his hair shiny and bouncy and soft.

"One day," she says, brandishing the straightener threateningly. 

"When hell freezes over," he replies.

She's been trying to get him to straighten his hair since she bought the thing since Rosa won't let her play guinea pig, and Michael would do a lot of things for love, but he won't do that.

"Fine," she says, pouting. "How about some eyeliner?"

She turns to her dresser to put the brush and straightener down, and Michael is about to tell her that he doesn't think he trusts her with any pointy object in the near vicinity of his eyes when her phone rings.

Michael grabs it from the desk to see Rosa's name on the display.

He answers, and she doesn't even let him say hello before she's speaking.

"I need a favor," she says, in a rush, sounding a little nervous. "I left my lucky necklace in the bathroom and I need it."

Michael doesn't tease her like he wants to because this is her first show, and he's terrified of speaking in front of his class, he can't imagine how he would feel if he was in her place.

“We got it,” he tells her, and Rosa breathes out in relief.

“Ándale entonces,” she says, sounding like herself again. “The basement is almost full. There might be no space for you.”

Michael rolls his eyes and hangs up the phone.

“Rosa left a necklace in the bathroom that she needs, and we definitely don’t have time for that,” he says, signaling towards the eyeliner with the phone.

Liz just rolls her eyes and reaches for her phone before turning back towards her dresser and dropping the eyeliner.

“Fine,” she says and sighs all over-exaggerated. “I was just trying to help you.”

Michael furrows his brow, “Help me with what?”

Liz gives him a look, “You’ve been moping for weeks, and a little birdie told me that She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is going to be there, so I was thinking that you need to look super hot so she knows exactly what she’s missing out on.”

“I broke up with her, remember?” Michael says, but Liz is walking out of the room, not listening as she keeps talking.

“And if you happened to get laid as a result then, that’s an added bonus. You’ve been really tense.”

“I have not,” Michael protests following after Liz as she ducks into the bathroom.

“You really have, mi’jo,” Mr. O says in passing as he walks down the hall to his room.

Michael tries not to get too embarrassed about the fact that Mr. O knows too much about his sex life thanks to Elizabeth “I tell my Papi everything” Ortecho.

Liz pushes him backwards before he can walk into the bathroom, stuffing the necklace into the back pocket of her jeans.

--they go to the party and michael forgets all about the fact that his ex might be there when he sees the lead singer of the band rosa is in, which is called, project shepherd

--they’re introduced to each other and he becomes obsessed, and can’t stop thinking about him

--the next friday while waiting for Liz at the bus stop so they can walk to his place and study, he sees alex walking into the record store, he barely hesitates to stalk after him, and figures out that alex works there and he buys a CD as an excuse and asks Alex if he would give him some pointers on the guitar, and Alex seems confused with the attention, but he tells Michael that he would love to help him with the guitar, and he only leaves when Liz calls him to ask him where he is

--there is another party, but he sees alex completely seemingly besotted with the singer of this other punk band, and he thinks that they’re dating, and when he asks rosa about the guy, she tells him that he’s Alex’s BF

--he goes upstairs to avoid the party, since he doesn’t really party, and he doesn’t know whose house it is, but he sneaks into a room where no one is having sex, and sits down right by the bed on the scratchy carpet with a sketchpad and a pencil, drawing

--Alex appears and they talk about his drawing, Michael wants to mention the boyfriend, but Alex takes out a joint from his pocket and they smoke, and end up making out until Cameron finds them, she doesn’t look surprised, so Michael assumes that Alex probably makes out with other guys behind his boyfriend’s back all the time, and it leaves him feeling weird

--Michael tries to avoid him, but Alex is suddenly everywhere, and even shows up at Michael’s apartment, and every time, Michael tries to resist him, and Alex manages to catch him off guard, he realizes that he’s in love with him, so he goes off and gets drunk, and ends up having drunk sex with his ex that turns into a whole thing where she keeps calling him and won’t leave him alone

--at the next party, she’s there, and kisses him right in front of Alex, who gets upset and leaves the party, Michael goes after him and they argue, and when Michael throws Forrest in his face, Alex asks him if he really thinks that he’s the type of person who would go around kissing someone behind his boyfriend’s back, and Michael says that he wouldn’t know, since they don’t really know each other, and Alex says and now they never will and leaves him feeling confused

--Michael talks to Rosa who calls him an idiot and says that by BF she meant best friend. “Why didn’t you just say that?” “Why didn’t you just ask for clarification?”

--Michael tries to make it up to Alex, but Alex refuses to even talk to him and even ignores him completely to go off with some other punk guy who looks like he’s the perfect person for Alex, Forrest is the one who tells him that even though Alex is all shy and shit, he would go completely nuts over something over the top

--Michael decides to sing a song for Alex, he even tries to get his hair dyed and straightened and look more like the kind of person that Alex would like, but it comes out bad so he just ends up with a hat on his head and his guitar in his hands and he gives a speech apologizing and Alex is there, but by the time Michael finishes the song, he’s gone

--the next morning, there is a knock on his door and it’s Alex, they talk and when Alex asks him about the bandana tied around his head, Michael shows him, and Alex just drags him to the bathroom and into the shower fully clothed, and washes his hair, the dye running down his arms, and tells Michael that he likes him for him, and they kiss in the shower with the water running down their faces

--ends with another party, Alex announces the last song saying his awesome boyfriend wrote it for him, Michael’s smile can be seen from space

[garbagefieri]

you're a good man, mr byrde.

Chapter Two: The Hotel Pool

(also on a03)

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"I haven't smoked pot in…awhile." Ellis ceases tapping her foot on the concrete of the hotel pool area and looks at Marty sitting in the white plastic chair next to her. He's holding what remains of her joint and he looks relaxed for the first time she's seen. He gives her the last few hits of the joint and she accepts it, starting to smoke. "Yeah? Glad I could help. You're much more handsome when your face is relaxed." Marty smiles a little and notices Ellis is fidgety again, tapping her foot. He sighs before standing up from his chair and scooting it as close as possible to Ellis' chair. After he sits back down, he gently sets his hand on her thigh, his fingers flexing against her warm skin when he feels her body heat. She stops moving her leg up and down and widens her legs so his fingers just barely brush her inner thigh. Marty asks softly, "You alright? Ruth didn't tell me much about your ex, but based on your black eye, I assume he was an asshole." Ellis crushes the end of the spent joint into the ashtray on the wicker table next to her and exhales for a long second. "He expected me to stay home all day and be content with him doing cocaine off of his assistant's fake tits. And this is after I moved to that rich goddamn suburb for him. I said fuck that, he did this to my face, I called Ruth." 

Ellis sighs deeply after regaling Marty with the story of her black eye, slumping forward a bit. Marty pats her leg and clears his throat, pulling his hand away and back to his own lap. "I'm sorry, Ellis. He sounds like a prick." She nods and stands up, fanning her tanned face. "How is it still so hot? It's night time." Marty isn't feeling the heat, but his face reddens when Ellis lets her dark hair down from its ponytail, loosely braiding it over her right shoulder as Marty takes a deeper breath than he was prepared for. He watches her fingers and suddenly realizes how high he is. Ellis turns around, notices he is staring, and grins sweetly. She pulls her loose black t shirt over her head and Marty's eyes fall to her chest and stomach. Her breasts are bigger than any he's ever had the pleasure of touching, a thought that he dwells on for a second too long. He can see the solid peaks of her nipples inside the triangle fabric of her yellow suit top and his eyes widen slightly when she slips her jean shorts off. Ellis has a flat stomach, curvy hips and her ass fits perfectly in the black underwear she's wearing.  Marty's face is stop sign red at this point, and he barely catches the hotel room towel Ellis throws at him. "I'm getting in. Wanna come?" Marty sets her towel aside and shakes his head, watching her ass as she descends the white plastic ladder into the pool.

While Ellis swims, Marty heads back to his room to grab his bottle of whiskey. There are two plastic cups on the bathroom sink, and he grabs those as well. As he turns off the bathroom light, he catches sight of his reflection in the mirror. His reflection looks more relaxed than he has in a long time. Being away from Missouri looks good on him. Or, maybe he's just at ease for the first time in awhile.  On a whim he takes his shoes and socks off, grabbing a towel and leaving his room barefoot. He can hear Ruth snoring through the walls. For just a second he thinks of how mad she would be to see him checking out her former babysitter. He smirks as his eyes focus on Ellis leaning on the edge of the hotel pool. She's gazing up at him and he quickens his pace down the stairs to her.

"What are we toasting to, Marty?"  His eyes don't leave the plastic cup full of whiskey as he says, "Ladies choice." Ellis sets her wet hand atop of his and gently takes his cup from it, catching his eyes as she steals his drink. "To my new friend Marty Byrde. Thanks for the rescue." Marty takes her forgotten cup and drinks the contents down quickly, his eyes leaving hers only once. Ellis laughs and does the same, ducking underwater and tossing her empty cup at Marty once she surfaces again. He catches it and gets splashed, berating her sharply, "Damn it, Ellis! You got me fucking wet." Ellis pulls her wet hair over her shoulder and swims closer to the edge where Marty is sitting. "Come in here, Marty. I'll get you fuckin' wet." She grins and her lips look black in the low light, but Marty slides down from his chair anyway. He had to be closer to her.

Ellis is playing with something real, she feels. Or maybe it was a combination of the weed and the alcohol. Either way, her skin started tingling when she first imagined Marty in the pool with her, and it hasn't stopped. He's sitting on the edge now, his bare feet in the water and his shorts pulled up a bit so as to not get wet. "Are you going to miss Texas?" Ellis swims to the edge of the pool and grabs the whiskey bottle from the edge next to Marty. She feels his eyes on her while she takes a deep pull from the bottle before taking it into the deeper water with her. She says after a long minute of silence, "No. The only person I cared about here fucked me over. I miss Osage. I miss my grandma, god rest her soul. I'm so happy to have Ruth back, but I miss that whole town. The dive bar where I used to work, going and visiting Wyatt when he and Three were little, tourist season…" She trails off and takes another drink while Marty asks, "Why tourist season?" Ellis grins and Marty's eyes focus on her mouth again. "I got laid a lot. Everyone wants to fuck the local with the good pot. Estelle grew it behind our house. Pretty sure she paid off the cops. Anyway, I did particularly well with the college girls wanting to experiment and the stoners." Marty laughs shortly and says, "Alright, I'll be sure to point some your way." Ellis splashes him and says while laughing, "No thank you, Mr Byrde. I'm 32. I don't need to chase anyone. It's been awhile since anyone's been anywhere near my downstairs." She takes a long drink of whiskey and passes it to Marty who says quietly, "Yeah? Shame." Before Ellis really registers what he said, he finishes off the last bit of whiskey and sets the bottle aside. Ellis smiles slowly and swims a bit closer to him.

"You're really not going to come in here with me?" Marty shakes his head and grins at the exaggerated pout Ellis has on her pale face. She swims closer to him yet and he asks, "Did you expect me to just strip down and get in?" He watches Ellis grins before she says, "I didn't expect you to strip, no." Ellis squeezes some water out of her hair and shrugs, then comes to stand around a foot away from Marty in the pool. His legs are open and he glances down between his legs to see her panties under the water only an arm's reach away from his form. Marty can sense where this is going and he sighs before saying, "I shouldn't." Ellis sees the hesitation on his face and she sets her wet hand on his knee before asking, "But do you want to? You don't seem like the kinda guy who gets a chance to do whatever you want very often. It's fun. Feels good." Ellis takes her hand back from his knee and looks him in the eyes. "Come in here, with me." He doesn't even hesitate this time, pulling off his shirt and sliding into the pool. His head goes under and the world is quiet.

Marty surfaces only when he feels the need to breathe burning his lungs. Ellis is swimming nearby with a large smile on her pretty face. As he rubs the water from his eyes, Ellis swims closer to him and his own smile grows as she grasps his shoulders. He swims backwards out of her grasp and says, "It is pretty refreshing. Definitely sobering. You happy now?" Marty finds his eyes glued to her black eye for a second too long. She seems to notice and says softly, "Happier than I've been in awhile." Marty extends his hand out to her in the water, resting it on her pale shoulder. "I'm sorry that prick hurt you. Men are shitty, I know." Ellis softly sets her hand on his atop her shoulder and murmurs, "You're not."

Marty breathes in deeply and looks into Ellis' eyes as she wraps her arms around his neck and backs him into the pool wall. He winces as his back hits the concrete and Ellis kisses his cheek to soothe him, murmuring into his ear, "Sorry, Mr Byrde. I'll make it up to you if you'll let me." Before he can register what she said and what she meant with her dark eyes shining in the light, her legs wrap around his waist. She crosses her ankles behind his back as he moves closer to her, bumping into her thighs awkwardly once and closing his eyes for a second. "Ellis…" Ellis pushes her hips into his and kisses his other cheek. She says nothing, but squeezes her legs until his body is flush with hers. She's still quiet, but he can't seem to be. "Ellis. Come on, we're in a hotel pool in the middle of the night." She nods once and rests her forehead against his. Marty closes his eyes once he hears her say quietly, "You can touch me. If you want." He lets his hands come to hold onto her shapely behind, exhaling shallowly when he squeezes her ass for the first time. Of course he wants to touch her. After another firm squeeze, he lets his head fall to her shoulder and presses his lips against it once. Ellis is perfectly still as she feels his mouth on the crook of her neck. She barely hears him say into her  shoulder, "I haven't touched anyone in so fucking long. You're so damn soft."

And suddenly, it's different. What started with some smiles and extended eye contact between Ellis and him has evolved into whatever this is. She's still wrapped around him, but she's just holding him now. Marty's head is buried in the side of her neck and Ellis is breathing in and out slowly, trying to get him to relax. Once he does, she can feel him almost slump against her. She holds him a little tighter and presses her lips to his head before asking, "You alright?" Marty nods against her shoulder and squeezes her a little tighter. He's about to answer her when he hears a screen door swing open with a creak. "Hey, pool closed at 9. Have to ask y'all to get out and take your fun somewheres else," a male voice calls from the direction of the hotel's main building. Ellis slips down and out of Marty's grip before he can stop her.

Nothing is said as they get out of the pool. The man running the front desk of the hotel is watching them from the other side of the closed screen door and Ellis flips him off as she dries her body off with her towel. She silently turns and locks eyes with Marty as she rubs the towel on her chest, her nipples obvious after the scratchy hotel towel brushes over them. He doesn't look away, but he pulls his shirt over his head and sighs once the eye contact is broken. Ellis wraps the towel around her waist and finally breaks the silence between them. "I guess it's bedtime." Marty nods and rubs his towel on his head, leaving his hair messy but drier. Gesturing for Ellis to go up the stairs first, he follows her lead silently. When she's close to halfway up the stairs, Marty places his hand on the small of her back. Ellis doesn't react in a way that he can see, but a small smile crosses her face. 

They walk side by side down the hall to their rooms, Marty's hand warm against the cool skin of Ellis' lower back. She stops and turns around to face him in front of her hotel room door. Ellis just smiles and asks quietly, "Do I get a good night kiss?" Marty doesn't hesitate, but presses his lips against her forehead instead of her mouth. He leaves his mouth pressed against her warm skin for a moment and she stays still. Ellis grins and, when he pulls away, says, "I'd invite you in, but…" Marty nods and murmurs, "I understand. Goodnight, Ellis." She slips into her room quietly. Marty can hear Ruth's snores from inside the room and he smiles to himself as he unlocks his room.

He lasts half an hour before giving himself permission to palm his hard cock and imagine Ellis. It's nothing pornographic, though. Just her in her too short shorts and bikini top. She smiles at him softly, and he realizes her black eye is healed. Marty sighs deeply to himself and he comes within two minutes.

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