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paxohana · 5 years

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Menagerie, Pt. 1

The evening was chilly for late spring, leaving him wishing he had worn a heavier jacket or better yet remained at home. He was expected to be there, however. It was the ball of the season, the event of the elite in the city. While he didn’t consider himself in the upper crust of society, his family name carried notable weight.

He felt confident in his appearance, wearing the latest fashion from Paris. The coattails were something that took some getting used to but paired along with pinstripe trousers he felt dapper. His crimson cravat felt as if it were choking him and the highly polished shoes pinched his feet, but such was the bane of aristocracy. He just prayed he’d get through all the pomp and circumstance of the occasion.

“Viktor,” his date began, “I’m thirsty. When we get inside, would you be a darling and get me something to drink?”

“Of course, my dear,” Viktor said, lifting her gloved hand and kissing it.

They walked through the archway leading to the grand room, only pausing to be introduced. The scattered applause didn’t bode well with Viktor, but he knew it was because of his date. Her family prayed Viktor took a liking to her and wedded her, but Viktor knew it was hopeless on their part. He invited her to the ball as a favor to his father since her family’s clout was deteriorating.

After excusing himself, Viktor headed toward the refreshment table and perused the offerings. Every delicacy befitting a ball of this magnitude was present. Scrutinizing the appetizers, Viktor was pleased when he saw a towering platter of finger sandwiches. He grabbed a plate and stacked several on it along with a few petit fours. Deciding he had enough to last most of the evening, Viktor returned to his date.

“I think you forgot something,” she said, frowning when he looked at her cluelessly, “My drink. I swear, Viktor, you are so scatterbrained for someone your age!”

“I apologize,” he said, handing her his plate, “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Heading to the table once more, Viktor waited until the server assisted those ahead of him. The band had struck up a tune and several couples headed for the dance floor. He turned around and watched the dancers waltz around in the open. His eyes darted from pair to pair, and he recognized a few before his gaze stopped.

That’s when he saw him.

The young man appeared to be an angel descended from the heavens. His tan plaid jacket complimented his jet black hair perfectly, the golden wire-framed glasses giving him a glowing appearance. Viktor admired his slender figure and the way his vest hugged his upper body. His hands seemed delicate under the white gloves he wore, but the way he held his date in his arms suggested admirable strength.

Viktor was instantly smitten.

He watched the graceful flow of the man’s body as he twirled his dance partner around the floor. His movements denoted one skilled in the art, and Viktor thoroughly enjoyed being privy to see it. He could tell the man was carrying on a conversation with his date, and when his eyes crinkled when he smiled, Viktor thought his heart would cease beating. His smile was brighter than any star imaginable and the joy on his face ethereal. Viktor wanted nothing more than to swoon over the man, wished it was him being held in his arms, spinning around the hardwood floor with him.

Shaking the impossible thoughts from his mind, Viktor ordered a drink for his date and returned to her. His gaze remained fixed on the man, however. Viktor was intrigued by him, and he thought he must introduce himself. Trying to think of a way to strike up a conversation with him, Viktor was jolted from his reverie when applause broke out among the guests.

“Viktor?”

“Yes, dear?” he responded with a question of his own.

“I’ve been talking to you for the past five minutes. I would like to dance now,” she declared, taking his hand and dragging him to the floor.

The band switched to a slower tune and Viktor held his date closer, but his eyes never left the young man. He barely heard the words his companion was speaking, nodding every so often or giving a hum of approval. His mind wasn’t on the woman in his arms, but of the man mere feet away from him.

The song seemed to drone on forever. He wanted to break away from the crowd, find the man that caught his fancy and chat until the small hours of the morning. He wanted to know everything about him, wanted to hear his laughter and see that broad smile directed at him.

Bowing to his date, Viktor excused himself and scanned the people surrounding him, but became dismayed when he couldn’t locate the one that fascinated him. Deciding to get a breath of fresh air, Viktor headed for the balcony but froze when he saw someone leaning against the railing.

It was him, the one that took his breath away.

Viktor couldn’t believe his luck and wondered if the heavens were smiling down upon him. Clearing his throat as not to frighten the young man, Viktor ambled up to the railing and stood next to him.

“Good evening, sir,” Viktor said, trying to steady his voice to contain his growing excitement.

“Good evening,” the man said, smiling softly at him.

“Quite the party, isn’t it?” Viktor asked, grinning when the other man chuckled.

“I hate these soirees,” he replied, “Too many expectations and secrets.”

“I agree wholeheartedly,” Viktor said, holding out his hand, “Viktor Nikiforov.”

“Yuuri Katsuki,” the young man said, shaking Viktor’s hand with a strength he found enchanting, “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“The pleasure is all mine. What brings you to the Kelly’s tonight?”

“My father is their investor,” Yuuri said, “I’m representing my family. I almost wish they had sent my sister.”

“I completely understand,” Viktor lamented, “My father is a steel magnate. We’re expected to attend events such as this.”

“Wait, Nikiforov Metals?” Yuuri inquired.

“That’s us.”

“My father was just asked to take over as their financier,” Yuuri said in astonishment, “and here I am running into the scion of my father’s newest client.”

“I suppose it is a small world,” Viktor replied, chuckling slightly, “Maybe the stars have aligned or whatnot.”

“Perhaps.”

Viktor watched Yuuri as he stared out at the inky darkness sparsely sprinkled with gas lamps. He wanted to know what was going through his head but thought it impolite to comment on it. Leaning against the railing, Viktor looked at Yuuri when he sighed.

“I wish we didn’t have such social responsibilities,” Yuuri began, “I want to feel free and alive, not stifled under others’ expectations.”

“I agree wholeheartedly. I’m expected to marry and carry on the family business,” Viktor said.

“What would you rather do?” Yuuri inquired.

“Travel the world, help the less fortunate,” Viktor elaborated, “I see the underprivileged in our city and it tugs at my heart.”

“That’s quite admirable of you,” Yuuri said, giving a smile that made Viktor’s heart skip a beat.

“What would be in your future if you had a choice?” Viktor questioned.

“I’d like to go to school for medicine,” Yuuri explained.

“A doctor is a highly respectable career choice,” he said.

“Alas, I feel my life will be dedicated to taking over for my father’s position once he retires,” Yuuri said, sadness mingling in his voice.

“As will mine. Such are the burdens of an only child,” Viktor said, sighing deeply.

Yuuri nodded in sympathy. While he wasn’t in the same situation as Viktor, he was the only male heir and was expected to carry on his father’s legacy. He felt trapped in his circumstances and wasn’t ready to resign himself to his destiny.

“Perhaps in the next lifetime,” Yuuri mused, desperately hoping it were true.

“Mayhap,” he agreed, “but enough about melancholic subjects. What does Yuuri Katsuki do to pass his time throughout the day?”

“Typically follow my father around and learn from him,” Yuuri revealed, “Other times I spend time in the park reading or playing croquet. I’m the family champion.”

“Impressive,” Viktor said, grinning when Yuuri smiled, “Have you ever tried your hand at polo?”

“I can’t say that I have,” he said.

“Would you like to join me this week? There is a spot open on our team since Harold will be out of town. I’d love for you to experience such a grand occasion,” Viktor invited, sincerely hoping Yuuri would agree.

“Alright,” Yuuri said, “It sounds like fun. As long as it doesn’t interfere with my schedule, I’d be delighted to tag along.”

“We generally meet up in the square at ten o’clock on Wednesday mornings. Is that agreeable?” Viktor inquired.

“Quite so. See you then?”

After exchanging information in case one needed to cancel, they parted for the night to return to their dates. Viktor kept scouring the crowd for Yuuri much to his date’s chagrin. The last time Viktor spotted him, he knew he had gone too far.

“You could be couth enough to hide your fancy for other women, Viktor,” she complained, gathering her clutch, “I’m ready to leave now.”

Grimacing as his date angrily shrugged into her shawl, Viktor played scenarios through his head to appease her. He knew if word got back to his father that he avoided her most of the evening, the man would be most displeased.

“I apologize, my dear,” Viktor said when they reached the stoop of her house, “My wits were not about me tonight. I promise I shall make it up to you.”

“Don’t bother,” she grumbled, “Good night, Viktor.”

He leaned in to kiss her cheek but was spurned when she spun on her heel and opened the door, slamming it seconds later. He knew he should have felt horrible at the manner he treated the woman, but he couldn’t help feeling relieved. Not only would the limelight of her family’s expectations dim, but he wouldn’t be pressed into future engagements involving the woman.

Which left him more time with Yuuri Katsuki.

Grinning to himself, Viktor whistled as he wound his way through the darkened streets toward his own home.

Just something @princessmimoza and I thought up in 2018 and finally decided to get going on this project lol. This ficlet will be updated on the first and sixteenth of every month. We hope you like it!

#princessmimoza #menagerie pt 1 #viktuuri ficlet

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azrielkings · 5 years

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[YOI || Ficlet] Workaholic

He’s picking up the pieces, and he bleeds every time. Veins pressed over paper, dewdrops trickling down holes. It’s getting hard to remember why he’s picking them up and putting them together. It’s getting hard to remember why he’s working away from the rumbling storms.

His colleagues were split into Roman and Greek armies every time the clock strikes twelve. The workplace was a coliseum of printers, crumpled papers, tangled strings and yet-to-be-turned-over documents. He, he was on no one’s team. He stays on his desk, the sky on his back. He is Atlas. He bares the world, and he lets no one near. No one was allowed to interfere.

The sun walks down.

Viktor’s trying to remember why he’s here again. Mila, a rose-haired girl with a disorganized flower garden growing in her head, tells him it’s alright. But what was alright? He still has to submit the whole team’s expenses to the team manager (he may as well be the one in-charge of all this pre-planned chaos), and audit. He’s a workaholic, stuffing as much heat into his body as he could and wraps himself in multitude of jackets before nightfall. What was fine? He’s left alone to warm himself.

It’s cold at night.

It’s quiet too.

The workplace dims. It loses its light and warmth from the morning that slowly garnered to a void by the afternoon, and then shrinks. Viktor doesn’t mind. He’s too busy running from another storm.

He doesn’t remember.

It’s really getting hard to remember why he was running in the first place. There’s a fall coming from somewhere high, rocks he never meant to tamper with falling from it. Somewhere, he’s at the bottom running to survive, to get a breath. But it doesn’t feel right.

Viktor remembers he’s tired.

He’s tired of this mentally laboring job, tired of the schedules he looks at before he sleeps. He’s tired of checking his watch the first thing in the morning, and tired of following the sticky notes on his office.

He forgot his execution.

He runs a hand through his hair; the storm he’s running from wasn’t a storm after all, it was an execution he was running from. He takes a one of the notes stuck to the side of his desktop, crumples it and throws it to the bin. He doesn’t need to run. He will just delay it. Like he did last month, and the other month, and so on, so forth. Nothing will change.

He tries a smile. It fails.

He doesn’t try again because no one was watching him. He doesn’t need to try for an invisible crowd.

—+—

Chris turns to a wolf once a month, crashing his mundane schedules without a sweat. He invites him to party, to go to the nightclub just done the street. He considers.

Chris, just like any of his colleagues, was set into a schedule in his mind. Mila was going to the Crispino’s for dinner. Chulanont, at specifically twelve, would running off to some latent rendezvous, missing the company lunch every time. Yuri was an intern… following Chulanont with his rendezvous. Viktor doesn’t care for where the two goes, but he’s curious. He can’t deny that.

Viktor, in the end, agrees.

Mila, just as he predicted (and expected), was going to the Crispino. He didn’t know why he offered in the first place, but it hadn’t hurt at that time. Now, his arms hooked around Chris’ like a clingy boyfriend, it hurs. Mila had someone. She pushed away the conservative views of society, and loved her. Viktor once met the Crispino’s daughter. She was a beautiful, evening-blooming cereus.

Mila grows a garden in her head. She is an enigma— a predictable enigma— who has her heart in her sleeve, a hidden card ready to be gambled. Sara, Viktor considers, would be a one-of-a-kind trophy.

But he knows.

He knows Sara was more than that.

His thoughts were pulled taut, and the string snaps in half. The sun dies once a day, allowing the blooms to shrivel, and the moon to sit on her throne. In a secluded area, the stars were forgotten. Neon lights on every wall, sophisticated black and white frames hung on some and the scent of burning cigarettes filled his nose. It dazed him, intoxicating his senses. The music blares hard into his eardrums, and he feels hot. He hasn’t drunk any beverages and yet he feels as if he did. The notes, and octaves wraps around his form like a sly snake. The whole club was a glowing, irresistible catharsis. He wants to dance, he wants to throw away his jacket to the nearest person and dance with the throbbing and bleeding floor.

Chris pulls him away to a corner bar. The desire to strip away his mask and truly sentence his name to a basket fades.

“I can see your ass practically shaking to a hula,” Chris doesn’t meet his glaring eyes. He, instead waves for a bartender. When he turns back to him, his eyes were steel rods. “But it’s best to get yourself drunk… You’d want an excuse in case you aren’t yourself, don’t you?”

Chris hates masks.

Viktor was a mask.

“For someone who brought me here, you can’t chastise me wanting just a little dance.” He tries a smile.

He fails, but he doesn’t say anything; alexithymia clogging the words in his heart from coming out of his lips.

“Chris!” Viktor turns to the voice in-place of Chris who didn’t even turn his head to it. “I didn’t know you’d visit. Phichit didn’t tell me anything, or… You didn’t tell him? How’d you get past— Viktor?”

Curious brown-filled eyes stares into his, and his heart… It palpitates. He was a tempting, pulchritudinous man with an angelic face and a sinful, sublime figure. He was already breaking his heart. He was like a memory, a mirage slipping in and out of existence and Viktor barely managed to stop himself from holding onto him. He looks familiar.

Viktor doesn’t remember. He’s a bit dazed, actually. But he feels familiar. He feels at home.

“Ahh!” Chris finally turns, and there’s something bitter in his voice. “This is Viktor. Viktor Niki—”

“Just…” Viktor inhales a breath, cutting off Chris with a glare from beside him. He attempts. He tries a smile. He tries a change. The man before him, he looks familiar. He was so familiar it hurt. He was like the countless sunflower on the field when he walks home. He was like the ray, the glowing light in his deep sea. He prays to Metanoia as he takes a drink from a stranger and chugs it down his throat.

“Just…”

He feels better, he feels lighter.

“Just Viktor and…” He sees the glint in the stranger’s eyes, plucking familiar words from dusty memories. Words that a workaholic would never say. “Would you like a dance?” ---+--- One-shot AU of Workaholic!Viktor with Bartender!Yuuri. Viktor and Yuuri met in college. I know the end is a bit hurried up, but hey! A finished one-shot, yippeee. Anyway, yeah, Yuuri once asked him out for a small dance at College. But, instead of Yuuri forgetting that time, it’s in reverse.

Viktor forgets.

Yuuri remembers.

And a few years later, they meet again. I’m thinking of making it longer and etc. Tell me what you guys think, I hope I did alright. p.s. I’m perfectly aware that there might be some… plotholes and etc. But meh. Also, seriously, do telll me what you think. this is my first trying a different writing style and I’m TRYING a lot. This style, is a bit difficult for me but so far I like it? So, in all honestly, I seriously need help.

#Yuri on ice #implied katsuki yuuri #christophe giacometti #workaholic #ficlet #yuri on ice fanfiction #yuri on ice ficlets #one-word prompt #written prompt #phichit chulanont #implied phichit chulanont #katsuki yuuri #yuuri katsuki #viktor x yuuri #viktuuri #viktuuri ficlet

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stammiviktor · 5 years

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It’s the summer before the 2017-18 Figure Skating season and Yuuri and Viktor are designing their upcoming programs. Everything anyone says is Olympics-this, Pyeongchang-that. This will be Yuuri’s first Games (if he qualifies, he keeps saying).

Honestly, the Olympics are the furthest thing from Yuuri’s mind. He’s focused on something else entirely:

This is Viktor Nikiforov’s final competitive season.

After an illustrious career that redefined the meaning of success and revolutionalized figure skating, at twenty-eight years old, he’s finally ready to retire, a feeling of satisfaction lingering where emptiness had been the first time he tried to retire. He has left everything on the ice and he’s ready to take a step back and be Katsuki Yuuri’s coach and soon-to-be-husband, instead of his fiancé-slash-competitor-slash-rinkmate-slash-coach.

Yuuri is thrilled for Viktor, and he knows it is time. He sees the excitement sparkle in his eyes when he talks about his plans for after retirement, when he throws around ideas for the wedding they’ll have in a year’s time. But he’s a little sad, too, just like he knows Viktor must be even though he keeps his negative emotions close to his chest out of habit. Yuuri is Vitya’s partner first, but he will always be Viktor’s #1 fan, and he looks to the upcoming season with something bittersweet lodged in his chest. He wants to help Viktor make his final programs special, but he wants to make his own skates honor Viktor, too.

They are in Hasetsu for the beginning of the summer, eating too much fried food, taking lazy jogs on the beach with Makkachin, and sketching out ideas for next season at Ice Castle. Yuuri, the beginnings of an idea forming in his head, digs his old keyboard out from his closet and plugs in his headphones. He has never been much of a piano player—he had very few formal lessons—but he has a great ear for melody. It’s part of what makes him such an amazing skater.

Yuuri fiddles around for a few days, taping little bits of melodies and scrapping them when he listens back and deems them too childish or too wandering. In his mind as he plays he pictures Viktor’s face and the warm security of Viktor’s arms threading around his waist, holding him close.

Eventually, one day, he finds it—a melody he hears and thinks: Vitya.

He records it, sends it to his friend Ketty in Detroit along with a paragraph explaining the story he wants the piece to capture. They go back and forth for weeks trying to perfect it.

Yuuri wishes he could unveil the piece for the first time in front of the world and Viktor, but Viktor is his coach and that is impossible. So instead he works on sketches of choreography in secret to go along with it, and on the day before they’re scheduled to return to St Petersburg he invites Viktor to the rink. He sets up the speaker, presses a kiss to Viktor’s cheek and says, “Watch closely, darling. I made this for you.”

Then he skates out to center ice, hears the violin start to sing the melody he so carefully created, and begins skating his tribute to the twenty years of life and love that Viktor Nikiforov, Russia’s Living Legend and Five-Time-World-Champion, has given to the ice— but most importantly, to the life and love that his Vitya has given him ever since he first saw him skate on a small TV in this very rink.

When Yuuri looks up from his finishing pose he sees Viktor skating out to him, tears shining in his eyes.

“Yuuri,” he whispers, his face buried in Viktor’s neck as they hold each other tight. That’s all he can say in that moment— just ‘Yuuri’.

In February, Yuuri wins Olympic Gold. For Viktor, despite the silver medal around his neck, it is the highlight of his career.

#ficlet #yuri on ice #yoi #victuuri #viktuuri #victuri #vikturi #viktor nikiforov #victor nikiforov #yuuri katsuki #katsuki yuuri #katsuki yuri #yuri katsuki

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savedbythenotepad · 6 years

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One of the main reasons why I want to write a Viktuuri martial arts AU is simply to write Yuuri bringing Viktor into a choke-hold with his thighs and Viktor immediately becoming Thirsty as Hell.

#viktuuri #yuri on ice #i've written a ficlet for this but damn i want to write MORE

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theliteraryluggage · 5 years

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Angst Prompts III: “tell me what’s wrong”

for @vixencatastrophe [and @kameronrbt]

Yuuri was humming under his breath as he was washing the dishes. It really was too endearing; Victor couldn’t help but slip his arms around his waist from behind, lightly swaying in time with the melody.

“Thank you for washing up”, he said quietly, his lips close to brushing against Yuuri’s ear. He couldn’t see Yuuri’s face, but he heard the smile in his voice as he replied.

“Well, thank you for dinner. I think we’re more than even.”

“It was my pleasure, baby”, he said, trailing his lips down Yuuri’s neck, and he could feel the shiver running through his body, “now, as for our further--”

“Please don’t call me that.”

Victor lifted his head, confused by the sudden shift of tone in Yuuri’s voice. Yuuri’s movements in the soapy water had stilled. Victor briefly thought back over his words, then he chuckled.

“Call you what—baby? Do you not like that? I know it’s cliche, but sometimes I think there’s just something to it...”, he pressed another kiss to Yuuri’s neck, “don’t you think...”, another, “baby?”

This time Yuuri flinched, bodily twisting out of Victor’s embrace. His hands, dripping wet, left a trail of murky water on the kitchen floor.

“No. No, I mean it. Please, don’t—don’t call me that.”

The teasing smile slipped off of Victor’s lips when he saw Yuuri’s expression, eyes wide and filled with something like fear, the furrowing of his brow sharp under the harsh kitchen lights, his jaw moving soundlessly, chewing up words.

His fingers dripping and trembling at his sides.

Victor swallowed, the air between them suddenly too thick, too heavy.

“I’m sorry, solnyshko. I won’t. I promise, I won’t. Just—”

He reached out with one hand, and Yuuri stumbled backwards, out of reach. A moment’s silence, and Yuuri’s gaze snapped upward to meet his, pleading, a silent apology.

“It’s okay, Yuuri. It’s okay”, Victor held his hands up as if in surrender, then he picked up the dish towel from the counter, holding it out in both hands, silently, a question in his eyes.

Yuuri hesitated only for a moment before he nodded and took a step forward, holding out his pruning hands. Victor wrapped them carefully in the cloth, gently rubbing them in his own hands to dry them, taking care not to touch Yuuri’s bare skin.

Yuuri kept his eyes lowered, fixed on the movements on his hands, or maybe not seeing at all, lost in another place.

“It’s okay, solnyshko”, Victor repeated quietly, squeezing Yuuri’s hands lightly through the cloth, “I won’t say it again. I’m sorry. Just—tell me what’s wrong, please.”

[Send Me An Angst Prompt For A Snippet/Drabble Of Your Own!]

#yuri on ice #yoi #victuuri #viktuuri #writeblr #writer #writing #fanfiction #nihi writes stuff #angst prompts #angst ficlets #welp #if it isn't my favourite whump #idk if i will ever actually write this story #but it's one of my most recurring nighttime scenarios

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omgkatsudonplease · 6 years

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omg did i make it? is it 30min? because I like would love, no, NEED some happy birthday katsudon ficlets

you made it! … i’m just the one who’s late RIP

Viktor is so quiet in the hospital bed, Yuuri thinks, as he looks at him through the glass. “How is he?” he asks the nurse, whose smile is sad but bracing.

“Better now. It was lucky for him he only took a small bite of the poisoned food. The person who did that overdosed it on purpose.”

“I suspect most people wouldn’t have noticed, given the entire restaurant’s schtick of weird foods,” Yuuri mutters, looking back at the nurse. “Can I go in?”

They nod. Yuuri quietly opens the door and steps inside.

“Babicheva got me,” says Viktor, cracking open an eye from where he lies on the bed. “I’ll be ready to go soon.”

“You’re still recovering,” Yuuri chides, taking a seat at the hospital bed next to him. “Now, how could it be that the former manager of the Stammi Vicino could get three attempts on his life in such short succession? I mean, most bosses will just pay your severance package and leave it at that.”

“They must’ve hated my review,” says Viktor, grinning. “I took off that star of theirs as soon as I could. The corruption wasn’t worth it.”

“Your review,” echoes Yuuri, sitting a little straighter at that. “You’re a food critic?”

“Michelin guide,” confirms Viktor, his grin widening. “But don’t tell anyone else, or else the guide will have to skip LA for another decade.”

Yuuri raises an eyebrow. “You know, I was convinced you were Russian Intelligence for a while,” he says, still suspended between relief and disbelief. All of that international jet-setting and James Bond-esque action, and it turns out this devastatingly handsome idiot is just a secretive food critic. He sure knows how to pick them.

“Oh god, I couldn’t be,” Viktor declares, his laugh almost a wheeze. “What about you, though? How do we keep on showing up at the same restaurants?”

Yuuri bites his lip. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” he jokes, but when Viktor raises an eyebrow he laughs and shakes his head. “I still really can’t say,” he says, “but I’m definitely not a food critic.”

Viktor’s eyes narrow. “You mentioned you were from London,” he says, before his eyes go wide. “Ooh, slick. I get it.”

“Do you?” wonders Yuuri, shifting closer, drawn towards Viktor’s pink lips and the sparkle in his eyes. “What do you think I do for a living?”

Viktor grins, taking Yuuri’s hand and pressing it to his lips. “Consider me shaken, not stirred,” he replies. “Yukimoto’s not even your real name, is it?”

“If you could ever take me to a dinner that isn’t swarming with would-be assassins, I’ll tell you my real name,” replies Yuuri.

“Promise?” Viktor asks. Yuuri extends a pinky, nodding. Viktor hooks in his own.

“That’s a date,” declares Yuuri. “Where would you take me, o great Michelin food critic?”

Viktor purses his lips. “How about Din Tai Fung?”

Yuuri grins. “Unexpected,” he hedges, “but I’d love to.”

#yoi #viktuuri #victuuri #lily's dabbles #yuuri's bday ficlets #iT'S DONE #restaurants in order of appearance:#la degustation in prague #waku ghin in singapore #vespertine in la #and god i need to rewrite the waku ghin scene bc it's inaccurate #RIP ME #littorella #ask #all of these are like 2 michelin star restaurants that you can really go to

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winglesscrows · 6 years

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More warm-ups

“You know I can pay for this right?” Viktor says and adds another book to the impossibly large pile that already constitutes half of the (admittedly small) bookstore.

“Money is not the issue”, Yuuri says monotonously, blankly staring at the mountain in front of him (Yuuri is literally only a head taller than this pile), “How will you get this home?”

“We only live like...” Viktor seems to do some math in his head, but Yuuri knows he’s only doing it for the drama, “five minutes away.”

“And yet it would take you several hours going back and forth with all of this.” Yuuri sighs, and adds under his breath: “You might as well buy the bookstore.”

“Actually-” Viktor begins but Yuuri quickly cuts him off, before he can begin another ridiculous quest.

“No. Forget I said that.”

“Well,” Viktor tries to reason, “Between the two of us, we could at least take twenty.”

“And where will you put them?”

“On the bookshelf,” He says so innocently and Yuuri feels an incoming headache.

“The one that has no space or the one you haven’t bought yet? Admit it, Viktor, you can’t have all of it. And since I don’t believe we have space for it, I won’t help you carry it. We came here because you wanted one book. One. This is ridiculous even for you.”

“I can’t just pick ten!” Viktor stubbornly fights back. However, between the two of them, Yuuri is the stubborn one.

“Then just buy the one you came for.”

“No, wait,” Viktor says frantically and starts going through the books one by one, “This... and this... or maybe these... but this is a set...”

Yuuri still doesn’t know where Viktor plans to put all of these books.

#Yuri on ice #YOI #yoi fic #victuuri #viktuuri #Katsuki Yuuri #yuuri katsuki #Viktor Nikiforov #victor nikiforov #ficlet #long post #fic #5+1 impulses

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jumpforjo · 6 years

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Hey there, @toonysart!! I’m here to deliver your gift for @yoisecretsanta18 !!

To accompany the illustration, I wrote a Short ficlet- you can read it [ here ] on ao3, or just below the cut!

The holidays are warm and bright with Viktor. The rings are still new- Yuuri can still distinctly pick up the weight of it on his finger, and warmth settles in his stomach every time he thinks about the fact that one day, he’ll adjust to a new ring when they get married. As it is, they’re enjoying Viktor’s last night in Japan before he leaves for Russia in the morning. His parents secured a bath for just them and had katsudon ready after they dressed and returned downstairs, quarantining a private table and a bottle of warm sake.

It’s odd, Yuuri thinks, realizing that soon Viktor will be gone. They’ve already talked, of course, about Yuuri moving to Russia with him around the new year, giving them plenty of time to prepare for Four Continents and Worlds. Objectively, it will only be a few weeks, but after months of having Viktor to himself day in and day out, the adjustment won’t be easy. Instead of focusing on that, though, after dinner Yuuri leads his fiance upstairs to watch a movie before bed, Makka trailing them dutifully.

Viktor refuses to say they are celebrating his birthday, explaining to Yuuri that it’s horrible luck, and that he’s never been much one from Christmas either. Yuuri settles for the excuse of celebrating Viktor’s return to the ice- met with mild grumbling, but no outright protests- and settles himself in Viktor’s lap to pick out a movie. They settle on something vaguely holiday related, and Yuuri dozes off against Viktor’s shoulder almost immediately. He’s woken each time by Viktor kissing his nose, and he finds it in himself to raise up and pay attention for a few more minutes before he finds himself drifting again. It isn’t long before he wakes gently as Viktor carries him from the couch to his bed, tucking them in together under the covers. He nuzzles into the warmth of Viktor’s neck as Viktor kisses the top of his head.

“I’m going to miss you.” Yuuri mumbles the words against Viktor’s collarbone, pressing himself impossibly closer.

“I’ll miss you too, zolotse.” A smile spreads over his lips as Yuuri feels Viktor’s voice rumble through his chest. “Just a few weeks, and you’ll be training so hard you won’t remember to miss me. I’m expecting you to beat me at Worlds, of course, so no slacking off.”

Yuuri doesn’t reply, he simply settles for pressing a kiss to Viktor’s collarbone as he drifts back to sleep, relishing in the warmth while he can.

#my art #yoisecretsanta #yoisecretsanta18 #viktuuri #victuri #yuri on ice #yuuri katsuki #viktor nikiforov #ficlet

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katzuyas · 6 years

Text

for @yurionrunway day 1: fashion stylists

this is a fashion au I’ve created with the lovely @littorella for a bang that will be coming very SOON, but these ficlets I wrote especially for this sweet little event bc I couldn’t help myself 😂 once you dabble in fashion... you stay in fashion ;3c

hope you enjoy it and look forward to more bc there’s a lot more coming! ❤️

"A little shorter in the back maybe," Victor says, looking into the mirror that Lucien is holding behind his head. He runs his fingers through the already short hair on his nape and hums. "Yeah, a little shorter in the back, please."

"Okay," the hairdresser agrees. "What about the front? Should we leave it like this?"

Victor flips his fringe with a tilt of his head, blows on the strands that cover one of his eyes. Before he can answer that it seems fine as is, Chris' teasing voice makes him drop his jaw open in offended silence.

"Leave it, darling," his traitor of a best friend says with a grin. "At least then he'll have an excuse as to why he always trips whenever someone mentions Yuuri Katsuki around him."

"I don't trip!"

Victor flips his fringe while he whips his head around, which earns him a warning glance from Lucien in the big mirror Victor is sitting in front of. Victor throws him an apologetic smile, and then glares at Chris' reflection, because it's all. his. fault.

All of it: Phichit Chulanont's contract, Victor's rapidly developing crush, the silly party that Victor isn't sure about attending anymore. Hell, Chris is even the reason why Victor left the audition room that fateful evening, because it was Chris who has asked him to bring over a file of that Czech model they used for the winter show in the hopes of maybe fitting him into the line-up if they can't find anyone better.

Honestly, Victor feels justified in his pouting. He doesn't deserve this teasing. At least not from Chris.

"Fine," Chris says, turning over a page of Harper's Bazaar with a bored flick of his wrist. "You stumble. Very gracefully and unnoticeably, which is why everyone is now aware of your big gay crush on him."

"They're aware of my big gay crush, because you can't keep your mouth shut," Victor points out, keeping his head still as Lucien snips away at his hair.

"Oh, honey..." Chris gives him a pitying smile. "If you think they didn't notice your pining all on their own then maybe Lucien should cut all that fringe off so you could finally see clearly for once. Your thirst is almost visible to the naked eye."

"It's not that bad," Victor mumbles and looks for help from Lucien. He's the only sane one between the three of them, so Victor feels justified to ask: "Is it?"

"Well," Lucien starts slowly over the snip snip snip of the scissors. "I know all the details because Chris really can't keep his mouth shut, you're right."

The tiny gasp Chris makes is definitely a delightful sound to Victor's ears right about now.

"But your crush is fairly obvious. He's right, too," Lucien adds. "You blush at the very mention of him, Victor. It doesn't take a genius to figure out why."

read more on ao3

#yuri on ice #yurionrunway #victuuri #viktuuri #victor nikiforov #christophe giacometti #victuri #vikturi #my fic #GUYS #GUYS LOOK #js but these ficlets have literally nothing to do with the plot of the Big Fic #they're just cute little behind the scenes of what could've happened if something something #did I just say I wrote a bunch of fics for my own fic?#yea I think I did lol #OH WELL #FICCEPTION HERE WE COME

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ferluccia · 7 years

Note

Okay, so we know Viktor is a bookworm. This has been established, right? Well, what about young Vitya who, when going around the world for competitions, buys books regardless of the language. And he orders dictionaries online, and translates them personally. (Because being at the top of the world can be kind of lonely.)

I FEEL REALLY SORRY FOR NOT GETTING TO THIS EARLIER BUT!!!! I LOVE THIS!!!

Victor’s relationship with books dated back to a long time. Yakov’s first memory of him included a book snuggly held against Victor’s chest.

It made for a funny picture—the small, wide-eyed child holding a big book like it was a teddy bear, refusing to let go of it even though he would have no time to sit and read. Yakov remembers being able to peek at the title—it was The Hobbit, a colorful and illustrated version—and at his curiosity, Vitya’s mother chuckled and shook her head.

“He won’t leave home without bringing a book along,” she explained.

Little Vitya was a stubborn one. It was a trait he carried on into his adult life.

“Mommy,” Vitya tugged at her sleeve, eyes following the skaters on the rink, “can I skate yet?”

“I don’t know. How about you ask your new coach?” She replied, encouraging him to step forward and talk to Yakov.

Vitya, back then a five-year-old, already knew how to be polite and charming, raising his chin up to look at Yakov with his big blue eyes and swiping his hair back.

“Coach Yakov, may I use the rink, please?“

Yakov would be heartless if he refused.

“Of course. But you can’t take your book with you.”

He almost expected Vitya to widen his eyes and clutch at his book, perhaps insist on taking it to the ice with him by the way he had been carrying it all morning or turn to his mother and say something along the lines of “I don’t like this new coach”. Instead, little Vitya frowned, offering Yakov his book with a seriousness of a real adult who confided something of great importance.

“Then… can you keep it for me?”

It had started like that. Vitya would always bring a book along, and handing Yakov his book for safe-keeping before lacing up and stepping on the ice became a part of their routine. It happened before classes, it happened before competitions. Sometimes he would curl up in a corner of the rink and read his book while waiting for some free time to skate.

Victor’s passion for books became even more evident as he grew up. He always had one in his bag, but also always brought one from home. Yakov couldn’t tell which one he was reading—or if he was reading both—but he would never question it.

“The bookstore had a sale and I couldn’t resist,” twelve-year-old Vitya would explain when he arrived late for practice, and Lilia would only shake her head and look at Yakov.

Sometimes it was a bit of a problem. Just like he would refuse to do his warm-ups before finishing a chapter, he always backed one too many books for his trips.

“Why are you bringing so many books for?” Yakov asked as he loaded the taxi with Victor’s luggage. “Do you think you’ll be able to slack off just because you won gold in the last competition?”

Teenager Victor chuckled, glancing at his struggling coach as he scratched Makkachin behind her ears.

“I don’t know. I might get tired of waiting for my turn and read a dozen books before I step on the ice,” he teased.

It was a known fact Victor was a fast reader, but the reason why he brought a bunch of books wasn’t because of it. It was something Yakov didn’t entirely understand, and something he wasn’t exactly interested in encouraging.

Victor traded them with other competitors—sometimes giving up on his beautiful, limited edition cover books in favor of getting a ratty, old book in a language he couldn’t understand. Most of the times they weren’t even the same books—giving up on his treasured, flawless Anna Karenina for a coffee-stained, decade-old single volume Narnia in Italian?

Yakov didn’t understand. But Victor—he was always elated to trade books with people, no matter what it was, and would start reading it as soon as possible, running to the nearest shop in search of a dictionary that could help him understand the book.

When Victor turned fifteen he moved to Yakov and Lilia’s apartment to focus on his training, aiming for Junior’s gold in the following season. One condition, though—he could bring no more than ten books.

He protested. Being rightfully furious about the proposal, Victor refused to agree with Yakov’s terms—even though he understood the reasoning behind such imposal—and was only after a lot of negotiation from Lilia’s part that he finally decided to agree.

“How?” Yakov asked as Lilia brought him the good news.

“He won’t be bringing any books. I’ve offered him my library instead.”

“Your books are all in French.”

Lilia smirked, offering Yakov the famous you fool eyes that were affectionate and mocking all the same.

“You know that is not a problem for him.”

Reading a lot was never exactly a problem or a harm to his growth as a skater. Victor was a promising athlete with incredible potential, excited to win and passionate about his sport.

The real problem was that kids his age weren’t that passionate about reading. They had other interests—like games, movies, dating, and books just didn’t seem to be a popular top priority like it was for Victor.

Victor had always been charming, talkative and approachable, and when Yakov asked him to interact with other skaters at banquets, he would quickly gather a small group around him and would talk passionately about the latest story he read, exchanging impressions about characters and other things.

But after a couple of hours, Victor was nowhere to be seen. He would usually head back to his room, grab his book and find a peaceful place to read. More often than not, Yakov heard other people commenting about how focused he was on his book and lamenting not wanting to interrupt his reading.

As enjoyable as they were, books made for a lonely hobby.

When Victor got his own apartment a magazine made a photoshoot there, and they could not hide their surprise as they learned that Victor had read all the books on the shelves of his living room, save for a small pile that was kept next to the sofa where he would curl up after practice and read. They made sure to include that information when the interview was released, and Yakov remembered clearly the reaction it had gotten from the public.

Between practicing and reading, Victor Nikiforov did little else. People made a huge deal out of it—providing lengthy blog posts about how those hundred of books spoke of solitude and a somewhat intrusive trend of asking Victor personal questions about his mental health.

Victor dismissed those rumors saying something about being too immersed in stories to think about being lonely. To his inner circle, it was easy to notice otherwise.

However, Yakov noticed a change when Victor moved to Japan. It was growth. It was selflessness. First, he had taken only around ten books on his trip, which meant a significant effort from his part of getting to know someone, and being unsure about his future and the path he had taken. Bitter, he didn’t want to think too much about it, dismissing those things as Victor’s aloofness as he packed in a hurry.

For once, Yakov enjoyed being proved wrong. Wrong about Victor being selfish. Wrong about Victor not being able to coach. Wrong about Victor not knowing what he wants.

Being a teacher, after all, was about watching your pupils overcome and surprise you. And even though Yakov was still a bit bitter about it, he admired Victor for his growth.

“I’ll keep it for you,” he heard Victor say from the sideline, picking the book from Yuuri’s hand with care.

They stood a couple of steps away, Yuuri removing the guards from his blades while Victor’s help, his coat thrown haphazardly over his shoulders as he assumed the role of coach after his train was over.

“Can you mark the page for me?” Yuuri asked. “I forgot the bookmarker in the dressing room.”

“Of course. What did you think of the chapter?”

Wide-eyed, Yuuri turned around with a big smile on his face, nearly jumping over the boards in excitement while trying to not make a scene. It was funny. It reminded Yakov of young Vitya.

“I wasn’t expecting the plot twist to be that big? It was difficult to put the book down! I nearly skipped training just so I could finish it.”

“I know! I was sure you’d like it!” Victor smiled excitedly, holding the book close to his chest. “You won’t believe what happens in the next chapter. It gets so much better, you have no idea!”

“Vitya!! You promised not to tease!” Yuuri laughed, pushing Victor playfully.

“Yuuri, get to work!” Yakov called out, only then noticing how he was watching the scene with a shy smile.

“Oh—Sorry, Yakov!” Victor smiled apologetically, leaning over the board to give Yuuri a kiss before watching him glide on the ice.

Victor had always had a weak spot for cheesy romance novels. Yakov wanted to laugh when he remembered Victor is living one of them.

“Go on. Join him,” he said, nudging Victor’s shoulder. “Yuuri skates more passionately when you’re there with him.”

Victor looked at Yakov with his eyebrows raised and lips parted in surprise. He didn’t say a word, and yet his coach was able to read the emotions flowing in his eyes.

“Alright,” Victor smiled, offering him the book. “Can you keep this for me?”

#kfldjslkfsjdkl SORRY I HAVE SO MANY FEELINGS ABOUT BOOKWORM VITYA #this was too long and too cheesy i'm so sorry fjsdkljfklsjfklsd #ficlet #andie writes #yuri on ice #victor nikiforov #yuri katsuki #viktor nikiforov #yuuri katsuki #victuuri #viktuuri #yakov feltsman #lilia baranovskaya #makkachin #yoi #katsuki yuuri #long post

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porkcutlethusbandos · 6 years

Text

but if you’re goshujin, and i’m goshujin, then who’s flying the plane?

(viktuuri one-shot, based on a rant a bilingual friend and I had over languages)

It began innocuously enough.

Viktor had decided that if he was going to do this properly (ie, marry the love of his life), then he was going to integrate as much of himself as he could into Yuuri’s world. During the Summer of Mutual Pining, Viktor had taken it upon himself to learn conversational Japanese. As such, he already knew the words for lover and husband, because those were very important words to know.

Now, a month into his marriage with Yuuri, Viktor had started to get a good grasp on kanji. He was quite fascinated with the way Japanese words, at their foundation, were just made up of other, smaller, one-syllable Japanese words. Like the first time he read ‘Hasetsu Kuukou’ on their way back to Japan from St. Petersburg, and very excitedly announced to Yuuri, “the Japanese word for airport literally translates to ‘air port!’” Yuuri, already more than familiar with bilingual humor, just lent a fond smile for his husband.

Husband.

Now the kanji of that word, in its formal sense, gave Viktor pause. From what Viktor gathered, goshujin meant ‘honorable lord [of the house].’ Now that just wouldn’t do, Viktor decided. How could there be two lords of the house in their marriage?

Ah, well. The word was formal and only used to refer to someone else’s husband, so Viktor kept up with introducing himself as Yuuri’s groom right off the bat, to avoid any unnecessary use of goshujin.

Until one day Viktor missed his chance.

He and Yuuri had planned for an early morning run, when Hiroko decided the two should make use of themselves. That was how they found themselves at the open aired market street - to pick up some fresh fish and other ingredients for Yu-Topia.

It had been a while since Yuuri had been sent to this market on errands, and all the shopkeepers who recognized him bustled right up to chat with him and ask after all the major events in Yuuri’s life. Most recognized the pride and joy of Hasetsu, so Viktor was more than happy to stand back and let everyone fawn over the most recent world champion in figure skating.

At the fish market, butcher, and vegetable stand, Yuuri had been able to introduce Viktor as his husband to all the happy congratulations of his fellow townsfolk. But then it had been the baker who had caught them off guard.

Later, Viktor decided that the sweet old woman - who had a flyaway hair constantly tickling her nose, to which she kept pushing back or wiggling her nose - had felt fronted by their passing of her shop. That is clearly why she ran up to them from behind, greeted Yuuri with loud excitement, and asked straightaway “Nikiforofu-san wa goshujinsoudesuka?”

‘Is Nikiforov-san really your husband?’

Sure, there was probably a congratulations right on her tongue for the second Yuuri confirmed, but Viktor cut in before either had the chance.

“Actually,” he said, in his now practiced Japanese, “Yuuri is the lord of our house.”

Both Yuuri and the old woman blinked in total confusion. Even so, Viktor had made sure to use the same root for lord (’shu’) as included in the word husband. Yuuri caught on first.

He bowed - more so a dip of the head than anything else - towards Viktor, and claimed, “No, no, Viktor is the five time world champion. He’s lord of the house.”

So Viktor bowed even deeper. “Pardon me, but who broke my world record?”

The sweet old lady with the flyaway hair made some sort of noise. Sure, she understood the words they were saying, but she had no idea what was going on. But Viktor had gone and done it. He had sparked Yuuri’s competitive side. Yuuri’s eye twitched. He then bent all the way over and nearly shouted, “No, I insist, my honorable coach.”

“Please, my lord,” Viktor insisted even more forcibly, “My entire life and love.”

“Oh,” the baker squeaked, now slowly catching on. “It’s fine. I understand...”

But the edge in Yuuri’s eyes didn’t abate any bit. Really, Viktor thought, if Yuuri could see himself, could see the fire he carried over such a little competition as this, he’d understand it was useless to insist that Viktor had any power over Yuuri.

So, Viktor pointed out as such.

Yuuri started to sputter and blush, and just for a moment, Viktor tasted sweet victory. But then Yuuri found his fire once again, narrowing his eyes and opening his mouth for what would likely have been the finishing statement of their little face-off, when the baker stepped in with a bold “excuse me.”

The two boys looked to her, shocked into respectful silence.

She wiggled her nose, at the flyaway hair, and crossed her arms with only the experienced authority that an old lady could muster.

“It’s no good to argue about this.” She declared. “In fact, if my wife and I were swayed by such semantics, neither of us would be able to leave the house!”

It was then Viktor’s turn to blink in total confusion. His polyglot brain, admittedly, took a moment to catch up with what she said. He started to process the words, noting the way she said ‘my wife’...

And then Yuuri was laughing. Yuuri had caught on first, and he had doubled over, hand clasped over his mouth, in all his mirth.

Ah, wait! Viktor noted! She had said ‘kanai,’ which, if Viktor’s memory served him correctly, translated as ‘inside the house.’ In less than a second, Viktor had mirrored Yuuri and was laughing for all that it was worth.

Before them, the old woman beamed.

“Ah, Yuuri,” Viktor got in between laughs, “I think we know who the true honorable lord is here.”

“I agree!” Yuuri grinned, lifting at his glasses to wipe his eye. “No doubt about it.”

Once the two had sufficiently reigned control over themselves, they both bowed to the baker.

“Thank you for teaching us, honorable lord!” They said in unison, as the old lady nodded in absolute satisfaction.

(She then bustled them back to the bakery, to cajole them into buying some sweets. At reduced price, of course.)

But, of course, Viktor found, after that encounter, that he never had an issue with the word goshujin ever again.

Notes: Anyways, this is why I shouldn’t be allowed to learn other languages. My friends can tell you that I rant about these semantics all the time. Viktor’s realization of ‘airport’ was totally something I did. I mean, look at it!

Kuukou - 空港... Air - 空 + Port - 港... Airport!!!

maybe at some point I’ll write out the dialogue in Japanese, cause I swear it’s funnier in Japanese

This ficlet both goes with the whole ‘in the Yuri on Ice universe, there’s no sexism or homophobia’ while at the same time contradicting it. Whatever.

#yoi #yuri on ice #victuuri #viktuuri #Viktor Nikiforov #yuuri katsuki #original character #ficlet #bilingual humor

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paxohana · 5 years

Text

Menagerie, Pt. 2

“Son, you returned home rather late last night.”

Viktor glanced at his father as he took another piece of toast. Morning arrived before Viktor knew it and he felt fatigued having only a few hours sleep last night. He spent hours imagining Yuuri’s smile and how their friendship would progress. Once he fell asleep, the few dreams he did have were filled with the man with the jet black tresses.

“Yes, the ball was quite the spectacle,” Viktor said.

“How was Darla?” he inquired.

“She was well. I think I may have angered her,” Viktor admitted.

“Her father rang me early this morning. It seems she was in a right state when she returned home,” Ivan relayed.

“I apologize, Father. I know I did not treat her with respect. I just can’t relate to such trivial matters she discusses,” Viktor confessed.

“Her father has placed too many expectations on you, Viktor,” he started, “Expectations I don’t require you to uphold. There are plenty of other young women to choose from.”

Viktor nodded and stirred his tea absently, thinking of how soon his life would change. How soon he’d be bogged down with a loveless marriage and children that were produced for status only. He wanted so much more out of life but was trapped within the confines of his stature.

He continued his breakfast in silence, not wanting to be reminded of the dismal existence that awaited him. His mind was swimming in thoughts of Yuuri and how he was looking forward to the time they’d spend the next week. He figured if he could charm him that morning, he may have something worthwhile to fill his time with.

The morning trudged by slowly, leaving Viktor feeling antsy until he could leave the house. His father demanded he remain in the den at home fielding calls and answering correspondence with business associates. While he found it boring, it was part of his responsibilities as the son of a magnate.

But once the afternoon arrived, he would be free.

His father insisted that Viktor socialize with his peers and allowed him freedom every other afternoon. He took advantage of it, often chatting with friends in the park over lemonade or playing in one sport or another. Polo was his favorite and he was especially looking forward to the session that Wednesday.

That day, however, was not Wednesday, but he was able to call it an early day at the office. He was off to meet Thom and Harold in the park for checkers. After a quick goodbye and a peck on the cheek for his mother, he was off.

The day was unseasonably cool but Viktor found it welcoming and he took his time venturing toward the park. He stopped to speak briefly with the butcher, inquiring about how his wife and newborn daughter were. He visited the cafe on the street corner for a glass of iced tea. He knew he was running late to meet his friends, but the day was too pleasant to pass up on such leisurely activities.

He placed a few coins on the table and turned to leave, but stopped in his tracks. There at the counter stood the object of his sleepless night: Yuuri Katsuki. He looked rather dashing in his suspenders and straw hat, and Viktor found himself further attracted to the man. Smiling before heading toward him, Viktor quietly coughed to get his attention.

“Viktor! Fancy meeting you here!” Yuuri exclaimed, giving him the dazzling smile that charmed him the night before.

“I thought that was you. Did you make it home alright?” Viktor inquired.

“After seeing my date home, I made a stop to sit on the hill,” Yuuri said, “You know the one that overlooks the river?”

“With the giant weeping willow?” Viktor questioned, smiling when Yuuri nodded, “One of my favorite places in the city.”

“I love going there to think or daydream,” he explained, “Lately it’s been more daydreaming.”

“What of, pray tell?”

“I’m sure you don’t want me boring you with nonsense,” Yuuri muttered, thanking the shop owner for the pastry he ordered.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I thought it so,” Viktor stated.

“I see myself in other neighborhoods, other countries doing good deeds by healing their sick. Innoculations to help children grow up strong and healthy,” he explained, “but I would feel terrible if I shirked my responsibilities here.”

“I think that’s a rather admirable daydream, Yuuri,” Viktor said, “Furthermore, have you talked to your father about making it a reality? Having a doctor in the family usually increases status in society.”

“As the only son, I’m expected to take over his legacy when he retires or passes. I couldn’t leave it to anyone else,” Yuuri said sadly.

“I understand. On to pleasant matters,” Viktor said, not liking the misery falling over Yuuri’s beautiful face, “Are you looking forward to polo this Wednesday?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” he said, beaming at Viktor once more, “How should I dress? I’ve seen it played but never tried a hand at it myself.”

“Horse riding trousers and a comfortable shirt. Once in a while someone takes a spill, but that’s rare,” Viktor explained, watching horror creep into Yuuri’s face, “I promise we’ll take it easy since it’s your first time.”

“Wonderful,” he said, smiling at him before bowing slightly, “I apologize, but I must get going. I have a prior engagement, but it was a pleasure speaking with you again.”

“The pleasure is mine, Yuuri,” Viktor said, returning with a smile of his own, “Until Wednesday.”

After ordering another tea to take with him, Viktor thanked the proprietor and left the cafe. His head was swimming with the short conversation he had with Yuuri, but knew it would bolster his entire day. Thinking that Wednesday couldn’t arrive soon enough, Viktor whistled happily on his way to the park.

Pt. 1

#Pax Writes #princessmimoza #viktuuri ficlet #victuuri ficlet #menagerie pt 2

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yoisoulmatezine-blog · 6 years

Text

Part 2 of @louciferish‘s promo ficlet, Heartstrings

Victor Nikiforov lies down each night and embraces darkness.

He can never forget the first night he crawled into bed to await the dreams, his skin electric with nervous anticipation. He lay awake for hours, his heart pounding and eyes squeezed tightly shut as he willed his breathing to slow. Finally, exhausted from the weight of the day, his body surrendered itself to slumber.

He woke five hours later and stared up at the speckled ceiling, feeling a knot form at the pit of his stomach. His sleep was dreamless.

After that came phases and trends modeled after the advice of daytime talk show hosts and magazines aimed at lonely hearts. He realigns his sleep until he lives like a vampire, curled in his bed all day and emerging only after dark.

His coach does not care for that phase.

He falls asleep in strange places and unpredictable times, taking sleep aids in order to catch a nap at noon on a park bench by the rink.

Yakov pulls him aside after months of this, gently pressing him down into an overstuffed antique chair. “You can’t force things to happen before the universe is ready, Vitya,” he says calmly, his hands still resting on Victor’s slim shoulders. “This is one of those cases where your pushing harder will do no good. Slow down. Learn patience. The dreams will come.”

Something ugly claws at Victor’s throat when he sees the wistful smile that graces his coach’s face as he talks of dreams. Yakov and Lilia dream side by side in their room, but Victor lies alone in the blackness.

He practices patience like Yakov asked. There’s no other option remaining.

Each night he lies down with a seed of hope in his heart, and each morning he stares at the ceiling. He feel the despair grow stronger, a serpent coiling tightly around his heart.

It’s been 1,800 days. He marks it on his calendar in red. It's first day he’s admitted out loud that he’s considering early retirement. One can only skate so many programs themed around Searching.

He climbs into bed and waits for Makka to jump up, her comforting weight curled against his hip. He turns out the light and breathes a welcome to the blackness that swallows him.

The first thing Victor perceives is himself. He exists. He holds his arms out in front of his face, stretching to touch the velvety curtain of night. In the dark, his skin glows.

He looks around, but this is only a new version of nothing. His shoulders slump, and he stares down at his bare feet, wriggling his toes.

Between his feet, something flickers, then shines. A single star illuminates beneath him, and he crouches, reaching for it. As his fingertips brush the surface, the darkness falls away.

There are stars everywhere; some are brilliant, and others just distant, fading specks. He turns to see stars tinged with shades of pink or blue or green and small pinpricks of light which pulse with a steady beat. There are swirls of galaxies, far-off suns, and the streaking tail of a comet as it soars past, close enough to touch.

Everything around him is bathed in light, and his breath catches, overwhelmed. He stares up at the heavenly dome in awed wonder.

“Look out!” A voice pierces his reverie.

Victor spins, and his mouth drops open, shocked to find that he’s not alone. A boy soars toward him through the night, all wild black hair, pale skin, and glory. There’s a red ribbon clutched against his chest, the other end of which is wrapped around Victor, tangled in his own fingers.

He opens his arms to welcome the boy in, but has only a glimpse of wide, coffee-brown eyes filled with stars. The boy vanishes, and so do the lights.

Victor shoots upright in his bed, arms still outstretched to the darkness of his room, and shouts in triumph.

Thank you to @louciferish for writing this to go along with @morgen‘s artwork.

47 notes · View notes