roads_that_taste_like_wintergreen



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    Yuuri wakes up in Victor’s room the night after the Sochi Grand Prix Final banquet. Did they sleep together? No. Instead, last night, Drunk Yuuri taunted Victor that he hadn’t earned the right to get in his pants…and spelled out exactly what Victor would have to do to get there.

    Now, Victor intends to do everything on that list…

    ~

    “The conversation,” Victor says, “went something like this. You said I wasn’t getting in your pants that easily.”

    Victor says this in a normal tone of voice. Anyone could hear him. Yuuri looks around, but if anyone is paying attention, they’re pretending not to.

    “Naturally, I asked what I would have to do to get in your pants.”

    “Ah.” Yuuri blushes. “How embarrassing. What do you mean, naturally? Why would you ask that?”

    Victor tilts his head. “Because I want to get in your pants. I thought that much was obvious by now.”

    ~

    Note: Yuuri is not in a great headspace post Sochi Grand Final, and this fic necesssarily touches on mental health issues so please check the tags.
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    Obi-Wan drabble. When everyone around you is at least a head taller, it’s a bit hard not to notice.

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    Being on a world that supports slavery is one thing. Buying a slave and bringing him into Republic space is entirely another.

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  4. Public Bookmark 34

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    On Naboo, it's tradition for the groom to carry the bride to their marriage bed. With Anakin's new prosthetic, it's more difficult than it sounds.

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    For raw teachers and rough-edged students building in the rubble: tiny steps are enough, provided they carry you in the right direction. Immediately post TPM, in short snippets.

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