Yuuri sits in a pile of his old costumes one lazy evening—months after Onsen on Ice—parsing through swathes of gleaming panne velvet and sparkling sequined lace.
“You should try them on.” Viktor is sprawled out on his bed, lying on his stomach with his head propped in his hands. He brushes the hair from his face—still faintly wet from his after-ocean shower. “All of them.”
Yuuri looks up from the tumble of wine-colored velvet pleated over his fingers—Viktor’s costume from when he was 22 and toeing the line between the bombastic, energetic routines Yakov preferred and the quietly powerful sentimentality of his own personal choreography. His glasses gleam in the ambient light from Viktor’s bedside lamp.
“It’s okay,” Yuuri’s voice is soft—the words plucked from his tongue with caution—like he’s scared to contaminate the history of Viktor’s career sewn into every stitch. He turns his attention back to the delicate golden embroidery on the sleeve. “Just looking is enough.”
It’s strange, Viktor thinks, to be jealous of his past self. But he wants Yuuri to look at him. The present him. The one who had spent the day chasing Yuuri up the shoreline, teasing him into the waves with feigned foot cramps and knocking his knees out from behind so he was forced to lean into Viktor for support.
Viktor wants Yuuri to pay attention to the him who observes Yuuri now in comfortable silence, eyes half-lidded with reckless affection.
“How did you get into it?” Yuuri’s eyebrows knit together as he trails his fingers carefully along the seams, searching for a zipper or a secret row of buttons.
Viktor folds his legs under him—his borrowed yukata dipping low enough to allow Yuuri a covert glance at his bare chest—and settles on the floor next to him, their knees barely grazing. “Here,” he says, taking Yuuri’s hand and guiding it to the hidden zipper extending from the hip to the inconspicuous hook and eye at the shoulder.
Yuuri hums in the back of his throat and nods, dragging the zipper up and down once, then twice, in appreciative interest. “Clever.”
Viktor bumps their shoulders together. “Are you sure you don’t want to try it on?” He slips the costume from Yuuri’s hand and holds it up to the round slope of his cheek. “Mm, I knew it. The color looks gorgeous with your complexion.” Viktor thinks Yuuri would look gorgeous in a paper bag, but it’s probably still too early to say such a thing.
When you pushed Jin’s hands away from your bare hips where your stretch marks lay, he sighed and pulled you closer to him. His hands respectfully on your back. “How many times do I have to tell you to love yourself?”
You always asked Yoongi to turn off the lights during sex and when he finally asked about it, you came clean and told him about how you didn’t want him to notice the stretch marks on your stomach. Yoongi sighed and pulled you close into him. “You’re worried about something completely natural, you know?”
You never wanted Hoseok to see you in your underwear or in a bikini bottom due to the stretch marks on your inner thighs and when you finally told him the truth, he sighed deeply. “You are SO perfect, you think I care about that? I love all of you.”
Namjoon was starting to take notice that you were constantly wearing shirts and sweaters that covered your upper chest. Even on very hot days. You finally admitted it’s because of the stretch marks on your boobs and Namjoon couldn’t help but laugh. “Is that not a good thing though? It means you have a naturally large sized chest, baby. People pay money for those you know?” He teased.
You never really cared about the stretch marks you had on our butt until you and Jimin were getting to be more intimate and passionate. You told him about your concerns and he only smiled before giving you a sweet pec to the lips. “You think that’s gonna stop me from making you feel like the queen you are?”
You always made sure to have the sides of your arms covered due to the stretch marks that laid against your skin. Taehyung took noticed and asked why you don’t just switch to a tank top due to it being a hot day. You finally told him the truth and he scoffed. “You don’t want me to see your stretch marks? Well fine then I don’t want you to see the birthmark on my nose since we’re hiding natural things on our bodies now!”
You were always self conscious about the stretch marks on your hips but Jungkook didn’t mind them whatsoever. In fact, he thought they looked cool. “You look like a tiger baby. Rawr.” He teased.
Thank you for the comments and the messages. It really has meant a lot and I can’t believe how easy it is to write for Steve but then again, it’s Steve. So, here is part three and I hope it’s to your liking. Also, thank you for all the follows: means a buttload!
Requested: ‘I fricking LOVE ‘you never know’ omg, great work’
‘OMMGMGGMGGG you never know is great!!! i love it so much i hope you write more !’
So yes. Requested.
You were in the Wheeler’s basement, watching a young girl lift the Millenium Falon off the ground with just her mind. There was no gimmick to it, no string to help support it, you must have waved your hand over the toy at least eight times. You looked up at Steve, your eyes getting bigger as his expression couldn’t help but smile at your sense of wonder.
“Holy shit,” You mumbled, looking back at the girl. A smile came across your face, “You’re the real deal. Holy fuck!” You stood up, placing your hands on the sides of your face, spinning in a circle to finally look at Steve once more. “Jesus, fuck! I’m sorry for the cursing. It’s just―fuck!” The younger boys glanced over at Steve, unsure of what was going on.
“Was it the best thing to tell her?” Mike, the leader of their pack, asked.
“What? Y/N? Yeah, she’s totally,” Steve couldn’t help but smiled at you when he saw the look on your face. Pure amazement, “cool.” He finished his sentence. “Anyways, didn’t you tell Max all this with just knowing her of just a week?”
“That wasn’t all of our decision!” Mike interjected, pointing at Lucas, “Lucas told her without letting any of us know!”
“I’ve known Y/N since kindergarten,” Steve said, crossing his arms, looking down at the young teens, “I say, she should know because I need at least another set of hands to handle all of you.”
“But what about the bad men?” Will softly spoke up. His big doe eyes looked at Steve, having a sense of worrying hitting the pit of his stomach, “Or the upside down? We are going to have another person to worry about.”
“I’ll look after her.” Steve quickly said. He rubbed the tip of his nose to hide away his blush from everyone. Everyone that is but one boy catching it.
“This was your plan all along! He wouldn’t shut up about her earlier! He was waiting by the phone all night!” Dustin practically yelled. He pointed to the guy that he recently looked up to, “What happened to show them you don’t care?”
As soon as they’re far enough away from Kirkwall to breathe, they both decide to cut their hair.
“To see whose will grow back faster,” Hawke jests, but he’s a little teary after the fact. He hasn’t worn his hair short since his family’s flight from Lothering. He thinks of Bethany, and rubs the bridge of his nose to hide his face; Fenris doesn’t let him hide for long.
(spoiler: Hawke’s hair grows back faster. also while its short its CURLY he looks like a black sheep)
anon requested: Yixing, Locked out of heaven - Bruno Mars, boyxgirl, idk the emoji, but i imagine smth rlly passionate (?)
(gif not mine, cr to the owner)
950 words | smut, underworld king! yixing |velvet
❝Yixing❞ you panted moving on your legs, keeping your knees still on the bed, trying to keep up with the speed that he decided for you.
The man, or whatever he wanted to call himself, had his hands on your waist, helping you jump on his angry and red member. He was just there, sitting on the bed, his back against the headrest and his eyes feasting on your bouncing breasts, still covered with a thin white shirt that your sweat managed to make transparent.
Sweat that had your hair sticking on your forehead and neck, your cheeks glowing under the light of the yellow lamp and your head spinning. Having sex with Yixing was always a fight. You came back in the Underworld because he needed you, his still alive love that he didn’t want to take away from the human world at such a young age, but still: he loved you, craved for you, needed you.
❝Yes, yes❞ he praised each time your cunt fell down hugging his member.
Being a god in the Underworld, Yixing had way more stamina than human beings, such as you, and it didn’t matter how many times you already came, his manhood was still rock hard and boiling, you could feel every vein against your walls.
❝You look so beautiful❞ he grunted hiding his face in your chest, his nose meeting your exposed soft skin, smelling your soft perfume. Perfume that he missed oh so much.
You and Yixing met when you only were sixteen.
He thrusted up into you, making your throat clench and your lungs burn.
He already was almost 5000 years old, but showed his usual twenty-seven. Back then he barely talked to you, he was just merely a mirage, while you still were a little girl.
❝Yixing!❞ you cried out when he bit down on your covered nipple, making you jerk forward onto his body, your hands up to hold his face and your eyes back in bliss.
The first time he really started to have a bond with you, you were only eighteen and he couldn’t believe that the young girl he saw growing every time he went in the human world, had such a strong power on his mind and body.
❝Fuck❞ he grunted slapping one of your buttcheeks out of istinct, his hand remaining there to fondle your meat. You kept on jumping on his member, feeling your orgasm approach and your clit tingle. He had his forehead pressed against your sweaty chest, feeling and hearing your heartbeat, something he never had or could feel pressing a hand to his ribcage.
Funny how a human being managed to make a thousands of years old man fall for her, snatching the king and the throne away from every other woman. Most of the females in Yixing’s palace hated you, they couldn’t believe that you were going to take the empty spot next to Yixing.
His head moved upwards, his nose hiding in the crook of your neck, smelling the blood rushing down the veins of your neck, admiring the very thin layer of skin that covered those veins that he adored. He was not a blood-sucker, he didn’t have to suck people’s blood to stay alive, but the smell of your blood always managed to make him go crazy.
Yixing’s eyes fell back, his member throbbed into your tight snatch and finally you felt him coming undone inside of you. His hands clenching your buttcheeks between his long and usually gentle fingers, his mouth attached to your neck, trying not to break that skin that was too soft for his powerfulness, and his cum filled you up, making you tremble. You came right after him, clenching down on his member and crying out loud, almost as if all of that pleasure felt more like pain.
Yixing closed his eyes and took your body between his arms, he couldn’t tell if you passed out already or not, he felt your womanhood relax around him and your breath - even if still heavy - becoming deeper. He kept you more than five hours in his bedroom, making love to you not only to relief himself, he could have came at the third round, but he knew that he could have had you just in his room.
After laying you in bed and covering the both of you with the dark red silk bed sheet. He sat there, naked, still with his back against the headrest, his right hand caressing your hair while you drifted in a deep sleep.
He knew you would have been gone in less than two days, walking around the castle in the best dresses for less than forty hours and then he would have sent you back to earth, where you were a normal twenty years old girl who had nothing to do with the Underworld and he would have lived other three months without you, with thousands of other women around that he couldn’t even look at; disgusted by their looks or even their smells.
Yixing eyed his crown not far from his bed, he should have been more careful with it, put it in its glass in the grand room where the throne was, but too eager to have you, when he heard your laugh, he couldn’t stop himself and ran to you. You who was waiting for him with your arms opened and that laughed so hard when he picked you up and made you spin in the air.
Yixing sighed, he had to wait ages before finding his true love and time was passing so quickly, he had to find a way to keep you in the Underworld with him, forever.
Peter felt tears in his eyes, reaching out. He howled in pain, begging for someone to answer. Anyone. Please, he begged as the smoke filled his lungs. Please!
Peter jolted, eyes snapping open and glowing bright blue. He stared in surprise at the figure leaning over him, blurry from tears. Pale skin, dark hair, brown eyes.
“Leah,” he breathed, only realizing his mistake when he breathed back in, the scent familiar but not that of his wife’s.
Stiles frowned, looking oddly concerned. “It’s…it’s Stiles, Peter,” he corrected, voice uncharacteristic soft. Hesitant. “You started making noises in your sleep. I figured you’d probably rather me wake you.”
Peter nodded, forcing himself to sit up and clenching his eyes shut at the sudden burn he felt behind them as his mind caught up with everything once more. Leah was gone. Everyone was gone, burnt away to ash.
Stiles slowly moved to sit beside him, though he didn’t say anything. He eventually shifted to lean against Peter, shoulder brushing him solidly. Peter reached up, pinching at the bridge of his nose and trying to hide his trembling lip behind his hand.
“If you need to let it out, I swear I won’t breathe a word of it,” Stiles vowed quietly but no less seriously. Peter quivered, moisture gathering in his eyes without his consent. His lip curled in an attempt to keep the sobs at bay. Stiles reached over, brushing his shoulders and guiding him closer. Peter lost it, hiding his face against Stiles shoulder as he sobbed uncontrollably. Stiles turned to hold him more securely against him, hands bracing his shoulders and brushing up and down his back. Thankfully he didn’t offer meaningless platitudes, which Peter doubted he could’ve stomached. As his sobs wracked through his whole body, Stiles curled his hands in Peter’s shirt and his hair, clutching him to him tightly. He felt almost like a pup, protected and safe, and wasn’t that ridiculous? Stiles would sooner kill him than protect him and he was still arguably the closest one in the ‘Pack’ to him, by virtue of them being left to research together a lot. Peter whined, high and desperate. He longed for his Pack. His sister, his Alpha. Talia might not have been perfect and maybe they’d argued more often than not, but she’d done her best when it came to being saddled with a little brother sixteen years her younger and parents who didn’t want to deal with him. She’d practically raised him herself, even. And even though she’d never favored his methods in protecting the Pack, she’d always trusted that he’d acted in the Pack’s best interest and would have his back. He missed having someone in his corner unconditionally.
He managed to get himself under control but was still hesitant to pull away from Stiles’ hold. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt a kind touch and wasn’t that a sad thing for a wolf to say? He rested his forehead on the boy’s shoulder, wondering just how much damage control he’d have to manage after this utterly embarrassing breakdown.
Stiles softened his hold but didn’t pull away. He ran his fingers through Peter’s hair rhythmically and it soothed his wolf.
“Not that I’m comparing our situation, but sometimes it helps me to talk about the good times with my mom. From before she got sick, you know?” Stiles spoke, voice quiet but even. Calming. “Not with my dad really, cause he can still get really depressed sometimes if I’m not careful with what memory I bring up, but with some of the officers at the station or Melissa.” He brushed through Peter’s hair and the man cautiously nuzzled against the bare skin above the collar of his shirt, scenting the boy in a way he hadn’t done to anyone in years. It was nice. Stiles hummed, tilting his head just a bit and bumping his nose against Peter’s temple. That was even nicer. Acceptance, even if only temporary, was a relief.
“I know Derek can’t really be the best person to reminiscence with,” The boy continued. “So, you know if you ever want to talk, I would listen. And I’ll be honest, I’m still not a hundred percent certain about your plans, but I don’t think you’re our enemy right now.”
“Why, Stiles,” Peter finally spoke, voice just a little scratchy. “I’m hurt.”
Stiles snorted, rolling his eyes even as he gently cuffed the back of Peter’s head. The man smirked, pulling away to show it to Stiles who returned it.
“Dangerous and a potential threat, yes. But you’re not our enemy right now, at least. Are you?”
Peter shook his head minutely, reluctantly releasing his hold on the boy and fighting the urge to hide his face after such a reaction. Stiles smiled. It was Peter’s turn to roll his eyes.
“Thank you,” he murmured after a moment, glancing at Stiles before looking away.
Stiles nodded, running his hand across Peter’s shoulders and squeezing the back of his neck once before releasing him and reclining back into the sofa with a raised brow. Peter probably should’ve reacted against that, maybe it’s what Stiles was expecting, but instead he only felt a security blanket over him. His wolf calmed at the pressure, soothed, and settled down.
“So. Pixies.” Stiles tried to turn their conversation back to the point of research. Peter eyed the space beside Stiles and before the boy could react had crawled onto the space, curling against the boy and resting his head on Stiles’ chest. He was obviously surprised, muscles jerking in a mild flail, but he didn’t push Peter away, just curved his arm around Peter’s shoulders and held him close. His rabbit-fast heart was a nice sound.
“They need to use fire,” Peter spoke, eyes fluttering shut as he took in slow, deep breaths saturated with Stiles’ scent.
Stiles hummed, brushing through Peter’s hair again. He seemed to like that, not that Peter was complaining either. “How long have you known that?” he asked, curious but not judgmental sounding.
“First book I read.” Peter motioned carelessly towards the pile of books on the floor. “I just…don’t like fire,” he admitted.
Stiles nodded, understanding and not calling the man out.
“I’ll text them. You take a nap. I’ll wake you up once Scott says they’re on their way back,” he promised, already digging his phone out of his pocket and texting one-handedly. Peter nuzzled against his chest again before slowly, oh so slowly, letting himself fall to sleep, listening to the quick beat of Stiles’ heart, feeling the steady petting of Stiles’ fingers through his hair, and breathing in Stiles with every lungful.
When Stiles shook him awake a couple hours later, he hadn’t felt a single flame or smelt so much of a whiff of smoke.
it just feels like no stranger would ever look at me and be like “damn that person is attractive and I wish they’d talk me” ya know? like yeah I’m not bad looking but I just can’t comprehend some random person looking at me in my natural state and being like yep you’re cute please come say hi 🙏🏼🙏🏼