This would be a five+one about all the times Yuuri accidentally seduced someone with his amazing thighs, and then one time that he actually meant to.
For the record, they are:
1: That time in high school when Takeshi saw Yuuri doing squats and was flung into a bisexual crisis that lasted for a full five minutes as he just stood there, slack-jawed, until Yuuko slid by and whispered I know right into his ear, and he was abruptly reminded why Yuuko was the love of his life.
2: Phichit sees Yuuri hanging effortlessly off the pullup bar by his legs and has to consider whether or not he really wants to complicate everything by banging his roommate. (They do eventually bang–no hard feelings are had. Phichit is aro as hell and Yuuri only has eyes for Viktor Nikiforov)
3: The banquet. Enough said.
4: Viktor drops in on Yuuri in practice with Minako and has to actually go lie down afterwards because Yuuri was wearing tights. Yuuri was wearing tights and looking at him with those doe eyes and wearing a soft heather gray shirt and he looked so firm and soft at the same time and all Viktor wants in this unfair, unforgiving world is to wrap Yuuri Katsuki in his arms and only let go to put his head between Yuuri’s legs and–
5: The five male GPF finalists who aren’t Yuuri sitting in the locker room after Yuuri has left, staring furtively at each other and waiting, waiting for someone to say it. “Are we going to talk about Katsuki’s thighs, though?” JJ asks, because it was always going to be JJ. “Like, are we?” Everyone sighs. “I could have made a move, you know,” Chris says. “I had the chance. I didn’t, because I didn’t think he was the sort. Apparently all I had to do was choreograph him a program accompanied by sexy violins.” “And be Viktor Nikiforov,” Phichit snorts. “I’m dying,” Yuri P whispers into his jacket hood. “Aren’t you, like, eleven?” asks JJ. “Should we be having this conversation with you?” “I’m fifteen, you utter waste of air,” Yuri snaps. Otabek is silent for the whole conversation, but the glint in his eyes says he’s listening very, very closely.
+1: Yuuri gives Viktor a lapdance for their first anniversary. Viktor almost expires on the spot.
You nervously tugged the hem of your dress down as you stepped into the front doors of the Avengers Tower. Today was your first day of assisting the team of superheroes better known as the Avengers, and you wanted to make a good first impression.
“Hello! How may I help you this morning?” The brunette receptionist chirped, her bright smile nearly blinding you. It was far too early for anyone to be so perky, but you tried to return her grin.
“I’m Tony Stark’s new assistant. He said I’m supposed to be working on the Avengers’ floor. I think he moved my stuff in yesterday.” You replied, clasping your hands together to stop their fidgeting.
“Oh, alright! Go on up, I’m sure he’s expecting you. And might I say that I love your dress? It’s stunning.”
“Thank you so much! This might be the only time you ever see me wear one; I’m more of a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl.” You blushed, looking down at the dress you were wearing. Even the generous swell of your belly seemed placated by the flowing skirt, which ended at your knees.
“If only.” She sighed dramatically, placing her hand over her heart and staring off wistfully into the distance before breaking into a giggling fit. “Have a great day!”
“You too.” You called the elevator, then tapped the topmost button on the panel inside, which was helpfully marked with an A. Once you arrived at your destination, you took in a deep breath, in an attempt to steady your wobbly knees. Then, you exited the elevator and surveyed the room you were in.
by: mldrgrl rating: PG summary: post-ep for How the Ghosts Stole Christmas - a little something for my t-shirt anon, whose prompt I’m still not posting lest I spoil the story.
Christmas Eve didn’t really go as planned for Mulder, but they did get to see some ghosts, and that was pretty cool. He never expected the ghosts to be such assholes, though. Two people who died in the name of love should never be so rude. Anyway, he thought he just might lure Scully out to the house, tell her a scary story and maybe creep her out a little before offering to take her out for hot cocoa or cider or something and give her a present he’d been harboring for awhile.
So, even though he met not one ghost, but two, he was still disappointed. He kind of felt like a jerk about it, too. Plenty of people would give their left arm to meet a ghost and he’d just wanted to take Scully out for a drink. Maybe even some roasted chestnuts or something.
He was zoning out to A Christmas Carol when Scully knocked on his door. He was surprised, but not surprised to see her. Of course she’d want to come over at midnight and argue about what they saw that night. Except, he remembered he had a present to give her and distracted her with that instead.
“Mulder,” she said, a bashful smile on her face. She became positively giddy as she pulled her own present for him out of her pocket and they exchanged packages.
“This feels like a video tape,” he said, rattling his package by his ear as they sat next to each other on his couch.
Scully chuckled as she scratched at the wrapping paper on her gift. Mulder hastily tore the paper off his in one long strip. It wasn’t a VHS tape at all, it was a book of the best illustrations for science fiction novels of the 50s and 60s. On the cover was a pair of astronauts in silver space suits standing outside of a rocket in a red desert he assumed was Mars.
“Cool,” he said, flipping through the first few pages. “Hey, Attack of the 50Ft Woman! I loved that movie.”
“Does not surprise me,” Scully answered, finally sliding the wrapping paper off the poster tube her gift was in. She wiggled one of the plastic stoppers off from the top and shook out a rolled up t-shirt into her lap.
Mulder actually found the shirt that summer when they were in Arizona, not too long after the whole Antarctica expedition. It had made him laugh and it felt like it had been a long time since he’d laughed. He bought it for Scully on impulse, and then waited for an appropriate time to give it to her. What better time than Christmas?
Scully unrolled the shirt and rolled her eyes, but laughed. “Mulder,” she scolded. “Really?”
“Oh, come on, Scully, it’s so you.”
“Me, Mulder? You must have me mistaken for your other partner that is pro-existence of extraterrestrial life on other planets.”
He bumped her shoulder with his and then took the shirt from her hands and held it up. It was a heather grey t-shirt, v-necked, made of some of the softest cotton Mulder had ever felt. On the chest was an image of a tiny grey alien with a frown on its face and crossed arms. Just below it was the phrase ‘You’re invading my space.’ So Scully.
Scully snatched the t-shirt back and folded it neatly in her lap. She took a few glances at the TV and then out the window. “It’s snowing,” she commented.
“Guess we’ll have a white Christmas this year after all.”
“Mulder, why do you have a stocking hanging your bookshelf?”
“It’s for the fish. Santa brings them a new bottle of flakes every year, but they’re still surprised.”
Scully chuckled and stroked the collar of the t-shirt in her lap between two fingers. “I should get going,” she said with a yawn. “I’m due at my mom’s at 6am.”
“You can stay,” he said, quickly. “Get a little more sleep. I can set my alarm.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Please, I insist. No need to go all the way home and then have to turn around and drive out to your mom’s. I’ve got a new bed and everything.”
Scully raised her brow.
“For you,” he clarified. “And you alone. I’m quite satisfied with the couch. Unless you insist,” he added, bumping his shoulder into hers again.
Scully yawned behind a fist and then sighed. “I think I will stay,” she said.
“Great!” Mulder hopped up to his feet and gathered the discarded wrapping paper while Scully pushed herself up from the couch. He crushed it into a ball and then dropped it on the table before ushering Scully into his bedroom.
“You know where everything is,” he said. “So, let me just grab a few things and I’ll get out of your way.”
Quickly, Mulder opened his drawer and grabbed a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. He changed in the living room, closing the blinds first and draping his clothes wherever he found room on his desk. He turned out the light and settled on the couch, the ghost of Christmas present just making his entrance on TV as he pulled his blanket up to his chin. There was a knock on the other side of his bedroom door and he grinned.
“Come out!” he called.
Scully padded out into the living room and Mulder sat up, but she waved her hand at him to indicate it wasn’t necessary.
“Find everything okay?” he asked.
“Fine,” she answered. “I just wanted to say, Merry Christmas, Mulder.”
“Merry Christmas, Scully.”
She smiled shyly and tucked her hair back over her ears before she bent down and kissed him softly on the cheek. She retreated to his bedroom and quietly closed the door behind her. Mulder lay back down with a stupid grin on his face. Not only was she wearing a pair of his running shorts, cinched to the maximum capability the drawstrings could offer, she was wearing her new t-shirt. He knew she would like it.
A/N: This kept wanting to go angsty and depressing, so I’m pretty happy that it didn’t do that. Because fuck hormones.
Summary: Killian and Emma work at a luxury theater and he sets up a little surprise to cheer her up.
It’s no great secret that Emma’s favorite drink in the whole world is
hot chocolate with cinnamon on top. She has had this drink somewhere in the
thousands of times over the course of her life, and she never thought she would
be chased away from it, but night after night of cleaning up the trash from the
movie theater’s large bins has stopped her love in its tracks. The smell of hot
chocolate mixed with beer and wine has soured her stomach so bad that she’s not
sure if she can ever drink her favorite concoction ever again. Her face must
give away her thoughts, because Killian is across from her in an instant,
helping to lift the over-filled plastic liner from the can.
“I’ve got this, Swan. You’re free to tend to the sweeping if you’d
She doesn’t really prefer, but it’s the lesser of two evils, so she
grabs the broom and dustpan and gets to work sweeping up discarded wrappers,
dropped popcorn, and forgotten candy from between and around each section of
It’s been two years, eight months, and five days since she started
working at the Storybrooke Luxury Theater. It’s the only one in the area that
sells booze and dinner, that offers plush armchairs in the middle of the
moderately-sized theater, beds in the front, and couches in the back. It’s been
two years, eight months, and four days since she met Killian Jones, a fellow
usher and waiter. His brother owns and manages the theater, but Killian chooses
to work the screenings instead of behind a desk, claiming something about it offering
him a better quality of life.
Like clockwork, Emma can hear him start humming some tune or another,
marking his progress through the trash bins at the entrance of the theater, and
she gets lost in the quiet song and the steady work. She knows it’s almost
midnight, but time is almost irrelevant to her when she has nothing she’s
returning home to. The only one she really cares to see when she’s not working
is the person she gets to work with most often, so it’s a win-win situation
that Killian is by her side through all of this.