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genuivity · 7 years

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do you have any victuuri model au?

Hi! I found a few here that I think you’ll enjoy!

Fashion/Model AU

Kings in Couture by slightlied, Teen, 15k (WIP)A devil wears prada au in which victor is the editor-in-chief of a fashion magazine, yuuri’s his new secretary, and instead of talking about his feelings, victor just sends him on a bunch of errands. I LOVE THIS FIC!!!!!!

Icicles Melt in Summer by Shadow_sensei, Teen, 7.6k (WIP)But more to the point, Victor Nikiforov, model for the Agape shoe and accessory line and face of Stammi Vicino Menswear, is sitting in one of his chairs.

Comfort Food by youaremarvelous, Mature, 20k (WIP)Viktor is a wildly popular male model who is in crisis over aging out of the industry. He runs into Yuuri, an international university student struggling to make friends in the big city, and decides to make him his pet project. Unfortunately, matchmaking isn’t as easy as he thought it would be—especially when he starts developing complicated feelings for his client. So cute!!

urgent need of gravity by RennieOnIceCream (Hitsugi_Zirkus), Teen, 45k (WIP)AU in which Yuuri is a make-up artist working in a small salon when he’s suddenly invited to work for big time fashion brand Stammi Vicino right alongside its top male model, Viktor Nikiforov, and love isn’t all glitter and perfectly-winged eyeliner. Thumbs up!

Rule of Thirds by genuivity, Gen, 2.3kVictor sent the camera a smirk, taunting, seductive, come and get me, and it hit Yuuri like a punch in the face. He clicked the camera a few more times than necessary, partly to hide his own blush but mostly because he was so caught off guard. THIS IS SO CUTE

Koi no Yokan by moimiles, Teen, 35k (WIP)Yuuri is a somewhat known designer who dropped everything after a disastrous show. Almost a year later, he starts casting models for his new collection and world famous model Victor Nikiforov shows up, wanting to be a part of the show regardless of how much he gets paid. LOVE!

Beauty in Everything by wecarryoninmindpalaces, Gen, 5.8k (WIP)Fashion photographer Yuuri Katsuki wakes up to find five fantastical stories from living sex symbol Victor Nikiforov confessing his love. Cute 5+1 fic!

“Eros”, inspired by Yuri Katsuki by prettypetitpanda, Mature, 1.2k (WIP)Victor Nikiforov, world renowned model and designer, meets a drunk Yuri Katsuki at a party and is inspired by his charms (and his ass). Yuri has no memory of this and is very confused why his idol suddenly showed up at his front door. Highly recommend!

Lessons in Love by rinsled05, Teen, 14k (WIP)Viktor is a fashion designer who owns a luxury lingerie store and is in a creative rut. Yuuri is a graduate with a business degree and desperately eager to prove himself. Yuri can’t understand how the hell the two fell for each other. (Phichit totally gets it, though.) SO GOOD OMG

Just Remember by YuujinA, Teen, 3.7kYuri is a freelance photographer hired for a private photo taking session with the Russian model he’s been crushing on for ages. Great one shot!

The Return of the Little Piggy by SASS_QUEEN, Mature, 4.4k (WIP)Once there was a boy named Katsuki Yuuri, who was shy, loved to make clothes, had adorable smiles and was fatter than the usual average human being. Now years later, there is now a man only known as Y.K. Fashion tyrant, multimillionaire, professional cold-stare giver. REALLY good so far!

#oh hey #just noticed my fic is here! thanks!

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genuivity · 8 years

Photo

Second Time’s the Charm | Oneshot by genuivity | READ ON: ao3

Fandom: Yuri!!! on Ice Pairing(s): Victor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki (victuuri) Story Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Genres/Tags: high school au, school reunion au

(For #victuuriweek2017 - day 2: traveling, Yuuri prompt: long distance/reunion)

Victor and Yuuri—former partners in biology class, first friends, fellow figure skating club captains, and first loves—reconnect thanks to a high school reunion.

It was ten years after graduation, and their high school had coordinated a breakfast reunion. It was free and promised food, and Victor had a free morning, so he went.

And so did Yuuri. Yuuri Katsuki, his partner in biology class, his first friend, his fellow figure skating club captain, his first love.

He was a lot of things to Victor. But they had grown distant over the years, strangers now.

They made eye contact for a second, then quickly looked away, then glanced back when they thought the other wasn’t looking. Victor, in both curiosity and pettiness, wanted to catch up. See what he’d been up to without him. So, since Victor wasn’t the type to give much forethought, he approached him.

“Hello, Yuuri,” he said. Great start.

“Hi, Victor,” said Yuuri. His voice was deeper now, but still on the quiet side.

“How are you?”

“I’m good. How are you?”

“Good.”

Years ago, Victor had imagined their reunion. He pictured running into Yuuri’s arms, maybe on a beach somewhere, or at an airport, with declarations of love and promises to never leave. Not uncomfortable small talk at a cheap high school reunion over donuts and orange juice.

“You cut your hair,” Yuuri noted softly.

“Oh, yeah.” He ran a hand to push his silver bangs back. “I actually cut it a few years ago.”

Yuuri looked apologetic. “Y-You did? Sorry, I’m not good at keeping up with people.”

Victor nodded. That made two of them.

A faculty member saved them from their sad reunion, ushering them to the seats in front of a podium and stage. The school principal, now a man they didn’t recognize, tried to make a sentimental, thoughtful speech, the school band came in and played a discordant song, and they served stale muffins made days before in the school cafeteria, and all it really did was remind Victor how old he was.

“This thing’s a bit lame,” he whispered to Yuuri. And because that conversation was not at all how he wanted their reunion to go, he added, “Do you want to ditch and grab a coffee? My treat.”

Yuuri blinked, turned to him, and inhaled. “Ditch, huh? Victor, you haven’t changed a bit.”

They snuck out as the school choir prepared to serenade them. They got to the coffee shop, placed their orders, and reminisced.

***

It was the autumn of their freshman year, the second time in a week that Victor forgot his biology textbook, and just one of the many times that Mr. Feltsman would threaten to throw him out of his classroom.

“Just share with a neighbor,” their teacher mumbled, eyebrows furrowing as he began the lesson. Victor shot an apologetic look to the boy next to him, a chubby guy with black hair that stuck out at the ends and blue glasses that looked too big for him. The boy appraised him, looked to the front of the classroom and back to him, and pushed his textbook to the edge of his desk, closer to Victor. Victor smiled, grateful, and loudly scooted his desk next to him. It interrupted the class for just a second, but in that time Victor swore Mr. Feltsman aged another five years.

The boy took studious notes, Victor noticed. At least, he did for the first half hour of class. But Mr. Feltsman’s voice drawled over an already boring lesson, and their stomachs grumbled for lunch next period, so it was only a matter of time until it became impossible to focus. He watched as the notes devolved from full sentences to messy bullet points to doodles at the bottom of the page.

Amused, Victor turned to a blank page in his notebook (most of them were empty anyways) and drew a tic-tac-toe board. He added an X to the center square. When Mr. Feltsman turned to the chalkboard to draw asymmetrical Venn diagrams, he plopped the notebook in front of the other boy. He adjusted his glasses, blinked at the page a few times, and Victor saw his lips quirk upward in a small smile. He wrote in an O at the top right corner and returned to pretending to take notes.

They went back and forth, and Victor won that game. The boy pursed his lips and drew another grid.

Several tic-tac-toe games later, the score was three wins to Yuuri, two to Victor, and three draws. Victor wrote in long, looping letters underneath all the grids, What’s your name?

YUURI, the other wrote, handwriting in all caps. WHAT’S YOURS?

Victor. Thank you for letting me borrow your book. He didn’t really use it, but it’s the thought that counts.

YOU’RE WELCOME. THANKS FOR KEEPING ME AWAKE.

Victor chuckled. He lifted his pen to respond, then the bell rang, shrill and sharp.

“See you later, Victor.” Yuuri’s voice was quiet and nasally. He packed his bag quickly, and he was gone.

***

It was the winter of their sophomore year, and they were off-campus at a nearby skating rink.

Victor didn’t recognize him at first. His messy black hair was pushed back, and he wasn’t wearing his glasses. But Victor found his attention drawn to him; he had been at the rink longer than anyone. His jumps were sloppy, not enough speed or not enough height, but he took smooth and fluid steps to the rhythm of whatever pop song played on the loudspeakers.

Victor approached him after he flubbed a jump, but Yuuri remembered him first.

“Oh, Victor!” He said, surprised, trying to steady himself on his skates. He almost fell again, but Victor moved to catch him.

“You’re… Yuuri, right? From bio last year?” He helped him get back on his feet.

“Yeah, hi.” Victor had to strain to hear his soft voice over the music and other skaters, their skates gliding across the ice. They couldn’t stop in the middle of the rink, so Victor began skating slowly.

“I didn’t know you skate,” Victor said.

“I just started a few years ago,” he confessed, looking down at the ice.

“Oh,” Victor shifted to skate by his side, “you’re pretty good, for just starting.”

“T-thanks.” His steps faltered, and he brushed against Victor’s shoulder.

Victor’s voice was light. “If you want, I could give you tips.”

“Really?” Yuuri’s eyes widened. “Because that would be… You don’t have to, but that would be—”

“I want to. Think of it as thanks for letting me leech off of you in bio.”

Yuuri laughed and shook his head. He mumbled, “You don’t need to thank me.”

Victor considered then, tapping his lip with a finger. “How about as a winner’s prize, then, for all those tic-tac-toe games?”

“I’m surprised you remember that,” Yuuri said, bashful.

“Me too, actually.” He never remembered important things, like birthdays or anniversaries or what he needed to study for the biology final. But he did remember the little, unimportant things, like the games they played in Victor’s notebook or the blue glasses that looked too big for his face.

Yuuri searched his face for any sign that he was joking. Upon finding none, he shrugged and said, “Yeah, sure, okay.”

They practiced for two hours. Two hours of spinning, twirling, falling, almost hitting his head on the outer railing, and Victor’s good-natured yet unhelpful teaching (“The jump just didn’t feel right, Yuuri!”). During a water break, Yuuri said, more to himself, “There should be a figure skating club at school.”

Victor’s eyes brightened, and he gripped Yuuri by the shoulders. “We should make a figure skating club at school!”

***

It was the spring of their junior year, and Victor sat on the edge of his seat at their school’s spring dance concert, waiting and waiting and waiting for Yuuri’s part.

Yuuri had talked about it for weeks, even skipping out on figure skating club meetings for extra practice. Now that he was an upperclassman, he got a leading part in the choreography. Victor pried, relentlessly curious, requesting him to perform just a snippet.

And every time he asked, Yuuri would blush and say, “If you want to see it, then go to the dance concert.”

So he did. The theater was dark, the seats were squeaky, and the music was too loud, but still Victor searched for his friend with bated breath.

Soon enough, the theater filled with the sound of a guitar, and the spotlight shifted focus to Yuuri.

There was no time to wait and take it in. An upbeat piece of guitar and strings moved Yuuri through the stage. Dancing with quick grace and elegance, he made ballet look effortless, music of movement. Over the years, he had lost weight from ice skating and dancing, and it showed, especially now. He wore a red, long-sleeved leotard decorated with silver and black accents, and black tights that complemented his figure. His slicked-back hair and dramatic eye makeup caught the stage lights, and Victor couldn’t look away. He sat with a hand over his mouth throughout the entire performance, eyes wide as Yuuri executed swift, dynamic jumping steps and sequences.

When Yuuri ended, panting heavily as he held the final pose, he received a hearty applause, though Victor was certain he cheered the loudest.

***

It was the summer before their senior year, and they were sitting on the floor of Victor’s room, spilling secrets over a bottle of champagne he had stolen from his father’s liquor cabinet.

They met to celebrate the transition from juniors to seniors. They were both curious to drink, but Yuuri’s nerves made him look over his shoulder after every sip, despite the fact that Victor’s door was locked and his parents weren’t home anyway. At first, they chatted about inconsequential things. More private matters came as they worked their way down the bottle.

Maybe it was the champagne, or the spark of night, or just the flat intimacy. Something compelled Victor to divulge something he’d been holding in for months.

“I like you, Yuuri. A lot,” he began after a moment of stillness, “and this is probably a really bad way of confessing it, but… It’s how I feel.” He finished with a shrug, keeping his eyes down and swirling the champagne around the glass. His voice sounded much calmer than he felt, his heart a drum in his chest. It wasn’t often that Victor found himself at a loss for words, but talking about his feelings was a particular weak spot for him.

Yuuri was quiet. He hadn’t run off, or pushed him away, so Victor took that as a good sign. His voice was a murmur, caught in his throat when he said, “Since when?”

Trying to keep himself composed, he spoke gently. “Remember after the spring dance concert? You told me you were terrified that I would make fun of you for doing ballet, and I hugged you?” Victor remembered it vividly. Yuuri was exhausted, sweaty and panting, and he was so tired he practically fell into Victor’s arms when he hugged him. Victor wound his arms tighter, and they swayed together for a while.

“Silly. As if I would make fun of you for something like that,” Victor said, playful, trying to lighten the atmosphere. He pushed against Yuuri’s shoulder.

“Yeah, well, I know now.” Yuuri pushed him back, unreadable. As it became quiet again, Yuuri drew his knees up to his chest and exhaled. “Freshman year.”

“What?”

“I’ve liked you since freshman year.”

Victor turned to look at him fully, almost dropping his champagne flute. He could hear nothing over the sound of his heartbeat, louder and wilder than before. “Really?!”

Yuuri nodded. A blush spread across his face. His eyes were downturned, half-lidded. His lips were pink and shiny from the champagne. His glasses, still blue but a bit more fitting these days, caught a reflection of the moonlight. Victor watched as Yuuri gulped, licked his lips, and looked up at him, slow, shy. He was beyond gorgeous, Victor thought, and he was suddenly struck by the urge to—

“Yuuri, can I kiss you?” A whisper. The words came out before he could stop them.

Yuuri blinked, once, twice, and his mouth fell open. After a moment, he nodded, certain.

Eager and yearning, Victor leaned into him at once and missed, brushing against the side of his lips, bumping noses, and almost poking his own eye out with Yuuri’s glasses. He breathed a laugh and apologized. They pulled back, and Yuuri took off his glasses and tilted his head to the side, almost comically. Victor tilted his head the opposite way and brought a hand up to trace Yuuri’s lips with his thumb.

“Second time’s the charm,” Victor said. He kissed him.

Their eyes fell closed at the press of their lips. Yuuri was tense at first, unresponsive, until Victor cradled his cheek. He relaxed and parted his lips slightly at that, and their breath carried the sweet, slightly acidic taste of champagne. Yuuri made a noise against his lips, and one of his hands found its way to back of Victor’s neck. He gripped a bit too hard, and Victor accidently bit Yuuri’s lip, and they pulled away with soft smiles and easy laughs.

They were each other’s first kiss, and they took it slow, tentative, experimenting and making mistakes. It was awkward, graceless, and they both wouldn’t trade it for the world.

***

It was ten minutes after getting their coffees, and they were finishing up their drinks, wistful smiles on their lips.

“Those were the days,” Yuuri said, looking out a window.

“They were,” Victor agreed. What happened? Ah, right, college happened; Yuuri left to study in Detroit, and Victor had a scholarship for figure skating to claim on the other side of the world. At least the breakup wasn’t too ugly, just a simple drifting apart, not ending in bitterness or hatred, but not full of definite closure, either.

But here they were, reunited, somehow. Victor looked at Yuuri. His black hair was longer but still stuck out at the ends, and his glasses fit snugly on the bridge of his nose but were still blue. He watched the sunlight brighten his brown eyes, and the words came out before he could stop them.

“Maybe we could try again?”

Yuuri smiled and said, “Second time’s the charm, right?”

#victuuriweek #my fic #yuri on ice #victuuri #fic: second time's the charm

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genuivity · 8 years

Photo

Rule of Thirds | Oneshot by genuivity | READ ON: ao3

Fandom: Yuri!!! on Ice Pairing(s): Victor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki (victuuri) Story Rating: General Audiences Genres/Tags: photographer/model au, photographer!yuuri, model!victor

(For #victuuriweek2017 - day 1: firsts, au prompt: other sports/careers)

Victor sent the camera a smirk, taunting, seductive, come and get me, and it hit Yuuri like a punch in the face. He clicked the camera a few more times than necessary, partly to hide his own blush but mostly because he was so caught off guard. There were too many attractive men in this industry. He wasn’t cut out for this. Victor winked at him, and yeah, Yuuri thought, he should’ve gone into nature photography.

Three months. Massimo Magazine spent three months planning the photoshoot with Victor Nikiforov, a world-renowned supermodel. Meanwhile, Yuuri Katsuki, professional photographer and avid Victor fan, spent the same amount of time both anticipating and dreading it.

A model of Victor Nikiforov’s caliber called for the best they could offer. He had everything a model needed: charm, poise, grace, confidence. Not to mention his natural good looks and experience. How their up-and-coming L.A.-based magazine already managed to book such a sought-after name in the modeling world sounded like a lot more negotiations, finances, and luck than Yuuri was willing to think about. But more importantly, Victor Nikiforov was Massimo Magazine’s chance to gain more national, maybe even international, traction. This shoot was a make-or-break deal for recognition, and Yuuri would be damned if he broke it because he couldn’t keep it together in front of the object of his affections.

The setup began at five in the morning, the actual shoot at seven, because one, Victor was a busy man (his agent’s words), two, he needed time to play with his dog later (Victor’s words), and three, he apparently didn’t mind getting up at the asscrack of dawn (Yuri the intern’s words). The staff was to wait on his hand and foot, to treat him like a king. They certainly dressed him like one. He wore a large fuchsia overcoat, embellished with black cuffs and lapels and accented with gold trim. Under that was a white dress shirt and black slim-fit pants. Gold buttons and chains adorned the outfit, and gold piercings decorated the shells of his ears. They decorated the set modestly with white, magenta, and sky blue roses, letting Victor take center stage.

And he did. He commanded their attention, elegant and artful. With each passing moment, it became more difficult for Yuuri to keep his composure. The opportunity was just as anxiety-inducing as he imagined. Just being in the same room as him was enough to make his palms sweat, and the looks he gave the camera only made it worse.

At least the noise was bearable. The only sounds were camera flashes and the photoshoot director’s voice as he gave instructions. And that was all fine and good, until the director said, “Victor, could you take off the coat and unbutton the first few buttons?”

Victor smiled, nodded, and did as he was told while Yuuri both sincerely thanked and fervently cursed the director. To flush at the sight of collarbones, collarbones, for heaven’s sake, Yuuri felt like he was back in his teen years.

Yuuri hoped no one had noticed how flustered he was, especially not Victor, and just like that the universe told him to screw off.

***

Three hours later, Yuuri was loading and editing images from the shoot onto his computer.

Sometimes, the model or client might join him for the editing process to give their input and decide what they need to do moving forward.

This was one of those times.

“Oh, that one has great lighting,” Victor said. He was at his side, leaning forward onto the desk with one hand on the table and the other behind Yuuri’s chair.

Yuuri kept his eyes on the screen, barely nodding to acknowledge what he said. His hand on the mouse shook, and Yuuri prayed Victor didn’t notice the cursor wobbling as well. He added basic adjustments, experimenting and modifying to keep himself from losing his mind in front of, in Yuuri’s humble opinion, the most gorgeous guy in the world.

Yuuri added a new adjustment, and Victor hummed. “Mm, I’m not sure how I feel about that filter. Also, can I have your number?”

Yuuri toggled the layer on and off. He thought it looked fine, it heightened the shadows, brightened the lights, drew attention to the angles of Victor’s face. Victor was a world-class model, not a world-class editor, and sure, Yuuri would probably drop everything in an instant to marry him, but he did not get a college degree to get schooled by—Wait.

“Wait.” Yuuri blinked up at him. “What?”

Victor leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, eyes still trained on the screen. “Sorry. That was unprofessional of me. The filter looks good.”

Forget the filter. If Yuuri’s ears didn’t deceive him, there were more important matters. “It’s okay, but, sorry, I just- I didn’t catch that last part?” His voice grew quiet and rose at the end as he spoke.

He tapped his lips. “Ah, I asked for your number. But that was unprofessional too…”

Yuuri looked at Victor like he had grown a second head. His number? As in, the number to his personal phone? The one he used for texting and Instagram and saving pictures of Victor? No way. Surely he meant—

“I can... give you my business card?” He mumbled through it, unsure of what to say.

Victor looked thoughtful, pressing a finger to his chin. “Actually, that works for me.”

Oh. So he had meant business. He stood and fished out a card from his wallet, clumsy and graceless and shaking, much to his own horror, and handed it to him. He couldn’t muster up enough composure to look him in the eyes, so he stared at the Victor on the screen. As if that was any better; the Victor on the screen wore a roguish grin and sly eyes, exuding confidence in a resplendent outfit. He glanced back at the Victor before him, and it was the same person in the same clothes, but the expression was completely different.

“Yuuri Katsuki,” he read, tone mild. He looked at him with a small smile on his lips, eyes gentle and head tilted. “Did I pronounce that right?”

Wide-eyed, Yuuri looked up at Victor, with his soft smile and kind gaze, and found himself returning the expression. “Yes.”

Victor paused a moment, then said, “Great! Now, do you have a pen?”

“Oh, here.” Not thinking anything of it, he handed him one.

“Thank you,” he said, putting the card on the table and writing on the back. To Yuuri’s shock, he slid the card back to him with a wink.

“I must go, but it was very nice meeting you, Yuuri. Call me, okay?” And with that, he left, taking all of Yuuri’s presence of mind with him. The second Victor exited the room, he dived onto the card.

Written in quick, messy penmanship, was a phone number, followed by a winking face.

***

Three days had gone by, but Yuuri found himself still in the same sense of disbelief.

He was at a crossroads. Should he call the number? What if Victor had given him the wrong number? What if Victor had given him a prank number? And even if he did call, what would he say? What did Victor even want with him?

When he told Phichit, makeup artist and certified best friend, about it, he had jumped at the chance, taking Yuuri by the shoulders and shaking him. “You have to call him, you have to.” He made Yuuri look into his dark gray eyes. “It’s your duty, to your past self and future self and everyone who would kill to get his number. Including me.”

Meanwhile, after Yuri the intern demanded to know what had gotten into him these past few days, he was met with a disgusted look. “Block the number,” he had said. “Burn the card. Change your name, become a pig farmer in some remote, off the grid corner of who-cares-where.”

Conflicting advice, see. Granted, Yuri was probably joking, though his deadpan snark made it hard to tell. Either way, Yuuri was seriously considering it.

But after enough days of it eating up at him and much reassurance on Phichit’s part that no, Victor was not out to dupe him, but yes, he found him cute enough to give him his number, he decided to text him. He hoped for both possibilities, that Victor’s phone either could or couldn’t receive text. If it didn’t, at least he could say he tried.

When two days passed without a response, Yuuri was ready to drop it. He had spent an inordinate amount of time reading over the texts he sent, the first a simple, ‘Hello, Victor? It’s Yuuri’, the second saying, ‘The fashion photographer’, and the third saying, ‘If I have the wrong number please ignore this’. Phichit told him he sounded too impersonal, but Yuuri thought he was really putting himself out there. He even triple-texted.

When the third day came around, Yuuri received a picture from the contact he had labeled ‘Victor(?)’. He opened it, and a large, brown poodle filled the screen, looking at the camera with its tongue out.

It was followed by a text. ‘Look how happy my dog is! I’m happy too!!’

***

Three months had passed, and while Yuuri’s disbelief had died down, it was quickly replaced by a warm feeling in his chest and a bigger phone bill.

Victor and Yuuri texted often, almost daily. Victor was adamant about getting to know him, and his candid interest and natural flirtatiousness eventually got Yuuri to open up. It also helped that he sent pictures often, mostly of his dog Makkachin, but occasionally scenery or a set he was on, and once a blurry selfie he thought was artsy but too messy for Instagram. Yuuri melted. He didn’t stand a chance.

One day, Yuuri was woken up by a text at three in the morning, but its contents had shocked him into full alertness: ‘I’m going to LA in a few weeks, can I see you?’

The prospect of seeing Victor again made his fingers shake as he typed. ‘Sure, where/when?’ He thanked texting as a medium for making him sound much more collected than he really was.

They worked out a meeting at a frozen yogurt place close to where Victor had a photo session. Victor closed it out with, ‘It’s a date! <3’, and going back to sleep was a lost cause.

***

Three weeks later, they were eating frozen yogurt and hiding in a shopping mall from the bright L.A. sun.

“When I first saw you,” Victor said, taking a bite of yogurt. “I thought I was modeling with you. Really, I think you should be in front of the camera.”

Yuuri blinked at him. “I-I think you should start wearing my glasses.” There was no way he thought that. Not a chance. The day they met, Victor looked like royalty, while Yuuri looked like a raccoon who woke up on the wrong side of the dumpster.

“You underestimate yourself, Yuuri. I bet I can teach you to be a great model.” Victor said, smug.

“Or, I can teach you photography.” Two could play at this game.

“Hm, I might take you up on that.” Victor laughed. “I don’t know much about photography, but I think I can already picture us together.”

Yuuri gawked at him, bashful, and lightly hit him on the shoulder. “That was… Wow. Where did you even get that one?”

“I’m just that smooth.” After Yuuri gave him a disbelieving look, Victor said, “Google. Look up ‘pick-up lines for photographers.’”

“You’re unbelievable.”

Victor grinned. “So are you. You know, a picture is worth a thousand words, but there are no words for a picture as beautiful as you.”

Yuuri swore his frozen yogurt tasted like mozzarella, it was so cheesy. His blush deepened, and it was a while before he could think of a response. “Yeah, well, are you a model?” He started off, not able to meet his eyes. “Because you’re… super?”

He regretted the words the second they left his mouth. That was so pathetic, it made Victor’s lines sound great in comparison. But Victor didn’t seem to have the same reaction; he let out a laugh and wrapped an arm around Yuuri’s shoulder.

“Would you believe that I am a model?” His voice was elated now. “And you must be a camera, because every time I look at you, I smile.”

Okay, two could not play at this game. Google gave him too much power. “I give up.”

“Oh, it’s alright. Because now,” Victor pulled out his phone, “you’ll have to let me take a picture of us.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one taking the photos?”

“Think of it as your first lesson to me, then. How do I take a good selfie?”

They sat on a bench in the mall, posing for pictures, most ending up out of focus as Victor’s arm shook from laughter and delight. Yuuri took Victor’s phone at once and snapped the perfect image: he’s resting his head on Victor’s shoulder, hair pushed back, cheeks dusted pink, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. Victor’s head is tilted against Yuuri’s, blue eyes crinkled up in a genuine smile.

Yuuri watched as Victor, fond and endearing, made the picture his phone background.

***

Three years passed since they met, and Yuuri had another photoshoot with Victor.

Though this time, as Victor had said, Yuuri was with him in front of the camera. They were outdoors, surrounded by white, magenta, and sky blue roses. They faced each other in black tailored suits, holding hands that featured matching gold rings.

The wedding photographer was quiet as he snapped photos of the couple, the sounds that filled the air a serene mix of birds singing, wind blowing, and camera clicking.

Yuuri leaned up to touch their foreheads together, noses brushing, and they smiled.

#victuuriweek #my fic #victuuri #yuri on ice #fic: rule of thirds

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