#ill be closer soon though which is exciting!

[saltnsugarbear]

i miss all my friends :(

[l0vergirlsw0rld]

my little voyeur

neighbour!loganxvoyeur!reader

a/n: so sorry about the hiatus, started university and midterms are already here, crazy. anyway, enjoy this little idea i had, inspired by a real life situation. xox

wc:3.1k

MDNI !!! 18+, AGE GAP, SEXUAL CONTENT, ALCOHOL USE

summary: Y/N is growing needier with every one-night stand her hot neighbour brings over, one night she decides to be his next.

"-Oh fuck, keep going!" A muffled voice cried between the rhythmic thumping noises that came from the ceiling above you.

You bit down on your lip, shifting needily on your sofa. 

"Here we go again" You mumbled to yourself, glancing at the clock on your microwave.

8:37 PM. 

"Earlier than usual... Do you have to be somewhere early tomorrow?" You pressed the mute button on your TV remote to get a better listen.

The intrigue in your neighbour's activity had been a shameful recent development. He'd have company over almost every night now; which meant constant, rough sex.

The shared two-story house was old, and the walls were poorly insulated, which surely didn't aid your newfound obsession. Your unit was the basement suite: a homely one-bedroom, one-bathroom with a large kitchenette and living room. Even though you both lived in the same quarters, you both had your own respective spaces and entrances, which meant you rarely crossed paths. 

You knew little about the man upstairs, only that he lived alone, wasn't the talkative type, and rode a Harley Davidson that was equally as loud as his one-night stands.

Though it was ill-mannered of him to be as careless as he was, you couldn't stop yourself from being attracted to him. He might've had a good twenty years on you, but that didn't matter in this case. 

The man was in phenomenal shape for his age; You had come home one day to him working on his bike, shirtless. His physique was composed of thick broad shoulders that counterbalanced his narrow waist and muscular biceps that bulged beneath his skin, flowing seamlessly into veiny forearms. Dark curls of hair stretched downwards from his brawny chest, over his chiselled abs and disappeared into the denim waistband of his wranglers. 

To pair with that irresistible body, was a charmingly rugged face. Thick, untamed eyebrows cast a shadow over his piercing hazel eyes, while dense sideburns traced the sharp angles of his jawline. His short, spiked hair flared into two distinct tufts on either side of his head, adding to his wild, primal look.

"-Logan! I'm coming!" The voice screamed. Since this all began, you found yourself feeling rather bitter. Not only was it rude and annoying but from what you managed to pick up, most nights they would be playing out the very type of fantasies you'd always had but never got the chance to experience.

You let out a heavy sigh, feeling that excitement slowly pool in your lower stomach. You knew this would end soon, Logan seemed to have quite the routine, so your impending neediness wouldn't go any farther. 

His partners were usually dead silent for the rest of the night, presumably busy sleeping off the intense sex, which made the inconvenience somewhat tolerable. The only time they would potentially disturb you again was as they made their exit down the stairs the morning after. You could catch glimpses of them as they passed in front of your kitchen window, usually around the time you'd be having your coffee. 

From the looks of it, he had a type: girls your age. They'd always be dressed in last night's skimpy outfit, with knotted hair, but somehow still looked gorgeous. As they stumble their way to the taxi at the edge of the driveway. You'd observe them closer pressing up the glass, often spiking your jealousy.  

The first few you had laid eyes on made you snicker a jaded"How original."  But you were well used to it by now. 

Logan was your typical walking mid-life crisis; Bringing home adventurous young women, fucking their brains out, sending them away in a yellow chariot and never talking to them again. From the frequency of these one-night stands it looked as if he was trying to satisfy a hunger he couldn't seem to fulfill. Almost like preparing for hibernation.

 He was living the bachelor life that men his age could only dream of having, but there was something about the whole routine that felt...off. It was as if every conquest left him more empty, more distant and detached from everything and everyone around him. It wasn't just women that Logan indulged in, he was also a heavy drinker. You could tell by the recycling bin, always overflowing with liquor bottles, and the fact that the few times you'd been to The Black Lodge—the only bar in small-town Burns, Alaska—you had seen him there

You watched from your bar stool, careful to remain unnoticed. The brief exchanges between him and the bartender made it clear he was a regular—no need for small talk, just an easy, practiced silence. Logan's eyes, however, never lingered on the glass of neat whiskey in front of him. Instead, his gaze swept over the crowd, scanning for his next target, his posture relaxed but predatory. Despite his intimidating exterior, there was something magnetic about the way he worked the room, luring them in with lustful glances. He wasn’t just playing the game—he was built to win.

His trophy shelf was overflowing, yet there was no trace of happiness in Logan’s eyes.

You couldn’t help but wonder if this was the Logan everyone else saw—rough around the edges, careless, chewing through women and booze as if they were nothing more than fleeting distractions. Or was there something deeper, a hidden tenderness that only emerged behind closed doors? He never had family or friends over, just a revolving door of women. His life seemed lonely, private, and it made you wonder what demons gnawed at him when the nights grew quiet and the distractions faded away.

Was it trauma? 

Regret?

Or just the inevitable realization that his time was running out?

A part of you cared and wanted to be there for him, but it wasn't as simple as ringing his doorbell, he was unapproachable. During the few interactions you shared, he made it unmistakably clear that he had no interest in forming any kind of relationship with you. His responses were dry and curt, laced with a dismissive tone that cut down any hope of connection. Each word felt like a brick wall being built between you. He practically didn't look at you the entire time, keeping his eyes focused everywhere else but on yours. You couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment with every exchange, it was as if he was purposefully keeping you at arm's length.

Through your confusion, you understood why. You weren't what he was interested in, you couldn't contribute to his unfaltering hunger. You were more than happy to not be categorized with what he'd bring home from the bar, but a slight part of you wished that for one night, you would be. 

The selections were slim in Burns and you were newer to the area, which made it impossible to call for a late-night booty call, unlike him. It had been a long time since you'd last been with someone and the constant exposure to Logan's fruitful sex life made you grow needier by the day, which is where your obsession initially formed.

It began with something small, almost too innocent to notice. You found yourself paying closer attention to his everyday routine, drawn by curiosity. You’d glance out the window to check if his motorcycle was parked in the yard, and when you heard the faint sound of his footsteps starting the day, you’d instinctively check the clock taking mental notes of his wake-up times.

Before you knew it, your interest had evolved into something deeper, something far more personal. You began noticing his trash in your shared waste bin; discarded remnants of his life blending into your obsession. At the liquor store, you found yourself buying the same brand of beer he preferred, curious to experience the taste that would linger on his lips if you kissed him. At the supermarket, you began to choose the same detergent, not for practical reasons, but to breathe in the scent that clung to his skin.

There was a day that he left his Johnny Cash shirt outside. He tossed it on the ground carelessly after working up a sweat while fixing something in the yard. When he left, you ran out and took it. As your compulsion grew, so did your need for closeness to him. The shirt became more than just a relic of him—it was a trigger. 

You began wearing it late at night, feeling its used fabric against your skin. While the sounds of him having sex filtered through the thin walls. The rhythmic creaking of his bed upstairs, the faint moans, you’d inhale it deeply, lost in his scent. You'd thrust your fingers deep inside of you, following along with his rhythm, imagining it was him inside you—picturing how Logan would take control, filling you with the intensity you longed for. In those moments, it was as if he belonged to you, even if just in fantasy.

Your cheeks flushed red as you listened along, It was become too much to handle. You unmuted your episode and got up, needing to find some distraction. 

"It’s almost over," you told yourself, trying to ignore the urge to grab his shirt and take care of things right then and there. Instead, you walked over to the unpacked boxes in the corner of your living room, hoping to find a distraction.

As you opened the cardboard, you started sifting through the mismatched stuff crammed inside. Your fingers brushed against something soft and bristly, sparking your curiosity. You tightened your grip and pulled it out for a better look. To your surprise, it was an old wig from a Halloween costume—vivid and wild, a memory you had almost forgotten.

The faint sounds you were trying so hard to ignore managed to slip through anyway, sparking a devilish idea as you twirled the wig in your hands. You were going to get his attention, whether he liked it or not. A mischievous grin spread across your face; this could be your way in. It was time to shake things up and show him a side of you he hadn’t seen yet. 

It was the next day, and you knew for sure that Logan would be at that bar, just like he was every Thursday. You stepped inside, adjusting the wig discreetly, tucking away any hint of your natural colour, determined to become someone new for the night. This was a wild idea, but desperate times called for bold measures. You were dying for some relief and he was the only remedy for this ache you couldn’t shake.

The bar buzzed with energy, a lively crowd which meant you had competition. But tonight, you were set on one thing: going home with him, and anyone else.

You’d dressed the part—skin exposed, tight-fitting clothes that hugged your curves just right, making you feel both powerful and vulnerable at the same time. 

You scanned the bar, your heart racing as you spotted him in his usual seat. The moment you walked in, his eyes locked onto you, holding your attention captive. You averted your gaze and took a shaky breath, your feet guiding you across the room, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Pretending not to notice his gaze, you played coy, an enticing smile dancing on your lips. You slid into the seat across from him and reached for the black menu that lay before you, feigning interest in the options. Your eyes traced the words, but your mind was elsewhere—focused on the weight of his stare and the electric tension building between you.

The bartender approached, and you quickly ordered the first thing your eyes landed on, feeling a rush of nerves. You folded the menu neatly, deliberately turning your attention to the crowd, avoiding his gaze, you weren't playing his game, you were playing yours. The thrill of the chase sent a shiver down your spine. The bar chattered around you, laughter and conversation creating a lively backdrop as you focused on maintaining an air of nonchalance, even as you could feel his eyes on you, studying you with that intensity.

A beautiful stemmed glass slid in front of you, snapping your attention to your hands. You mumbled a thankyou and you took a sip, savouring the sweet burn as it slid down your throat. It gave you a moment to gather your thoughts. Just as you were about to steal a glance his way, you noticed from your peripheral that he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. That confident look told you he knew exactly what you were doing.

"Nice wig," he said, his voice low and smooth, cutting through the noise of the bar like a knife. The compliment sent a rush of heat to your cheeks, but you kept your expression cool, shooting him a sidelong glance as if you were just as unfazed by him.

“Thanks,” you replied, forcing a casual tone. “Just thought I’d switch things up a bit.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. The game was on, and you were ready to play.

Logan leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “It suits you, it's different.”

You felt a thrill at his words, the compliment warming you in ways you hadn’t anticipated. You kept your composure, but inside, your heart raced. “I like keeping things interesting,” you replied, matching his playful tone.

The atmosphere around you shifted slightly, the crowd fading into the background as you locked eyes again. The moment felt charged, filled with unspoken possibilities. You could sense the magnetic pull between you intensifying, and it was exhilarating.

He took a sip of his drink, never breaking eye contact. “Well, you're doing a good job of doing that."

You smiled, feeling a rush of confidence. “It's just a little bit of fun for a Thursday night. What about you? Same old routine, I bet?”

His smirk widened a glint of challenge in his eyes. “You could say that. But maybe I’m looking for something different tonight.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, sending a thrill of anticipation coursing through you. This was the moment you’d been waiting for. You leaned forward, pushing your breasts together. “Well, that's hard to imagine. What’s your idea of different?”

 Logan’s eyes dropped to your cleavage. “How about we take this conversation somewhere a little more private?” His voice was low, rich with promise, and it sent a jolt of anticipation through you.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning casualness even as your heart raced. "And where would that be?”

He chuckled softly, a deep, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “How about the upstairs at your place?”

The two of you made your way up the narrow staircase, the familiar creak of the wooden steps echoed in the silence. You could feel the heat radiating off him, each step heightening the anticipation of what was to come. You both reached his door, and his keys jingled as he unlocked it.

The door swung open, and you stepped inside as he held the door open for you. The soft light from his living room illuminated the space, casting warm shadows that danced along the walls. The place was surprisingly tidy, with the scent of cedar and booze lingering in the air.

Logan followed you in, closing the door behind him with a deliberate click that sent a thrill down your spine. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

You didn't know what you expected but it wasn't this. You took in the details of his space—artwork hung at odd angles, a well-worn couch sat invitingly in the center, and an empty whiskey glass perched on the coffee table. It was comfortable, lived-in, and spoke to the kind of man he was.

“Nice place,” you said, trying to sound casual, but your pulse quickened as you caught the intensity of his gaze. A beat passed.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, a hint of seriousness threading through his playful tone.

Your heart raced at the implication of his question. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” you replied biting your lip,  voice steady from a boldness surging through you.

Logan smirked, his expression shifting from playful to something more primal and dark. 

“Good. Because I don’t plan on holding back. Gotta teach you a lesson after all,”

Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you, backing you against the wall with a firm press of his body. The warmth of him enveloped you, and you felt your breath hitch as he leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from yours. As he grabbed your face, his calloused fingers dug into your cheeks roughly, parting your lips open.

“I know you took my shirt, you fucking freak,” he murmured, his voice thick and husky.

You were unable to form words as you felt the threat of what was to come flood your senses. Your heartbeat stammered in your rib cage, fear overcoming you but there was a thrilling undercurrent of excitement that was hard to ignore. Logan’s intense gaze held you captive, and the edge in his voice sent the tension crackling in the air between you.

“You didn’t think I’d notice?” he continued, a low chuckle escaping his lips, laced with a hint of danger. “A man owns about three good shirts and is bound to notice when one goes missing.” His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, making your breath hitch again, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond.

“You’ve been watching me,” he stated, his voice dropping even lower. “Spying on me like some lovesick teenager. It’s cute, but it’s also… a little sick.” The intensity in his gaze softened slightly, a flicker of something deeper behind his fierce exterior.

You swallowed hard, the words caught in your throat. “I—”

“Save it,” he interrupted, his grip tightening around your jaw just enough to keep your attention focused on him. “Don't give me excuses. Tell me why.”

The question hung in the air, heavy and charged. What could you possibly say that would explain the tangled web of emotions and desires that had led you here? His proximity was intoxicating, and the conflict between fear and yearning made your head spin.

“I... I just wanted to understand you,” you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper. “I hear you with the women you bring home... and I want that. ”

Logan's smile grows somehow even darker. "So ya' got all dressed up for me because you want me to fuck you like I do with the others? That right, sweetheart?" 

The only thing you could do at this moment was give him an eager nod, the ache between your legs growing shamefully larger by the second. 

“I’ll give you what you want kid', but you need to know something first.” He paused slightly, the air between you thick with tension. 

“I’m the best at what I do, and I don’t do it very nicely.”

cliff hanger I know, but i'm such a slut for teasing.

🏷️: @back2thebasics , @spookyfunhottub, @lanassmarty, @hypermarvellove, @kbear8863

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[luckieduckiie]

its lewd, but look | d. dennis & chrisnxtdoor

in which Chris asks Duke to watch yall & he does…

Duke wasn’t a conservative guy by any means, everyone knew that, but nothing could have prepared him for the request which Chris had just asked of him.

“Man what?” Duke asked again, unsure if he had heard what his friend really said.

“Bro, I’m for real man. She said it was something she has always wanted and you’re the only guy I know mature enough not to go run they mouth about it or make shit weird,” Chris stated matter of factly.

Duke scratched his head through his beaning, “So you are asking me to sit and watch you and your girl fuck?”

“Yeah nigga, she says the thought of that shit turn her on.” Chris stated.

“Man, that’s some crazy shit. Did she say she wanted it to be me that watched yall?” He quizzed.

“No, actually she said she didn’t want it to be anyone from AMP at all since she aint met yall yet and she don’t want the first impression she makes to be one like that.” Chris sighed. “But Duke you a handsome guy man so who else better. No homo though nigga.”

Duke just stared at the man across from him for a moment digesting what was just said. “Nigga what?”

“Man yes or no, fuck you making shit difficult.” Chris said slightly annoyed and before Duke could think about what he was nodding his head in agreement.

“Bet, ima drop you a lo tonight around 9 ish. Ima take her to dinner and ill leave the key underneath the mat just go in to the bedroom and wait ight.” Chris said excitedly.

“Ight man, fuck.” Duke agreed standing up.

“Real shit, thank you man. I knew I could count on you.” Chris said standing up and pulling Duke into a hug.

“Yeah, of course.” Duke said hugging the other man back.

With a smile Chris pulled away and walked out of the older mans room leaving only him and his thoughts together.

→

Go inna bathroom we finna be in

Duke stared at the text as he sat on the blue bed. When he had got the location from Chris he had just woken up from a nap and had to hurry to shower and get dressed and drive to the apartment. He was scared that there would be someone else in it but he was glad to see that the only other occupant was a small dog.

He pushed himself up off of the edge of the bed and entered the bathroom. Just as he did he heard the front door click open and a string of giggles coming from who he could only presume was you.

“Chris, what the fuck did you do?” He heard you say still giggling as you two got close to the door.

“Nothing, just keep yo eyes closed ok.” He heard his friend say as the bedroom door creaked open.

“Fine.” He heard you huff as you sat on the bed.

“Ok ima just put this on you so I know you aint gone peek ok baby.” Chris said.

“Alright.” You giggled.

A few moments passed and soon the door opened to expose Duke standing in the bathroom grinning ear to ear.

‘Sit right there’ Chris mouthed pointed to the grey velvet chair in the front of the room. Duke gave him a thumbs up and slowly walked to the chair careful not to make any noise, a certain anxious feeling making its way into his stomach- excitement disguised as anxiety really.

“Ok babygirl don’t take off your blind fold until I tell you ok.” Chris said creeping closer to you.

“Ok daddy.” You said voice quieter than before Duke noted mentally. He could finally get a good look at you for the first time too and he wanted to congratulate Chris, he did good. He could tell you were tiny, at least in comparison to the two of them just by the way your feet dangled as you sat on the edge of the bed. He could also see your thick thighs as they were on display by your shorts, and he couldn’t help but smirk at the sight. You looked good and honestly if you weren’t with Chris he would try to make you one of his.

Chris sat down beside you and pulled you into his lap positioning his dick right in the crevasse of your ass and your back to his chest. “You ready love.” He whispered in your ear before peppering kissing along your neck. His eyes locked with his friends for a moment before they started looking back at you.

You only moan in response tilting your head back and arching your back a little pushing your ass into his dick even more. Duke drinks up the sight, shifting in his seat as he sees his friends hand slide in your shorts and begin massaging your pussy.

“Daddy take them off please.” You beg spreading your legs apart to give him better access.

Chris silently obliges and swiftly removes them leaving you only in a gray thong. Dukes breath hitched as he say the wet spot right on your pearl. He shifted his hips up and legs apart as he began to feel himself hardening at the sight. It was so lewd, but so sexy.

He watched as Chris’ long digits began to rub circles right in the wet spot and the fabric sank within your folds- his lips still nipping at your neck all the while.

“Daddy, stop teasing me.” You whined, hands gripping his wrists.

“Tell me what you want mama, use your words.” He murmured into your neck, large hands rising to grip at your breast.

“Fuck me, eat me, anything.” You say breathlessly.

Chris smirks as he begins to tug the end of the fitted top you had on slipping it over your head, careful not to pull the mask off along with it exposing your breast. Duke took a sharp breath at the sight feeling himself becoming harder by the moment.

“You want daddy to fuck you baby?” Chris asked lowly in your ear his own length nudging at your ass.

“Yes please.” You pleaded, pussy throbbing as he was still rubbing slow circles through your underwear.

Wordlessly Chris lifts you from his lap just to slip his shorts down to release his dick and you can now feel it against your ass. He slides your panties to the side finally exposing your slick, aching pussy. Duke becomes restless at the sight and feels like this surprise for you is somehow punishment for him. He wants to glide his fingers through your folds and watch as you lick your juices off of them, but he is imprisoned to the chair in front of you.

Chris rubs himself through your folds basking in the slickness of your clit coating his tip before he finally positions himself with your entrance and slowly lowers your down onto him. Your breath hitching as he finally fully gets to a halt, the entire length buried inside of your wetness.

“Fuck.” The younger man mutters closing his eyes briefly to bask in the bliss.

At these words you slowly begin to grind on him and Dukes eyes become transfixed on your breast that bounce during this motion. He can’t help as his hand goes down to palm himself through the sweats. Chris notices this and grins. He grabs your hips and begins thrusting into you.

“Ah fuck, daddy.” You cry out, reaching back to find his body.

“ You like that baby?” Chris questions.

“I love it daddy!” You cry out.

As the words spill out of your mouth Chris without a second thought reaches up and takes off the fabric that was covering your eyes. As your eyes adjust to your renewed sense, you immediately lock eyes with the man in front of you and gasp.

“You like it huh baby, this what you wanted aint it?” Chris is the one to speak first and honestly it is turning him on too. He never expected that having one of his closest friends or anyone for that matter watching him in such an intimate setting as this would give him this kind of thrill, but it did. He wanted to bend you over and offer Duke your mouth as a sign of gratitude, but this was more than enough for the moment.

Your mouth is open, but words aren’t able to come out as you stare at the man in front of you. His lips were slightly parted as his hand gripped his own length through his sweatpants, and you were able to see the diamonds that were in his mouth. His high cheekbones and chocolate skin were illuminated perfectly in the lighting from the room, and you couldn’t deny that he was handsome.

Chris hand gripping your throat bought you back to reality and you let out a loud cry as he pulled you into the bed and pushed your head down into the blanket. Duke breathed heavily as he spotted thesmall cherry tattoo on your right cheek and snaked his hand underneath his waistband pulling himself out.

“Answer me baby.” Chris says again, snaking a hand around your neck “Aint this what you wanted.”

“Y-yes, this is what I wanted daddy.” You moan, as he slams into you.

“What you supposed to say? “He growls voice low.

“Thank you.” You say your voice barely above a whisper.

“I cant fucking hear you baby, what you say?” He asks again hips snapping into yours, sending ripples throughout your ass.

“I said thank you daddy.” You cry as you grip the sheets in attempts to brace yourself as he continues to assault your cunt.

“And what you wanna say to Duke?”

The older of the two perks up as he hears his friend finally mention his name.

Your eyes low and full of need bore into his tight ones and you moan. “T-thank you Duke.” You moan out.

Dukes tempo increases as he continues to stroke himself and for the first time since he has been here he spoke, voice low and full of lust, “Ya welcome gorgeous.”

Chris continues his assault of you and Duke continues to watch, transfixed on the sight in front of him and unable to take his eyes away even if that was what he desired. He wanted you, and in some small part of his mind he wanted to be with yall. He wanted to add to this dynamic of dominance and create his own role in your life. He wanted to see you underneath him just as you were with Chris, he wanted to be the one to taste you on his lips, to kiss you, to squeeze you. He wanted you more than anything right now, but Chris. He had the upmost respect for his friend, afterall if not for him he would have not been able to witness you and all your glory.

“You hear that baby,” Chris voice broke him away from his thoughts, “He said youre gorgeous. He thinks you look gorgeous like this- ass up, pussy full of my dick”

Duke now took a little time to admire his friend, and he was beyond surprised. He never took Chris as one to be this vocal ever, but here it seemed as though he was the shining star, leading you with his words and actions and everything that you did was as an extension of him.

“Y-yes daddy, I heard him” You whine, “Thank you Duke.”

Duke cant help but float at how effortlessly his name tumbles from your lips.

“You gone be a good girl and squirt for daddy and Duke?” Chris says feeling his climax nearing, and reaching his arm around and fingers beginning to massage your clit.

You cant help the loud whines that escape your mouth as he stimulates your center eyes locked on the man in front of you stroking himself vigorously to the tempo of you and Chris, lip between his glistening teeth.

“Yeah that’s it baby I feel it squirt on daddy dick and show Duke what a good girl you are.” Chris grunts his breath getting quicker as he feels himself closer and closer to his release.

Your body goes limp and a mixture of cries and huffs escape your mouth as you feel the man behind you pull out and attaches his mouth to your clit sucking as you squirt all over his face. He only stops when you go limp and fall onto the bed to reinsert his dick and pound you like a madman chasing his own climax.

Your eyes shoot to Dukes as you hear a struggled grunt escape his mouth as his hand and hoodie become painted with white stripes.

“Fuck.” You hear Chris cry as you feel his dick twitch within your walls and his warm cum fills your insides. His strokes are small as he fucks you through his release. Once he’s done he collapses onto your side, arm on your ass as he rubs circles into it.

Exhaustion washes over you like a tide and you feel your eyes become low and your mind clouded. Chris takes a few moment to catch his breath before sliding off the bed and walking in the bathroom taking a quick look at his friend as he did so.

“Hey, ima run her a bath if you wanna wait till I get her in I can get a rag and some of my sweatpants.” He offers his friend.

“Type shit, preciate it.” Duke agrees grateful.

As Chris begins to walk off he looks back at the older of the pair and grins, “That shit was good wasn’t it, I was killing her shit.”

Duke cant help the laugh that escapes his lips. “Hell yeah nigga you did yo shit.”

“On God nigga but say next time you gotta join that shit had her ass wet as fuck.”

Duke couldn’t help but smile “Type shit, next time.”

yall like it?? i felt like i finally got back in my element lmk what yall think!

[konpetti]

hihi could I request crazy b relationship hcs!!!

☆ ・lovers

ft. amagi rinne, himeru, oukawa kohaku, shiina niki

notes: i feel like i made everyone but rinne ooc this is so bad IM SORRY ,,,

･:*+. amagi rinne

dates come in two types: exciting and relaxing. it depends on what your mood and his mood is in, or your schedules. surprisingly he considers a lot of things while planning a date... sometimes. the other times, he's impulsively taking you somewhere in the middle of the day when there's nothing else to do.

the exciting dates are usually last-minute unplanned ones. what even are you guys gonna do today? more or less you end up in an arcade with a few games rinne (or you) has been dying to try, or a pachinko parlor with nothing but a couple of coins in your pocket for this kind of thing. maybe even shopping too...

don't worry, rinne has kept some coins so both of you can come home after this. or not. just hope he won't spend it accidentally...

more relaxed dates are 50/50: planned ones in advance, or it's just you two unexpectedly going on a date. a drive around town with the windows open, grabbing a drink at a nearby store and sipping away at conversation, or maybe lounging in bed while watching a movie and cuddled up together. it's the little things, really

he's an absolute sucker for affection. nothing too loud or flashy in public though (though he IS that kind of person), just the simple kiss on the back of your hand, on the lips, forehead, interlocking your hands together, hell, if he could, he's give you piggy back rides if you're feeling tired. he'll laugh at your flustered state though, but not in an insulting way. pickup lines are his forte too, expect one everytime he gives you any affection.

lives? oh he's always waiting for you. he's searching for you in the crowd, sending you a wink your way when he sees you. lord have mercy for all his fans around you, they might fall to their knees... maybe you're one of them too. your congratulations at the end of every live is worth it, so he gives it his all while having fun~

if you asked any crazyb member how he is around, they'd shake their heads and sigh. let's just say he talks about you a lot. a lot a lot. his pride and joy, even

i'm not so sure about how his hometown may react to you, but if rinne chose you, then you must be good to him. so i think they'd allow it. hiiro is very supportive!

- a fun and loving guy. what more could you ask for?

･:*+. himeru

dates are very... fancy? all of them are planned out in advance with your input, don't mind the cost for a second here. of course if you prefer not-so fancy or non-grandiose dates, he'll take that into consideration. each date is almost perfect, suited to your tastes no matter how insane or simple they may be.

...but what about himeru's tastes, you ask? um... well... yeah, himeru would say it's to his tastes too but you can't be so sure right.... either way, he makes sure you know if you're uncomfortable, and he often checks up on you on how you're feeling. feeling ill/sick/tired? take a rest, himeru insists.

with affection, he keeps it on the low publicly. a simple kiss here and there, some words of affirmation and maybe a gentle pat on your shoulder. in private, it used to be exactly the same since he can't really show his feelings well (and probably wants to keep distance) but... soon enough, with a little bit of time... he gets closer. and a bit more affectionate. which means more lingering kisses

he gives it his absolute all during lives. like if he wasn't already then he absolutely is going so hard at lives. does the same thing with rinne, searching for you in the crowd and subtly sending a wink your way. at least like this, he can brush it off as fanservice on camera... but you know it's for you <3

rinne is ecstatic, probably telling you all about what himeru's doing during practices and when you arent around. that one time he smiled at the mention of your name, him stopping by a store he knew you liked on the way to practice... kohaku comments on that too. niki as well.

i guess you really have an effect on him, hm?

･:*+. oukawa kohaku

stopping by a sweet store for any of your dates is an absolute must. maybe it already came planned in kohaku's date plan, or it was completely impulsive. either way, your dates often end (or start) very sweetly with a good bite of his favorite sweet. he might even give you some of his, if he's feeling extra happy...

not a fan of sweets? that's fine. he'll just quickly buy some for himself

your dates vary, but kohaku always ensures they're safe from any sort of danger to you. he's fine with the thrill, not so much with horror-related attractions, but anything that could potentially hurt you in any way is an absolute no to him. it'll take a whole lot of convincing and proof that what you want to do is (at least somewhat) safe, if you want to go for a more dangerous/risky activity. (don't scare him though, please...)

affection... is a bit tricky on his end. he's fine with you being affectionate, a simple hug or pat on the shoulder is fine (not patting his head though... playing with his hair is OK) and he smiles ever so faintly from it. in public he might get flustered easily at even the idea of giving back that affection (except when he hugs you protectively when the situation calls for it)... but privately, he'll give it all back. a kiss on the cheek, a soft hug... but he prefers showing his love through helping you out more.

if his performance isn't already great, it seemed to get better after he knew you were going to watch? he also sends you a wink, which causes a massive stir around you. i think kohaku barely does fanservice, so imagine your favorite idol literally winking at /you/?! of course everyone goes insane. but that wink was just for you~ (not like you get way more affections back home...)

crazy:b was surprised at first knowing kohaku, the youngest of all three, was the first one out of the three to get a significant other. not himeru though (or at least not visibly.) expect rinne to tease the absolute shit out of both of you, good luck.... oh, and tsukasa? might be doubtful at first, but if his cousin wills it, he is very supportive!

...he might've grown soft at your presence...

･:*+. shiina niki

dates? you already know where. that restaurant you've both been trying to dine. or maybe walking around town, trying out all the foods people are serving around in small shops. you could make a food blog from all the little things you both have tried (of course, he makes sure to avoid stores that could trigger any food allergies you may have)

or, let's say you both are on a very tight budget. that's fine— niki loves to cook anyway! it doesn't even have to be a date, he'd cook meals for the both of you and even teach you how to cook certain dishes. it doesn't matter if you're bad or good, he'll help out on parts you might stumble on~ and in turn, you can do the same. every meal is served with a plate of food straight from the pan, and each bite is as warm and comforting as him

speaking of warm and comforting, he likes giving hugs the most. whether it'd be from behind, facing each other, being hugged, or consoling you with a hand on your head and an arm wrapped around your waist, he loves it all. he also loves giving other forms of affection, like kisses all around your face and holding your hands. he is the same publicly and privately when it comes to affection, unless for any circumstance where he can't show you love.

(he can spoonfeed you if you want)

sometimes you can notice in lives that niki makes a lot of mistakes in choreography... but that's fine! that's part of his charm~ niki's trying harder though, knowing you're in the crowd... and if he spots you, you can see how his eyes immediately lights up and he might even send a kiss your way. not just a wink, no, a kiss. i wish the best for those around you, they may never recover from niki shiina's flying kiss...

expect rinne to say a lot about niki after announcing your relationship to them. and i mean a lot. a lot lot. niki butts in and quickly tries to divert the conversation sometimes, and kohaku and himeru are just watching. they're supportive despite their silence, don't worry!

everything he does for you is made with love~

[theoceanoasis]

Please imagine Ratbat being extra snuggly and affectionate with Hot Rod who hasn't been feeling well for a while. Hot Rod feels ill in the morning, has strange cravings, and is quick to tear up when his emotions get the better of him. As this happens, Ratbat is protective of Hot Rod and angrily squeaks at mechs who try to bother Hot Rod or try to take Ratbat away from him.

Everyone thinks Ratbat is just trying to soothe his carer/carrier over his illness but it's later revealed that Hot Rod is carrying and Ratbat noticed it earlier than everyone else.

"Ratbat?"

His youngest chirped continuing to cuddle against him. He gave him a confused look wondering if something was wrong.

Although his youngest was usually very cuddly he seemed even more recently and it worried him.

He wondered if it was because he'd been sick recently. He'd tried to hide it not wanting his youngest to worry. He hoped it would have gone away by now but the stubborn bug seemed to persist.

If it didn't go away he'd have to see Ratchet something he'd been stubbornly trying to avoid.

Feeling hungry he went to make himself energon. He'd been craving all kinds of weird flavors recently and made himself a strange concoction.

For most people it didn't look appetizing but for him it was delicious.

When he was done with his breakfast he decided to get a little shopping done. Which was a lot harder than he wanted it to be.

Between Ratbat clinging to him and large crowds out and about it was very difficult to navigate. He ended up running into someone who snapped and began yelling at him.

Even though he would have ignored them in the past he found their words getting to him and he began to cry.

Angry Ratbat hissed at the horrible person who looked startled. They tried lecturing him again until Ratbat gave them an angry look. Which made them run away leaving him alone.

Wanting to leave and feeling unsafe he pulled Ratbat closer and quick got out of there still crying a little. He felt exhausted afterwards and when they got home he collapsed in bed.

Ratbat stayed by his side watching over his carrier. When Soundwave came home he became very worried after hearing what happened.

He decided to take Hot Rod to the medbay and Ravage tried stopping him from going. He refused to leave his carriers side and even snapped at him which was unusual.

Soundwave had been stunned but assumed his youngest was stressed because Hot Rod was sick.

He took him to the medbay ignoring Hot Rods reluctance. Ratbat stayed close the entire time and refused to leave his side. No one could make him and after Ratchet scanned Hot Rod it was soon revealed why.

He was carrying and Ratbat had been the first one to notice. Excited to be an older sibling he protected his carrier and sibling. Soundwave was very proud of him and also excited that Hot Rod was sparked.

[generational-atrophy]

Can I request the allies helping their S/O when their depression keeps them in bed for a few days, which isn't normal for them.

hetalia allies when their s/o is going through a depressive episode

1.8k words ~ gender neutral scenarios

tw: theyre not always the best but they figure it out (:

a/n: hope this was ok. if u want just like, comfort, thats cool and i can do that too seperately (: but anon i totally get i got crippling depression too. were alll in this togeeethherrr

America

Depressive episodes were nothing out of the usual for you. What was out of the usual though, was just how horribly this one was hitting you. But it seems like the person who it hurt the most, was Alfred.

Once you began spending the majority of your time in bed, he began to bother you incessantly. It'd be more annoying for you if it wasn't clear just how much Alfred was panicking.

Every day he returned from home to find you in your miserable state, he would question your sudden episode over and over again until one of you fell asleep. He offered to take you somewhere, to buy you everything, anything to get you back to normal. No matter how much you insisted that none of that would help, he continued.

That was until one day, upon his return from work, he didn't immediately come up to interrogate your lack of motivation. From your shared bed, you could vaguely hear him fumbling around downstairs. After a while, his footsteps finally echoed up the stairs.

Your door creaked open slowly, revealing Alfred awkwardly carrying bags of snacks as well as a TV. He rushed forward to throw everything on the bed before starting to hook up the TV in front of the bed.

“Alfred?”

“Yeah?“

”What are you doin'?“

”Making this room fun to be in,” He answered bluntly, but his tone was kind.

After a minute, he finished setting up the TV and crawled into bed with you. Before you could say anything, he pulled you flush against his side.

“Staying in here is no good for you, but at least there's ways to make it... less bad.” He told you softly.

You took a moment to respond, ”Can... can you stay in here with me?“

”I'll stay in here until you're ready to leave, K?“

England

As soon as your illness began to rear its ugly head, Arthur took notice. It's not like it hadn't happened before, after all. The unusual eating habits, the exhaustion, how less excited you would become over things you love, it's all typical. So he would help the way he usually did.

If you're too tired for work or school, he gets you out of it. If you're hungry, he makes whatever you want anytime. If you're slacking on chores, he makes up for it two-fold.

The entire time you spend gloomily sitting on your phone or watching TV, Arthur is running from place to place in a panic. It's clear why, he's just desperately trying to ”solve“ your sadness. After all, over his many periods of depression, he always works himself to the bone to get through them. He struggles to understand how you can just... sit there.

But of course, that's not how human depression tends to work. Seeing him so motivated did nothing but make you more insecure about your own sudden ”laziness.” Living in an incredibly clean house only helps for so long until it starts feeling weird.

The only place safe from his worried frenzy was the bedroom, where you lay nearly all day. It was quiet there, at least. Not frustrating like everything else. That was until Arthur interrupted your silence by joining you in bed with a huff.

“Love, you've been in here all day.”

You didn't respond, simply nodding and rolling to face away from him.

“What's wrong?”

Still, no response.

He grabbed your shoulder lightly, trying to pull you to face him.

“What is it?”

“You know what's wrong.”

He sighed, before laying down as well. His arms wrapped around your waist as he pulled you closer to him, his soft breath hitting the back of your neck as his heart beat against your back.

“I guess a better question would be... do you want to talk about it?”

You pause, ”Not really...“

”Well, I'll be here with you until you do.“

”No running around?“

He chuckles, ”No, I'll stay here. After all, you're strong... I imagine this won't last forever, right Love?“

France

Francis is a sensitive person, but most importantly he's an emotionally intelligent one. He notices as soon as your depression begins to get bad again, and he always tries to do little things to help. But... he knows that you're the one who's had to live in your head for years. The only reason he would go out of his way to help is if you asked him to.

Which you usually don't. It never seems to stay unbearable long enough for you to justify asking him, even though he's made clear he's always willing to do anything for you.

But this time is different, it feels as if your thoughts can't stop, no matter what you do. Even as you rest in bed, you only get more and more tired, more angry and miserable. Francis noticed this... but he wouldn't want to do anything you didn't want him to.

At least, that's how he thinks usually. But now, seeing his beloved sobbing for the 15th day in a row, he decided he had to do something.

Early in the morning, before the sun had fully risen, you were awoken by Francis's smiling face.

”Time to get up!“

”No-“

You were swiftly cut off by him grabbing your arms and pulling you upwards.

”I've set out clothes for you. We're going somewhere.“

You shook your head, ”W-Where? I'm tired-“

”It's gonna be fun! I'll buy you coffee on the way, don't worry.“

So up you were, regardless of your protests.

An hour-long car drive later, and you understood why he was so enthusiastic about going here. Before you stood the most stunning valley you had ever seen, surrounded by perfectly green trees and water so blue you could've sworn it was fake. But the breeze flowing through your hair said otherwise.

“While we walk to the beach, you can tell me all about what's wrong, okay?” He locked his hand around yours.

Sure, it didn't solve everything. But... it was better than the bedroom.

China

Yao doesn't really... understand what depression is. When you tell him it's a “mental illness” all he understands is “illness.” So the moment things start getting worse for you, he's recommending all the things he learned to make sick people better.

If it gets to the point of being bedridden, he acts like you're gonna die. Which is obviously not very... comforting. So after many times of you telling him to leave you alone, he's gotten used to popping in every couple of hours with tea, but that's it.

After all, you're usually back to your normal self pretty quickly. But this time, he can tell something's off; and he's not about to let you wither away.

So, one morning, you're awoken to a delicious breakfast already in your lap and Yao sitting in front of you, looking like a kid on Christmas.

“Wh- Yao? Why did you...”

“You haven't been eating enough, and I don't want you getting tired soon.”

You looked at him suspiciously, “Why?”

“We have plans.“

”Good plans or bad plans?“

”Good plans! What do you think of me?“

Once you finished eating breakfast, he dragged you out of bed. No matter how much you protested, his grip on your hand was strong. He brought you to the other side of the house, into his already set-up studio.

”What are we doing in here?“ You ask nervously.

”Getting you out of bed,“ He responds quickly, gesturing to the yoga mat set up next to his.

All you could was sigh and stand next to him, waiting for instruction.

”Do we really have to do this?“

He nods, spreading his legs to the side and reaching down with one hand. Looking up at you expectantly, he smiled.

”It keeps you spry,“ He switched sides, ”It keeps you healthy.“

”I'm really not in the mood,“

”Trust me.“

With a huff, you slowly worked your creaking body into the same pose he pulled.

”I can't stand to see you suffer in that room.“

”It's not fun on my end either.“

”I love you. I wish you would tell me how to help.”

You groan as the next pose he demonstrated stretched you a little bit more than what was comfortable.

“You can't 'help.' Just gotta wait it out.“

He took a moment to respond, “Well, I suggest you wait it out in ways that get your mind off everything. Like this.”

“It's helping the tiniest bit, I guess...”

He chuckled, “We will keep working at it until you feel better. No matter how long it takes.”

Russia

When your depression gets bad, it seems to be obvious to everyone... except Ivan. Despite you bringing it up to him, he either doesn't know what to do... or he doesn't care. The possibility of the latter doing nothing to make you feel any better.

Even as you spend all day laying in bed, crying constantly, he doesn't seem to notice. He just acts like you aren't... suffering. That stings, a lot more than anything else creating this depressive episode.

But after a week of this unending gloominess, you get a strange text from Ivan.

“Come downstairs.”

Weird and annoying... but more importantly ominous. It takes you only a second to throw on a hoodie and rush downstairs. You can't hear his usual humming, and the house seems completely still as you search for him. But when you look out the back window, you see him.

As you enter the backyard, you fully see what he was doing.

In the middle of the yard, he set up a picnic. Surrounding him is a mountain of bright flowers, and tens of little plates bearing your favourite sweets lay on the light blanket.

“Come sit, darling.”

You would be foolish of you to not oblige. Once you sat down next to him, he reached out to stroke your cheek lovingly.

”What is torturing you so horribly?“

You took a deep breath, “Where to start?”

“Wherever you want,” he clucks his tongue sympathetically, resting his hand on your thigh.

“Y-You know... I thought you didn't care. You've been so... normal...”

Ivan looks awkward, averting his gaze, “I didn't want to make it worse. You're so strong, I knew you could get through it on your own. I'm sorry.”

“I can.... but I don't want to...”

He leans forward, kissing your forehead.

”I promise, now, you will never deal with anything alone.“

”You're sure it won't be too much?“

”Never. Never too much.“

hey there. its gonna get better. its gonna be different. but its gonna get better. there are hundreds of people youre gonna meet, and hundreds of places youre gonna go, and its gonna be amazing. one day youll wake up and realize everything is alright. because youre gonna be ok.

[arlowthenacho]

꧁༺ 𝓱𝔂𝓭𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝓸𝓻 𝓭𝓲𝓮-𝓭𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓮 ༻꧂

(spencer reid x reader/platonic!bau x reader)

summary: spencer isn’t drinking enough water when you’re away on a case. you call him, the team hears, chaos ensues.

warnings: fluffy! set in early s5, mention of getting shot, use of y/n, some cursing, pet names (baby, babe, sweetheart), intended lowercase. if i missed any, please let me know!

a/n: hi there! this is my first fic, so rlly any interaction/feedback is appreciated! this is also extremely self indulgent, but enjoy! the ending is kinda shit, apologies 🙇‍♀️

the soft rustling of paper and the quiet buzz of chatter is all that can be heard on the plane. the team had been presented a new case and have been flying for about an hour. they had been filling the silence by going over the details of the case, chatting with each other, or in your case, trying to convince your boyfriend to take a goddamn sip of water.

“spencer, for the love of god, i’m not asking you to throw your coffee machine out the window! please, take but a sip of water, i beg of you!” you’re practically hissing into the phone, trying to keep your voice down and failing miserably.

“y/n, im fine, i swear! i’ll just drink some later, i’m just really busy-” spencer’s reply comes out slightly crackly through the phone. he had been shot in the leg on a recent case and was not cleared to travel, therefore being left in penelope’s care, and only being able to communicate through phone calls.

“i left you a bottle of water on pen’s desk, it’s literally right in front of you!” you can hear emily snickering in the background and give her a half-hearted glare.

“yeah, pretty boy, why don’t you drink your water?” derek decides to chime in, a smug look plastered on his face. you shoot him a glare and whack his arm. “ow!”

you roll your eyes at derek’s whining and go back to your conversation with spencer.

“spence, please. just finish one bottle of water and then i’ll let you off the hook.” your tone is teetering on begging him and demanding him. at this point, the entire team can hear your conversation and are all snickering not-so-discreetly.

“spencer, please just listen to y/n. i don’t want to listen to this for another 4 hours.” this time, it’s rossi who interrupts you. his tone is so serious it’s funny.

spencer blushes a bright red on the other end and you can hear penelope teasing him relentlessly.

“ok, ok, fine! i’ll finish the water. happy?” his reply comes out in a high-pitched voice, clearly showing his embarrassment.

“very. thank you, spence,” he can hear the smile in your voice as you say your goodbyes and hang up the phone.

pretty much immediately after the fact, emily pipes up.

“you guys are so adorable it makes me ill,” she feigns annoyance by rubbing at her temples, concealing her smile quite terribly. you roll your eyes and go back to the file in front of you.

“that’s really unfortunate, em. feel better!” you teased, huffing out a chuckle.

“okay, the case?” hotch’s stern reply earns a groan from the rest of the team as your eyes drift back down to the folder in front of you.

you’re now a couple days into the case, and everything’s going to shit. you’re no closer to finding the scumbag of the month and the team is losing hope.

after a few seconds of thinking, you’re suddenly pulled out of your thoughts when your phone rings, spencer’s name lighting up the screen. you answer near immediately, holding the phone to your ear.

“spence? baby? you got some good news f’me?” a smile touches you’re lips as soon as you answer, standing up and walking to the evidence board.

“yes and no, which do you wanna hear first?” spencer’s biting his lip in excitement and vibrating in his chair.

“lets hear the bad news first, baby,” you deflate at his words, leaning your back against the nearest wall.

“well, the trail we though we had on the unsub went cold,” spencer winces when he hears you sigh. “but we found a relative, penelope’s sending the address right now,” your smile soon returns as you kiss the phone, making an obnoxious sound in the speaker.

“im kissing your lovely little brains spence, thank you!” you make a few more kissing noises before spencer talks again.

“um-thank you, y/n,” his cheeks are flushed and he stutters through his sentences, biting his lip and smiling. “i-uhm…i also…finished my water…” you can barely make out what he’s saying, his whispered words slurring together.

“what was that, sweetheart?”

“i-i finished…i finished the water you gave me,” he speaks a bit louder, enunciating his words slightly better. you light up at his confession, smiling so wide your cheeks ache.

“thats great, spence! im very proud of you,” you gush, positively beaming.

“th-thank you, y/n, really,” he’s blushing even more now, his stammering worsening by the second.

”of course, babe. now, i gotta go, but i’ll call you when i’m back at the hotel, ‘kay? love you spence, bye!” you wait until spencer says goodbye to hang up the phone, smiling like a kid on christmas day.

after a couple more days, the case was finally over. the criminal being caught and locked away.

the jet ride home was uneventful, other than some light chatter and a well-deserved nap.

***

you’re soon stepping off the jet, along with the rest of the team, and hailing a cab to take you back home. soon, someone pulls over and you hop into the backseat. you give the driver your address and pull out your phone to text spencer.

spencie poo 💌

im omw home right now, see you soon :)

his reply comes back almost immediately.

okay, see you then!

you snap your flip phone shut and wait the remaining few minutes to get to your house.

***

after about 10 minutes, the ride is finally over. you pay the cab driver and thank him for driving you before speeding over to the door of your apartment building. you open it and buzz yourself in, walking to the elevator and pressing the button to get to your floor.

after getting off the elevator, you pull out your keys and unlock your apartment, dropping your things and toeing off your shoes.

“spence? you in here?” you call out into the seemingly empty apartment, plopping down on the couch and feeling around for the remote.

“here, y/n! just a minute,”

after a few seconds, spencer comes out and sits down in the spot next to you. you immediately curl into his side and sigh in contentment and exhaustion.

“‘m so tired, spence…” your words slur together, the drowsiness in your voice highlighted.

“i know…this case was a rough one.” he wraps his arm around you, drawing lazy circles on your shoulder. you let out a soft groan and cuddle closer to him.

“y’know, you really need to drink more water,” you giggle, limp in his arms.

“yeah…i know…” he has a guilty look on his face as he leans down to kiss your hairline. “i did finish that bottle of water you left me though,” he laughs breathlessly.

“hmm, thats good. ‘m very proud, spencer.” you can barely process what he’s saying, even though your words are sincere.

“okay baby, lets get you to bed,” spencer effortlessly picks you up and makes the short walk to your bedroom, laying you down on the plush bed.

after making sure you’re comfortable, he climbs in next to you and turns off the light.

“i love you, spence.”

”i love you too, y/n.”

[in-my-loki-feels]

🤓 spontaneous hug / unexpected + dealer's choice for the pairing!

I'm so glad you gave me dealer's choice because as soon as I saw this prompt on the list, I had an idea for a platonic hug and you gave me the chance to write it!

Under 1k this time! Another little scene from Bad Things 'verse. (Candy Corn is the pet snake.)

Don pushed the mower across the lawn, trying to ignore Loki, who lurked in the shade of the open garage. Don recognized the look on his face all too well. The only thing keeping Loki from pouncing was Sean and Kevin’s imminent return. It was pizza night—which Loki detested but had stopped complaining about once Don started offering him a separate dish—so as soon as the boys got home from their friend’s house, Don would order the pizzas. 

He’d hoped to be done and able to clean up before then, but he knew the minute he stepped inside the house, all bets were off. He swiped an arm across his forehead to clear the sweat and turned the mower to begin the next pass. Farther down the street, two small figures were sprinting towards them. He let go of the mower’s handle and the engine cut off. 

“Dad, dad!” 

The excitement in Sean's voice kept Don from panicking, even though the volume of his yell and the speed with which they were approaching had his Dad senses on alert. 

“Daaad!” Kevin also yelled. They were running down the sidewalk, backpacks nearly falling off because they refused to wear both shoulder straps. It wasn’t cool, apparently. They crossed the yard at an angle, rather than take the driveway, and dropped their bags on the grass. Don winced on behalf of the textbooks inside. 

“Did you know?” Sean asked, once he'd caught his breath. “Did you know he was coming to the school today?” 

“Who?” Don asked. He shot a confused look over his shoulder. Loki had gotten up from his chair and was strolling closer with a suspiciously pleased look on his face. 

“Loki!” the boys yelled together. Sean continued, “He came to school today and everybody got pulled out of class to go to an assembly! And he gave a speech and then he asked for a tour and he came to my classroom!”

“Mine too! And the Secret Service was there too! They had these really cool sunglasses and guns.” Kevin’s eyes gleamed. Don wished he would find something less violent to be fascinated with.

“And then we got to go outside and see the armored cars!” Sean said. “But he said there wasn’t time for everyone so he was only picking a couple of classes—”

“—so he picked both of ours!” Kevin screeched. “It was so cool! I got to sit in the driver’s seat!”

Another glance at Loki showed he was basking in their praises. Don tried to picture it: Loki rolling up with the full presidential motorcade—how did they even organize that outside of the capital?—and swanning into the school, issuing orders. It wasn’t hard to imagine the panic it must have sent the school administration into. 

“That sounds pretty cool,” he said, once it was clear his sons were waiting for a reaction. 

“Duh,” Kevin said. “Loki told Mrs. Sanderson that he was only visiting one school per state and ours was the one he picked. And then he made her stay in the classroom because Bobby got sick, which meant he missed the whole tour!” His grin stretched ear to ear. 

Bobby wasn’t enough of a bully for the teachers to do something about, but he wasn’t exactly making friends in Kevin’s class. After making fun of Candy Corn’s name, he and Kevin had almost gotten into a fight, which resulted in another note brought home from Mrs. Sanderson. 

The fact that Bobby mysteriously became ill and couldn’t join in the fun wasn’t escaping Don’s notice. Loki’s grin matched Kevin’s. 

“Thank you, Loki!” Sean suddenly shouted and darted towards Loki before Don could stop him. Kevin was right behind him, echoing, “Thank you!” 

Both boys collided with Loki in the kind of tackling hug that usually knocked Don back a step. He watched Loki freeze in place as their arms went around his hips, his own hands hovering just above their shoulders. It was over before Don had a chance to call them off. Sean and Kevin beamed up at Loki before running for the house. 

“Your backpacks—” 

The front door slammed shut behind them. Don sighed and turned to Loki, who radiated discomfort. 

“Sorry, they get so excited sometimes, they don’t think.” 

“It’s…fine.” Loki lowered his hands, but his eyes were hidden behind sunglasses so Don wasn’t exactly sure what he was thinking. 

“That was pretty nice of you to visit their school. Too bad Bobby missed it.” 

Loki’s lips twitched, a hint of his previous humor returning. “Yes, such a shame.” 

Don knew another hug was out of the question, so he settled for walking over and pressing a kiss to Loki’s cheek. 

“Thanks for making their week special.” Loki’s attention snapped to him in a way that sent a frisson of excitement down Don’s spine. He quickly backed out of grabbing range. 

“Pizza night,” he reminded them both. “But if you wanna skip the recounting of everything at max volume, you don’t have to stay.” Don thought it only fair to offer an out, after the hugs forced onto him. 

“It’s fine,” Loki said again, sounding more like his usual self. He went back to his chair in the garage but only seemed half-focused on Don as he finished up the lawn. 

Later, as Don alternated admonishing the boys for talking with their mouths full and talking too loudly, he kept glancing at Loki, wondering at what point it’d be too much. But Loki didn’t leave, he simply watched Sean and Kevin ramble with a mixture of curiosity and amusement in his expression. Don hid a smile by looking down at his plate and decided the boys could carry on a little longer before he cut them off.

From this game. Other fills here.

[melodygatesauthor]

Chapter 6: The Hathor Effect

prof!Steven Grant-Jake Lockley-Marc Spector X f!Reader

Edited by: @welcometostayingawake (she's the real MVP)

Mood Boards - Book Cover - Masterlist

Chapter Summary:

You and Steven spend even more time together. Steven takes you somewhere special.

Tags/Summary (these are for the ENTIRE fic):

college AU, no powers/not in MCU/no Khonshu, talk of mental illness, Marc has DID, forbidden relationship, age gap, reader is 21y/o, Boys are 38y/o, reader attends college in America but isn't necessarily American, smut, sex, masturbation, p in v, creampies galore, reader is on birth control, dubious consent due to identity issues, ANGST, romance, fluff and smut, oral sex, falling in love, reader is not race coded.

Word Count: 4.2k

Now that you’d both had a taste, it was all the two of you could think about. On the nights you were alone, you were thinking about Steven, which was no different than before, but now you had a reference for comparison. Now, you knew what his finger felt like gliding along your walls, you knew what his lips tasted like when he was in the throes of passion. Your own hands couldn’t compare to the way his felt, trailing all over your body like it belonged to him, mapping it to memory.

On the nights that Steven was alone, he was gripping his cock in hand and chasing his own release. Constantly thinking about the way you swiped his cum from your inner thigh and brought it to your lips so innocently. He couldn’t believe you liked the taste. He thought about how small your hand was when you finally touched him, unable to wrap around his entire girth.

When it wasn’t night time though, and there was no one around, you found yourselves in a tight embrace. Mouths melting into one another, breathing heavily while grinding on each other against a wall in the hallway and quickly separating before someone caught you.

You were sneaking into his office in the evening for additional ‘tutoring’ sessions that ultimately led to you further exploring each other’s bodies. Steven loved to hear every little noise your mouth had to offer. His favorite sound so far was the one you made Thursday afternoon, the week following your first rendezvous, when you’d finished your classes and you were on his desk, legs wrapped around his waist as he kissed you breathless.

“I want to try something, if you're up for it, love.” He said with his face buried in your neck.

“I’m not ready for-”

He pulled back and looked in your eyes. You’d come to love that hooded look of arousal he had on his face every time things got heated between you.

“Not that, somethin’ else.” He knelt down and tugged your pants to your ankles before tossing them aside.

He put a large hand on your chest to push you back to lay on the desk, and grabbed your hips to pull your soaking mound closer to his face.

“I’d like just a little taste, s’that alright?” He used the pad of his forefinger to rub in between your folds idly while he waited for your response, spreading your slick over your lips.

“Y-yeah.” You said breathlessly from above, “yeah, of course.”

He didn’t waste any time in pressing his lips to your cunt, flicking over your clit with his masterful tongue. That sound, that high pitched whine mixed with a gasping moan that left you grabbing the edge of the desk desperately, was the one he loved the most. He made you do that.

Steven reached up, placing his palm on your lower abdomen to keep you from sliding forward in your excitement and knocking him over. His other hand was pushing your thigh open to grant him access.

You squirmed under Steven’s mouth, never having felt anything like it. You always thought guys didn’t like doing this sort of thing, but you would’ve thought from the sounds he was making that Steven enjoyed this more than he enjoyed the vegan burrito he got all over his shirt last week. Pretty soon, you were grabbing onto his dark curls, pushing your hips upward into his mouth and throwing your head back.

He loved how into this you were. He wasn’t sure if by asking he would be pushing you too far, but there was nothing Steven wanted more than to make you feel good. While he continued his assault on your pussy, he freed his cock and started to work himself over. Listening to your noises alone felt so good, he was aching with need and had to do something about it.

“Steven that feels, ahh, never felt anything like it.” You whined into the room.

He hummed into your cunt, continuing to slurp your juices while his tongue swirled over your sensitive clit. Your body twitched in response as you kept your eyes tightly shut. Steven’s movements as he jerked became more frantic as he approached his orgasm. You were already there, at the edge for him.

“S-Steven, Steven I’m gonna…”

You clasped both of your hands over your mouth to keep yourself from alerting the entire school to your secret affair. Your cunt was contracting wildly, body convulsing on the desk while you experienced your euphoria. Steven was there, too, seconds from losing himself.

“Where do you want this, love? Hm? Your chest, your face, I can even-”

“My mouth, please.” 

In a swift movement, you were kneeling on the floor and Steven stood up, placing just the tip at your lips. He grabbed the side of your head and jerked himself into your open mouth. He shuddered and groaned, voice rough and wrecked while he coated your tongue in his spend. You felt accomplished as he sighed heavily and dropped down into the chair behind him, utterly spent. You gulped down every last bit with a hopeful smile on your face, feeling optimistic that he might be a little impressed with you.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” He let out a sharp breath in relief. “You’re just full of surprises.”

“Thanks.” You couldn’t stop the stupid smile that dragged across your face.

“No darling,” he leaned forward, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip, “thank you.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks at his words. Steven was far too sweet. Your eyes trailed to the clock above the door and you gasped.

“Shit, I’m late for my next class.” You stood up, collected your pants and pulled them back over your legs.

“Here.” Steven handed you your bag. “Oh and…” He reached behind himself on the desk and handed you a small ticket for the art gallery exhibit that you were eyeing.

“Steven…” You said breathlessly, “you got me a ticket? You shouldn’t have.”

“I got two.” He held up another. “One f’you and one f’me.”

The look on your face made Steven’s heart melt. You were so happy, so excited. That’s all he ever wanted from you, was your smile and the way you were looking at him right now.

“You like it?” He asked, raising his brows in anticipation.

“Of course I do! Steven, you didn’t have to do that.” You moved closer to him and softly kissed his still smiling lips.

You looked back at the tickets…Saturday. You and Steven would be going on your first real date. The sad realization hit you though, that you weren’t going to be able to go to the gallery together, not on the off chance that someone from your school might show up and see you. The expression shift was all too obvious, and Steven felt his stomach drop at the sight of it.

“What’s wrong?” He asked immediately.

“We can’t go together.” Begrudgingly, you offered the ticket back to him. “If we’re seen together in public-”

He pushed your hand back, “we can’t be seen kissing or holding hands, ‘course not, but how would it be strange that your history professor and you happened to be at the gallery at the same time on the same night?”

Steven was crafty, if nothing else. He was right. As long as you kept the public displays to a minimum, no one would suspect a thing. No hand holding, no kissing, just no touching. How hard could it be?

When he dressed like that, black pressed pants, a dark blue shirt with a nice tie to match, and sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, you knew it was going to be nearly impossible to keep your hands to yourself. It looked like he even combed his usually unruly hair. Steven could say the same for you though. Where did you get that dress? He wondered, jaw slack open while he stared at you from the entrance of the art gallery. 

Breathtaking didn’t begin to describe what you looked like. Your makeup, not that you needed any, was done in such a way that complimented your already beautiful features. The dress you’d chosen to wear rested casually just above your knees and the neckline dropped down just enough to let a line of cleavage peek through. Steven couldn’t believe that someone that looked like you, would even have given someone like him the time of day.

“W-wow.” He gulped so hard you saw his Adam's apple bob in his throat.

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks as you tried to keep yourself from smiling embarrassingly wide. Steven held out his arm but then remembered that this wasn’t a normal date, despite the attire you both had chosen to wear.

“Oh, right, sorry.” He put his arm back down and cleared his throat awkwardly. “Erm, after you.”

He gestured toward the door, allowing you in front of him. He did reach out and grab the door before you had a chance to. You weren’t necessarily insistent on keeping with traditional norms, but you appreciated the thought nonetheless.

“Thanks.” You gave him a shy smile before making your way inside.

As far as awkward first dates go, this was up there. Sure enough, you recognized a couple of students from around campus. You weren’t in classes with them, so you weren’t sure if they knew who you were, but a few of them noticed Steven and said hi to him. It was like you were dancing, the way you two would move through the gallery together. He would stop to look at one display, and when he was done, he would move over to the next, and you would follow, the corner of your eye glued to his frame.

You tried to focus on the art, the real reason you were there, the reason you’d wanted to go to the gallery in the first place before Steven had become such a big part of your life. The pieces were beautiful, some done by local artists and others had been brought in from other states or imported. One work in particular caught your eye.

“Oh wow, look at you.” Steven said, seeming to look right at you.

You felt flush again. Did he forget that you were in a place where he couldn’t speak to you like that? When he walked closer you realized he wasn’t looking at you at all, he was looking at a painting just behind you. Though you were relieved that he wasn’t being so bold in public, you were somewhat baffled to think he wasn’t talking about you like that.

“Um, what is it?” You asked, trying to clear your mind from the brain fog that Steven tended to give you.

You looked at the painting he appeared to be enamored with. It appeared to be a stylized painting of some Egyptian goddess with hieroglyphs behind her. Steven was just smiling from ear to ear.

“That is Hathor, the Egyptian goddess of love, beauty and…” Steven looked over at you, “pleasure.”

You shook your head and kept your voice low, “stop.” You spoke playfully. 

He looked back at the painting, “she’s also the goddess of music. What kind of music do you like?”

“Um, I listen to pretty much anything.” You shrugged, “I’m not very picky. What about you?”

“I like instrumentals mostly, hard to read and listen to lyrics and all that.” He kept his eyes on the painting. “Something nice and acoustic is really just…it’s nice.”

This really was like a real date, just not as intimate. You learned that Steven actually did have a pet goldfish named Gus, and that he was a vegan. You shared some details about your life and preferences, too, and as the gallery became empty, you found yourselves talking more and more, and getting closer and closer until you were standing in front of the same painting you’d started at.

It had already been a couple of hours, but it only felt like minutes. You sighed and looked outside. The time you’d spent with Steven had been too short, you didn’t want it to be over so soon.

“I had a lovely time.” Steven softly spoke on your way outside.

You turned to look at him, “I did, too, thank you so much for-”

Time seemed to slow down as you tripped on the heels that you had no business wearing. You were going to fall, hit the concrete, probably break at least one bone and maybe get a concussion, but two arms stopped you. They grabbed you by your upper arms, pulling you in close to a warm chest. Steven’s brows were furrowed, eyes darker than you’d seen them before. He’d never looked at you that sharp, so watchful in his gaze. His jaw seemed set a little harder too, almost like he was clenching his teeth. Is…is his back straighter? You thought, also noticing that his chest seemed to be puffed a little more than usual.

He shook his head and his face relaxed, brows turned up in concern. His whole body seemed to take an exhale as well.

“Oh no, love…” He helped you get oriented, “what happened, are you alright?”

You realized how close you were standing to him, chest to chest, so you backed up quickly, not wanting anyone to see you together. You were still trying to catch your breath. You noticed your legs shaking a little from having nearly fallen down the short flight of concrete steps.

“I tripped on my heel and…” You chuckled, “you were so quick, thank you for catching me.”

Steven nodded. He realized he must’ve reacted out of pure instinct. He smirked, and looked you up and down affectionately. You were so beautiful, especially when you looked flustered, despite having nearly fallen. He watched you pull out your phone and realized he’d been so wrapped up in his own head that he didn’t realize you were talking.

“-call a cab.” He heard you say to him.

“I could drive you.” He blurted out without a second thought.

“Steven, I can’t just get in your car, what if someone sees?” You looked around, the street was fairly empty, save for a few people that you didn’t recognize.

“It’s dark, and if we’re quick, I’m sure no one will notice. I can drop you off at the coffee shop.” He suggested in a soft tone so no one would overhear.

You felt excited by the prospect of being alone with Steven again, so you all too eagerly nodded before, carefully, walking down the steps toward the only car left parked by the curb. Steven clicked the door open on his keys and you slid inside.

Steven knew he shouldn’t be letting you in his car, but he couldn’t help it. You’d clearly spent a lot of time getting dressed up, and he wanted to spend just a little more time with you before everything had to go back to normal. He still felt unsure how he managed to get a girl like you to even look at him. He was thirty-eight, a lot of the time a stuttering mess, and certainly not the best at picking up women, but somehow he’d managed to catch your interest.

What he didn’t know is that you were wondering the same on your side of the car. How did you catch the attention of someone like Steven? He was attractive, smart, and the most kind and caring person you’d ever met. Even then as he got in the car, he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that he ever cared about. He looked like he was going to kiss you, but you shook your head.

“Not here.” You reminded him, catching the look.

The longer you lingered there, the more nervous you became until Steven started the car and began driving. You were hand in hand within seconds, and you found yourself idly rubbing his fingers with your thumb.

It was impossible to stop the growing desire between your legs. You and Steven hadn’t had time together, not alone anyway, since Thursday afternoon, and you wanted to feel his lips on yours again. You tried to be coy, to not seem too needy or desperate as you trailed your hand from his and landed it gently by his knee.

Steven’s breath caught in his throat at your sudden touch. He looked over at you wide-eyed, but your gaze remained out the window as though you were unaware of what you were doing. A smirk quirked at the side of his mouth, what a naughty little thing, he thought to himself. He didn’t push you to do more, he wanted to see where you took this on your own.

The journey from Steven’s knee to his inner thigh was a slow one. You moved one painstaking inch at a time. An unmistakable groan escaped his lips the closer you got to his cock.

“You really like to tease, don’t you love?”

You looked over at him fully now. Of course you weren’t as sly as you thought you were. You unbuckled your seatbelt. Steven made a sound in protest but it was quickly replaced with soft panting breaths as you turned in your seat, got up on your knees, leaned over the center console and pressed your lips to his neck.

“Oh, darling, I’m trying to…”

Your right hand wasn’t as gentle as your left had been and you reached between his legs to find his impressive bulge waiting there. He let out a murmur but you couldn’t tell what it was he was saying. There was no hiding how desperate you were, you wanted to feel his lips on yours, and his big hands all over your body.

“Steven,” you whispered, “is there somewhere we can go?”

“Y-yeah yeah, course.” His neck was tense under your lips.

You continued rubbing your hand along his clothed shaft while you kissed his neck in wet, needy kisses. He turned into the nearest place he could think of, a secluded parking lot of a department store where he parked quickly, undid his seatbelt and then hungrily turned his face to yours. Your lips collided as though they had been kept apart for too long, and to you, they had been. Steven reached his hand behind you and pulled you over the center console and into his lap where you straddled him, knees on either side of his legs.

“Mm, Steven, I missed you.” You grabbed his cheeks and sat back, just taking a moment to admire the hooded gaze you were coming to recognize as Steven painfully aroused.

“I missed you, too, darling, missed you.” He said in between kisses as he grabbed the hem of your dress and started rolling it up over your thighs.

His hands went back to your rear before he stopped. Steven realized that you weren’t wearing panties. His eyes were wide when he looked at you in surprise.

“Love, you’re not wearing…did you forget to…” for someone who hadn’t done a lot in the sex department, you were full of surprises.

“Wanted to be ready for you, just in case.” You brought your mouth to his neck again.

Your hands went to his belt and you started tugging, struggling to kiss him more while also fumbling with his pants.

“Off, please take them off.” You put your hands in his hair instead.

Steven was more successful than you were, pulling them down to his thighs. His hands went right back to your body, one grabbing the thick of your hip and the other against your spine to press you closer.

“I just wanna…slide myself over it, like on the outside.” You explained feebly, to which he nodded eagerly.

“Whatever you want darling, just do it, whatever you need.”

You reached between your legs and positioned his smooth and hard length so you could slide your folds over it. Steven moaned at the feeling of having your cunt over his cock like that. He wanted nothing more than to plunge himself deep into your heated core, but he wouldn’t, he’d take whatever you’d give him, and he’d love every second of it.

“Fuuuuuck.” Steven said for the first time since you’d known him.

As you rose up, you reveled in the way the ridge at the head of his cock felt against your clit before sliding it back down over the length. Steven tugged at the strap of your dress, pulling it down your arm and then bringing the neckline underneath your breasts.

“Oh, love…” He stuck his mouth over your nipple, sucking and teething at it.

He was ravenous in the way he mouthed over your peak. You were nearly screaming in his car, grateful that no one was around to hear your constant cries. If they were, it’s not like you would notice them anyhow, the windows were completely fogged over at that point. You gasped when he bit a little too hard.

“You make such pretty noises, you know that?” He grabbed your hips and stopped you from riding him. “Here, let me darling.”

Steven was faster than you, fucking upward against your crevices. When you looked down you could see his cock peeking out from between your legs. He was watching you, seeing the grin across your face at the sight.

“You like that, like the way I look sliding out from underneath you?” He threw his head back as he continued grinding faster against you.

“Yes, yes I…ohhh I like it a lot, Steven.” You leaned down, getting close to his lips while he kept his fingers squeezing tightly into your sides. “Love the way your cock looks.”

“Y-yeah? You do? F-fuck, can you say that again?”

“It’s so big Steven, it feels so good, and it looks…mm, it looks so good slipping between my legs like that.” You spoke in a breathless tone while you approached your orgasm.

Your words must’ve hit the spot because his cock hardened underneath you and started shooting hot spurts against his shirt. The hardness gave you all you needed to achieve your own release in just a few more thrusts. You were throwing your head back and you felt Steven’s mouth over your nipple again while you came.

Neither of you moved right away. Steven just stayed breathing heavily over the wet mess he’d made around your peak, his forehead reading against your heart. You rested both of your hands on his shoulders, trying to decide when you were going to let go. In truth, you didn’t want to let go. You could live in this parking lot if it meant staying with Steven all night held close to him like this.

He felt the same, but neither of you dared to voice it. He looked up at you finally, pulling you down and slotting his lips against yours. He wished he could take you to his apartment and keep you there as his. Steven wondered what it would be like to have you curled up against his chest while he read you to sleep, what it would be like to see your sparkling eyes first thing in the morning.

Despite his desires, he couldn’t do it. The risk that you two might get caught was too great, Steven didn’t live far from campus afterall. Not to mention the chance that Marc or Jake might sneak in and say something to you on his behalf, causing even more problems. He pulled back from the kiss with a heavy sigh.

“I’d better get you home.”

You nodded, “yeah sure.”

It was all too obvious based on your tone that you didn’t want to go back to your dorm, but you knew you had to.

The drive home was short, too short for the both of you, and Steven was left feeling alone again as he drove away from the coffee shop after having dropped you off. He knew Marc was just simmering just below the surface, and it was only a matter of time before he popped up again to rain on his parade. Steven was tired, sated from his orgasm still, and it was making it harder for him to keep Marc at bay.

“Steven.” He said coldly, “this has gone way too far. You need to stop it now before you really screw everything up.”

“Marc, I’m not doin’ this. You and Jake had the body for years, you put me through hell, now you leave me alone.” Steven always got emotional when Marc started interfering with his life, because when that happened, it didn’t usually end well for Steven.

“I want to leave you alone, Steven, I really do, but you’re making it impossible. Do you know what’s going to happen if you get caught? Huh?”

Steven pulled into the parking lot of his apartment building. If he ignored Marc, he’d have no choice but to go away. Steven knew that he could maintain control of the body, so now it was just a matter of mentally tuning Marc out again.

“You’re going to get us killed!”

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TAGLIST (please let me know if you would like to be added or removed): @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction, @my-secret-shame@thatmomwitchfriend, @alexxavicry, @welcometostayingawake, @jake-g-lockley, @campingwiththecharmings, @steven-grants-world, @lia275, @minigirl87, @ahookedheroespureheart, @ninebluehearts, @outmodead, @sleepyamaya, @pimosworld, @ababynova, @flordelalunas, @360iris, @momo-mochiball, @missdragon-1, @lunar-ghoulie, @liquorlaughslove, @kiwibaekie, @wordacadabra, @deezisnotreal, @onzayhe, @romanarose, @mt2sssss, @justmaragudytha, @strawb3rry-gal

[ouatnextgen]

these are some stock images i found that are giving christmas cygnet scholar! 😁

Adorable! That last one is so cute, I had to write a drabble for it <3

Thanks for sending these!

(drabble under the cut)

Christmas in Storybrooke was always...a bit different from what the movies said small town Christmases were like.

That doesn't mean they didn't try, though.

They didn't have a mall, or...any place really, where kids could meet and take pictures with 'Santa,' so every year they'd doll up an old abandoned farm house and dub it 'Santa's Workshop.' They'd hire in some older guy to play Santa--it almost always ended up being Gepetto--and manage to convince the local youth on Christmas break to be hired on as his elves.

Hence, why Hope and Gideon were in their current predicament.

Usually, to gain Christmas present money, Hope would shovel driveways and sidewalks for her elderly and/or lazy neighbors.

But it was December 20th, and it had not snowed a single inch.

Desperate, Hope had taken the Santa's Workshop job, and convinced her best friend/ secret boyfriend to do it with her.

Gideon was always good at saving money, so he didn't necessarily need to take the job. But he never could say no to Hope.

Which was how he ended up in a scratchy green tunic, ill-fitting green tights, and a stupid hat with giant plastic elf ears attached to the sides.

"I'm telling you, Gid. We need to come up with our elfsonas." He and Hope had been tasked with sweeping up the pine needles under the large Christmas tree, which was a never ending battle between sticky, sappy pine needles and the worst broom known to man.

"Hmm. Well, what's a good elfsona name?" Gideon smirked and leaned his chin against the broom handle. Even in an abhorrently colored green dress and plastic elf ears, Hope still managed to look beautiful.

"Tinsel McSleigh?"

"Jingle Holidayson." Gideon offered.

"Mary Christmas...but spelled M-A-R-Y."

"Pepper M. Int."

"Frosty the Elfman."

"Buddy the Elf, but not that one."

A shadow suddenly fell over the Christmas tree. "Elves. Quick yapping and get back to work." Gretel, who'd been hired on as 'head elf,' was standing there with her hands on her hips, looking grumpy.

"Sorry, Gretel." They both chimed, and giggled a little bashfully.

As soon as Gretel walked away, the conversation recommenced. Just quieter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a grueling six hours of sweeping pine needles, herding small children through long lines, and wrapping prop presents, the two teens were more than excited to ditch their 'elfsonas' and leave.

"Freedom!" Hope lifted her arms and spun around. "Until tomorrow, at least. Aw, man..."

Gideon chuckled, lightly tossing his arm around her shoulder. "Think of the paycheck, Hope."

"Eyes on the prize." She agreed, squinting up at the sky. "It looks like it's gonna snow."

Gideon looked up as well. Sure enough, the clouds had that...look to them, like something was gonna happen. "Let's hope it at least snows in time for Christmas."

"Bet you $5 of my elf money that it'll be too cold for snow." She shivered, snuggling closer to Gideon. "'Cause that's just our luck."

"Actually, that's a common misconception. Snow can occur at any cold temperature, it's the humidity of an area that determines how much snowfall-"

Hope reached up and gently grabbed Gideon's cheek. "Hey, Gid?"

"Uh...yeah?" He blushed.

"I'm gonna kiss you now."

So she did, cupping his cheek in her cold hand.

The kiss was chaste and short, but Hope always had a way of leaving Gideon breathless no matter what.

"What ever happened to surprising our parents with us at Christmas dinner?" He asked, moving his arm around her middle like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Hope shrugged, mischief dancing in her blue eyes. "They won't find out. Watch." She kissed him again, this time using her hand to block their connected lips from view. "Foolproof."

They pulled away from each other, grinning like idiots in love. And that's when they noticed the change in weather.

"Hey! It's snowing!" Hope held out her hand, catching a fat snowflake on her palm.

Gideon chuckled. "Wow. It's like our kiss made it snow, or something."

"I mean...stranger things have happened in this town." Hope cocked her head, genuinely considering the possibility.

"Sure. Let's go with that. It's not just nature." He took her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. "Let's go home. I seem to remember you promising me a Mario Kart rematch."

She smirked, competitive side flaring. "Ready for me to win again, you mean?"

"You wish!"

The two of them continued to bicker, all the way home.

[fallfairfreelancer]

SAM AND MAX MERMAID AU1!!11!1!!!1

Ok this is an au ive been wokring on for a while now and im so so so excited to talk about it

SO obv this is like a mermaid au, i have more for it (like sybil granny ruth n papierwaite but this is the art i have 4 now) bc i love love LOVE mermaids!1!!!1 (i made sam and max mermaid pride art but i loved it so much i turned that /j into /srs) SO WITHOUT FURTHER ADO

So Sam and Max met at little guppies, like how they met in canon but in the sea, and after Max hospitalized Samʼs bullies with his natural toxins, he and Sam became best friends 4ever. Sam and Max lived in the outskirts of the biggest city in the merfolk kingdom, Samʼs parents left Sam when he was still an egg with Granny Ruth, who is one of the kingdomʼs fiercest n most respected warriors, to move to colder waters in Alaska, where Samʼs family partially originated from. So Sam was raised by Ruth, when Sam was just hatched, his grandfather Leo had died fighting against the humans to protect the kingdom. Max came from a family with loads and loads of kids, (some of which had been either kidnapped or eaten by predators :( ), and probably not a very good home life, so he hung out at Ruthʼs cave with Sam almost every night. As Sam and Max grew up, so did their love for one another. Once they were old enough they moved closer to the shore, where they take up cases for fun, and make sure humans dont get too close. They obviously got married as soon as they could, and spend their time adventuring and scavenging. Occasionaly they will go to human markets, selling fish theyve hunted for money to buy cool weapons and food, but otherwise they like to mess around with pirates and ships. They also like to hang out and have lunch with their friends who claim to be human, Papierwaite and his adopted child Sammun-Mak, who run a museum and live on the edge of the shore, easy access and all.

One day, while exploring a cool shipwreck, they found a little egg, Max, instantly infatuated by it, begged Sam to take it home, so they did. Eventually that egg hatched and they had a kid of their own :) (GEEK!!!) Max unfortunately wasnt allowed to touch her, as he might poison her. Though their baby was always ill and burned so easily, even though Max hadnt touched her! always squinting and shocking them. Confused, they went to Granny Ruth for help. under further investigation they deducted that their baby was an electric eel! Which usually live in freshwater, so she was extra fragile. Though as she got older, she grew stronger, and shockingly smarter, always researching and making devices.

Theyre a very silly family

I KNOW IM GONNA ADD MORE TO THE AU BUT THIS IS WHAT I GOT SO FAR

Tags:

[oatmealcrisp-freak]

i figure ill post this on tumblr too cus whyyyyyyy not. Stay! That yuri on ice podium-family-is-taken-hostage fic where yuuri kicks ass and kills a guy cus his husband got shot while his skate-son hides under a table and wishes he could kill people too

“Yurio!” Yuuri was pleased when the irritable teenager’s head whipped up, the familiar scowl darkening even more as Yuuri waved. “What?” Yuri snapped but skated closer. “Nik-”  Yuuri slipped a hand over Victor’s mouth and smiled. “We’re going out for lunch,” He said, flicking a glance at his husband.

Victor was blinking at him in mild surprise but affection warmed his gaze soon enough and he pulled Yuuri’s hand from his mouth, burying Yuuri’s glove in kisses instead. Yuuri couldn’t help his no doubt foolish grin but cleared his throat and got back on track. This was important. Nikolai needed time to get everything together for Yuri’s birthday which was next week and had asked them to keep his grandson distracted. If they didn’t Yuri would demand in his irascible way to help, and, well, nothing would be a surprise after that.

Nikolai had been declared cancer free just five days ago and though the treatment had left him somewhat delicate, and Yuri a cacophonic whirlwind of a protective and overbearing grandson, it had also left him ecstatic to see another of Yuri’s birthdays. He wanted to make this a special one. He, and all of them, were of the opinion that Yuri deserved it.

That kid had been working so hard lately between his school, his training, picking up the slack in cleaning house and getting food on the table and groceries from the store. Yuuri had needed to sit him down just the other day to trim the split ends out of his hair because Yuri was taking care of himself less and it showed. Yuuri understood it. He did. Sometimes the self had to slide in situations like that, go on the back burner, because other things got more important. Plus side, Yuri had eventually hired a house keeper to come in once a week. Downside, there was still plenty of daily maintenance that required doing and Yuri insisted on doing the bulk of it himself like he was alone, to care for Nikolai as Nikolai had cared for him.

Nikolai wasn’t alone anymore though, because Yuri wasn’t alone. He had the Madame and Yakov. Their whole team adored him and his yelling temper. Victor and Yuuri himself had done their best to be there for him too. Yuuri didn’t want to infringe, to step on Yuri’s toes, by inserting himself into their home and getting that work done as though to insinuate Yuri was incapable because he wasn’t. And Yuri would probably never, ever ask. So instead he talked about certain things where Yuri could hear him, things like getting pet stains out of carpets, fur off of curtains, the household cleaning products that absolutely should not be mixed together. Yuri was obviously capable of Googling things but Yuuri wanted to get the kid’s brain on the right track at least, make sure he wasn’t taking the ‘obvious’ for granted, which meant feeding it the knowledge and food both that it required.

Yuri had really put himself out to care for his family. Everybody wanted to honour that.

However.

Yuuri had refused to play along though until Nikolai conceded to taking Georgi and Mila with him to act as pack mules, happily ensuring Nikolai’s compliance by brutally tugging on his heartstrings with the reminder that Yurio would be horrified if he hurt himself over his birthday. Plisetskys were stubborn. Yuuri was too. He’d sicced the pair on Nikolai with no remorse. They’d left about ten minutes ago and had shot Yuuri a thumbs up on the way out. Now he only had to keep Yuri unaware and distracted. This also meant keeping Victor from spilling details. Yuuri adored how excitable his man could be with every fraction of his being but in instances like this it could be just a teensy bit inconvenient.

“We were wondering if you wanted to join us?”

Yuri squinted between them for a moment, a paragon of teenage suspicion, then rolled his eyes.

“And watch you two make out? Fuck that. Nah, I gotta get home after this.”

“Are you sure?” Yuuri asked, tilting his head. “We were thinking of going to that one restaurant Nikolai likes, the one a couple blocks from here? We figured we’d send you home with some lunch for him.”

That made Yuri pause to consider and Yuuri knew he had him.

“...You’ll pay?” Yuri asked, eyes continuing to go back and forth between them.

Victor beamed. “Of course!”

Yuri thought about it for another moment then sighed heavily with a roll of his eyes. “Fine. Whatever, if you old fucks need the company that bad I’ll come, sheesh.”

Victor pouted. “Hey!”

Yuuri just laughed. “Perfect. Twenty minutes?”

Yuri was already skating off. He waved a hand over his shoulder. “Fine, fine.”

Victor waited until Yuri was out of earshot then laughed and ducked in to kiss Yuuri’s cheek. “Divine, my Yuuri, simply divine.”

The laughter swelled out of him and Yuuri twizzled away, casting a flirty look at Victor. “I know. You almost spoiled it though.”

Getting food into those two right now was very important, so he’d admit to some relief that Yuri had agreed for more reasons than just the main. Victor sighed with drama and slipped the back of his hand over his forehead.

“My Yuuri is so mean to me,” He said, swooning with impeccable grace and a long, swan-like throat. Yuuri quickly ducked in to catch him. Victor grinned up at him and Yuuri swallowed, feeling suddenly very warm. 

“Making fun of my memory like that,” He said even as he wrapped his arms around Yuuri’s shoulders. “While being so beautiful.”

Yuuri snorted before he could help himself. “Oh shush with that.”

It was impossible not to bend over and not kiss those sweet pink bowstring lips just a little bit, though. Just a little bit.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Yuuri breathed, pulling back. “If your feelings are that hurt?”

Victor’s smile was truly a thing of beauty, his whole heart in it from its shape to its shine. “They are. Truly.”

“Later, then.”

“I’d like that.”

One cool down and a shower later saw them dressed for the St. Petersburg afternoon, an unseasonably warm February day that saw Yuuri comfortable in simple jeans and a white sweater. It was strange to see so little snow on the sidewalks. Yuri, forever insisting on looking as punk as possible, would be sweating shortly in his dark studded jacket tiger sweater combo and Yuuri reminded himself to make sure the kid drank plenty of water at the restaurant. Victor set his Dior sunglasses on his nose, looking every bit as glamorous as he deserved, and with his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders they were off. Because the restaurant in question wasn’t far, they walked. Yuri, of course, had immediately stuffed his ears with earbuds so he didn’t have to talk or listen and Victor and Yuuri left him to it, chatting to each other softly enough that they wouldn’t be heard over Yuri’s music but careful to avoid suspicious talk of Nikolai or his birthday all the same.

Instead Victor talked about the dry cleaners and how they hadn’t managed to get a stain out of one of his favourite salmon coloured button downs, and Yuuri had hummed and sighed with sympathy before promising to try his own hand at it with some hospitality industry ‘trade secret’ elbow grease. It was only a wine stain so some hydrogen peroxide and Dawn should do the trick. He didn’t know how the dry cleaners had missed it but they generally did good work, it was nothing to fuss over.

Every smile Victor gave to him was a treasure, Yuuri thought as the man did just that with eager joy, happily yelling out his thanks and throwing his arms around Yuuri. Yuuri couldn’t help a small laugh, didn’t even try to deny himself the pleasure of leaning fully into Victor’s warmth as he gazed up at that precious face.

It was hard not to remember the smile he’d fallen in love with as a child, and then the one he’d pushed away his concern over as a young adult, a beauty slowly giving way to silky smooth steel that no longer seemed genuine. He knew now his instincts were correct, for all he’d tried to ignore them then. Victor had fallen out of joy.

He’d found it again. Yuuri was certain that his contribution to Victor’s happiness, though he didn’t always understand how he of all people had managed it, was one of his life’s greatest accomplishments. Olympic gold paled in comparison to Victor’s pleasure. His fingers stayed wound through the hand slung over his shoulder, his other arm around Victor’s waist as they walked. It left Victor’s left hand free to gesture as he pleased, because he was a hand talker of the highest caliber for all that he stifled it during press conferences and most interviews, and Yuuri felt privileged to get to see and enjoy it. 

In the years since they’d met, he hadn’t learned to take those small things for granted. Yuuri hoped he never would.

The restaurant was a cozy affair with faded wallpapers and carpet but clean, long tablecloths and plentiful (somewhat inexpensive) servings. Yuuri felt very lucky that even in the lunch rush they were able to get a cushioned booth. In a rare show of manners, Yuri took out his earbuds and paused his music, only to get caught up scrolling as he reclined instead because of course it wouldn’t do to be seen as too polite or mindful. Yuuri hoped Mila and Georgi hadn’t posted anything to Instagram or Twitter yet. 

Victor sat, then paused, then huffed and looked at Yuuri with a hint of chagrin in his smile.

“I have to,” He nodded his head in the direction of the bathrooms. “If the server comes by before I’m back, will you order for me, love?”

Yuuri chuckled and nodded. “Of course, Vitya. Try not to take too long.”

“Swear to God, if forty minutes go by and I find you measuring your hairline in the fucking mirror again-” Yuri suddenly hissed, glaring at Victor.

Victor only rolled his eyes in good humor. “I’ll try my best. Excuse me.”

They watched him leave, Yuuri with rather more intensity on his husband’s shoulders and ass and the shine of his hair than was maybe appropriate, then Yuuri shook his head and looked back at Yuri, lifting a finger to his lips.

“I hid his tape measure, don’t tell him.”

He was rewarded with a sharp cackle that showed Yuri’s canine then the boy sat back, smirking as he gave his attention to his phone again. Yuuri didn’t bother with his own, still in his pocket, instead quietly giving his eyes to the rest of the restaurant and the people inside. There was a couple with a young daughter across from them, an elderly gentleman sitting by himself and going over a book, a kid who looked about Yuri’s age, among others. Yuuri breathed it all in, glad that the sounds were low and calm, then turned to look out the window. It really was a glorious afternoon. The sky had nothing on his Victor’s eyes, though.

A waitress came by and Yuuri felt very proud of himself for managing to order in Russian well enough to be understood. Yuri didn’t even mock him for it, outside a single snort at least. Their orders taken, the waitress left, and Yuuri looked back out the window, pleased to be in a silence that expected nothing.

It was because his back was to the doors that he didn’t see it. Yuri did, though, his brow furrowing as he straightened, catching Yuuri’s attention.

“What the fuck?” Yuri mumbled to himself, almost standing to get a better look.

Yuuri blinked. He didn’t have time to turn around before the doors crashed open. He jumped, head whipping around. His eyes widened.

His eyes widened because there was a trio of men with guns, two of them supporting a fourth that looks injured, all of them wearing masks. What? No, wait, what? Had they stumbled onto a movie set or something-

“Nobody fucking move!” 

No. No they had not, Yuuri realized with a settling numb horror. This was real. This was very real. They’re lucky. Their bench was on the far side of the restaurant, practically in a corner. Yuuri whipped around.

“Get under the table,” He hissed at Yuri.

Yuri’s eyes snapped to him but he otherwise didn't move. For probably the first time in his life, if Yuuri was reading the look of dead shock on Yuri’s face right, it probably wasn’t out of wilful disobedience so Yuuri reached over and shoved at him, dragging at his sleeve to get him to slide off the bench and under the tablecloth. The kid actually went without saying anything, at least until he was mostly hidden and Yuuri made no further move.

“Aren’t you-?” Yuri hissed but Yuuri tapped at him with a frantic shoe and thankfully he shut up. His breath was coming fast. His heart was in his ears. His eyes were locked on the men as they moved through the restaurant, demands for a first aid kit punctuated by one of them grabbing at a waitress and shoving her at the doors with a demand to lock them. It was impossible to see their eyes through their masks, to tell where, precisely, they were looking - not at this distance. Yuuri could feel his breath rasp in his throat, but he stayed right where he was.

He found his eyes moving slowly to the family across from them. Through some coincidence the man caught his eye. Yuuri looked at the man’s wife and child. He looked at the men with the guns. He looked back at the man and with a shaking hand reached over. His fumbling, numb fingers twitched the tablecloth, then managed to grab it and he lifted the corner.

The man, thankfully, didn’t need to be told a single thing. 

“Go, go,” He whispered very quietly to his wife, ushering her down with a protective arm. It was a matter of only a couple seconds, surely, for the woman to grab her little girl and duck across the way with soft sobbing breaths, but every single one of them was a taut eternity. Yuuri could feel himself panting as he quickly jerked the table cloth up higher to clear their way then just as quickly laid it back and smoothed out the wrinkled corner with a frantic application of muscle memory. The man slid into the booth seat across from him. Yuuri looked at him and nodded. The man nodded back and set his jaw. They would both stay right where they were to distract from their loved ones underneath. Two men alone might be conspicuous. Two men together, somewhat less so.

“Ivan, Dmitri,” One said, indeed already peaking under empty tables with sharp gestures, “Go around and grab people’s phones.”

Yuuri shuddered in relief. It seemed as though they hadn’t been noticed.

“I thought we weren’t using our names-”

“This whole thing has gone to shit you fuckwit, just fucking do it! YOU. Yeah I see you, you fried fatass fuck, put the phone down. NOBODY is calling the cops until we’re goddamn good and ready or everyone in here dies, you all get me?!”

Yuuri was feeling very grateful for his improving ability in Russian that allowed him to follow what they were saying. Two of the men peeled off and began to go around the room, demanding phones then breaking them with their guns or under stomping feet. None of them had made their way over to the bathroom yet, Yuuri realized, and fumbled his phone out of his pocket to text Victor, to warn him-

“Hey.”

His gaze crawled upward, heart skipping a beat as he found himself looking down the barrel of a black pistol. The man wielding it was wearing a pasty, cheap looking but fully head covering mask that depicted, at a guess, the Disney character Snow White. He held out his other hand.

“Phone.”

But Yuuri found himself frozen. Frozen, at least, until the gun cracked across his head with enough force to knock him over. His automatic yell choked as the neck of his sweater was grabbed, hoisting him back up. “I said give me your fucking phone.”

“Here, here!” Yuuri gasped, dropping it onto the table then lifting his shaking, empty hands. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please-”

“Shut up.”

His phone was smashed in short order and the man across from him surrendered his own mutely, eyes huge in his face. That phone, too, was broken. Snow White shifted as if to move on, then paused, then looked back with empty eyes at the table.

Yuuri felt his stomach drop right into his shoes. Fuck. Had they been figured out? Yuri-

God, Yuri-

He’d do whatever it took to make sure Yuri didn’t get hurt, Yuuri decided in that instant, body beginning to flare with the bright singing of nerves. If this fucker laid one hand on the corner of the table cloth to lift it, he was in for a fight.

The man did reach out but instead of going for the table cloth he went for Yuuri’s face, grabbing his chin and jerking it toward him. A sizzle of terror seared his skin, breath catching in his chest with confusion as the grotesque and ill-fitting mask slowly tilted to the right.

“You look familiar,” The man said, then pulled his own phone from his pocket. 

Oh. Well. Shit.

Taking Yuuri’s glasses off his face, he flicked them to the table then took a picture. Yuuri watched, his teeth clenched so tight they hurt, as the man fucked around for a moment. He considered his phone then looked back at Yuuri. Pushed his hair out of his eyes in a motion that made Yuuri hiss and realize he might be bleeding, that spot he’d been bashed hurt so much to the touch. Snow White studied him, holding the phone up to seemingly compare the screen and his face all the better. Yuuri wondered if Google Lens was that good, but going by the reaction it must be.

“Yuuri Katsuki. Well I’ll be.”

Yep. That good. Great. He was let go. Through the holes of the mask, Yuuri could barely make out the eyes that studied him, then seemed to crinkle. “Your hubby around, Yuuri?”

Yuuri quickly shook his head no, voice stuck in his throat.

“Ah, that so?” Snow White turned to look at the man at the other side of the booth, then back at him. “Not cheating on him are you? Tut, tut, Mr. Katsuki.”

It was Katsuki-Nikiforov actually but like hell if he was correcting what was clearly a gun toting maniac with anger management issues and zero patience. 

He looked back at the man across from Yuuri and said in a cold tone, “Who are you, then.”

Yuuri looked at the man whose mouth was working, a useless croak bursting out from between his teeth.

“He’s a writer,” Yuuri gasped.

Snow White looked back at him. Yuuri swallowed and kept going. “V-Vitya and I, we’ve been thinking of-of publishing a biography so I came here to interview him.”

Yuuri managed a weak, rusty sounding laugh. “Neither of us can write for shit. So. Ah.” He swallowed the urge to say more, remembering somewhere in the back of his mind how apparently over-explaining could be a tell for lying. As if clinical anxiety didn’t exist, among other things. Hah. Holy hell, what had even just come out of his mouth. A writer? Biographies?

‘Please let him buy it,’ Yuuri prayed. ‘Please.’

Snow White stared at him for a moment, each consecutive second driving Yuuri’s heartbeat faster and faster and then, just when he thought it might actually explode, he turned to look at the other man.

“That so?” He asked.

The man nodded rapidly.

“Hm. Okay. Sit tight. Both of you.”

Snow White walked away. Yuuri heard a sob drop from his mouth and clapped a hand over it, trying desperately to concentrate on his breathing. Too fast. It was too fast. He was starting to see spots, his fingers tingling-

Underneath the table, a warm hand grasped his ankle. Yuuri’s hyperventilating aborted, then he forcefully unwound the tension in his shoulders. He couldn’t lose it. Not here. Not now. Not with Yuri and a little girl and her mother under the table. Yuuri swallowed tightly, let out the breath stuck in his throat, then lowered his hand to the table and took in another, deep and slow.

“H-Here.”

Yuuri hissed and winced, eyes opening to find the man leaned forward and pressing a napkin to his head. Yuuri absently swiped at a tickle on his cheek and found red on his fingers. So he was bleeding then. He hoped he wasn’t concussed, that would take him out of practice for upwards of a month or more depending on how bad it was.

Assuming he got out of here alive, anyway.

“Thank you,” Yuuri whispered, reaching for the blurry shape of his glasses and replacing them back onto his nose. The man’s face settled into sharp relief, his brown skin pebbled with a no doubt very cold fearful sweat, and the hint of a smile on it.

“No, thank you. I. I couldn’t say anything at all, I-”

The man shut his eyes, took in a deep breath, then peeled the napkin away and replaced it with a small wince. Yeah, head wounds tended to bleed a lot.

Yuuri mustered up a smile. “It’s fine.”

“My name is Roman Orlov, by the way. I, ah, I hope you’re not insulted that I have no idea what you’re apparently so famous for.”

Yuuri blinked, then actually laughed. It made his head pound sharply, and he realized it’d been doing that for a bit now. He reached up to grab the napkin. Orlov sat back.

“Actually that’s a really big relief, but if you tell Vitya that he’ll pout terribly so please don’t mention that to him.”

“Your husband?” 

Yuuri’s eyes strayed to the bathroom again. “Yes.”

He wanted to check underneath the table. He wanted to see to Yuri, to make sure he was okay, with every fiber of his being. He stayed where he was, though, eyes on the men who were now gathered in a semi circle around their apparently hurt member, who was being tended to by a cook. They were conversing in low tones but Yuuri tensed when a hand gestured in their direction. He wiggled his ankle. Yuri’s hand was comforting beyond measure but he had a sinking feeling his and Victor’s high profile had just turned Yuuri into an ideal hostage.

Honestly, if it meant taking their attention away from this table, then so be it.

The hand released him. He took another deep breath and closed his eyes, then looked at the bathrooms again. He couldn’t see the men’s door from here. He looked back at the men. One was heading in his direction, the one who’d been doing all the shouting at the start and called his contemporaries by name. He was wearing a Cinderella mask. A hysterical giggle hiccuped from him and he slapped his hand over his mouth again, squeezing his eyes shut. That was one of his favourite ballets, in all its interpretations. Goddamnit.

“Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov.”

Yuuri opened his eyes and looked up. The man swept an arm out to gesture him from the booth in what was probably supposed to be a gallant fashion. 

“Please,” Cinderella said. “Come with me.”

Yuuri took a shivering breath, nodded, and shifted to get up from the table. A hand snapped into the back of his shoe. Yuuri hoped he didn’t hurt Yuri when he ripped his foot away. He stood and got a patronizing pat on the head for his efforts. Cinderella looked at Orlov and pointed one finger at him.

“You? Stay,” He said.

Orlov looked at Yuuri, then back at Cinderella. His shoulders rose with the depth of his breath and he nodded, hands fisting on the table. Yuuri gave him a no doubt weak smile. It broke easily when he was shoved forward, the cocking of the gun a diminutive click but a very loud, very real warning all the same. One foot in front of the other, Yuuri walked.

“I apologize for the head wound,” Cinderella said as Yuuri was guided over to his- Friends? Co-workers? Who knew. “As I’m sure you can imagine, we’re all rather stressed at the moment so tempers are running… high.”

More insinuations. Yatta.

“I understand,” Yuuri said.

“Good! Yes you do, don’t you. May I compliment your Russian? You speak it very well. Bit of an accent still but some people just never lose that, I hear.”

Cinderella ripped out a chair from the table their fellow was being treated at and waved a hand toward it with a bob as though he was bowing. Yuuri looked around himself then nodded and sat with as much dignity as he could bring to bear, clasping his hands in his lap.

“Thank you.”

The gun caressed the back of his head, too hard to approach anything genuinely tender, only making a mockery of the gesture. Yuuri’s flinched and bit down on a sob. He felt tears roll down his face.

“You’re very welcome.” There was a moment of silence then Cinderella said, “You’ve checked the kitchen?”

“Yeah, when we got the first aid kit.”

“Good. Bathrooms next.”

Yuuri’s eyes shot open. Oh God. He wrung his hands tighter, enough that his nails bit into his skin. Oh God.

A man wearing a Belle mask nodded and stalked off. 

He had to keep it together. Yuuri pressed a hand to his chest as though that could encourage his heart to slow down, a cold sweat breaking out over his forehead that made the gash sting. He had to keep it together. 

Yuri was counting on him.

‘Maybe he got out.’ There was an employee door right next to the bathrooms, wasn’t there? If he remembered right? ‘Or maybe he managed to hide. Maybe-’

“Nobody in the women’s washroom but look who I found on the line with police in the men’s?”

Yuuri’s head inched around slowly, his fingers biting deep into his chest. Victor, per his wont, was smiling - a stiff and restrained smile but a charming one all the same. He was uninjured.

He hadn’t gotten out.

Yuuri had known it was a fool’s hope, to wish that he had somehow, but the knowing that he hadn’t made it very tempting to break down right then and there. As it was, he was sure he was going to be in for an interesting recoup, emotionally speaking, for the next few weeks.

Victor’s eyes met his and that smile became more a gritting of teeth, his entire body bristling in a wave.

“Well, well, well. Yuuri,” Snow White said, grabbing onto his shoulder and giving him what could have been a friendly shake in any other circumstance. “I thought you said your husband wasn’t here?”

“I-” Yuuri stuttered, a trembling hand lifting to his lips. Shit. What- Okay. “I. I thought he wasn’t. I. Wha-Victor, what are you doing here, weren’t you going to help Yakov while I met with Mr. Orlov?”

Was this too obvious? Too much of a supposedly tragic coincidence to be believed? Yuuri had never been much of an actor, his so called musicality and PCS largely the result of being unable to hide his true feelings, but as he stared at Victor’s face, tears burning in his eyes and misery at their shared situation searing at him, he could only hope. People whose ‘tempers were running high’ wouldn’t appreciate being lied to. They wouldn’t appreciate semantics. Maybe this was digging the hole deeper but by God, for their sake and the sake of everyone in this entire restaurant they had to try.

Victor’s eyes flashed back and forth, his smile as stiff as his shoulders as Belle shoved him a couple more steps forward. “And leave you to figure out-” Yuuri mouthed ‘denki’ through his fingers then curled them fully to his mouth. “-our biography all on your lonesome? Why Yuuri, I could never!” Victor continued flawlessly, filling Yuuri with a shiver of relief, because of course he did. Oh how he loved this man.

“Knowing you, you’d completely under represent your achievements and spend the whole time glamourizing me. I knew I’d have to surprise you, though, I…”

Victor trailed off, looking between all the guns, all the wide eyed terrified faces watching them. He swallowed tightly and turned to look at where they’d been sitting. Yuri, thank goodness, was still under the table from what Yuuri could tell. Say what you would about the kid’s sour attitude and his refusal to listen a good chunk of the time but Yuri was not unintelligent. He was no doubt furious and cursing them out, but he was the only family Nikolai had left, and he knew it. He was not foolish enough to mess with that.

“I can’t say I expected this.” Victor finished in a soft, grim tone.

“In fairness, neither did we.” Cinderella said. “Hey. You. You done yet?”

The cook who was fixing up the wounded man, who was wearing an Ariel mask, looked up. “I’ve done what I can but I’m no doctor.”

“Right. And fat chance there’s one in here.”

Cinderella looked around then at Snow White. “What do you think?”

Snow White shrugged. “I think we’ve got a two for one special on the VIP section and it’d be a waste if we didn’t use it.”

Cinderella nodded, then in a second he lifted his gun and fired.

“VITYA,” Yuuri shrieked as he watched his husband crumple to the ground with a cry, launching to his feet only to find himself trussed up in a thick arm. He yelled and kicked out, desperate beyond reason to get to his man, to get to Victor, to make sure he was still alive -

There was a lot of screaming. It wasn’t only him. Cinderella lifted his gun again and shot at the ceiling.

“Everybody SHUT THE FUCK UP or I’ll kill you all sweet and personal!”

Yuuri could barely hear him as he clawed at the arm around his stomach. Victor looked up. His face was pale and bathed in a sheer sweat, pain described in every line of his face, but his eyes were dry as they sunk into him. Yuuri’s heart fluttered in sharp relief. He struggled harder. He had to get to him, he had to-

“Yuuri, stop, I’m fine!” Victor said through gritted teeth then tried to smile. “It’s okay, my love, my life, stop. Just stop.”

“Vitya-” Yuuri whimpered and jerked, very nearly free.

“STOP.”

Yuuri forced his body to still, his fingers still clutching fast at a dark sleeve. He was drawn shortly back into a sturdy chest. As Yuuri tried to calm himself he could feel ragged breathing against his ear, he realized - and that drew his attention to a sensation that he’d never even noticed in his panic, that of a muzzle pressed solidly to the corner of his jaw. Funny. He almost didn’t even care. He couldn’t take his eyes away from his husband, couldn’t take his eyes away from Victor’s life blood staining the burgundy carpet even darker, from the pain in Victor’s milk pale face. Yuuri couldn’t look away. Yuuri could barely even breathe.

Cinderella walked the short distance between Victor and himself and kicked him over onto his back with his foot, tilting his head down as he stood over him. He laughed. “Nah, I wouldn’t call you ‘fine’, but the Kremlin isn’t going to want to lose Victor Katsuki-Nikiforov. They’ll even suck our dicks now that we have you in an emergency state if it means saving you, I’m sure. You called the cops, right?”

Victor, breath hissing between the clench of his teeth and his hand clutching at his shoulder, nodded. Belle stepped forward and held out Victor’s cell phone. 

“I didn’t end the call. They’ve been able to hear everything.”

“Good thinking. Give it.”

Belle gave. With a jaunty, farcical tone, Cinderella spoke into the phone. “Hi there dispatcher. Do you understand what’s happening? Good. One of our friends got hurt, so we sadly had to pay that forward. Insurance, you know?”

All the levity dropped from Cinderella’s voice. “If you don’t want Victor Katsuki-Nikiforov to die on your watch you’re gonna send one paramedic. One. No cops. No-They’re already on their way? Well call them off, then! ONE paramedic. That’s all. If they’re not here in ten minutes, I’m putting a bullet right between his shiny blue eyes, then we’re gonna take his husband and leave and you’ll NEVER find his body. Don’t want an international incident on your hands? Then do it. …Good. Good. Mn? Hah, yeah, sure, I’ll stay on the line,” Cinderella shrugged and laughed. “Why not. So, what’s your name? Elena? Very pretty. Elena, may I say, you have a beautiful voice…”

Yuuri watched as Cinderella ambled off between the tables. Evidently, he was a talk-and-walker. Ignoring Victor, Belle moved back to Ariel’s side and crouched next to him and the cook, muttering too fast for Yuuri to make out. The cook was sent scrambling away.

Yuuri eyed the men next to them for a moment then loosed a long breath, giving his gaze back to Victor. Victor looked back at him. Nobody was rushing to his aid. Nobody even cared.

“That’s a good boy,” Process of elimination meant it was Snow White holding onto him. The mouth of the gun swept up and down his skin. “Nice and soft, easy does it. You don’t want to make this worse for him, do you? I don’t think he’d like getting to see your head get blown off.”

The gun dug deeper into his throat. Yuuri looked down. He could barely see around the arm holding him, but their feet…

Yuuri looked back at Victor. Victor, who was still bleeding, the stain on his shirt growing visibly. There were so many arteries and veins in the shoulder, to say nothing of the nerves. So close to the neck, the head, the heart, that area was riddled with major blood vessels. Cinderella had put a hole into his husband. A hole that, if it wasn’t treated within moments, meant Victor could very well die.

Victor could die, and so could Yuri, helpless underneath the table. He was so young, still so small - barely taller than Yuuri, now, and all these men were Victor’s height or taller.

Victor, who was bleeding out. Victor, who was no doubt in agony beyond the pale. That was all Yuuri could think about. It almost made him calm, for all that his breath was racing in and out of him in something almost close to a growl.

Victor shook his head, clawing onto his side. “Yuuri, don’t!”

Snow White didn’t waste a heartbeat to point his gun at Victor’s head. “YOU shut the fu-”

Yuuri didn’t wait either. His head was clear now. It let him think. He stomped on the foot next to his with all his strength. He barely heard the cracks of breaking bones under Snow White’s scream. The gun dropped as the man went to grab for it with an agonized yell, releasing Yuuri entirely.

Yuuri could bench 110KGs. Snow White went flying, crashing into a table. Yuuri continued his drop, spinning on his heel to scoop up the chair he’d been made to sit in, the chair that’d fallen over in his panic. Belle whipped around. It made it easier to crack the back of the chair right into his face. The chair, wood, broke. Belle’s mask went flying off as he careened to the floor. There was Russian swearing behind him. He didn’t know what any of it meant but the tone made it clear. The gun was only a foot away. Yuuri grabbed it, barely breathing, hastened over to Belle. A shot rang out. Yuuri stomped on Belle’s arm, shortly adding a second gun to his collection and stumbled back, spinning around and lifting both in the direction of the sound. Nobody else had cried out in pain, hopefully that meant the bullet was buried in a wall somewhere and that it hadn’t hit anyone. He breathed, in and out, through the knit of his gnashed teeth.

Cinderella stopped, took a step back, stopped again, his gun pointed dead set at Yuuri’s head. His side was burning. Maybe he’d pulled something flinging Snow White around, it wasn’t like he’d ever taken martial arts classes. Yuuri looked at Victor as he slowly stepped away from Belle. Victor was staring at him in shock, and. Arousal? Huh. 

‘Hon, you’re probably bleeding too much to get it up. Come on.’ Anyway. More pressing issues to deal with at present.

Such as, to be honest, the fact that Yuuri had no idea what the fuck he was doing. He’d never even held a gun in his life, nevermind shot one. He’d watched Highschool of the Dead once in highschool, watched a few other anime where guns were a focus. Some crime dramas. He’d even played a couple first person shooters but honestly he’d always preferred RPGs. Guns were heavier than they looked. Yuuri’s glasses were starting to slip down his nose. Everyone knew what a trigger was.

All he knew was that he need to get his Vitya, his Yura, safe.

Everything was quiet, so quiet he could almost hear Elena on the phone.

“I thought you, like, danced. Ballet and figure skating and shit,” Cinderella said, Victor’s phone still at his ear, tone a little breathless if Yuuri was hearing right.

It took Yuuri a second to figure out how the hell to say anything in Russian through the buzzing that told him he was in a state of adrenaline, though a boost significantly higher than the ones he got at a competition. Honestly he didn’t know how well he’d been doing so far with his linguistics, sarcastic compliments notwithstanding, he didn’t even know how he’d managed to say a single damn thing. What was the Russian term for ‘ghost writer’ anyway? He’d look it up when he got home. Because he was going home.

All of them were.

“What the hell does that have to do with anything,” Yuuri breathed.

Cinderella laughed. “Do you even know how to use tho-”

A hand touched his ankle and Yuuri turned, found Belle snarling up at him through a font of blood. Every little detail he knew about guns was surging through his head. There was something about a safety switch, a hammer, cocking-

Whatever. Yuuri pointed a gun at Belle’s lower leg and pulled the trigger, cutting Cinderella off.

Somehow, he didn’t miss. Breath coming in shuddery gasps, Yuuri turned the same gun onto Snow White. More screaming. The muzzle was smoking. It smelled like shit. His hand and wrist were burning. Yuuri pointed the gun back at Cinderella. This one for sure had the safety off, it seemed. He checked the position of what he thought might be it, a little switch in the side that almost blended into the carbon black, looked at the other gun and found it was in the same position. He gave his eyes and sights back to Cinderella.

Yuuri blew out a shivering breath and said, “You’re gonna need more than one paramedic.”

Before Cinderella could respond he dropped the sights down and pulled both triggers. One hit Cinderella’s foot and the man dropped with a shriek. A woman at a nearby table pounced and grabbed the gun with shaking fingers. Yuuri stared for a second then dropped the ones he’d stolen onto a nearby chair, yanking at a tablecloth and rushing for his husband.

“Vitya,” He gasped, pressing the tablecloth into Victor’s shoulder and holding it as firm as he could manage with his suddenly shaking, tingling hands. “Vitya, my Vitenka, you’re gonna be okay, you have to be okay, stay with me, please!”

Victor hissed in pain but he was still conscious, that was good, that was very good. In the distance, Yuuri was pretty sure he could hear sirens. Victor’s eyes opened and they were a bit glazed but they still latched onto him and a shaky smile lifted his lips. He raised a hand to cup Yuuri’s cheek and Yuuri leaned into it with a weak sob. 

“I’ll be okay,” Victor said.

Yuuri’s eyes shut around his tears.

He didn’t see it coming.

An explosion rocked through his skull. He hit the ground, a numb body, Victor’s cry of his name, several gasps echoing through his ears. Yuuri felt himself groan, came back to his body somewhat through the spinning and stars and opened his eyes as he tried to push himself up. An immense weight came upon him, though, an arm wrapping around his throat. Yuuri choked. He clawed at it. Someone was saying something. He was dragged backwards then onto his feet. The arm loosened enough for him to breathe, at least a little, and he sucked in a raspy gasp like sunlight.

He was dizzy. He was so dizzy. He opened his eyes and he couldn’t see anything more than smudges and blurs. His glasses were gone. His hearing started to come back through the strange, cottony haze that’d muffled it, deafened him to everything but Victor’s voice.

“-obody move or I’ll blow his head clean off I swear to God, come at me if you want but if you do that’s what’s gonna happen!”

The voice was unfamiliar. Yuuri strained his eyes to the side, panting roughly, and saw red. Ariel. 

He closed his eyes, actually a little exasperated with himself. He’d thought Ariel too injured to really do anything about. The English expression about assumptions was knocking at his door, he was sure. Oh well, even monkeys fell from trees.

His legs felt like butter. He looked to the right. This close it was impossible not to see the gun shoved into his face, the mouth kissing his cheek. Ariel’s finger was on the trigger, ready to pull at any second. Yuuri licked his lips and tasted blood. He looked around himself. They were backing up toward the door. Ariel was barking at a waitress to unlock it. As far as he could tell without his glasses, people looked reasonably terrified.

Yuuri looked toward the table he and Yuri had sat at. Orlov was paralyzed in his seat. He thought he could see a blond head peeking out from beneath the table cloth.

Yuuri looked at Victor. Victor hadn’t been crying before but he was now, great big fat tears. For all that he was starting to look rather grey he was standing, a bloody hand reaching out for them, the other limp at his side. He could definitely hear ambulance sirens. Yuuri swallowed. He shut his eyes. His head was spinning so fast it was hard to think.

‘It was a gut wound,’ He tried to remember, his thoughts instead summoning the firm look in Mari’s eyes as she’d told him to go for the weak spots and never hesitate. She’d been talking about eyes and dicks and hair. Yuuri didn’t know exactly how Ariel was injured, but thinking back, yes, he was reasonably sure the cook they’d conscripted had been attending to Ariel’s core. ‘Right?’

The arm around his throat squeezed tight and Yuuri heard himself make a very strange gurgle. 

Well. He was dizzy, and getting dizzier. May as well lean into it.

‘I hope this doesn’t kill my back,’ Yuuri thought and promptly went dead weight. Ariel grunted and they toppled. Impact made him see stars again. He groaned softly and rolled over onto his front. The bell pepper slices and hummus he’d had as a snack earlier were doing their best to say hello to the floor. Ariel was groaning too, curling up around his stomach in pain.

He was still holding onto the gun, Yuuri saw, and lunged for it. The waitress was on Ariel in a second, too, dogpiling onto him while Yuuri did his best to rip the gun away. Ariel’s elbow smashed into the waitress’s nose, making her fall back, and Yuuri snarled, scrambling until he could dig his knee with force into the side Ariel had been protecting. The man howled, his free hand shoving at Yuuri then digging into his hip in a way that made Yuuri scream in pain and surprise, his entire leg going numb. He didn’t let go of the gun, though and another man joined the fray, then a second, and with that Yuuri was finally able to rip the gun away. 

“YUURI!”

A hand grabbed his hair and ripped his head back, another shortly groping for the firearm. Yuuri was deeply annoyed to find Belle back at it but then he had seemed to fawn over Ariel quite a bit so maybe it made sense. They struggled. Belle let go of his hair and reached into his pocket as he pulled and tugged for the gun. Yuuri kicked out the leg that wasn’t sizzling with pins and needles but missed. Belle pulled out a knife. The struggling had put Yuuri on his back but this close he couldn’t miss. He kicked out again. The gun fired. The back of the man’s head ballooned, shattered pieces and gore raining down. He slumped over, collapsing onto Yuuri. His body was still warm. Pieces of him splattered onto Yuuri’s face. He blinked. He stared. He felt his body go limp in one huge drop of tension.

Yuuri knew he was going to be seeing that in his dreams tonight.

“Katsudon-!”

The body was pushed off of him. Or maybe kicked was the right word. Yuri’s face swam into his vision. Yuuri pulled himself up, patting over the boy, lifting his jacket, his breath kicking back up it pace but Yuri was fine. He was just fine. Not a hair was out of place on his head. He was fine. Yuri’s hands swatted his away.

“I’m just fine you stupid pig, fuck, you should worry more about yourself-” Yuri’s voice actually sounded breathless.

Yuuri shook his head passed the swimming in his eyes, blinking hard as the world started to sway a little bit. “Vitya?”

“Alive. That cook asshole is trying to keep his blood in him now but he’s still alive. Katsudon what the hell were thinki-fuck, shit, head between your knees you fucking jackass, oh my God, I can’t with you people-”

Yuuri let the flustered blond manipulate him into position. He closed his eyes. He tried to breathe.

He couldn’t smell anything but copper.

The doors opened. Paramedics. Cops. They were all here. Yuuri learned that he’d been shot, after a sort - grazed more like - a deep wound in his hip area which was what Ariel had dug his fingers into. He hadn’t even realized it. Adrenaline was a hell of a drug. He had a moderate concussion as well. Hard not to after being pistol-whipped then kicked in the head, since apparently that was what had happened to make all those fun stars blink to life. Made sense. It made sense. They were safe. Victor would live. Yuri was just fine, and so were Mrs. Orlov and their child. Everyone was safe. Everybody was going to be just fine.

Yuuri would later learn that someone had taken a picture of him, seated on the ledge of the ambulance back. His image, white sweater dangling from one shoulder and covered amply in blood, large glazed eyes staring into nothing through the disheveled mess of his hair as paramedics bustled around him, was sold to various news outlets. It was not the first time Yuuri went viral, but it was the most miserable circumstance of it to date.

They would be going home though. Everyone was going to be fine. Yuuri lowered his head and looked at his hands. He lifted them to his face and breathed in, noticing a faint scent somewhere between charcoal and sulfur. Yuuri lifted his eyes to the sky. He needed a cigarette. ‘So that’s what gunpowder smells like.’

Phichit's dark grey eyes were concerned and unimpressed. "Don't even try to tell me you're okay."

Yuuri blinked at his phone's screen. He paused and considered that.

"What do you want me to say, then?" Yuuri asked, honestly not sure.

Phichit rubbed a hand down his face, grimacing, careful not to dislodge the hamster on his head. He dropped his hand and looked back at his phone screen, eyes seeming to study Yuuri's face. Yuuri didn't know why. He wasn't a pretty sight right now, all over in bruises and stitches. Maybe Phichit was just trying to ascertain the extent of the injuries.

"You can start by giving me the run down. How are you, physically?"

Yuuri thought about that.

"I have a headache the size of Kyushu?" He offered. It was very hard to brain, currently.

He looked over at Yakov, seated on the recliner as he watched the television, pretending rather adroitly that he wasn't listening. It was strange to have Yakov here instead of Victor, but Victor was in the hospital, sleeping off emergency surgery. Yuri, of course, had gone home to his grandfather and Yuuri was proud to see that he had no injuries whatsoever. He'd been of half a mind to invite Yuri and Nikolai to lounge around in his and Victor's apartment - they certainly had the room and Yuuri was feeling very clingy at the moment - but he had the feeling that Yuri needed some grandpa time. He'd invite them over tomorrow. Chris was due in tomorrow, Yuuri recalled that string of text messages he and the other man had shared an hour or so ago, sometime in the afternoon.

"I'm tired," Yuuri finally said, looking back at the phone.

Phichit winced with sympathy. "Yeah, I bet..."

The young man took in a deep breath and asked the next most obvious question. "And, uh, mentally?"

Yuuri blinked slowly, his hand running up and down Makkachin's stomach. He was laying on the couch because he felt dizzy, though it was difficult not to sleep because of it, with a mopey, confused Makka snuggled up to his front little spoon style. Mentally... How did he feel mentally? Yuuri tried to come up with an answer but it was difficult in all the brain fog.

"I don't know yet," Was what he settled on eventually.

Phichit nodded and looked to the side, clicking around on his computer apparently. He scrolled for a moment. "Do you have a therapist there already? I know you had one in Hasetsu but that was pretty generalized, wasn't it?"

"No, I've been doing pretty good since I moved here."

"I'll get you one," Yakov said. Yuuri blinked at him then said "Thank you," then looked at the phone. "Yakov says he'll get me one."

Phichit smiled. "I heard, good. Thanks Yakov!"

Yakov grunted. Yuuri wasn't too sure how to relay that to Phichit, but Phichit didn't seem to care. He was already clicking around on his computer again.

"I've got some things I need to shuffle around first, damn me for deciding to take online classes, but the moment I've got that cleared up I'll be on the first plane out there, okay?"

Yuuri waved a hand. "Phichit, no, please don't put yourself ou-"

"Yuuri. Sweety. Seriously? Are you being for real right now?"

Phichit now looked very unimpressed, his smile hard and sharper than his eyeliner. "Don't you dare pull that bull with me. I know for a fact that Chris is packing to head over there and Minako's debating it too-"

Yuuri sat up in alarm and winced as his head spun. "Since when do you have Minako's number?!"

"Since always. Anyways. Back to the point. You'd do the same for me. Don't pretend otherwise. I'd be putting myself out MORE by staying here and worrying about your oblivious yet delicious backside, you got me? No, never mind, I'm gonna book a flight right now before you can pull some top tier malarkey."

Opening his mouth to say something, Yuuri paused, shut it, then opened it again.

"What does malarkey mean?" He asked. He hadn't heard that one before.

Yuuri wasn't sure where he was at emotionally speaking at the moment, he barely even knew where he was at physically speaking the brain fog was so intense, but one thing he did know for sure was that he felt loved. Loved, and warm, and-and so intensely grateful for it. There were people, so many people, ready to hold him up, ready to support him. Yuuri hadn't always understood this.

He understood it now.

"It's another word for bullshit, or, like, silly behaviour." Phichit lit up. "I learned it on Tumblr!"

Charges were brought against him for excessive force then just as quickly dropped. The restaurant’s security footage did show everything - if Yuuri hadn’t cooperated for the most part, the chances of the charges actually sticking were higher. Only the one man who Yuuri had known for the Belle mask died - Dmitri Sokolov. Mostly because Yuuri had shot him in the head, of course. The others had survived, even Ariel. Their little group had killed three people in the bank they’d tried to rob. Ariel had been wounded when the bank manager pulled a gun of his own.

Expert testimony certified that it was fully possible Sokolov had pulled the trigger himself in the struggle, when the defense team tried again to put Yuuri on trial even with the charges dropped. At least they hadn’t put him in the box. Cage. Whatever. The footage was grainy and made the little details of their struggle largely indistinct. Nobody testified to the contrary.

“I don’t recall pulling the trigger,” Yuuri said with special care to his accent, hands clasped tight in his lap, just as their legal team had told him to do. 

“But it is possible YOU killed that man, is it not?”

“Objection, defense is asking leading questions.”

They said the fact that he only became aggressive after they shot Victor, that his prior shots had been non-lethal, that he hadn’t even bothered with further wounding an injured man, that the moment he thought he’d incapacitated the robbers he’d gone straight to tending Victor’s injury, all proved he was acting as a devoted husband in protection of his spouse. He’d done his best in an untenable situation, they said. He couldn’t be blamed for anything except, perhaps, saving lives. Since the charges involved murder, it was a jury trial. The jury didn’t disagree. Within the week the papers reported that Yuuri had been pardoned.

Ivan Nikitin, Chad Kuzmin, and Konstantin Adoratsky had not been. Yuuri put the length of their sentences entirely out of his mind. He tried to put the whole event entirely out of his mind. It got hard to talk. He picked up his teenage habit of smoking again, something he’d managed to kick when he’d been broker than pennies in Detroit. His family was gonna kill him when they found out. 

But the nicotine calmed him down, worked even faster and harder than pork cutlet bowls, and if there was one thing Yuuri was right now, it was stressed. He needed… something. Anything. They didn’t sell his brand, Mari’s brand, in St. Petersburg. It didn’t matter. He was disappointed in himself. He decided not to care. He did forget to mention it to Victor, however, even as he went through the motions of keeping the JSF up to date.

Yuri’s birthday party had still managed to be a lovely affair, but only with a lot of willful determination to leave all the angst at the door.

There had been some fear initially that his sponsors and endorsements would drop him. They hadn’t, largely in thanks, Yuuri didn’t doubt, to Roman Orlov’s impassioned defense of his character. They were friends now. Yuuri babysat for them in the afternoon sometimes. Their little girl, Nikita, loved Yuri and was a darling, very easy to entertain as long as she had something to colour or draw on, though her mother Anna had grimaced and said she didn’t especially like Disney movies anymore. But yes. Something about how Yuuri hadn’t hesitated to put himself at risk if it meant protecting Roman’s wife and daughter and, of course, young star Yuri Plisetsky.

Somehow, that’d actually drawn the brands in.

Yuuri didn’t get it, but he knew better than to refuse sponsorships and endorsements these days, at least if they were halfway decent. He had a lot to thank Hasetsu for and his family especially. If his parents couldn’t retire comfortably with Yutopia a gleaming spectacle around them, Yuuri had failed. It meant sending them a significant sum of money regularly - or rather, sending it to Mari so she could pressure their parents into accepting it or using it on them and the onsen covertly, because they’d refuse otherwise. Mari had no problems accepting his money. Something about a Baby Brother Tax that was “usually paid for with noogies and pranks and shit but you were so goddamn delicate growing up I didn’t even dar-Yuuri, no, come on, I’m joking. …Maybe I shouldn’t have put that in the past tense.” Either way it worked, and it meant Mari got to do the arguing, which she enjoyed significantly more than Yuuri did. Everyone won.

Yuuri gingerly closed the velcro strap of the brace against Victor’s back then kissed the lovely cervicis of Victor’s nape. “Does that feel okay, love?”

It’d been a long day of shooting for Moschino, so busy Yuuri hadn’t even managed to sneak in a cigarette break, leaving him anxious and jittery. They wanted him on their runway for some bizarre reason even despite Yuuri’s height and thighs. He still didn’t know what to make of that and why they wanted him instead of, say, his more-beautiful-than-the-stars-in-the–night-sky and very leggy husband. Victor hadn’t even blinked and told the representative they’d get back to her after checking on a few things, but they were immensely flattered and tempted. Yuuri mostly appreciated being given time to process everything. There was a lot to process these days.

Plus side, being in Milan was helping him practice his Italian. Also plus side, Victor was sitting in front of him in naught but loose sweatpants and a very strappy shoulder brace. He wondered if it was wrong to appreciate the visual, given what had caused the latter, but it was hard to ignore the similarity between the structure of the brace and the chest straps those hot K-Pop guys used, or the visuals he’d seen of chesty gladiators. Not to mention the way it accentuated Victor’s body. Should he feel bad about this? It was hard to tell, given his husband’s beauty and Yuuri’s own natural talent for feeling guilt and shame at any given opportunity. It was a little hard not to be flustered either way, but Victor often left him flustered, so maybe it was okay.

Victor turned to look at him, taking Yuuri’s hand and kissing his knuckles. “That feels perfect, my bunny. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Yuuri managed a wan smile. “Do you think you’ll be needing any pain killers tonight?”

“No,” Victor sighed, clenching and unclenching his hand a few times. “It’s not bad enough for that tonight and I can’t stand the idea of getting addicted to those things. I think the physio is really helping.”

“Good.” Yuuri sighed, nuzzling his cheek into Victor’s warm back. “Good, I’m glad.”

Victor’s thumb was tracing his nailbeds. “Were you still going to call Phichit?”

“No, not tonight I don’t think. If I do, I'll spill about the whole runway thing and then he won’t give me a choice, I’ll have to do it.” Yuuri managed a weak chuckle, using his free hand to reach for the bottle of his own new medication.

He looked at the label. Trazadone. An antidepressant that was also used as a sleeping aid. The dosage was very low. It gave him strange dreams, sometimes, but it got him to sleep reliably and the dreams were never nightmares, so he’d take it. The first few weeks after the restaurant… hadn’t been easy. Especially those days and nights where Victor had been in the hospital. Yuuri had been discharged into Yakov’s care the same day with several stitches, prescriptions, and orders to bring him straight back if there were any sudden cognitive declines, but it had taken Victor a week to be released. He’d missed Yuri’s birthday party, after a sort. They’d held a large portion of it in his hospital room. 

The bullet had fortunately, miraculously, missed the major blood vessels, but the same couldn’t be said of Victor’s nerve endings and clavicle. The neuropathy was minor, most of the time, and he’d regained most of his range of motion by now. It’d pretty soundly taken Victor out of the running for Worlds, though, effectively retiring him earlier than they’d planned.

Yuuri had been disappointed and worried about how Victor would take it, but his husband was just as alive and in love with life as he ever was these days, taking every new morning with a deep breath of air and a gigantic smile that never read as false. Yuuri hadn’t been disqualified from World’s or disowned by the JSF or FFKK either, somehow, so. They at least had that to focus on. Their early ideas for his routines had pivoted significantly. Yuri’s probably had, too.

Yuri had suggested with a pithy comment, once, that Yuuri should do his exhibition skate to We Both Reached for the Gun from the Chicago soundtrack, a movie Yuuri had introduced him to when they’d been relaxing before their final skate at last season’s GPF and one he himself had discovered while living in Detroit. Yuuri had tried to laugh. He’d not succeeded. Everyone had seemed pretty awkward about it.

It was just too close to what happened for comfort, the idea of shining that kind of spotlight on the incident sent Yuuri into a nervous cold sweat, especially because, “I meant to kill him.”

He felt Victor stiffen, spooned to his side, his head pillowed on Yuuri’s chest. Yuuri didn’t pause, the backs of his fingers continuing to sweep up and down Victor’s downy nape.

“They said I couldn’t even see him, through the concussion, my nearsightedness. The blood. But I could. I kicked him so I could get his head in range cus the gun just wasn’t-I couldn’t otherwise. I thought he was going to kill me and then you. I.”

Yuuri stared at the dark of the ceiling. In the daylight it was a white and cream demure coffered ceiling. At night it was a streak of pallid gray.

“I was angry.” Yuuri’s voice nearly shook just remembering the intensity of that rage. He’d never felt anything like it before in his entire life. “They hurt you. They hurt you so bad. And if they’d of found him, they would have hurt Yura too, and I. I was angry. So angry.”

Victor breathed, in and out, in and out. After a moment his fingers trailed down Yuuri’s stomach over to the new puffy scar on his hip. The wound had been too deep not to leave one. It’d grazed the bone.

“I’d wondered,” Victor said at last, then took in a breath and shifted onto his good arm to lift himself up, bracing it over Yuuri’s head. Yuuri didn’t hesitate to meet his husband’s eye, or to kiss him back when Victor leaned in to give his lips to him.

“Yuuri, you can’t tell anyone,” Victor whispered when he pulled away. “Nobody, okay? My kitten? Nobody. Not even Yura.”

“There’s no way he doesn’t suspect.”

“It doesn’t matter. If you don’t say anything, then nobody else needs to say anything. So don’t, okay? Yuuri, I-”

Victor closed his eyes, his brow clenching together tightly. He shook his head. “I can’t lose you-”

“Sshh,” Yuuri hushed, rising onto his own elbow as his other hand cupped the back of Victor’s warm neck. He pressed a kiss to his husband’s lips, then another, then another, then Victor pushed him to the bed and they rolled until Yuuri was rising up on Victor’s hips, pelvis to pelvis. They kissed again.

“I’m here,” Yuuri whispered into Victor’s mouth. “For as long as you’ll have me, my Vitya, I promise. I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that. I won’t say anything. Not to noone.”

“That’s my good boy,” Victor breathed, reaching up to trace a line over the small of Yuuri’s back through his shirt, his finger leaving a hot trail behind it.

Yuuri withdrew a shuddering breath. “You really don’t hate me? For- …For-”

“No, no, my Yuuri, I could never.” Victor kissed him. “Not you, never you.”

Yuuri could cry with relief. He’d held onto that thought so tightly for so long now it’d been eating at him kilogram by kilogram, wasting him away as he tried to come to terms with what he’d done, with the life he’d taken, with the pain he’d spread.

“I’d do it again,” Yuuri said through trembling lips instead, rolling his hips down. Victor’s body was already answering him, calling to his weight, and it made his heart soar. “For you, I’d do it again. In a heartbeat. Oh Vitya. I love you. I love you. I’d go to hell for you.”

“Only if you take me with you,” Victor chided, kissing down his neck, his shoulder, his good hand drifting down Yuuri’s back to slip under his new teddy bear Moschino shirt and into his underwear. “Don’t you dare go where I can’t follow, my star, my sweet, don’t you dare.” His fingers clawed in deep, seizing him, clinging to him. “Stay with me.”

“Always, love,” Yuuri breathed, kissing Victor’s ear, reaching down to make quick work of his husband’s sweatpants drawstrings. “Always.”

They made love, for it was certainly that, in a desperate rush that left Yuuri with scrapes on his hip and Victor with livid cherries marking up his throat, then they fell asleep, entwined so closely Yuuri could barely remember whose flesh was whose.

People looked at him differently, Yuuri couldn’t help but notice at Nationals, after that. They looked at him like his fingers were blades and his eyes the bullets, like he kept a pistol in his glovebox and rat poison with his heels, like they were… intrigued by it. There was fear in the speculation, perhaps, but mostly, it interested them. Yuuri couldn’t understand it but there was one benefit.

For the first time, more people were watching Yuuri than they watched Victor and when they did look at Victor and saw that Yuuri saw them looking they bowed their eyes and turned their heads away. Fingers stroking the silk of his husband’s tie, up and down, up and down, Yuuri watched another avaricious gaze flutter away and leaned in all the closer to his husband, insides soft, heart tight, his blood hot. Victor was his. Yuuri would kill to keep him. Everybody knew it and, more, they respected it in a way they never had before.

Yuuri laid his head on Victor’s shoulder, eyes on the people around them. 

It pleased him. 

[i-know-you-know-we-know-lee-know]

Fluorescent Lights

Park Sunghoon

*looks at his picture*

ᵍᵒᵈᵈᵃᵐⁿ

Uh- anyways

Thought i would leave yall with this since ill be gone for the next week

Istg if Enhypen releases their album a day early while im away with no wifi

...

>:[

(im still excited)

*insert screaming hyperventilating noises of excitement*

Warnings: fluff, kissing, mild cursing, not proofread, non idol au but can be read as idol au if you don't think too hard about it, pet names: hoonie, love, kinda suggestive at the end

Sunghoon was graceful

You?

Not so much

It probably came from his years of figure skating and holy shit was he good at it

He often invites you to come skate with him even though you both knew you sucked at it

Most of the time you ended up standing or sitting off to one side of the rink watching him as he glided around, showing off to you

This time however, he was determined to get you to actually skate even if you spent hours here

Which led you to present day, Sunghoon holding on tightly to your arms to keep both of you upright as you inched forward on the slippery surface

"Hoonie I cant do this"

You whined, as your feet slipped out from underneath you yet again, leaving you sitting on the ice

He just laughed and held out a hand to help you up

"cmon lets try one more time love, maybe 14th times the charm"

You made a face at him as you accepted his hand and almost fell over again when you stood up

His hands automatically flew to your waist to steady you and he squeezed you reassuringly

You sighed, leaning into his chest

"can we just stand here?"

You ask pleadingly, looking up at him

He smiles down, placing a light kiss on your foreahead

"how will you get better at skating if we stand still?"

He asks teasingly

You don't respond, instead shifting your body closer to his as you frown

"Hoonie i suck at ice skating, we both know that"

You say, disgruntled

He sighs and wraps his arms around your waist, placing his chin on your head

"well you might suck at ice skating but you can suck less at it if you practice"

He says, feeling your arms wrap around him too

"you weren't supposed to agree with me when i said i sucked"

You mutter as he laughs

The two of you elapse into silence as you stand on the ice in each other's arms

"I love you"

Sunghoon murmurs, lifting his chin off your head

"love you too Hoonie"

Your lean forward, standing on your tiptoes as best you can in the skates and place a kiss on his lips

He responds immediately, cupping your face with one hand while the other sits on the small of your back

Maybe the fluorescent lights and the cold ice rink weren't the most romantic setting but neither of you really cared

The ice rink seemed to have something out for you though because as soon as your arms removed themselves from Sunghoons waist you lost your balance and slipped backwards

Despite his hand on your back and his steady stance Sunghoon goes down with you and the two of you end up on the ground

He looks at you eyes shining as he helps you back up to a standing position with him, pulling you into another kiss in the process

The next few minutes are a repeat of the last

Kissing, falling over, and laughing together as those fluorescent lights start to seem a little bit more romantic

Lets just say you didn't get much skating practice in for the rest of that night

This kinda ended up differently then i planned it to😭

I lowkey hate it

But i want to leave yall with something even if its not the best

[apupp3tw0-strings]

Dream Dairy

Date: October 15th, 2131

I'm writing this on the bus to school, but still felt I needed to write this down because well... it felt important.

Its been a couple of days since Spamton started living with us, and he is... even weirder than I initially thought. Not it a particularly bad way just... weird. There's been a bunch of things I've observed, from random glitches to the way its lens static or its weird vocal tics or how it like just, forgets stuff randomly. Papa and Dadaton have noticed even more stuff as they've been staying home with him while I've had to go to school the past few days (Fall Break starts tomorrow so at least there's that.) I've heard them whispering to each other about how it's probably best Spamton's not left alone after Dadaton found him rummaging around the attic on Thursday. (I've noticed it tends to get pretty lonely but have no clue what Spam could've been doing in the attic) Papa's also been planning for CK, Kris, and Jevil to hopefully come over soon so progress can be started sorting through their issues or something. I'm mostly excited for CK to come up here hopefully tomorrow.

Gyeh! But wait, that's not the important thing I was gonna talk about! (Though updating on the Spamton situation is like half of why I've been keeping this blog.) No, I... this is about the strange dreams I keep having. Which I now wonder are tied into the whole Dark World thing. I've mentioned before how I'm no stranger to weird dreams or nightmares, but now it seems my dreams are veering less towards the usual puppet performance stages and strange, blob like audiences and deep, dark waves that drag me under, and more towards the Dark World.

On Friday, I had a dream where I was in my Dark World outfit in a very dark, dark place. I don't remember much, just walking around a lot in the darkness, until I heard... ringing. It seemed to be getting louder and louder and I couldn't tell where it was coming from until I saw a phone. But when I got closer and reached for the phone to make the ringing stop... I woke up. Turns out the ringing was just my phone's alarm and I was late for school. Had to rush to get ready as soon as I could and ask Dadaton to drive me.

And then last night, Sunday started out like my usual nightmares do. On a stage and with a grey crowd. I was Pinocchio and was being held up by strings (likely came from Blane and Blaze teasing me for my nose earlier that day. If only I could have them meet Spamton, my nose seems tiny in comparison.) "I've Got No Strings" seemed to be playing on loop as the strings made me move against my will until it felt like someone or some... thing, picked me up. Suddenly I was in my Dark World outfit again as I laid limp in their hands. I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. I couldn't do anything until something cut my strings and I fell deeper and deeper, darker and darker before waking up. When I woke up in the middle of the night, I found Spamton sitting on my chest, staring at me. (Also I think he was... purring?)

I don't know what any of these dreams mean, if they mean anything at all, but if I have any more ill be sure to record them here for... mostly myself but also I guess whoever else is reading these posts? For now, we're at the stop for school and Taffy's trying to ask me something so I should pay attention and put my phone away.

[turkeypaw]

clans of shore valley: chapter two

CHAPTER ONE <- CHAPTER TWO -> CHAPTER THREE

After the stressful announcement from Rindlebramble, the cats of WillowClan began to fall into despair. Midgedance, while still looking shell-shocked herself, quickly organized patrols to take everyone’s mind off of things and maintain a semblance of normalcy.

Sharpthunder padded along the beach, Silverhare and his apprentice Twigpaw behind him. They were discussing something about hunting techniques, but Sharpthunder was not paying attention to them. His mind was on his dream, and what it meant for his Clan now.

The sickness took Beachfeather so quickly. The elder had only coughed for the first time the day before, and Rindlebramble had begun treating him immediately. Was it because he was old and frail, or was the sickness that deadly? It didn’t look to be greencough or whitecough, and it was the middle of Greenleaf at the moment, hardly the time for those illnesses to appear.

At the thought of the season, Sharpthunder noticed that the sunlight was heating the sand under his paws, and that they were burning a little more with each paw step. His pads tingled as he stepped closer to the ocean to walk in the damp sand and cool his paw pads off. As a wave rolled in, he let the water wash over his paws, soothing them from the scorching sand. Sharpthunder purred at the sensation. He loved the beach; he was always thankful that he was born in WillowClan, which was the only Clan of all of the Clans of Shore Valley that was able to walk along the shore like this.

Sharpthunder turned around when he noticed that Silverhare and Twigpaw had stopped their chatting. Silverhare was scooping his paws through the sand as a wave receded. As he watched, the lithe black tom scooped up a shelled crustacean and tossed it to Twigpaw. The apprentice speared it with a claw and the sand crab stopped wriggling its legs.

Silverhare continued looking for the small air holes in the sand that betrayed the sand crabs’ locations. He looked focused, but Sharpthunder couldn’t help but notice the cloudiness in his silver Sharpthunder could hardly focus on hunting either, despite having been sent out to do just that. He padded back over to the other two cats just in time to watch Silverhare turn his head and cough once, twice, before digging back into the sand and scooping out another sand crab.

A prickle of alarm ran through Sharpthunder from head to tail tip. Beachfeather had died so soon after he had started coughing. Twigpaw exchanged a glance with Sharpthunder, looking like she was thinking the same thing.

“Let’s go back to camp,” Twigpaw suggested, taking the second sand crab from her mentor and crunching through its shell with her fangs. “I want to see if Rindlebramble needs me to collect any herbs.”

Silverhare’s tail fell, as if relieved.

The lithe brown apprentice led the way back to camp, though they had not gone far. On the way back, she stopped the toms with a sweep of her tail in order to appraise a flock of seagulls that she had noticed bobbing in the water a few tail-lengths offshore. All three cats dropped into crouches instinctively, watching as one gull paddled up to the shore and began pecking at the sand for something to eat.

Sharpthunder flicked his tail at Twigpaw and began stalking around the gull. Twigpaw set her two sand crabs down silently and began circling around from the other side. Silverhare stayed where he was crouched in the shadow of a piece of washed up driftwood, and Sharpthunder said a quick prayer to StarClan that the tom wouldn’t have to cough again soon.

The gull wandered farther up shore, and Sharpthunder closed in behind it, blocking its escape into the water if it were to reunite with its flock. Twigpaw flashed him a look, her pale yellow eyes glowing with the excitement of the hunt. Sharpthunder held her gaze and then flicked an ear. Twigpaw shot towards the bird, yowling, bur with no real intention to catch up to it.

The bird spun and cawed, running back into the water, its webbed feet pattering on the wet sand as fast as they could. It began flapping its wings in preparation to take off, but Sharpthunder was right in its path, and leapt on it before it became airborne. He took it down into the shallow water, sinking his claws into the sleek white and gray feathers of its wings while twisting to nip it in the neck. The gull was larger than most, but he managed to sink his teeth into its spine before it made too much of a racket. As the small bones crunched under his fangs, the bird fell limp in his grasp with a dying caw.

The sound of wingbeats receded as the gull’s flock flew off towards the horizon. Sharpthunder lugged the gull back up the beach to where his Clanmates were waiting, a twinkle of satisfaction gleaming in his yellow eyes. That was a big bird, and would feed many cats.

“You’re becoming a great hunter,” Sharpthunder praised Twigpaw, around the bird in his mouth. The apprentices’ tail stuck straight up as she received the praise. Working together to flush prey to another cat was an essential skill for WillowClan warriors, since they hunted birds on the beach, and rabbits on the open moor.

Twigpaw gathered her two sand crabs back up, and the trio continued to make their way back to camp. The pride of their catch wore off quickly as the stench of sickness and fear wafted out to them. Sharpthunder wrestled the seagull through the tight root tunnel and dropped it on the prey pile just in time to see Ravenbloom and Goldenlion dragging a dusty, limp shape out of Mossstar’s den.

Yowls of despair pierced the air as everyone realized it was Mossstar that was being dragged out. Their noble leader, once a fabulous silver speckled tabby, was stiff with death and dusty with sand. Her emerald eyes stared dully into the distance as her head lolled about. Ravenbloom clutched her scruff tightly between her jaws. A mew of distress escaped Sharpthunder against his will and he had to force his paws to stay where they were.

The two warriors set Mossstar down in the middle of the camp, near Beachfeather’s body, who had been arranged for vigil just a little while earlier. Berries, flowers, feathers, and other trinkets already adorned his corpse. That was one of WillowClan’s traditions to honor their dead.

Midgedance strode up to Mossstar first and closed the leader’s eyes with a quick lap of her tongue. She pressed her forehead to Mossstar’s for the last time. The deputy’s black shoulders slouched with grief as she sat with her dead friend.

The camp fell silent again, and the other cats slowly began to close in around the two dead bodies in the center, arranging themselves to sit vigil. Several warriors settled beside Beachfeather and began grooming his cream fur. He had been held in high regards by many cats, Sharpthunder included. He had never thought that Beachfeather would soon die, and certainly not like this!

Rindlebramble appeared from the shadows of the medicine den, carrying a bundle of wildflowers. She began carefully arranging them atop Mossstar. Other cats joined in, taking feathers from their nests, stones they had collected, or anything else meaningful to them, and began placing them around and atop the leader’s body. Midgedance began to groom Mossstar’s dull coat. The discomfort of the she-cat’s last few hours was evident in the way her fur stuck out in every which way, as if she had been tossing and turning right until the very end.

Ravenbloom fetched a few purple heather flowers she had been storing in her nest and set it atop Mossstar’s still flank. A gust of wind tousled the dead she-cat’s fur, as if Mossstar’s spirit was already here, saying thank you to her Clan as they honored her.

Wordlessly, all the cats settled down in a circle around their two dead Clanmates, tucking their paws underneath their chests as they settled in for the vigil. Sharpthunder crouched beside Ravenbloom, fear blooming deep inside his chest.

 The illness had taken both of Mossstar’s last lives. Coughing and sniffling were the only sounds penetrating the silence in the camp. With every noise, Sharpthunder felt a stab of fear that another cat would soon die of the sickness. The night after Sharpthunder had sworn to StarClan to protect his leader with his life, she dies! What was happening to WillowClan?

Movement caught Sharpthunder’s attention, and he looked up to see Midgestar stiffly rise to her paws. She conversed quickly with Dawnlight and Rindlebramble, who both nodded. The long-furred deputy, soon leader, turned to address the grieving Clan.

“Cats of WillowClan,” Midgedance began, her voice cracking with grief as her cobalt eyes swept over her Clanmates. “This horrible sickness has taken Mossstar and Beachfeather. Tonight, you will all mourn them, but do not dwell on the fact that they have gone home to StarClan, but instead, relish in the memories that they have left you with.”

The gathered cats nodded in agreement. Midgedance had always had a way of calming the Clan, and of knowing the right thing to say, even in the middle of trouble. It was one of the traits that had made her a great deputy, and would make her a great leader. Understanding began to bloom in Sharpthunder’s chest.

“I will travel to the Falls tonight with Dawnlight, as Rindlebramble is unable to make the journey, and receive my nine lives from StarClan,” Midgedance continued, a touch of confidence entering her tone as she considers what she is soon to become. “When I return, I will name my deputy, as tradition requires. I will be back before dawn.”

The Clan stared at her in admiration. Sharpthunder was only paying half attention, as his thoughts spiraled and swarmed out of control. “On the eve of an important day for WillowClan,” Flailpaw had said in his dream last night. “Do you swear to your warrior ancestors to protect your leader with your life?” he had asked Sharpthunder.

Sharpthunder had thought Flailpaw had meant Mossstar, as she had been the leader of WillowClan until just a short moment ago. Now, he understood. Flailpaw had meant Midgedance!

Looking at Midgedance with his newfound clarity, a sense of cold resolve came over Sharpthunder. No matter what, he decided in that moment, he would protect Midgedance, soon to be Midgestar, with his life, as he had sworn he would do the night before. WillowClan was surely entering a dangerous time, with this deadly sickness, and Sharpthunder knew he would do whatever it takes to see his Clan through to the other side.

[intrepelle]

Lady Estelle, ward [and illegitimate daughter] of Phileas Fogg, the 4th Duke of Windlesham.

The pair live at No. 7 Saville Street in Mayfair, essentially year-round. Occasionally they will both return to Ancaster Castle, his country house in Lincolnshire, but it is rare indeed to see them in the country.

Highly opinionated and highly spirited, prone to resorting to cheekiness and impudence when she's not met with the kindness or basic respect that she, as a person, is deserving of.

Seemingly unbothered by any society gossip that circulates with her as the focus.

A notorious pickpocket, though she'll only loot from people she thinks deserving of it––nobles who disrespect their staff, cruel mothers, cruel fathers, bitchy debutantes.

Her mother [Louise Laroche, from a Huguenot family] worked as a maid at the gentleman's club Brooks's, which her father [Phileas Fogg, the Duke of Windlesham, though he was only the Marquess of Bathurst at the time] is a frequent member of. The two had a dalliance in the second half of 1791, and though it did not last for long, Louise soon realised she had fallen pregnant. Knowing that he was too honourable a man to not take action, but not wanting to trap either of them in a situation that neither wanted, Louise keeps shtum and remains working at Brooks's for as long as she is able to, only to wind up returning to her parents' small farm in Crawley when it is not something she can hide any longer. She gives birth to Estelle, and near immediately after, journeys back to London, accepting a cook position in White's upon her return, the rival club of her former employer. Estelle is thus raised to believe that her grandparents are her parents for the first thirteen years of her life.

Louise fell sick in the spring of 1806, to the point of being released from her position at White's, and with no other employment prospects while she is so ill, she is once again forced to return to the Laroche farm. A precocious child, far too intelligent for a girl her age, Estelle quickly catches on to the worried glances and hushed whispers of her 'parents' upon the return of her 'sister', and that it goes beyond her poor health. The truth eventually [finally] comes out one midsummer's eve, shortly before Estelle's fourteenth birthday, when Louise is resigned to communicating in wheezes and laboured breaths, relying on her own parents to fill in the gaps, though even their knowledge does not extend to the whole story. Louise does not live to see the harvest of 1806.

Estelle is, understandably, left reeling. In the span of a few short weeks, she has learnt that much of what she's known about herself is untrue––her life has been a lie, even if not a very exciting one in her eyes. A precocious child nonetheless, and far too quick for a girl of her age, she resolves to discover all she can of her real father, who has since come to inherit his own father's title, all the while totally unaware that he has a daughter. The best way to do this, she resolves, is to follow in her mother's footsteps and find employment as a housemaid at Brooks's. She can observe her father in his natural habitat, she can keep her ear to the ground for gossip, she can feel a little bit closer to the woman she always thought was her sister––and she can finally see London.

It does not go quite the way she had envisioned, for it turns out her father is no rake.

Over the course of a year and a half, Estelle discovers quite a lot about the mysterious Duke of Windlesham. He is a mild-mannered and reclusive man; a little too particular about the temperature of his shaving water or the precise time of how long his tea is to steep, but they appear to be his worst foibles. He is a notorious gambler, but never to the point of ruin, and he never makes a bet that he is not confident he can win. He does not drink to the point of drunkness, nor does he smoke beyond the occasional pipe for special occasions. While considered an eccentric by some of his peers, and regarded poorly by some ladies of high society for his refusal to marry, he is more or less a gentleman of the highest calibre, albeit a lonely one. Estelle cannot understand why her mother refused to tell him the truth, why she allowed for them both to live such restrictive lives, why she kept Estelle a secret; and though she would like to respect her late mother's wishes, it turns out she is just as stubborn and principled as the Duke that she has been shadowing for the past eighteen months.

A few short weeks before her sixteenth birthday (1808!), Estelle finds herself pacing the corner of Saville Street and Burlington Gardens, just a few feet away from the comfortable [not sumptuous, but comfortable] mansion where the Duke took up residence whilst in London. She sticks out like a sore thumb in Mayfair, and it is obvious: she finds herself shrinking into the shadows, which makes it difficult to keep an eye on No. 7. The pocket watch that she had purloined from an unlucky gambling gentleman months back is still warm in her reticule, and when she last checked it had told her that it was twenty eight minutes past eleven, meaning she has either experienced the longest two minutes of her entire life, or today is the day that the Duke finally breaks his precise habits and decides not to repair to Brooks's at half past eleven.

But! Lo and behold, just as she has begun to despair and think that she wasted a rare day off on a foolish endeavour, a face that is oh-so-familiar [not least of all because of its resemblance to her own] begins to weave into view. Realising that it is a matter of now or never, Estelle propels herself into his path; an unwise decision, she realises mid-action, to interrupt one of his famed routines, but she never has prided herself on being wise. Intelligent, yes; quick-witted, certainly. But wise? ...

She expects it to be a travesty. A disaster. For her to be shunned and rebuffed, to become a laughing stock of London as the crazed maid from the country who had the audacity to harangue a Duke of all people, and assault him with all sorts of falsehoods.

Yet that is not what happens. After the initial distaste towards being waylaid leaves his features, the Duke gets a certain look [watery? wistful? pained?] in his eye at the mention of a French maid who used to work at the club. Though a taciturn man by nature, Estelle has not ever seen him so speechless in the short time she's been observing him, and it does little to assuage her nerves, but she continues on her rambling. When, finally, she runs out of steam, and finds herself looking rather dumbly on at him, he responds in a way that shocks her to her core: he nods. He muses that perhaps today is the day he will finally be noted as absent at Brooks's, and asks if she would care to join him for a humble breakfast at No. 7 Saville Street, so that they might become better acquainted. She assents––nervously, mind you––and the rest, as they say, is history.