#I'm so perplexed by this title difference. what the fuck

[haveyoureadthisscifibook]

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[v-o-i-d-e-d]

I've been binging romcoms with my younger sister and we just finished "To all the boys I have loved before" and now I can't get the idea out of my head: reader writing letters for different starfleet members without intending to send them and suddenly the letters are gone and being sent to their unintended targets (lol, probably Jim did it not knowing that they were not supposed to be read or something). Problem is: our favorite vulcan will too be receiving quite a love letter. Idk, I just thought it was cute, you can ignore if it's too silly ^\\\^

This was such a cute request and I love rom-com-type situations so I ran wild. Also, I'm sorry that this took so long for me to get out I have been busy with school and other annoying responsibilities! I hope you enjoy it!

Title: Message in a Bottle

Pairing: Spock x Kirk!reader

Warnings- none!

Word Count: 4047 my hand slipped

            Lieutenant (Y/N) Kirk had been having a totally normal day. She completed her duties on the bridge as normal and had just finished eating dinner with her brother Jim. Now as she headed back to her room, she could not wait to shower, crawl into bed, and enjoy the next few hours of sleep before she had to get up and do everything again. When she entered her room the automated door hissed closed and she was finally completely alone. She took a deep breath and turned the lights in the room on. She almost immediately noticed something that completely ruined her peace.

 Earlier that morning, (Y/N) was clearing out her storage closet and had sat a white box full of envelopes on her dining room table so that she would remember to find a new place for them. That box was no longer on the table. Now, one might think why is a missing box of envelopes a big deal? Well, they aren’t. It’s the fact that the envelopes were all properly addressed and full of letters to people she knew that she never intended to send. A few sappy ‘thank you’s to old teachers, a couple to her higher-ups including Captain Christopher Pike – the man who told the Kirk siblings to enroll in Star Fleet Academy. These letters would be slightly embarrassing if they got out but nothing (Y/N) couldn’t handle. After all, everything she wrote in them was true and she appreciates everything those people have done for her. There was only one letter in that whole box that worried (Y/N)—her love letter – a detailed love letter – to one Commander Spock. She cursed herself for writing and keeping a love letter in the first place though she didn’t anticipate the whole box would disappear. She tried to think back to earlier to see if she could remember if she moved it, but when she left her room after lunch it was still on the table and she hadn’t returned since.

            “This can’t be happening. It didn’t just sprout legs and walk away!” She said to herself. (Y/N) ran a hand down her face and thought hard. She paused, “No fucking way.” She exited her room at a jog and progressively got faster as she headed toward her brother’s room. She slid to a stop in front of the white door of the captain's quarters and rapidly slammed her fist against it.

            “James, open the door right now!”

The door slid open revealing a perplexed – and slightly afraid – Jim Kirk. He knew he had done something wrong for her to be angry enough to come to his room calling him by his full name. Of course, he had no idea what he had done but he decided it was best to try to start off ahead.

            “Look, I know you’re upset about-“

            “Did you move the white box on my dining room table when you were in my room earlier?”

            “Wait, what? That’s what you’re mad about?” Jim scrunched his face up and scratched the top of his head. (Y/N)’s eyes widened and she briefly looked around the corridor before shoving Jim back into his room and following him in. The door shut with a hiss and (Y/N) closed her eyes and took a deep breath in through her nose and out through her mouth. When she opened her eyes Jim was staring at her with a confused expression and his hands crossed over his chest.

            “Please, for the love of god, tell me you didn’t mail those letters,” (Y/N) said as calmly as she possibly could. Silence followed her question and she already knew the answer.

            “Well –“

            “Oh. My. God.”

            “There was a box of addressed envelopes on the table so I thought you needed them mailed!”

            “Jim! Why would you mail someone else's letters? Isn’t that, like, illegal or something?” (Y/N) was absolutely freaking out and, for the life of him, Jim couldn’t understand why.

            “I was trying to be nice! I knew you had a long day today and I wanted to take something off your plate! Excuse me for being a good brother,” Jim rolled his eyes at his sister and threw his hands in the air in exasperation.

            “Well, jackass, a good brother would have asked before just taking a box from his sister’s room and now there is a love letter headed to your second in command!”

A long pause followed her statement. Jim blinked once. Twice. Then a prolonged third blink.

            “What?” Jim had no idea what to say. (Y/N) groaned and ran her hands through her hair in frustration. She began to pace in the entryway and ramble about how dumb she was to write it in the first place and how she should have burned the letters when she had the chance. Jim finally shook his head to rouse himself out of his stunned silence.

            “Why the hell would you write a love letter…to Spock? Or to anyone for that matter what is this 1812?” Jim chuckled at his own joke but covered it with a cough when (Y/N) glared at him.

            “I don’t know! I like writing letters and I just started writing one day and it turned into a full blown sappy confession that I had planned to keep hidden till the day I died! Now it’s headed off to the last person in the universe who I wanted to see it.”

            “Well, maybe this isn’t so bad.”

            “I want you to stop talking.”

            “No, I’m serious maybe this is what you two need to stop dancing around the obvious!” Jim gestured vaguely with his hands as (Y/N) ceased her pacing. She sighed and shook her head.

            “Jim, we’ve been over this: Spock does not feel that way about me. And that’s fine!” (Y/N) and her brother had had many conversations about this subject. Always with Jim insisting that the feelings were mutual and (Y/N) denying that Spock would ever even look at her in that way. I’m his best friend’s little sister and his subordinate, she thought, He’s way too professional for that.

            Before Jim could respond, both of their communicators chimed. They were being called back to the bridge for an emergency. They briefly held eye contact before rushing toward the door. As they jogged toward the bridge, (Y/N) continued the conversation.

            “Okay did you just mail them today?”

            “Why are we still talking about this?”

            “Because I want to know how long I have to transfer to another part of the fucking galaxy to avoid embarrassment,” They turned a corner and the lights flickered before flashing red. The ship shuttered and Jim and (Y/N) struggled to regain footing.

            “Is it bad that I’m hoping whatever just happened happened to happen to the mail room?”

            “Yes. And that was way too many uses of the word ‘happened’.”

Six hours and several shots fired later, the trouble was averted. A rogue Klingon battalion had decided to attack the Enterprise while it was stationary and almost destroyed the engines but quick thinking from Jim, (Y/N), Spock, and Sulu had saved the day. (Y/N) was officially beyond exhausted. She was so tired, in fact, that she forgot about the whole letter situation and went straight to bed after the whole debacle was over.

Day 1 of waiting:

She slept blissfully and woke up rested and ready for the day. She had gotten dressed and ready and made her way back to the bridge. Unfortunately, her blissful restfulness was cut short when she laid eyes on a certain Commander and remembered the imminent embarrassment that was bound to ruin her life at some point this week.

            “Good morning, Lieutenant Kirk. You look rested.” Spock greeted her with a nod as he fell in step with her toward the bridge elevator.

            “Uh, yeah, good morning,” (Y/N) managed to only stutter once and she quickly cleared her throat. She shouldn’t be freaking out. They walked together to the bridge all the time. Of course, normally Jim is with them but still, casual meetings with Spock were not entirely out of the ordinary. As they walked, silence filled the space between the two and, to (Y/N), it was suffocating. Something on her face must have given away the fact that something was wrong.

            “Are you feeling alright, Lieutenant?” Spock asked. His face was neutral but he side eyed (Y/N) intensely. Briefly, (Y/N) met his heavy gaze before looking straight ahead.

            “Yup, feeling absolutely terrific!” She couldn’t even believe herself. Spock raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to speak again but, luckily for (Y/N), he was interrupted.

            “Lieutenant Kirk.” It was Scotty. God bless him! (Y/N) thought.

            “What’s up, Scotty?” Was that the formal way to address him? No. But (Y/N) just wanted to get out of speaking with Spock one-on-one.

            “I need to speak to you. There are some issues with a few of the privates stationed in the engine room and I could use your help to resolve the issue before I throw some people out of the airlock!” His accent was strong with annoyance and (Y/N) couldn’t help but chuckle.

            “Sure thing,” She turned to Spock who had paused beside her, “You go on to the bridge, I’ll be in the engine room if you need me in the meantime.” Without waiting for an answer, (Y/N) hurried toward the engine room leaving Scotty to trail behind.

Day 2 of waiting:

            It was only the second day, and Spock had already caught on to the fact that (Y/N) was avoiding him. (Y/N) knew it was not going to be easy to allude him while also keeping it a secret that she was doing it on purpose, after all – Spock isn’t an idiot and (Y/N) is anything but subtle. Spock and (Y/N) had a routine and of course in an effort to not speak to him (Y/N) had changed it so that she was usually off the bridge when Spock was there and vice versa.

            “Lieutenant Kirk you are needed on the bridge,” Chekov’s thick accent crackled through (Y/N)’s communicator and she sighed. She knew Spock would be there which is why she was currently in the engine room recalibrating the warp drive. It was busy work that she normally wouldn’t do but anything to avoid the impending embarrassment.

            “On my way.”

            When she arrived, Spock immediately shifted his gaze from his work to her. (Y/N) briefly met his gaze before walking toward her brother who was seated in his chair with his legs thrown over the armrest. She rolled her eyes.

            “What do you want, Jim?”

            “That’s no way to address your captain, Lieutenant,” Jim had a smug smile on his face – as usual – and it took everything in (Y/N) not to smack him on the back of his head.

            “Tell me what you want or I’m leaving. I was working, unlike some people,” She scoffed as she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned into her hip.

            “Okay, I am sending you and Spock on a mission,” Jim’s smirk got wider as he noticed his sister’s eye twitch in annoyance. “The planet we’re coming up on is supposed to be abandoned but there should be evidence of a previous civilization. I figured with your archeological knowledge and Spock’s general smart-assery you two would fit the job perfectly.”

(Y/N) took a deep breath in through her nose as she glared at Jim. She sneaked a glance at Spock.

He was listening in on the conversation – an action he deemed logical since it also pertained to him. His eyes were focused on the screen in front of him but he could see (Y/N) from the corner of his eye. He noticed her normally relaxed state was exchanged for tensed shoulders and a glowering expression. Whatever had been going on yesterday had most certainly carried into today. He thought. (Y/N) Kirk was one of his closest friends just as James Kirk was. Though many things that the younger Kirk did were illogical and not well thought out, she knew how to get the results she wanted and always figured out a way for everyone to be happy or at least safe. Spock enjoyed her company even more than he enjoyed her brother’s. She was smart, kind, and usually quiet if it was just the two of them. She was a challenging chess opponent and someone dear to his heart. Not that he would say that to her.

(Y/N) sighed, “Okay. When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow afternoon. We’ll be in the atmosphere at around 12 o’clock Earth time so you’ve got plenty of time to research and prepare. Why don’t you and Spock take the rest of the day for whatever nerd stuff you need to do,” Jim waved his sister off before getting up and leaving the bridge. (Y/N) glared at his back as he left before begrudgingly walking over to Spock.

“Hey, Spock,” she said. Her eyes were focused on the ground rather than up at the Vulcan who was looking at her intently. (Y/N) took a breath in through her nose before finally lifting her gaze to meet Spock’s, “Let’s go get some lunch and we can talk about the mission.”

Before the Vulcan had the chance to respond, (Y/N) quickly turned on her hell and started walking toward the elevator. Spock easily caught up to her before the doors closed and as the elevator began to descend, Spock spoke up.

“(Y/N), are you feeling ill?” Spock dropped the formalities and asked straight out. (Y/N) lifted an eyebrow and looked at her Commander with a curious gaze.

“No, I’m fine. Why do you ask?” This was a stupid question, (Y/N) realized. Her behavior was at best erratic and clearly intentional so it was only logical for Spock to know something was wrong. She did breathe an internal sigh of relief knowing that Spock hadn’t received the letter, otherwise, she was sure he would have confronted her by now – mutual feelings or not.

“You’ve been acting strange for the last couple of days. I want to be sure that your behavior will not negatively affect your performance on this mission.”

(Y/N) fought the urge to roll her eyes as the elevator doors hissed open. Of course. She thought. He’s only worried about this dumb mission my dumb brother is sending us on to torture me.

“I am also worried about your well-being, Lieutenant.” Spock’s surprising sentiment almost made (Y/N) trip on her own foot. She cleared her throat and shrugged her shoulders as they turned the corner of the hallway.

“I promise, I’m okay. Just have a lot on my mind right now.”

“Ah, yes, the letter.”

(Y/N) swore her heart stopped right there in the hallway. She hesitantly looked at Spock, trying her best to keep her expression as neutral as his. She didn't know how to respond I could play dumb, she mused, but he’s too smart for that to work. The man knows my handwriting so it would be impossible for me to deny that I wrote it. She took a deep breath through her nose, Fuck it.

“Yeah, actually that is what’s on my mind. And honestly, I had hoped I could just ignore the problem but I should have known that wouldn’t work with you.” (Y/N) rambled.

“Why would this be a problem?” Spock tilted his head slightly and furrowed his eyebrows, something that (Y/N) found impossible endearing.

“It could ruin things! In so many ways!” By now, (Y/N) was pacing the hallway and Spock was more confused than ever. “You’re my superior officer and I just sent a love letter to you! Of course, I wouldn’t be dumb enough to send it that would be my genius brother. But I was dumb enough to leave the box out and allow him into my room! But I mean, who mails other people’s letters without asking? What was he even thinking?”

“(Y/N) –“

“I’m so sorry! I seriously didn’t mean to tell you like this and if I’m honest, I didn’t intend on telling you at all! My feelings were supposed to be kept to myself! Well, to myself and Jim but he’s a nosey bastard who obviously can’t mind his business! I don't know why I tell him anything and honestly, I wish he’d just – “

“(Y/N).” Spock, tired of listening to her pointlessly rambling on about how annoying her brother is – a fact he knew to be true – grabbed her gently by the shoulder to get her to stop pacing. Now that she wasn’t speaking and instead was staring up at him like a kicked puppy waiting to be scolded his mind went blank. Spock was officially at a loss for words. “I was talking about the letter of promotion Admiral Pike sent you. About the head of engineering position.”

She wanted to disappear. Perhaps if she willed it hard enough, she could fade from existence on the spot. For once, it was running her own mouth that got her in trouble instead of her brother’s. (Y/N) tried to read Spock’s expression but couldn’t and that sent even more anxiety straight to her gut.

“Oh.” That was all she managed to say. She quickly regained her wits, “Then just forget everything I said and we can just go back to normal!” She let out a nervous laugh that sounded more like a cry and started to walk in the direction of the cafeteria. However, Spock hadn’t let go of her shoulder and as she walked away his grip slipped from her shoulder down to her hand, stopping her in her tracks.

“Wait.” That was all he managed to say. His mind was still reeling trying to decipher her quick words. A love letter. He thought. She loves me? He couldn’t believe it. “You love me?”

Despite her distraught state, she had to admit she had never seen Spock looking so dumbfounded, as if what she said was something he had never thought of in any scenario. His hand still held hers firmly and he gently pulled her back towards him. “You love me.” He said again, though this time it seemed as though he was finally understanding the situation.

“Okay, Spock, you’re starting to sound like a broken record, and the record is titled Hurting (Y/N)’s Feelings.” She chuckled only to keep herself from bursting into tears out of sheer embarrassment. This was the moment she was dreading. The absolute end of a friendship and a lifetime of shame. I’ll have to go into exile. Maybe I’ll ask Scotty to throw me out of the airlock. She thought. Just as she was about to speak again, Spock dropped her hand turned on his heel, and headed back in the direction they came from. That was when the damn broke and (Y/N)’s eyes welled up with hot tears. Blinking rapidly, she haphazardly looked around the hallway to make sure no one saw her before jetting away in the direction of her room.

“You left her in the hallway?” Jim was on the verge of shouting. He was absolutely flabbergasted at Spock’s behavior. Spock rolled his eyes.

“I was unsure of what I was supposed to do.”

“So you decided to leave my baby sister in the hallway, by herself, after basically confessing her undying love for you.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“Trust me, I am not.” Jim ran a hand through his hair and huffed out an annoyed sigh. He paced back and forth, a habit that Spock noticed the siblings share, before looking back at his second in command. “Okay, you have to go after her.”

Spock knew this. It was obviously the most logical course of action. There was only one problem: “What am I supposed to say to her?”

“Apologize for rudely walking away, first off. Then – and this is just a spitball idea – tell her you feel the same!”

Jim was actually convinced that Spock’s brain had short-circuited. Spock wasn’t firing on all cylinders because if he was, he would understand the logical thing to do. Secretly, Jim was happy this situation happened. He had been trying to the Spock and his sister together for months now but he found the process to be similar to cutting a tree down with a blunt axe.

“Beginning a relationship with Lieutenant Kirk would violate –“

“Not if she accepts the promotion.”

“She’d still be my subordinate!”

“Only in the same way Scotty is our subordinate! He only has to listen to us sometimes.”

“That is not how the ranking system works.”

“Who cares?” Jim was tired of arguing with Spock over something that seemed so obvious. Spock felt the same way. “Listen, if you don’t want to tell her you have feelings for her I can’t make you. What I can tell you is that no matter what you do the sentence needs to start with I’m sorry and end with something nice. Turn off the Vulcan side for a change, not everything you do has to be completely logical. Sometimes we just need to do things that we want.”

It must have been a strange sight. The commanding officer of the USS Enterprise stood stiffly in front of (Y/N)’s quarters. He was still trying to figure out what exact words he needed to say and he had taken to scratching at his cuticles out of nervousness. I should not just be standing here. He thought. Shaking his head and finally lifting his clenched fist, he knocked twice. Panic briefly set into his veins as he realized he was actually going to have to talk to (Y/N). A cold shiver ran up his spine as the door’s airlock hissed open and revealed (Y/N) on the other side. He could tell she had been crying, though the tears seemed to be mostly dry by now. Her red-rimmed eyes lightly glared up at him and she crossed her arms tightly over her body.

“Can I help you?” Her voice was scratchy and her words were punctuated by a sniffle. Spock felt an ache deep in his gut from knowing he had made her feel this way.

“I-“ He paused. Once again he was speechless but he was determined to make this right. “I apologized for the way I behaved. Leaving you there after such an important moment was not the right thing to do and I am sorry for hurting you.” Even as he did his best to keep his tone even he couldn’t help the slight waver in his voice.

“It’s alright, Spock. Honest. I’ll be okay and ready for the mission tomorrow. Like I said we can just go back to normal and forget about it.” She was offering him an out. He knew he could easily just take it and go but part of him, a large part of him refused to give up that easily.

“No.”

“What?”

“I do not wish to return to normal.”

“Oh.” (Y/N) believed this to be the final moment of friendship. He wanted nothing to do with her anymore. “Um, okay. I guess you can just do the mission alone or ask my brother to –“

“You misunderstand. I do not want to return to normal because I reciprocate your feelings of affection.”

Oh. (Y/N) thought. A moment of silence passed between them. Spock watched (Y/N)’s face for any sign of emotion but she seemed frozen. He wouldn’t lie, she thought. Vulcans don’t lie. “You do?” her voice was quieter than she intended, almost a whisper.

Spock took her hand in his larger one. “Of course I do. I believe an adequate way to put it would be you have bewitched me, body and soul.”

(Y/N) couldn’t help the giggle, “So you do listen when I talk about Jane Austin. I thought you found romance novels illogical.”

“Everything about you is illogical, but that is one of the many things I find alluring about you.” They both smiled. (Y/N) had only seen Spock actually smile a few times and each time it was like new life had filled her lungs but this time it was even better knowing that the smile was put there solely for her. And this time, she couldn’t stop herself from kissing that smile even if she tried.

[itskattkm]

New York New Rules Pt. 4

Warnings: Violence, Trauma, Fluff, maybe Smut, mental health, blood

Summary: Y/N meets the survivors of the last events in Woodsborrow and gets on Ghostface's list. But there is also a darkness in Y/N wich path is she going to choose

Female Y/N x Tara Carpenter

Sorry for bad writing. I'm using a translator and hope you guys can enjoy it. Also, this is going to be a slow burn

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5,

I'm 11 minutes away and I have missed you all day

I'm 11 minutes away, so why aren't you here?

I think I missed you callin' on the other line

I'm just thinkin' all these thoughts up in my mind

Talkin' love but I can't even read the signs

I would sell my soul for a bit more time

You stain all on my body like you're red wine

You're the fuckin' acid to my alkaline

Stupid. Frail. Perplexed. Fearful. Offensive. Sharp and Hurt

„Y/N you rather feel nothing again" I said to myself as I stared at the ceiling of my room. I've probably been lying here for 15 minutes because 11 minutes ran at least three times in a row. In fact, this was one of my favorite songs. But why actually? I know that I have a feeling for the darkness. But why were pain and suffering so self-evident for me? No matter which movie I watched or which series. My darling was always the villain.

There are really people who just hate them because they have the title of villain. But why are they trying not to understand? What about Katherinen Pierce from the Vampire Diaries? This woman suffered and that only because she wanted to be loved and loved? She lost her family. Her child and was hunted for centuries. The man she loved hated her and didn't believe that the love between them was real. Maleficent... rejected and hunted because she was different? Kylo Ren, Star Wars... who let a big wait on his shoulders... not to forget that Luke wanted to kill him. Wanda Maximof... one of my favorites. What was wrong with creating your own world in which you could be happy? Especially if you had lost everything you had left.

Was I the evil one? Did I want to be the bad one? Sometimes I'm not sure but the feeling I felt when Tara looked at me and asked where I was during the attack... I won't forget this so quickly because at that moment I felt like one of the bad guys. But I also felt misunderstood.

Did Tara hate me? How did Tara think about me in general? Since I've been friends with Mindy, I've met her maybe five times. And we didn't talk much to each other. Most of the time our conversations were about the university. I tried to get closer to her. However, I always had the feeling that I was always failing with her. One second I thought I had full self-confidence but then a look into Tara's eyes and my brain shuts down. I had really never felt something like that before. Especially not towards a woman.

I always stayed away from relationships or physical contacts. As soon as it went in this direction, I always pulled back and hid in my bubble. However, there were days when I would have liked to go to the next bar with my dirty thoughts and have been looking for someone for a hot night.

But as I had analyzed myself so far and with the help of Dr. Stone, I knew what my problem was.

The music in my headphones stopped. I looked at my cell phone and saw that my alarm clock that I had set after talking to Sam was now active.

Should I? Shouldn't I?

"Fuck it," I said to myself and made my way to the Blackmoore. I would prove to them all that I am not Ghostface and if they do not meet me then I will also permanently delete these people from my life.

Slowly I played with the ring on my finger. It wasn't special. I didn't like fancy jewelry either. But this ring carried good memories with it and that's why I always wore it with me. When I saw the carpenters and their friends in front of the Blackmoore, I hesitated slightly. Everyone was sitting on the benches of the university and Mindy seemed to be holding a monologue. She was the only one standing in front of them and gestured around like crazy with her hands.

"Why am I doing this to myself?" I asked myself desperately and approached the group. Drier than I thought, I said "hi" when I entered the inner circle and drew all attention to me. There was a free place next to Quinn, so I sat down with her just as she opened her mouth but Tara was faster and said "you came?" I avoided her gaze and looked coolly at Mindy who looked at me with pinched eyes " Y/N Perfect timing..."

Mindy went to explain the rules and that we were in a franchise. I really famous myself to listen to her, but the voice in my head was too loud.

Don't look at Tara. You must never look her in the eyes again. Is she looking at you? Are the others watching you? Do the others know what happened at the police station? Do they know about my state of health? Did they thought I was Ghostface?

"Am I gonna die a virgin?"

Wait a minute? My full attention was back. I looked at Ethan and then at Mindy.

"Weird overshare but that brings us to our current suspects. Ethan! A shy dorky guy who no one suspects because he's so shy and dorky"

So I wasn't the only suspect? I felt a slight feeling of relief.

" Quinn! The sexy sluty roommate"

Quinn looked at Mindy slightly irritated

"Sex positive but thanks?"

"How did you come to live with Sam and Tara?" She asked but Sam answers "we put an anonymous ad online"

And Tara replied "and her dad is a cop"

Mindy took a step towards Tara and said in an aggressive tone "and that makes it more likely that she is the killer because having a cop that is a great cover! Do you not remember how this movies work Tara?!"

Now Mindy gave everything. That reminded me too well of the many discussions we had about movies. Then Mindy even suspected her own girlfriend. Like wow… this whole thing was really serious.

"Never Trust the Love interest..." she said coolly and her look was serious. Suddenly there was a tension in the group. That sounded pretty deep... I mean in the first stab film it was also the love interest, among other things.

"Y/N!" Mindy called and smiled at me dirty. I sighed, pinched my eyes briefly and looked away from the group but Mindy came one step closer to me. "my dear friend Y/N... you are also new to our group," she began.

Did she say group? What did she mean by that? Was I part of the group?

"As your best friend, I know that you are going to therapy"

Oh no Mindy, please don't. Not again. Not again. Why me? Why?

"But you never told me why you are going to therapy... would you share the reason with us?" I avoided her eyes and looked nervously at the floor. My heart was beating so fast that I felt the pulse pounding in my ears. Again I played with the ring in my finger "Mindy she doesn't have to tell us anything..." said Tara after a short silent, low-key.

Surprised, I looked at her and our eyes met.

Relief. Relief? RELIEF!!! The first word that went through my head. Did Tara just defend me? Why had she done that? And there she was again. This gentle darkness, and the little white lights, like a light at the end of the tunnel that rested me to tell me here you are safe.

Stop it. I tore my eyes off her and stared at my ring. "okay then tell us at least where you were during the attack..." I looked at Mindy "home... and you are welcome to ask Maria when I entered the building and when I left it last. As I know her, she can even tell you the exact time" Mindy nodded in agreement to me, she knew Maria "okay. Good alibi. Nevertheless, you are suspicious. You don't like to socialize and maintain the good girl, reading books and sitting at home image"

Confused, I looked at Anika, was that something good or bad?

Anika said "that's not fair, if then we are all suspects, including you"

Mindy agreed with her and said to Sam "especially Sam" confused I looked to Sam, I had the feeling of not knowing something and because of the looks of the others I could see that I was right.

After that, I turned on the conversations of the others and tried to look at everyone unobtrusively. I started with Quinn. Quinn's emotions were neutral in order not to be completely present. Anika seemed very calm and attentive. Sam seemed tense. Chad hmmm I don't have to worry about him, he was fully focused on taking notes. I wanted to skip Tara and see Ethan directly, but our eyes met. Had she been watching me? After not even a second, I broke off the look of contact again by looking at my ring. Suddenly Quinn got up, then Anika moved to Mindy. The group disbanded.

"We have to stay together, that's the only way we are safe and can rule out who the killer is," said Mindy, "you could all come to us" said Sam and now also stood up.

Did she mean me with everyone, too? How exactly did they think of all this here now?

Confused, I asked her as if I hadn't even been present at Mindys Monologue "I don't… wait, I don't look through. What's the plan now?"

Chad replied when he got up "we're going to Sam and Tara... stay together... and try not to be killed" he didn't give me more information when he left. Chad, were you serious? Confused, I looked after the others when they were almost gone.

And then I suddenly noticed a person next to me. Before I could turn around, there was a hand on my right forearm. And then I was back in the tunnel... tried to get to the light. "Come to us tonight and we can tell you everything," Tara whispered to me, slowing down my nervous pulse. I could listen to her for hours when she talked to me like that. It was so reassuring. Warm. Pleasant. Right.

Her eyes fell on Sam when she nodded in agreement with Tara "maybe you can bring another pizza right away," she said and slightly raised the corners of her mouth. Tara pressed my arm slightly and looked at me at with bright eyes "by the way thank you for the pizza... after this hangover I needed it".

What was that feeling at once? Joy or nervousness? I had to smile unconsciously and nodded "special wishes?"

Tara snapped her finger and began to list different toppings and looked at Sam to see if she agreed with her "The main thing Jalapeños... registered" I said and stood up. "You have our address?" Sam asked again and I nodded in agreement. She raised the corners of her mouth again before putting her hands in her jacket and set off. Tara followed her.

Before my brain realized what my body was doing, I grabbed Tara's hand and hoped she would turn to me again

"Why did you help me earlier?"

And again this pure placid and sweetness to recognize in her face "what happened in the police station was just fucked up" we both had to laugh about her word choice and Tara's dimpels came to light.

Damn, how could Tara be so beautiful?

Okay, pull yourself together Y/N! How was that again with Tara? Never looking into the eyes again? Now I just wanted to sink into them and that even though I could never keep eye contact. Simp

"And I wouldn't want that either... if I imagined that someone would have done that to Sam..." she looked back briefly to the her. Sam stood a few meters away from us and waited for Tara "and see that as a leap of faith Y/L/N... don't spoil it" dryly I laughed and shook my head "I wouldn't even have a good motive" she squeezed my hand briefly.

Did we hold our hands all the time? How could I miss that? I mean... with this face you forget everything, she gave me a grin with sharp eyes and whispered "but there's always a motive" and then she disappeared.

[waste45]

It's Just That...

Steve Rogers x m!reader

Includes: Anal penetration, Anal fingering, bottoming for the first time, sub!reader (briefly), bottom!reader (briefly), dom!reader, top!reader, m!reader

All Steve Rogers needed was to be treated like an ordinary person. Go on dates, to work, gossip, and other typical activities. He couldn't since he was the first Avenger, America's Golden Boy, and a super soldier. If he didn't have such titles, he pondered how life would be. 

He finally understood how it felt when he met you. It seemed as though all his concerns about being Captain America vanished the moment he was in your presence.  You truly were the definition of great. You were gifted, kind, and compassionate. Steve could gush endlessly about his affection for you. He hadn’t felt this way since.. 

Everything in your relationship was perfect, with the exception of your sex life. The sex was good, but it could probably be better than it is right now. Steve was stronger and far taller than you, so it seemed evident that he would top during .Steve didn't like to alter up the position, so it was always the same whenever you two had sex. It was getting boring to say the least.

While you're currently riding him and having the time of your life, it appears that Steve isn't having any fun at all. His eyes were closed, his brows were wrinkled, and he had a slight frown on his face. He appeared much the same all the time. He hardly made any noise, save for the occasional phoney moan and grunt that suggested discomfort.

“F-Fuck..Steve!” As you finished, your cum spurted all over his chest and face as you moaned softly.

You looked at the time as you kept bobbing up and down on him while you waited for him to finish. You quickly get up from the bed and get yourself out. Steve appears to be both relieved and a little perplexed when he stares at you.

"I completely forgot that I have work. I must leave. I'm sorry you had to finish alone. I'm very sorry, and I'll make it up to you as soon as I get home. Before rushing to put on some clothes, you say.

“It’s..okay.” Steve muses softly.

However, you quickly exit the bedroom and walk away. Sex with Steve is not what you expected it to be. You felt a little let down since every time you suggested doing something unusual in the bedroom, he would ignore you. asking in particular whether he wants to do something different Steve would blush and appeared as if he was trying to speak but was unable to. You vowed to force him to spit it out.

-

“Do you not think I'm attractive, Steve?” You enquire as you put a spoonful of the meal you just made in your lips.

Your head was resting on his chest as you two sat on the couch with the dish of food in your lap. Steve tensed up beneath you and let out a trembling gasp. “I do, I do,” He spoke. “Why wouldn’t I..you’re my boyfriend.” 

You put the bowl on the table and knelt down next to him, facing Steve. “Really, why do you seem to be having no fun when we do it”

“It’s not that..it’s just..”

There it was, anytime you mentioned bedroom activities. He’d avoid eye contact, his cheeks a dark shade of red.

"It's not that—just that."

Every time you suggested in-room activities, there it was. His cheeks were a dark red colour, and he would avoid eye contact.

“Steve..

I want both of us to enjoy having sex. If you are not having fun, I cannot. Please let me know if I did something wrong.

As he takes a swallow, you can see his Adam apple wiggle up and down. “Well, I don't want to fuck you, that's for sure. You should fuck me, please.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to process what he just said. “Sorry?”

"Put your dick in me," He said, turning his head slight to look at your eyes.

You make an ‘o’ shape with your mouth, he then let out a small laugh which turned into full on laughter. Steve just sits there letting a small awkward laughter as well.

“Sweetie..I would love to stick my dick in you.”

You see a wave of relief wash over him, and his lips curl into a smile. 

-

You had never topped before, and often you were in the weaker position, so it was unusual to say the least. You were generally the one patiently waiting on the bed, leg’s spread and head against the pillow behind you. You've never attempted this before, and you certainly never imagined that a super solider would be your first. First person to the bottom for you, not first first.

“Is something wrong?” You hear a small voice pipe up from the bed. 

You were across the room, condom and lube in hand. “No..sorry”

Steve remained silent and only observed as you approached him. You climbed up on top of Steve and confronted him. Before your lips collide with another's, the two of you merely stare at one other. The gentle, sweet beginning quickly devolves into a messy make out.

You caress his pecs while tracing your hand up his belly. They were enormous and velvety but firm at the same time, and they were probably your favourite feature of him. Steve grunts a little in response to the sensation. After breaking off your kiss, you continued to kiss his neck and jaw.

You turned to glance up when you heard a faint whine above you. "What's wrong?”

While whimpering, Steve frowns. He rubs up against your thigh in an effort to catch your attention. To tease him even more, you smirk a little. “Could you…”

“Use your words darling.” You coo, trying to not to smile. 

“Touch me..” You laugh a little at his request. You give his right breast a firm squeeze, which made him let out a sharp gasp. “But I am.”

“You’re the worst..touch my dick please..” He admitted.

You weren't prepared for Steve to admit this so quickly, but he did so after much hesitation and, of course, with a scarlet face. In response to his request, you ran your hand over your head. At the contact, it twitched somewhat fiercely.

“Please. Please…ugh.” He begged and moan while still rubbing against you. He quickened in pace and since he’s so much strong and bigger than you, you were kinda getting thrown around.

“Stevie…calm down. I’m about to fall off the bed here”

He abruptly comes to a stop and mutters a brief apology out of shame. How desperately he wanted you was hot, to put it mildly. This is a side of Steve that you've never seen, and you were really enjoying it.

His dick is encircled by one of your hands, and you excruciatingly slow pump it. Steve tries to thrust into your hand , but you restrain him. Despite having a clear advantage over you, he decides to let you do it with a small whimper in protest of course. 

He moans as you speed up, stopping in a few seconds. “Fuck..you’re so hot Steve. I can’t wait to fuck you.” He lets out a moan at your dirty talk and gives a frantically nod. You grab the lube and squirt on your fingers. You slightly circle his hole, teasingly before pushing your finger in. It wasn’t as tight as you expected it to be, it was kind of loose? You thrust in and out of him and eventually added a second finger. It was quiet except for the squelching sound of you fingering him and Steve’s muffled moans as he had his hand over his mouth. “I-I kind of fingered myself this morning..I was really impatient.” He confessed.

You add another finger and hum a little as you glance up at Steve. He lets out a loud moan and his body trembles as you drive in and out of him and brush against a specific spot inside of him. He let’s out strings of curse words mixed with moans as you continue to finger him.

You pull your fingers out. “I guess I won’t need to do that anymore.”

You remove your underwear with a slight sense of relief. At how icy it was, you pour more lubrication over your dick. Although it felt loose around your fingers, it was unquestionably tighter around your dick when you lined it up and carefully inserted it.

“Be gentle, Y/N.” You hear Steve squeak from below. His lips was slightly open, but his eyes were closed. To put it simply, it was an expression of both pleasure and suffering. Before starting to slowly shove into him, you bite your lower lip. Furthermore, it felt fantastic. You moaned as he clenched around.. You at last realised why topping was so addictive. 

Steve was definitely feeling good, the way his hands clenched the sheets beneath you and the tears in the corner of his eyes. Also his mouth letting out sounds you could listen to all day. “God, Stevie you feel amazing. You feeling good?”

He let out a mewl in response, couldn’t even muster up a proper answer for you. Just another reason on how good he was feeling. You grab a hold of his dick and began pumping it, matching it with your thrusts. 

“Im-go..ing..to!”

Before he could continue speaking, he covered himself in white spray. You release into him and quickly remember that you completely neglected to put on a condom. “I totally forgot to put a condom on, I'm sorry.”

Steve looked out of breathe as his face was red and he panting “It’s okay..that felt really good.”

You pull him into a sloppy after-sex kiss, wrapping your arms around his waist. Though you were a hesitant to do this at first you totally don’t regret agreeing.

[anhed-nia]

And now that I've been positive about something that didn't demand it, I'm gonna be MEAN for no reason just to restore balance to the universe. I fucking hate this movie. Never has a tagline been so accurate. TRICK OR TREATS is one of these things that has remained in circulation long enough for me to wonder, like, do people LIKE this, and there's just something good about it that I don't get? Or is it just anomalous that it's still available enough to be on Shudder 40 years after its accursed birth? I'm not just irked that it's "bad", which it is, but because I have no idea what the fucking point of it is supposed to be. What form of pleasure am I supposed to receive from it? This is a movie that's loaded with sluts and blowjob jokes, but it's completely devoid of graphic nudity or violence or even proper swearing. You might point out that it's more of a comedy, as horror-comedies go, but it's also not at all funny. It features a (not scary) escaped homicidal lunatic, but most of that plays out as a long gag about how, if a big ugly dude puts on a frumpy dress and a stuffed bra, absolutely no one can tell the difference and randos will start trying to fuck him immediately. Ha Ha Ha. It's a movie that seems to be aimed at horror buffs, but the "special effects" basically amount to Halloween decorations and cheap prefab magic tricks for children, which gives you that suspicious feeling that the filmmakers actually kind of hate horror movies and think that you can put any stupid thing in front of a genre fan and get their unqualified, brain dead approval.

Also like, maybe this is a personal thing, but I'd say MOST pranks are pretty unfunny, and movies that prominently feature pranksters are almost unbearable. If you're going to anchor your movie to the idea of tricks and pranks, it really better be as outrageous as the setup of TERROR TRAIN (a movie that also isn't very good, but at least there was an idea in there somewhere); you really cannot ask me to pay rapt attention to, for instance, an endless scene of a snot-nosed brat duping his babysitter into thinking there's somebody at the door. Oh wow, the little boy uses a string to pull on the door knocker, oh boy, the babysitter answers the door, oh no, there's no one there. Lather, rinse, repeat. Ha Ha Ha. By the way, why is this frustrated woman running around in like a Joan Collins type of nightgown while she's both managing this unruly child and having to answer the door for trick-or-treaters every ten minutes? Who fucking knows. How much time can we kill by putting the babysitter on the phone with her inconsequential boyfriend so he can report in about his awful-sounding Shakespeare performance? You'll find out if you watch this piece of shit! (FYI the occasional appearance of cult favorite actors only makes you wish you were watching something better)

There's a lot more to be perplexed about behind the scenes, like the fact that the writer-director-etc also shot movies for Orson Welles, and great horror movies like THE TOOLBOX MURDERS (where's the horror in this movie?), and also a huge amount of porn (where's the damn sex appeal in this movie?). I vaguely worry that TRICK OR TREATS was just made as a simple excuse to create a starring role for the filmmaker's young son, which makes it seem innocent and like something I shouldn't spend so much energy bagging on, but it's just so un-fun, and vaguely insulting, that it's hard for me to just turn a blind eye. AND ANOTHER THING I really hate that the title is pluralized. You can DO trick-or-treating, you can BE a trick-or-treater, but there's no such thing as "trick or treats". It reminds me of when I watched NOTTING HILL a couple years ago (*John Waters voice* What was I thinking about?) and among other sticking points, I could not get over Hugh Grant repeatedly saying "whoopsies-daisies". I mean. What the fuck, guy? Why are you, an adult, saying that, but also it's NOT PLURAL. It's just "whoopsy-daisy"; sure, you'll find a few variations in an idiomatic dictionary, but not one that pluralizes both words. "Whoopsies-daisies" isn't even easy to say. How the fuck did you come up with that? I think I've finally drained my poison gland for this morning, so to leave on a bright note, here's my favorite part of NOTTING HILL. Just Hugh Grant's roommate's implausible shirt. I kinda want one.

PS I posted that NOTTING HILL review on Facebook a few years ago, because I thought it was fun and like one of the more publicly acceptable/accessible things I'd written, and indeed, a bunch of people found it pretty funny. But then within a day or so, I had to go to a friend-of-a-friend's birthday party where I was quietly informed that I was nearly dis-invited because it was the adult birthday girl's favorite movie and she just, like, didn't want to see my face after she found out what I had to say. So, never let it be said that my opinions are not powerful and of consequence for others!

[lunapaper]

Album Review: 'Justice' - Justin Bieber

So did Justin Bieber change direction? Will he do his latest album... justice?

Uh...

Released a mere 13 months after the bland and tiresome Changes, the Canadian singer delivers yet another set of mawkish love ballads and Top 40-baiting pop to remind us all once again that he really, really, truly, madly, deeply loves his wife Hailey Baldwin and of his commitment to God.

On ‘Deserve You,’ he admits: ‘When I'm in my thoughts sometimes/It's hard to believe I'm the person you think I am/The person that you tell me you love.’ He’s even ‘off my face in love with you,’ replacing one vice for another as he finds himself stoned after one touch of Mrs Bieber. On the skittering, soaring ‘Ghost,’ he vows: ‘If I can't be close to you/I'll settle for the ghost of you.’

Bieber also pledges to die for her, to walk through fire ‘even if your kiss would kill me,’ on ‘Somebody,’ be the shoulder for her to cry on, and even calls he ‘the only good thing I’ve ever done’ on ‘Anyone’ as they dance under a sky full of diamonds.

‘Love You Different,’ however, leaves nothing to the imagination: ‘Under covers ain’t no rubbers/ On this planet I’ll treat you like a mother/ Let’s make babies.’

If it was just a couple of love songs dedicated to his wife, it’d be fine, but one after the other, at this level of co-dependency and self-loathing from a now 27-year-old Bieber, is just suffocating and kind of frightening. Then again, Homer did say complete and utter dependence is a ‘wonderous, marvellous thing’...

The breezy ‘Peaches,’ meanwhile (ft. Daniel Caesar and Giveon) is carefully tailored to be a potential Song of the Summer, this time praising Georgia-grown produce and California weed alongside his wife. It’s like a more grown-up version of that ‘you gotta keep your head up, oh-woah’ song, with just a dash of Maroon 5’s ‘Sunday Morning.’

Then there’s previous single ‘Holy’ (ft. fellow wife-lover, Chance the Rapper), a sweeping gospel pop ode sampling, of all things, Elvis’ ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love with You,’ that sees Bieber ‘runnin' to the altar like a track star.’ But this goofy eagerness for The Lord is outmatched by some even goofier lines from Chance, like this one: ‘Life is short with a temper like Joe Pesci.’ As both an Italian and a music lover, I just can’t abide. Then again, Chance really doesn’t like criticism, so that probably explains its first draft-like quality....

Look, I have no problem with religion or spirituality of any kind (Except for Hillsong, ‘cos fuck Hillsong, fuck Morrison and fuck prosperity gospel). I don’t even consider myself an atheist. It can help provide guidance and comfort in troubling times, as it’s done for Bieber. It’s also quite ironic that I post this review on Good Friday... But like a lot of born-again types, he must espouse his religious beliefs at every single turn, in the most preachy and insufferable way possible; there's just no in between.

Justice also sees Bieber attempt to restyle himself as some sort of humanitarian – by sampling the powerful words of Dr Martin Luther King Jr.

But rather than use them to speak out against racial injustice or police brutality, they’re merely used to prop up Bieber’s overwrought declarations of love on piano ballad ‘2 Much’ and on an interlude halfway through the album... which is immediately followed by ‘Die For You’ (ft. Dominic Fike), dedicated yet again to Hailey.

Although he admits that ‘I know that I cannot simply solve injustice by making music, but I do know that if we all do our part by using our gifts to serve this planet, and each other, that we are that much closer to being united,’ Bieber’s social conscience rings hollow, nothing but a gross, vapid, self-indulgent attempt to capture the cultural zeitgeist. It's corporate brand wokeness; the bare minimum when it typically comes to celebrity activism. Or maybe this is some weird way of atoning for the awfulness of ‘Yummy’ and trying to game the Spotify algorithm. That he didn’t anticipate such backlash in the first place is also pretty galling.

Even the album’s title is perplexing: What justice is Bieber fighting for, exactly? The right to bone Hailey Baldwin? The right to dedicate soppy ballads to her?

But, like Changes, there are a few diamonds in the rough.

The hazy, drum-powered atmospherics of ‘Deserve You’ could’ve easily sat alongside Purpose’s biggest hits, like a softer, slower take on Jason Derulo’s ‘Cheyenne.’ ‘Unstable’ (ft. The Kid LAROI) is sparse and ghostly with those ‘Another Day in Paradise’-like vibes.

‘Die For You’s intensity is matched by punchy 80s synths. ‘Somebody’ (produced by Skrillex) is also urgent and feverish, given some extra grit with some power pop riffs and murky percussion, while the glitchy ‘Love You Different’ (ft. BEAM) is as bold and vibrant as ‘Sorry,’ combining garage-inspired beats with dancehall swagger.

If Bieber had just stripped away all the cheesy ballads and stuck with the 80s synthpop, he probably could’ve turned Justice into his very own After Hours (not nearly as good, mind you, but still better than... this).

Justice is not nearly as profound as Justin Bieber thinks it is, his latest album once again let down by cheesy, uninspired lyrics and a lack of focus as he relies on a grab bag of styles: early MTV-style New Wave, tropical pop, RnB, pop rock. Although the acoustic ballads are, thankfully, kept to a minimum and the production is just as slick, with much stronger collaborators for the singer to bounce off (Then again, just about anyone is an improvement on fuckin’ Lil Dicky...)

Like Changes, it’s also about five or six tracks too long. Hell, there’s no less than four deluxe editions of Justice: The Target Exclusive, The Walmart Exclusive, The Alternate Version (featuring one extra track), and The Triple Chucks Deluxe. It’s so fuckin’ shameless, but what do you expect from the guy who released ‘Yummy’?

His quest for TikTok notoriety blew up in his face. His attempt to ‘continue the conversation of what justice looks like’ is hollow and plain tone-deaf. His syrupy, obsessive odes to his wife have more than grown thin at this point. If he doesn’t gain some self-awareness soon, then It’s hard to know just where Bieber goes from here...

- Bianca B.

[lavenderprose]

Fic: As Many As Possible Squeezed In Between

Title: As Many As Possible Squeezed In Between Author(s): Lavenderprose Rating: T Summary: The Nikiforovs welcome their firstborn.

Notes: My contribution to Victuuri Week Day five, the prompt for which was ‘Domesticity’ and, specially, the Yuuri prompt which was ‘Family’. This is VERY VAGUELY omegaverse (I think the universe concepts are mentioned?? once?? aside from Mpreg of course) and is one part of something I hope to continue. It’s the first part of a longer story I hope to write about Viktor and Yuuri going from first-child jitters to fifth-child expertise.

I’m just a fucking slut for pregnancy fics ok don’t question me.

I’m also trying out a new writing style for this one so feedback before I refine it an put it on Ao3 would be great!

Looking back, Yuuri is almost certain that he gets pregnant after his third World gold.

He and Viktor fall into bed together with wine in their stomachs and laughs in their throats, and Yuuri's heat isn't due for three weeks. Viktor calls him darling and sunshine and love of my life and forgets to put on a condom in the flow of endearments and pheromones.

He announces his retirement a month and a half later, Viktor at his side. He's twenty-seven now, and though he managed to come back from an ankle injury during the Grand Prix circuit last year, he doesn't want to push his luck. Three World golds, two Grand Prix golds (and one silver) and one Olympic silver are in their cases with all of Viktor's medals, there is a sense of accomplishment draping itself over him like a warm blanket, and his husband is waiting for him to join him in his coaching endeavors.

"Competitions won't be the same without a Nikiforov to write about," says a reporter after the press conference, and the words hang in the air for almost a full thirty seconds before Yuuri realizes that he is the Nikiforov whom is being spoken to. He's still getting used to his married name even after two years.

"Ah, thank you," Yuuri says, and then very suddenly doubles over and vomits on his husband's shoes.

"Bozhe moy!" Viktor says, stepping back reflexively and then leaping forwards again to yank Yuuri back from the carpet, allowing him to retch two more times onto the hardwood. A circle forms around them, people screaming like someone has shot a gun and not simply gotten sick. Yuuri has never felt so embarrassed in his life.

"I'm so sorry," he says to the reporter, hand over his mouth. "Oh my God, I'm so—so sorry—" He feels himself gag again and looks to Viktor, beseeching.

"Bathroom?" Viktor implores of the general population of the room. "Please, my husband is very sick—"

A woman—a security guard, by her uniform—steps forward and hands Yuuri a metal wastebasket then leads them to the bathroom. Yuuri is sick once in the bucket, and then twice more over the next twenty minutes spent folded in front of the toilet, Viktor holding his hair back and making soothing noises from behind.

"Why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling well?" Viktor murmurs into the uneasy calm that ensues afterwards, Yuuri trying to convince himself that he's done and Viktor petting down his hair like he's the dearly departed Makkachin. Viktor hasn't yet trained their puppy well enough to convince her to sit still for long periods like Makkachin used to, just allowing Viktor to squeeze him and pet him. Yuuri has become the temporary replacement. He doesn't mind the affection right now.

"Because I was feeling fine," Yuuri mumbles. He rests his cheek on Viktor's shoulder, mouth carefully turned away from his face. "I was fine until I smelled that man's cologne—" At the mere memory of it, Yuuri gags. He scrambles to the toilet, but discovers he doesn't have anything left to throw up. Viktor's shoes make shrill noises on the tile as he adjusts himself to kneel behind Yuuri again, holding back his hair.

The door to the bathroom creaks open. Viktor's name echoes off the walls in Yurio's voice.

"In here, Yura." Viktor pulls away briefly to unlatch the stall door, and Yurio saunters in with his hair tied at the top of his head and car keys swinging from his finger, like he came straight from the gym.

"Okay then, Katsudon?" Yurio asks. His voice has deepened in the last three years, now reaching baritone. To Viktor, he poses, "Do we need to take him to the hospital?"

"I don't know," Viktor says, while Yuuri makes vehement noises of denial.

"I just want to go home," he says, miserable, cheek against the toilet seat.

"Well get your face off the toilet, Katsudon, Christ. People shit on those things."

Yuuri retches again.

"Shit," Yurio says, heartfelt, and then there are two pairs of hands trying to comfort him.

They finally make it to Yurio's car half an hour later. Yuuri has realized at some point that Viktor must have texted Yurio to come get them—he's the only person they know crazy enough to drive regularly in Saint Petersburg. Viktor likely doesn't want to subject Yuuri to the indignity of public transportation in the state he's in.

A block from their condo, Yuuri's bleary eyes focus on the corner drugstore and a spontaneous but pressing thought enters his mind. He tells Yurio to pull over and, when he does, gets out of the car without a word to sweep into the store.

Viktor follows, perplexed. "Yuuri? Are you getting sick again? I'm not sure they have a bathroom here—"

"No, I'm just—" He sighs turns into the family planning aisle. He's probably been down this aisle dozens of times, both with and without Viktor, but it feels almost like walking into another world. He completely bypasses the condoms and comes to a halt at the end of the aisle, presented with ten different options at various price points. His hand strikes out practically of his own accord and grabs the closest one.

"Yuuri?" Viktor mumbles, wide-eyed as Yuuri goes back down the aisle. "A pregnancy test? Yuuri?"

"Um—yes, yeah." Yuuri hurries past him, hoping he'll just follow and not ask questions in the middle of the drugstore.

Viktor comes up behind him at the counter as he's paying and dumps three more tests on the counter—expensive, fast-acting ones. "These too, please," he says to the bemused shopgirl, sounding strained. "I'll pay."

They get back into Yurio's car, both of them in the backseat ("I'm not your fucking chauffer, Viktor.") with the bags clutched in sweaty hands. Yurio parks in the underground structure using Viktor's code and then follows them up in the elevator, trying to look aloof even as his eyes stick unfalteringly to the back of Yuuri's head. In the apartment, Yuuri dumps all four tests on the counter and sorts through them.

"Which one?" he asks of Viktor.

"Pregnancy tests?" Yurio demands, loudly and from six inches away.

Viktor taps the white Cyrillic script on a blue box and says, "This one says it develops in one minute and it's 99% accurate."

"They all say that," Yuuri says as he grabs it and sweeps towards the bathroom, still wearing his coat. Yurio is making a sound like an overboiling kettle—impressive, considering the octave at which he now speaks.

He grabs Viktor's water cup from last night off the counter and pisses in it, dips the test in it and replaces the cap. With tests in one hand and pee cup in the other, he goes back into the kitchen and unwraps the rest of the tests.

Viktor stops him before he unwraps the last one. "Save one to take in the morning," he says. "Just to make sure."

"Okay, yeah." Yuuri dips the other two tests in, leaving one of the expensive tests Viktor bought for the morning.

"Is that your pee?" Yurio seethes.

"Yuuri, Yuuri." Viktor picks up the first test. "What do pink lines mean? Two pink lines?"

"It should say on the test." Yuuri yanks it out of Viktor's hand. It has, indeed, developed two pink lines, one fainter than the other, but definitely there. On the other end of the test, it identifies such an outcome as indicating a positive result. Yuuri drops the test on the counter and curls his fingers over his mouth. "It says I'm pregnant."

Viktor picks the test up again and pores over it as though it will speak and confirm or deny Yuuri's statement. When it doesn't, he sets it down and checks the other two tests. Two more positives; one blue plus sign and one 'YES'. He sighs and folds his hands in front of his face, sits down on one of the island stools. Nobody has taken off their coats.

Then Viktor's shoulders start shaking, face still tipped forwards into his hands. Yuuri's heart breaks on the spot, not quite able to believe that his husband is crying about this. If anyone should be crying, it should be Yuuri.

"Viktor," he says softly. "Viktor, I'm so sorry."

Viktor's head shoots up. There are indeed tears on his face, but his mouth is wide, heart-shaped, his eyebrows tilted into an expression not of sadness, but of—happiness isn't a strong enough word. It's Yuuri's first quad flip and Viktor saying I do and the words Gold medalist Yuuri Nikiforov echoing through a stadium of twelve thousand people all at once.

"Oh, Yuuri, no." Viktor shoots up from his chair and comes around the island. "Don't apologize. I'm—" He presses big hands to Yuuri's stomach. "I—am I…Yuuri, I'm…"

"You've broken him," Yurio whispers, awed.

"A papa?" Viktor whispers finally. His hands tighten into Yuuri's coat. "Yuuri, I'm going to be a papa?"

Yuuri's breath catches on the inhale. His hands clap over Viktor's, overwhelmed. All he can do is nod, slowly at first and then faster, faster until he's practically giving himself whiplash. Viktor pulls him in, arms wrapped around his waist, face going to Yuuri's neck to sob.

"Um—I should—go—" Yurio starts inching towards the door.

Yuuri strikes out a hand and grabs Yurio by his coat hood, pulling him into the circle of his and Viktor's arms. Yurio barely struggles.

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Yuuri takes the extra test in the morning, very early because Viktor told him not to pee during the night and he's absolutely bursting. This test, too, comes out positive. He returns to the bedroom to sit on Viktor's hips and show him. Viktor presses kisses to his belly and then lower, lower.

It's this test that is posted to Instagram to tell the world.

#babynikiforov is trending within hours.

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The muscles in Yuuri's back spasm suddenly, forcing him to set down his dinner plate and eject a pained, "Oh." He leans against the kitchen counter and dips his head between his shoulders, trying to work the cramp out. Aza, who's grown to be bigger than Makkachin, comes to nuzzle at his hip and Viktor follows close behind.

"Yuuri?" he asks, his large hands immediately on Yuuri's back.

"I'm fi—" The muscles in his back contract again and he cuts himself off with a groan. "Oh, oh, oh—"

"I'm calling the midwife," Viktor says, pulling away to search for his phone.

"No!" Yuuri groans. "It's fine, it's late, I don't think it's—" He cuts himself off and goes completely silent—so silent that the sound of water hitting the floor can be heard through the room. He looks down and watches it pool around his feet, pants soaked.

"Um," Viktor says from the doorway. "Should I—"

"What do you fucking think," Yuuri demands in the direction of his soaked pants.

Viktor runs somewhere unseen in the apartment, returning a moment later to rifle through the cushions on the couch. Yuuri, when he can make his legs move, shuffles over to the table and sits down, wet pants and all, hand on his distended belly. Any day now, the midwife had said last time they saw her.

"Yuuri, my love," Viktor say, poking his head into the kitchen. "I can't seem to find my phone."

Yuuri throws his own across the room.

"Thank you!"

Later, much later—when they're both fathers, and Yuuri knows what it's like to push a human life from his loins, and Viktor's pinky finger has been dislocated and relocated, and their daughter has been held by every figure skater in Saint Petersburg, and Viktor has counted her fingers and toes dozens of times, and Yuuri has introduced her to Yakov as his granddaughter and watched the old man actually weep—they will find Viktor's phone, dead as a fucking doornail, in the cup holder of the car.

In the present, Viktor uses Yuuri's phone to have a frantic conversation in Russian with their midwife—Olesya Semyonovna, a woman who's been delivering babies for longer than Yuuri's father has been alive, and who reminds Yuuri simultaneously of his sister Mari and an a particularly curmudgeony mule—and then calls what must be someone in Yuuri's family, because he's suddenly speaking in stilted Japanese.

"Sorry to be awake you," Yuuri hears him say, and thinks seriously about laughing, but he's worried that if he laughed right now it would do something, and he's determined that he isn't going to move until Olesya Semyonvna arrives and starts barking orders. "But, um—Yuuri is working. Is in working? Baby comes." He turns around and holds out the phone to Yuuri. "Your mother wants to talk to you."

Yuuri moves his arm the barest amount necessary to grab the phone and hold it up to his ear.

"Mama?" he says, softly.

"It's me, Yuu-chan," she says, her voice immediately comforting. "How's my baby boy?"

"Fine," Yuuri says, but then revises to, "Nervous. Scared. I miss you."

"You'll be fine, Yuu-chan," she says. Then, "Does Vicchan know how to make dashi?"

"Um…I think so."

"Ask him to make a pot. It will be gentle on your stomach and give you some energy. If you think you can keep it down, eat some rice with it. Keep hydrated. In the morning, I'll get on a plane and come meet my granddaughter. Okay?"

"Okay," he says. "I love you, mama."

"I love you too, Yuu-chan. Will you put your husband back on the phone?"

Yuuri does so, and Viktor and his mother talk for another few moments—making travel arrangements, Yuuri realizes from Viktor's stilted responses. Viktor spends a solid six minutes trying to convince his mother that he'll pay for her flight, and that he'll pay for Yuuri's father to come as well. He can't tell which one of them wins that particular battle of wills, but he has no doubt that Viktor will somehow find a way to keep that money leaving his mother's pocket one way or another.

Olesya Semyonovna arrives and immediately berates Viktor for letting Yuuri sit in the kitchen in his soiled pants. Viktor leaps into action, guiding Yuuri into their bedroom to help him wash off and change into a comfortable and loose pair of pajamas. Viktor holds him and rubs his sides as he winces through another contraction, then they return to the living room. Olesya Semyonovna has pushed all of the furniture against the walls and spread out a deflated birthing pool in the middle of the room.

"Viktor Konstantinovich," she says, handing him a bright purple bucket, "Bring me water."

Over the next half an hour, Viktor alternates between filling the pool and monitoring the dashi, while Olesya Semyonovna sets up her equipment and mumbles to herself in vaguely-perturbed sounding Russian. Yuuri rocks through two contractions on the sofa, breaths slow and hitching.

"Yuuri Nikiforov," she says to him, using his full name for lack of a patronymic, "Take pants off, get in pool."

Yuuri does so, and immediately takes up residence against the edge of the pool with arms folded on the edge and knees under his belly, rocking back and forth with the water. He drinks the soup Viktor brings him and listens to his husband and midwife mumble back and forth in Russian. The lights are dimmed and he manages to doze for awhile, holding Viktor's hand over the edge of the pool and listening to the low music someone has turned on in the other room.

Their daughter is born early the next morning.

"What will you name her?" Olesya Semyonovna inquires, handing her to Yuuri once both of them are finally clean and in fresh clothing, Yuuri laying exhausted in the center of his and Viktor's bed. Viktor is still wandering back and forth between the living room and bathroom, carrying bucketfulls of soiled water and still wearing the wet clothing he's been in all night.

"Viktor," he calls softly.

His husband immediately changes direction, hurrying to his side. There are bruise-colored bags under his eyes to match Yuuri's and two of his fingers are splinted together, which Yuuri is beginning to feel bad about now that he doesn't feel like he's being torn apart.

"What is it, darling?" Viktor asks. His hand traces the curve of their daughter's head, still in awe. "What do you need?"

"Our daughter needs a name," Yuuri murmurs, brushing back her wisps of black hair. She has his eyes, and Viktor's heart-shaped mouth.

"Yes, she does," he says softly. "Is it the one we agreed on?"

"I think so."

Viktor's eyes don't waver from their daughter when he says, "Irina. Irina Viktorovna Nikiforova.