#YoI fan fiction

[capsensislagamoprh]

(Guess whose back, baby!)

CHA 7

“What story do you want to tell?” Christophe asked, adjusting his lenses.

Victor paused mid zip, the garment bag held loosely in the air. He looked blank. “I… hadn’t thought of that. Blin!” Stepping back, Victor looked over the collection. What was the running theme? What world did the story of his clothes belong in? He wasn’t expecting editorial. He was just building his portfolio back up. Victor hesitated. Was he? The portfolio he had got him into PCA, but should it stay stagnant? Would the professors build his education based on the work they saw, or would something new be expected? Yebat'!

“You’re spiraling,” Christophe whispered in his ear. Finishing zipping up the bag and depositing it on the rolling rack, Victor sighed.

“I think… Evolution.”

“Interesting. Explain.”

“This was the previous collection, da?”

“Oui.”

“So, now I am making it new. But from the old. Like the baby bird fire.”

“Phénix?”

“Eh? Oh! Da! Feniks! It will be a glorious rebirth! An evolution to something lively. Something that is fashionable, yes. But also something comforting, comfortable. Something you can be proud to be in and happy to wear. But not so ridiculous in minimalism that it lacks flair. This is the theme. Evolution of beauty and comfort.”

“Sounds like marriage to me.”

“Perhaps. But is for the new. The old are hard to change, da?”

“If you say so, min vän. I have aligned several models. I have arranged the place and time. The rest is up to you.”

“Oh? Blagoy! Erm… how to say…” Victor held his chin for a moment. “Bien?”

Christophe rose a brow. “Victor, how much sleep have you had?”

“Sleep is for tomorrow.”

“Sleep is for today.”

“I am fine, I tell you!”

“You forgot bein. Next you will forget homme attrayant, or draguer des.”

“Not in that order, I won't,” Victor grinned.

“Be that as it may, We will need to leave at four in the morning-” Victor whined, “- or we’ll miss the sunrise. We have a whole day booked.”

“Fine. Sunrise. How long, this shoot?”

“All day, Victor. I will not miss a chance to shoot your fashions in the most perfect light.”

Rubbing his face, Victor conceded. A long bath was what he wanted, but a quick shower and bed would have to do.

~

The ruched center line on the cord knitted top belied femininity, a masculin shoulder line and long sleeves ending in crocheted lace recalled a more refined time, and yet because of the material it used, the simplicity of the fit, it was decidedly modern. Christophe eyed it and its three colors, deciding which one he’d take in payment. Really, Victor’s old designs were good, but these were inspired. The models looked good, yes, but the clothes seemed to make the usual grumpy expressions and general malaise at early times and all day work for no pay easier. Victor needed to keep one of each design for samples, but otherwise was delighted to be able to clear his limited closet and not have to part with any francs.

He was just considering which set of cuffed side button shorts he was going to keep - probably the cream - when he spied a flash of golden hair about knee height. There, beside a mailbox, stood Yuri. He was watching, head tilted slightly to the right as his concentrated stare warped his childish features into one of cold intensity. It made Christophe shudder in his soul. What could make such a young boy so âme triste? Victor rested his chin on Christophe’s shoulder, using it to sight line. “Don’t we know him?” Christophe asked.

“Da. He should have someone with him.”

“Well, give it time. His père will be here soon, eh?” A smile accompanied the twinkle in his green eyes. “If you were to, say, speak to a lost little boy, keep him company until his strong, handsome père comes to gather his wayward boy…”

Victor’s eyes lit up. “Christophe, you are a wonder!”

“I know, I know.” Waving off his Russian friend, Christoph watched as Victor fairly bounced his way to the little blond.

“Privet Yuri!” Victor waved, smile bright and wide. Yuri froze, slowly looking up as he stepped back, hiding himself behind the mailbox. “Ah! But I have already seen you, Yuri! No use hiding now. Come out. It’s me, Victor. You recall, da?” Yuri nodded, eyes warry. “Ah good. I had thought perhaps you did not and I had scared you for no reason. You are watching the shoot?” Again a cautious nod answered Victor’s happy questions. “Good, good! You have good taste, yes? You can tell me something then?” Yuri blinked, his gaze becoming curious. “I must pick the best shots. You see the man there?” Victor pointed to Christophe folding the cream shorts into a bag.

“The one stealing your clothes?”

“Oh, he is not stealing. I give them to him for his work. It’s how you say… chestnyy obmen.” Yuri nodded sagely. “I’m so glad you understand,” Victor cooed, causing Yuri to puff his chest in pride. “As a young man of learning,” Victor watched Yuri fair swell to bursting with the words, “I am sure you will be able to help us choose, da?”

Yuri looked over his shoulder, then at Victor before tossing his gaze at the clothes and models, the props being accounted for and the tall man with the camera scrolling through the images in the tiny screen. For a moment Victor thinks he won’t agree, and he can’t blame him really. He barely knows the boy, but he’d like to know him - and his father - better. Yuri takes the hand offered, his own skin a few shades warmer than the winter blue of Victor’s. Squaring his shoulders, the small child stomped towards the gear, lips in a dangerous pout as he tried his very best to look as serious as possible.

CHA 8 “No. The other one!” Yuri insisted.

“Bien. Pourquoi?”

“Poutqui…” Yuri winced, then tried again. “Purquoi… Blin!” Slamming his fists into his thighs, Yuri huffed until his cheeks puffed out as he pressed his lips into nonresistance. Christophe chuckled.

“It’s okay Yuri. Sometimes the words, they come with effort. Sometimes they come with ease. It’s all a matter of when, not if, oui?”

Lips slowly reappearing, the little blond flared his nostrils, then huffed before standing straight, arms crossed and looking like he was trying hard to not care. “The other one is better because the flair covers the eye.”

Christophe leaned into his camera, then looked at the monitor. “Yes, but it haillos the hair.”

“Is this a fashion shot or a fantasy shoot?! The happy must show! People do not spend franks on glow. They spend it on pretend.”

“Yuri!” Trent called as he exited a nearby building. “There you are.” Christophe watched the man move closer. There was a je ne sais quoi to the man, but there was also an air of danger. Quickly he snapped a picture.

Yuri’s arms dropped to his side, then moved behind his back, one hand locking around the other wrist. His feet moved into position, expression falling from his face. Christophe snapped a picture. “Trent!” Victor cooed. “Oh, ma faute! Monsieur Dale,” blue eyes sparkled mischievously.

Trent paused, seeing the smiling visage of Victor pop up in front of him. “Oh. Hello again. I’m just here for Yuri.”

“Yuri? Ah yes, he’s been so good. Helping out!”  Victor turned to beam at the boy.

“Is he now?”

“Oui! He is helping with," Victor's lips bent, eyes sparkling as he voiced his thoughts about the clothes, noting how they mirrored those he had about the man, "je ne sais quoi. He’s a natural eye.”

Trent rose a brow. “That’s good to know.” His blue eyes sparked as he looked at the surroundings. “The shoot is done now?”

“Ah. Yes. Just something for we were working on.”

“Terribly sad that we couldn’t show sooner. Perhaps we could have helped.”

Victor felt something in him stur. “Yeah?” his smile growing. “That would have been nice. Ah!” a forlorn sigh escaped him, “but this was not for children’s wear.”

“No? How tragic. We could have spent more time together.”

Victor decided right then and there his next collection would have clothes for mini-peoples. “Well, if you’re offering to model clothes for us,” he said with a cheeky flair.

“Moi? Oh, non. Here.” From an inside pocket Trent slipped Victor a glossy business card. “This is Yuri’s agency. We must make sure he gets credit for his work. Builds his portfolio.” Seeing the Russian’s face fall, Trent lifted the corners of his lips. “I’ll make sure you get first choice,” he winked, holding his arm out. Yuri slipped off the stool, moving to the man’s side with a blank face. “After all, it would be a shame not to see you again.” Blue eyes locked together as his teeth flashed. Victor could feel himself sway as they turned away, heading for the nearby car.

They got into the car. It started. It pulled into traffic. They were gone. “Bold, isn’t he?” Christophe said softly into his ear. Victor’s lips twitched as he fought off several less-than-public comments about just how bold he wanted Trent to be. He stopped when he caught the twinkle in Christophe’s green eyes. Turning from the road, they got back to work.

~

The prints were prepared, printed, cataloged and portfolioed. Victor kissed Christophe’s cheeks in delight before they settled down to the very serious business of getting to classes on time, navigating the halls and buildings, and dealing with the difficult discoveries of which cafe` had the best - re: most palatable - caffeine. It seemed even France was not immune to the terrifying phenomenon that seemed to engulf all college campuses. A ‘good’ place for food that catered, one bar worth going too, and precisely no freedom from immense gossip as new students found themselves dealing with the wide-eyed confusion of first time freedom as the second years and up trugged from place to place with more espresso than blood in their veins. And yet, somehow, Victor wore it well.

Christophe was almost jealous. There was a vague aloofness that overcame his Russian friend, causing a chilling frost to cling to him as soon as his instant hanger-ons were out of his orbit. But it never touched Christophe. This, he mused, was the difference between admiratrice and amie.

Then it was ten-thirty and off they went. Victor to Couture craftsmanship (very exciting),while the Sweed took himself to composition & basic editing techniques. They met for a rushed twenty minute lunch before launching themselves across the quads to  Fashion Drawing by Hand, which Victor hated to admit he found a bit intimidating despite his years of practice. Christoph had practicals and applications that took him off to the field to get shots for his Digital and Modern Applications class. By the time Victor dragged himself from the edges of Introduction to Accessories Design at nine-thirty he could admit the twelve hours he spent in classes were not tough. They were brutal. He’d been able to keep up by dent of blinking twice. His head was spinning as Christophe tucked him into the couch with a cup of steaming vegetable soup.

“It gets easier,” he cooed in mock sympathy. Victor’s gaze was shell shocked.

“It was so much French.”

“This is France,” Christophe said, curling his feet under him before sipping on his own cup.

“It was so fast. I was sure I had a good grasp, but it was so fast!”

“Ah, mon ami. Most things are.”

cha 1&2, cha 3&4, cha 5&6 Bonus Picture for those who were patient: the boys on their first day at PCA.

[blissfullyabsurd]

reading yuri on ice fanfiction in 2023 is the definition of unbothered fulfilment

[they-lived]

AND THERES A SECOND ONE!!!!!

Prompt 24 - Collapsed Building

I triggered Yuri and hopped on my soapbox again. Another addition to my adoption universe.

[unsupervised-bullshit]

This past week my little adhd brain decided to fixate on book binding

So naturally I bound one of my favorite victuuri fics- Falling (Victor’s Story) by proantagonist on ao3

I did this purely for personal use just because I love this fic and Winter Song (same author) so so much.

I made a tiktok on the process if you’re interested in that

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRG5aUER/

It took me a few days and I finished it at 2am lmao but

Here are the results!

I’m very happy with it, I can’t wait to do more

(also proantagonist if you see this thank you for literally changing my life I love you)

[ruby0403]

社交ダンスの元選手だった方がパソドブレらしさが出てる！と褒めてくださった作品。

[midnightwriteson]

It's been a while...

It's been a while since I've been on Tumblr, but I wanted an easy platform to update interact with my readers and I'm familiar with Tumblr though it's been a while. Figured I start new. Currently working on stories on AO3, and updating as I go. Planning on putting some previews up here, talk about some new projects I've got going on. I do have some Yuri On Ice Fics that have been on long hiatuses and I do plan on updating them as I go along, but right now my current fandoms are based on Chinese Danmei. I've got three active stories in the MDZS fandom and one in development from the TGCF fandom. Feel free to leave me a comment and share. I enjoy interacting with my readers and I do take constructive criticism. I am not a perfect writer, but I'm doing this for fun and to develop my craft. My current update schedule is Bi-Weekly. I'll be updating again tomorrow (September 15th).

Active Stories (All MDZS/Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation) Like My Soul is On Fire - Chapter 12 Bless Myself - Chapter 9 Bad Habits - Chapter 2

Side Piece I'm Currently Working On: One Moonlit Night - Chapter 6 (Yuri On Ice - Underwater seafolk AU) Summary can be found on AO3

Future Projects I'm Working On (Preview): - You're Trying to Save Me (MDZS - Sequel to Like My Soul is On Fire) Takes Place in my Universe but after the thirteen year time skip. Not gonna give too many details here to spoil the first part, but some more twists and turns from the main story line and dealing with the repercussions and trauma from the first half - Wake Me Up Inside (TGCF - Modern Day, After Original Timeline) To save Xie Lian, Hua Cheng has made a decision to seal himself away in the Ghost Realm. Within the modern era, where cultivation isn't as popular, a new threat is coming for Xie Lian and the consequences will shape the future of both the Heaven and the Mortal Realm

The Ballad of Butterflies and Blessings/The Dance of Sabers and Arrows. (TGCF - A/B/O AU) Takes place after Hua Cheng returns to Xie Lian at the end of the novel. First part will be Hua Cheng and Xie Lian finally getting together. Second story will be Feng Xin An Mu Qing

If your excited for any of the upcoming stories, please let me know. I can't wait to see what you all think! What projects are you currently reading of mine? Which ones do you want to see next?

[aust-een]

I’m actually screaming and kicking my feet right now, I’ve been waiting so long for more Benny and it did not disappoint, lord have mercy on my soul.

But Daddy I Love Him

Label Mature 18+

Summary You are a well mannered socialite with a life carefully planned. Until you meet a reckless biker with a devil-may-care charm.

Drawn to his freedom and fire, you abandon the rules that once defined you, leaving behind a gilded life for one that finally feels real.

-Based on the Lyrics But Daddy I love him

💝Romantic Smut 💝 Secret romance • opposites attract• socially unaccepted• private affair• running away from home• lover to boyfriend• sweet talk •praising •body worship • P in V • multiple orgasms •creampies 🔗 Masterlist

But Daddy I Love Him

The New Year’s Eve gala is in full swing. Chandeliers hang from the large elaborate white tent spread across the sprawling lawn of an elegant estate, the lights glimmering above a sea of glittering gowns and tailored tuxedos on the dance floor

The clinking of champagne glasses blends seamlessly with the soft hum of the live orchestra. It’s like a scene straight out of a movie—one you’re desperately trying to escape.

You’re tired of the rules, the polite smiles, and the suffocating weight of “perfection.”

You’re fleeing to the only one who gives you solace—the only one who makes you feel alive.

Ducking back into the mansion through a side door, you move quickly and quietly, the lavish decor of the halls passing in a blur.

The sound of laughter and music fades behind you as you make your way toward the servants exit, the place you told him to meet when you called earlier, desperate to break out of this gilded cage.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you approach the door feeling the anticipation and the thrill. You know you shouldn’t be doing this. If your parents caught wind of who you were sneaking off to see, the fallout would be explosive. But that only makes you more determined.

As you push open the heavy wooden door, the night air greets you once more, crisp and biting against your bare shoulders. And then you see him-

Benny Cross

He leans casually against his motorcycle, his leather jacket catching the moonlight. His sandy brown hair is tousled perfectly, his piercing blue eyes gleaming with mischief as he watches you approach. A slow grin spreads across his face, the cigarette dangling from his lips long forgotten, crushed under his boot as his attention locks entirely on you.

“You look real fancy in that dress,” he says, his voice low and teasing. “Doesn’t look like it belongs on someone sneaking out the back.”

You grin as you saunter toward him. “And that bike doesn’t look like it belongs at a New Years Eve Gala,” you quip, slipping your arms around his neck.

“Guess we’re both out of place, huh?” he teases, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you closer.

Without another word, you kiss him, pouring all your frustration, your rebellion, and your longing into it. His lips are warm and soft, his hands gripping you like he never wants to let go.

You know your parents would lose their minds if they knew, but right now, you couldn’t care less. Benny is your secret, your escape, your freedom.

“Take me,” you whisper in his ear between kisses. “Take me to my parents’ estate. No one’s home—they’re too busy with their little party.”

His eyes darken with desire, and without a word, he shrugs off his leather jacket, draping it over your shoulders, the warm, worn leather carrying his familiar scent. He swings over his bike smoothly and pulls you up behind him without hesitation.

The roar of the engine echoes through the quiet night as he speeds through the residential streets, the cold wind whipping through your hair. You cling to him, your heart racing—not just from the speed, but from the thrill of being with him.

Your estate is eerily quiet when you arrive, the grand house dark as you lead Benny upstairs. When you reach your bedroom, you barely get the door shut before he’s on you.

His hands are rough pulling his leather from your body and sliding up your back to the zipper of your dress. “This thing’s way too fancy for you,” he teases, his voice low and gravelly against your neck.

With one fluid motion, he pulls the zipper down, his fingers brushing your bare skin as he lets the fabric fall.

Without wasting a second, his hands find the clasp of your bra, and with a practiced flick, he unhooks it, letting it fall to the floor.

He slips his fingers into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down swiftly, leaving you bare before him.

Stepping back, he takes his time, his eyes raking over you like a man starved. His expression hungry and raw. “Standing there, looking like that… you’re gonna ruin me, sweetheart.” He says his tone longing.

His hands go to the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one quick motion, revealing the hard planes of his chest and the tight ridges of his abs.

Then, his fingers work at the button of his jeans, the rough material sliding down his hips with ease before hitting the floor with a dull thud. Your eyes trail downward, catching on the sight of him—hard and heavy, the impressive size of his cock making you bite your lip.

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes linger, a proud grin tugging at his lips.

You reach for him, desperate to feel him against you and pull him down into a kiss, your lips crashing together in a fiery collision of need and longing.

His hands find your waist, gripping firmly as he walks you backward toward the bed, lowering you down with enough force to make you gasp against his lips.

He settles on top of you, his weight pressing you into the plush mattress, his broad shoulders framing you as he pushes your thighs apart beneath him, claiming the space between them as his own.

His lips are rough and unrelenting as they trail down to your neck. His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling just enough to make you gasp, and he takes full advantage of the sound, pressing his mouth to the sensitive hollow of your throat as he flicks his tongue.

His hands explore you, leaving no inch of skin untouched. The calluses on his fingers drag over your soft curves, teasing and torturing until you’re panting and writhing beneath him.

“Benny,” you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, needing more.

“Patience sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice filled with promise. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He grips your hips, his strength overpowering as he pulls you closer, positioning you exactly where he wants you. His hand slides between your thighs, his rough fingers testing and teasing you as they glide through your slickness. A low hum of satisfaction escapes his throat, the feeling of how wet you are driving him wild.

“I can feel how much you need me,” he breathes, his voice thick with desire. “I’ll give you everything, sweetheart. Every last bit of me.”

His fingers slip away, leaving you aching for him and before you can catch your breath, he lines himself up, his eyes locked on yours, filled with a promise only he can satisfy.

He pushes the thick unyielding length of his cock into you, stretching you wide, filling you in a way that steals your breath.

His size is overwhelming—the heat of it, the weight of it—and as he sinks in deeper, your head falls back, a moan spilling from your lips as his name escapes in a broken cry.

His low groan follows rough and guttural, vibrating against your chest as his body presses firmly against yours, leaving no space between you.

You clutch at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he pauses for the briefest moment, letting you adjust to the sheer size of him.

“I know what you need,” he promises , his breath warm against your skin and he rolls his hips forward with a force that sends you arching against him, each powerful thrust driving you into a haze of pleasure as the world around you dissolves.

Your broken cries fill the room, each one more desperate than the last as his muscles flex beneath your touch determined to claim every part of you.

His hands grip your hips, holding you firmly in place as he pushes deeper, his pace relentless, every stroke of his cock sending shockwaves through your body, leaving you spiraling, completely lost in the raw, consuming heat of him.

You moan loudly, your nails digging into his back as the tension in your body builds to an unbearable peak. He leans down, his lips finding yours again in a messy, desperate kiss as his pace quickens.

Your breaths grow frantic, your heart pounding as your walls tighten around his cock pulling him deeper with every thrust.

“Benny!” you moan, his name spilling from your lips in broken cries as your orgasm crashes over you.

He groans in response finding his own release with one final thrust. He buries his cock deep, holding still as he comes, his cock filling you with warmth as he breathes heavily against your neck.

For a moment, neither of you move as the pleasure subsides, leaving only the sound of your ragged breaths and the feel of his steady heartbeat against your chest.

His hands slide up your sides, his touch tender as he strokes your skin, his fingers tracing soothing patterns. “I’ve never felt this way before,” he reveals, his lips pressing a soft lingering kiss on your shoulder then on curve of your neck.

“Me neither,” you whisper, your voice soft and steady, your fingers trailing along his back as you both linger in the moment.

The way he touches you, the way he takes you—is nothing like the polite, practiced ways of the young men your parents have chosen for you. 

Benny is raw, he’s real, and he’s entirely yours.

Right before midnight, you return to the New Year’s Eve gala together on his bike, just as the first fireworks begin to explode across the sky.

The colorful lights cast you both in vibrant reds, blues, and golds as he helps you climb off his bike, your gaze drawn upward, mesmerized by the bursts of light painting the night sky.

His wraps his arms around your shoulders, holding your back to his chest as you both watch the fireworks in silence. It’s a perfect moment, fleeting but beautiful. You turn to look back at him, and he’s already watching you, his eyes filled with something you can’t quite name but feel entirely the same.

“Happy New Year Benny,” you say softly.

He pulls you closer, his arms tightening around you as his lips brush your ear. “Happy New Year,” he whispers, his voice low and full of longing.

Before you can say anything more, he turns you fully and captures your lips in a deeply passionate kiss filled with everything words could never convey.

Above you, the fireworks burst across the sky in a riot of colors, but all you can feel is him and the way he holds you, the way he kisses you, and it’s as if time has stopped in a moment where nothing else matters.

As the kiss ends, his hands cradle your face, his thumbs gently brushing your cheeks. “Next year,” he says his eyes searching yours with a mix of determination and longing “let’s make it so we don’t have to sneak around to be together.”

You softly smile, your heart full despite the knowledge that the morning will bring new challenges. Still, you meet his gaze with quiet resolve. “I’d like that Benny,” you whisper back.

As the fireworks fade, you know this is the beginning of something neither of you can, or wants to, walk away from.

As weeks turn into months, you privately become Benny’s girl. You learn about his world—his biker crew, their late-night rides, and a freedom you’d only dreamed of.

He, in turn, is fascinated by your wit, your intelligence, and the quiet fire he sees growing behind your polished exterior whenever you’re with him. It’s a fire he knows only he can stoke, and it makes him fall for you even harder.

But the secrecy begins to weigh on you both. Your parents start to notice your frequent absences and your growing disinterest in their meticulously laid out plans for your future. Their questions start to surface, sharp and invasive, pressing against the fragile haven you and Benny have created.

Benny encourages you to tell them the truth but you always hesitate.

As Benny picks you up late in the evening, he leans against his bike, watching with an amused grin as you carefully climb down the lattice outside your window.

The pale moonlight highlights your outfit a simple leather jacket borrowed from him, thrown over a fitted black tank top and denim skirt, your feet in new leather boots for the escape. It’s a far cry from the polished dresses and heels your parents expect, but it’s undeniably you.

You cross the lawn to him quickly, your heart racing with both adrenaline and anticipation.

“We can’t keep sneaking around forever,” he says his voice low as you approach, “We’re not doing anything wrong. You deserve to live your life.” He confirms.

You roll your eyes as you throw your leg over the bike. “And what, Benny? You think my parents will suddenly roll out the welcome mat for the guy who picks me up in the dead of night on his motorcycle?” you retort, settling behind him and wrapping your arms around his waist. “Let’s be real—they’d lose their minds.”

He glances over his shoulder at you, his expression serious before you see the teasing curve of his lips. “Doesn’t mean we’re wrong,” he grins before revving the engine.

The clubhouse is quiet, the others long gone for a weekend rally leaving the space eerily still. Benny pulls his bike into the lot, parking near the entrance as you climb off, brushing your hair back from your face.

Inside, the air smells like leather, smoke, and the faint tang of whiskey—a stark contrast to the world you’ve left behind for the night at your father’s weekend tennis matches with all his influential friends.

Benny leans against the pool table, arms crossed over his chest, watching you with his piercing blue eyes in a way that makes your pulse race.

His arms look even bigger with his muscle tee revealing the taut, hard defined muscles of his biceps. The tension between you is unusually heavy, the air charged with unspoken words until he finally breaks the silence.

“How long are we gonna do this?” he asks, his voice tinged with frustration. “Sneaking around like I’m some dirty secret?”

You take a step closer, realizing how much he’s been hurting, and your gaze drops, unable to meet his eyes. “You don’t understand,” you plead softly. “They’ll try to destroy us, Benny. They’ll say you’re not good enough, that you’re a bad influence—“

Benny cuts you off. “And what do you say?”

The question hangs in the air, the weight of it pressing down on you and as you lift your eyes to meet his the raw emotion in your gaze says everything. “I say I love you, Benny,” you whisper.

For a moment, Benny’s eyes soften, brimming with everything he’s been holding back. Then he closes the distance in an instant, his hands finding your waist as his lips crash into yours, his kiss hungry and unrelenting as if he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment.

You clutch at his shoulders, your fingers tangling in his hair as the world around you dissolves. He lifts you effortlessly, setting you down on the edge of the pool table. His rough hands slide down your thighs, hitching up the hem of your skirt as he steps between your legs, his body pressing hard against yours.

“I love you so much ,” he whispers against your lips, his voice trembling with need. “You drive me absolutely insane.”

He tilts your head back, giving him full access to your neck as he trails kisses down your skin, his stubble leaving a delicious burn in its wake. Your breaths come in quick, shallow pants, the air charged with everything you’ve both been holding back.

He unbuttons and unzips his jeans, then his hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him, his rough fingers slipping between your thighs and pulling your panties aside.

He hitches your leg around his waist, his hands gripping your thighs firmly as he thrusts into you hard, taking you right there on the edge of the pool table.

His movements are rough, relentless, each powerful stroke sending a jolt of pleasure through you as you wrap your arms around his neck, holding on tightly as he drives into you with raw, consuming desperation.

The sound of your gasps and his low grunts fill the air, mingling with the slick, wet sounds of his hips thrusting between yours, driving into you hard and fast on the pool table.

“You’re all I want ” he whispers against your neck, his voice strained and raw with emotion .”You’re everything I need” he says breathlessly, his lips trailing rough kisses along your jaw as his thrusts renders you senseless. The way he snaps his hips pushes you to the brink, your cries echoing off the walls as he takes you apart piece by piece.

The rhythm of your bodies moving together becomes frantic, urgent, as if this is all that matters. His hands hold you in place, his fingers digging into your hips as his body claims yours on the table with unrelenting force.

The intensity of him—his strength, his touch, his heat—sends you spiraling into a place where nothing else exists. Nothing else matters—only him, only this.

As you orgasm, your body trembles, your walls clenching tightly around his cock, drawing a deep, guttural groan from him as his movements falter.

With a final thrust, he buries himself deep, his warmth spilling into you in surges, then his hands tighten on your hips as he pulls back entirely, the sensation sending a shudder through you both.

The room grows quiet again, the only sounds your heavy breathing and the faint noise of the city outside filtering through the walls.

He pulls you into his arms, holding you close to rest your head on his shoulder. He presses a soft kiss to your temple as he strokes your hair back, his voice gentle but serious. “We have to tell them baby.” He confesses. “I don’t want to hide like this forever.”

You lift your head to look at him, your fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw. “I’m scared,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” he says firmly, his blue eyes locking onto yours with unwavering resolve. “You don’t have to go back. You could stay with me.”

Your heart aches at his words, the sincerity in his tone making it even harder as you look at him. “I wish I could,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “But they’d come looking for me. I need them to believe I’m still playing by their rules—for now.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he leans down and kisses you again, slow and lingering, to remind you that he’s yours, that this is real, and you feel it—the certainty that no matter what Benny is where you belong.

Benny drives up the familiar path to your estate, the low rumble of his motorcycle softening as he slows to a stop near the driveway fountain. As you climb off the back, you turn to him with a soft smile, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to his lips.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips, your fingers brushing his cheek.

“I love you too,” he says in return, his voice low and steady. His hand lingers on your waist, reluctant to let go. “Good night.” He whispers.

“Good night,” you reply softly, your heart full as you step back.

You dart toward the lattice outside your bedroom window, moving quickly to sneak back inside unnoticed.

But just as you climb the first rung, the front door flies open, spilling golden light across the lawn.

Your heart freezes as your father storms out, his voice thunderous. “You stay away from her!” he roars, pointing a finger directly at Benny.

Behind him, your mother and his influential friends with their wives file out, their presence an intentional show of force.

The women clutch their pearl necklaces and cross pendants, one muttering loud enough for you to hear, “What a mess,” her disdain cutting through the tension.

Benny, who had been idling the motorcycle shifts his weight slightly, planting one boot on the ground as he watches the group come toward him taunting and scorning.

His hand tightens on the handlebar as his piercing blue eyes flick to you, to see if you’re okay, but he doesn’t budge, ready to face whatever comes next.

You glance back at the lattice, your mind racing, but instead of climbing up, you drop to the ground, running toward Benny as the lump in your throat swells almost unbearably. “But Daddy, I love him!” you scream, your voice cutting through the night.

Gasps travel through the group. Your mother’s hand flies to her chest, and your father’s face twists with fury. You know what they’re thinking—this isn’t how their polished, perfect daughter is supposed to behave.

The disdain on their faces, the whispers of the scandal-hungry wives—it all fuels your next move. With the entire crowd watching, you look your father dead in the eyes and yell, “I’m having his baby!”

A stunned silence follows. Your father’s face goes pale, his mouth opening and closing like he’s searching for words that won’t come

The tension is suffocating, but you don’t give anyone time to react. You climb onto the back of Benny’s motorcycle, holding him tightly, your heart pounding as he shifts into gear, the engine roaring to life.

He glances back at you as you ride off, his voice low and urgent. “Are you really pregnant?” he asks.

“No,” you admit quickly, your voice shaking. “But you should’ve seen their faces.”

A grin breaks across Benny’s face as he shakes his head impressed by your wit, and the roar of the engine drowns out everything else as you ride away, leaving the estate and your parents expectations in the dust.

For the next month, you and Benny lay low in the clubhouse. The two of you live upstairs in a loft, savoring the freedom of being together without judgment. The loft is small and rough around the edges, but it feels like a haven —your sanctuary.

Days blur into nights filled with moments of joy, laughter, and quiet intimacy. Benny wakes you with slow kisses along your neck, his lips soft and lingering, pulling you into his arms as sunlight filters through the worn curtains. The warmth of his touch and the way he says your name to wake you feels like a dream.

Morning are spent laying with him in bed, his hands exploring you lazily, tracing soft patterns on your skin as if he has all the time in the world. He teases you with gentle kisses, and mischievously grins when he pulls you closer, whispering how much he loves having you with him.

Afternoons are carefree. He teaches you how to shoot pool downstairs in the clubhouse, laughing when you miss your shot and teasing you mercilessly. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he says with a grin, leaning in to steal a kiss as you try to focus.

Often, the two of you take his bike out for long rides, the wind whipping through your hair as you hold him tightly, feeling the freedom of the open road.

Evenings are spent wrapped in each other’s arms after a dash to the diner, your bodies entwined in the bed of the quiet loft. Most nights are passionate, Benny’s touch both tender and possessive, as he makes love to you with an intensity that leaves you senseless, his kisses stealing your breath as he whispers how much he loves you.

“You’re all I need,” he says at times when the moment is just right, the weight of his words flowing from deep within his heart.

He says it when he watches you laugh, carefree and unguarded, in a way you never could before him. He says it when he sees you curled up in his oversized white shirt, a little piece of his world wrapped around you.

He says it when you make him feel like he’s worth something more than the rough edges of his life. You see past the chaos, and the rebellion, and you love him.

As you bask in your new life with Benny, you still can’t ignore the ache that lingers at the edges of your heart. As much as you’ve rebelled against them, you do miss your parents at times.

Then one morning, everything changes.

You’re in bed with Benny, tangled together in the soft light of dawn, when the shrill ring of the phone downstairs at the club’s bar breaks the stillness. Benny groans, burying his face into the crook of your neck as if trying to block it out.

But a moment later, there’s a knock at the loft door. Benny sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and pulls on a pair of jeans, his movements slow, before cracking the door open.

“Your girl’s mom is on the line,” one of the guys says, his voice casual but laced with curiosity. “Guess they figured it all out.”

The words jolt you awake. Quickly, you pull a robe over the shirt Benny gave you to wear to bed, your heart pounding as you follow him downstairs to the bar. The phone sits on the counter, the receiver waiting for you. You hesitate for a moment, nerves swirling, before picking it up.

“Hello?”

Your mother’s voice comes through the line, soft and hesitant but full of emotion. “Your father wants to see you,” she says. “We miss you so much, sweetheart. Please come home —please just come home, we need to speak with you urgently.”

You glance at Benny, his steady gaze on you, offering silent support. You nod, and he returns it, understanding without a word— if you have to go he’s coming with you.

Later that day, you and Benny stand in the grand living room of your parents’ estate, the tension heavy as your father sits across from you.

His demeanor is far from the fiery man who yelled on the lawn that night. He looks tired, even defeated as he finishes his speech “We’ll hold a wedding,” he says, his hands folded tightly in front of him. “You shouldn’t have to live this way—especially if there is a baby coming. We will do what is right.”

You almost laugh at the misunderstanding, but before you can speak, Benny rests his hand on your lower back. “With or without a baby,” he says firmly, his voice steady and unwavering, “I want to marry her.”

You look over at Benny, your eyes meeting his, and in that moment, the depth of his love and devotion leaves you speechless.

Your father stares at Benny for a long moment, his eyes narrowing as if weighing every word. Finally he exhales heavily as he nods, silently agreeing to anything to keep you in his life.

Three months later, the sun shines brightly over the estate as you dance in your wedding dress, the layers of white tulle catching the light. Benny’s hands are on your waist, his grin as wide as you’ve ever seen it.

Around you, the guests smile warmly, not just your parents’ influential friends, but Benny’s biker family as well. The unlikely mix of guests creates a vibrant, joyful atmosphere that you never thought possible.

Even your father, once disapproving, watches with a small smile as you and Benny share your first dance.

Your mother watches, her eyes never dry as she dabs back her tears with a handkerchief, unable to hide her emotions as she watches you and Benny make your way through the crowd, hand in hand, husband and wife.

The gossipers and scandal-lovers—the ones who sneered and whispered at your rebellion—are nowhere to be seen; requested off the guest list entirely.

When the sun dips lower in the sky, you take Benny’s hands, feeling the weight of everything you’ve overcome together. You’re his lady now, his wife, and as you glance at your parents, they smile, their expressions warm and accepting of your choice.

As you turn back to Benny, your heart swells with love as you look into his eyes, knowing you made the right one.

Overcome with emotion you lean in and kiss each other, pouring everything you feel into the moment. His hands tighten around your waist, steady and sure, as your arms wrap around his neck, embracing each in the love you fought so hard to hold onto—finally living life the way you deserve.

END 🏍️

🔗 Masterlist

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[olderthannetfic]

Opinion on the comments in some of the the @ao3topshipsbracket polls: a wildly popular ship is not the same as one that had an actual impact on fandom history. Most popular ships have little to no impact outside their own fandom. Which isn’t to say that ships can’t have impact on their own fandom history, just that they don’t have much impact on general fandom history as a whole.

I understand that the polls aren’t actually measuring fandom history but this got me thinking about what has actually and I think these are the ones:

Spirk - origin of slash fandom shipping and laid the groundwork for fandom/shipping in general

MSR - responsible for the term ‘shipping’ and was the driving force behind the beginning of fandom/shipping on the internet and the creation of fanfiction.net

BTVS - (unfortunately) gave rise to the idea of being ‘anti’ something and ship wars

Harry Potter - most affected fandom on livejournal by the censorship which led to the creation of ao3

Thoughts? I couldn’t think of another fandom/ship that has huge impacts outside of their own fandom.

--

Strikethrough made people more eager for AO3, but the original inspiration was a for-profit fic archive made by venture capitalists.

The X-Files' big archive was Gossamer. Was MSR really influential in the creation of FFN? I don't remember that.

What ships have a big impact really depends on era and how you're looking at things. K/S and MSR are the obvious ones from long after the fact, yes.

Starsky/Hutch was what really split Media Fandom from literary SF fandom. Star Trek started the split, but it was people getting into a buddy cop show that made it clear that fanfic zine types weren't just about science fiction anymore, not even "mass media" SF in place of book SF.

Bodie/Doyle was the moment people stopped being media fans and started being Slash Fandom specifically. The US fandom had barely even seen the show: they were there for the slash zines.

Jim/Blair fandom gave us sentinel/guide AUs. The Sentinel as a canon sure as fuck didn't.

Ranma fandom set the pattern for every dumb "which girl will he end up with?" fight in anime fandom forever after.

IDK if we can blame 1x2 as opposed to Gundam Wing fandom for inspiring people to many other incomprehensible math equation ships in every anime fandom with dumb number names.

Popslash popped a bunch of prudes' RPF cherries, then LOTRiPS did, then J2 did, then hockey did, then BTS did.

Free! and then Yuri on Ice started the long slide from anime fandoms mostly refusing to leave FFN to newer anime fandoms being on AO3. YOI also lured a lot of people into anime for the first time.

Wangxian got a bunch of "Ewww, no anime ever! Western fandoms 5eva!" people into Asian fandoms at long last. (Whether this was a good thing is a matter of opinion. Hahaha.)

--

I really think it depends on frame of reference.

[capsensislagamoprh]

CHA 3

“When you said I could come along, I didn’t know I would be carrying your gear and moving lights,” Victor groused.

“How else was I supposed to get you in,” Christophe grinned. “It’s not like anyone can just wander on and off the set.”

“Outdoor setting is a location, not a set,” Victor mumbled, trying to be right about something. His morning had been pretty basic. Rise. Skin care, hair care. Two hours - one for each. Beauty is upkeep! Dressing, forty five minutes. One must accessorize properly! His look doesn't just create itself! Then breakfast of a decadent croissant from the most delightful bakery by the apartment, washed down with a vanilla latte`. Christoph washed his pastry down with rooibos, sturing in a touch of honey to sweeten it up. They then got into the Miata and drove. Today’s shoot was for children’s clothes, taking advantage of the whimsical nature of Paris’ many highlights. Wrot iron, the Eiffel Tower, Lurve, streets made of old stone, and niche locations. All within a few blocks of each other whenever possible. 

It was an interesting side of the fashion world. Most were concerned with avant garde, couture, or stage costumes for high end productions. Victor wanted to see his designs out there, making people feel beautiful, special, even on the worst days. He wanted someone to reach into their wardrobe, pull out that one special piece and know the feel of it on their body would get them through the roughest day because they knew they were not only comfortable, but fashionable. There was just something about how the touch of cashmere or the pull of silk could change the way one thinks. But first he had to pay his dues.

Christophe had some of the best assistants twitching lighting, fixing props, lining up markers. Paris itself seemed to adjust to him. Crowds dissipated, birds flew at artful angels, and the sun kissed just the right part of every model. Victor was amazed by the way he managed to walk casually through any scene, clicking his camera until the city noises were overwritten by the sound of another moment being captured in time. They looked over the shots between changes of clothes and models, keeping the children busy so as to avoid boredom and antsy guardians.

The street-wear line was fun, playful, full of youthful vigor. When they changed over to the more elegant, formal designs, the models did too. Dark haired girls with luminous eyes, boys with elegant cuts mocking adult slide backs, slick at the sides and tapered to look upscale. Accessories changed to watches that were less Swatch and more metallic. Some seemed to be casually dressed as tinny ideals, while others were fantastical. Few stood out, being nervous or a little too full of themselves.

Christophe watched the world through his lens, waiting to strike. Victor saw a few potential stars starting to shine, caught in the flair of his lens, but only one seemed to carry that shimmering quality that would take them from childhood through the cruelty of puberty and into adulthood with all their beauty intact. A fairy-like boy, very young and very serious. When asked to turn, he turned. When asked to be whimsical, he stood tall, arms stretched to the sky before doing a jeté with ease. He leaned against a lamp post, the billowing sleeves of his cooler colored shirt, polka dotted with puffs of thread a sheer overlay for the thin undershirt pressed into his thin frame, white shorts cut in an arch at the thigh, white tights tucked into ballet flats. His golden hair picked up the echoes of sunset as he looked towards the Tower. Victor could almost see the fairy wings that were not there. Christophe must have seen it too. He took more pictures of the boy in his many outfits than the others. He just pulled them off better, seeming to look at home in anything they threw at him. The casual play line clothes earlier were tried on him. As he darted about the darkening streets, arms thrown behind him in a playful run, eyes to the sky, his smile just a little melancholic, Victor felt what Christophe saw. Ethereal took a lot of work, but when you came across it naturally, you worked with it until it could do no more.

The boy wore what was asked, changed as many times as needed. He went through hair style after hair style, make-up touches, and did not complain when he received little to no break for four hours of grueling activity. But those smiles. Those melancholic smiles. No filter in the world could make that smile true.

As they were wrapping up for the day, Christoph looked over the stills, picking and choosing with rapid efficiency. As he stretched his aching back, he turned to see how the clean up was going. The boy was crouched down, hand low, a street cat slowly approaching. Quickly he snapped some candids. These would be great for his school portfolio. He didn’t even need a release, as anything he took while working was free game, and since the boy was still wearing the hair and make up style from the last shoot, he figured that counted.

Soon, the boy was picked up. Christophe turned back to the dailies, while Victor stared for a moment. “I could get used to living here,” he sighed as the man in the ass hugging jeans took the boy's hand, leading him to a silver Lexus. Popping his head up, Christophe smiled.

“Ah, Paris! De tels trésors abondent dans la ville de l'amour.”

“I don’t know about l’amour, but definitely… how to say, strast'?” Victor tapped his temple a few times. “Passion!”

“There’s passion and there’s lasciveté. What you have, mon ami, is a need to release.”

Victor raised a brow, his lips twitching into a smile. “You can’t blame me for looking.”

“Can’t I?” Christophe purred.

“Heartless tease.”

_______

CHA 4

They sat together looking over stills, images caressed by just the right amount of light and ones born of miserable reflections captured in lens flares and ill timed background elements. “You could adjust them,” Victor offered quietly.

Christophe looked scandalized. “I will do no such thing. When making some elements it is fine, the amount of adjustment these images will need? Non. When creating art it is never a good idea to bring dishonesty to your piece. The human can tell, even if they don’t know what the lie is.”

Leaning against the wall in the antechamber between his bedroom and the bath, he sighed. “It’s not that hard, right? You have the skill, da?”

“I have the skill, but correcting these is … It’s like seeing a blurry, pixelated Monet and asking a toddler to make it better. You can’t replicate that look of melancholy, the way the sun caught his hair, the way the clothes seemed to float around him. I’m telling you, Vita, that kid is magic. There’s something about him.” Christophe threw himself backwards in his chair, sending both it and him sliding back a few feet. “Something special, and I almost captured it.”

“Comrad, you have so many other images of him. Look, in this one he’s even smiling.”

“It’s plastic, Vita. Can’t you see it? Here.” Christophe pulled himself back towards the computer. “Look at how there is no light in his eyes. Too many teeth, shoulders are tense.”

“You see all that?” Victor looked again, trying to find the signs the photographer noted. To him the child looked happy, well dressed and fed, other children surrounding him just as pleasant and cheerful. He saw children playing a game with chalked out squares and a rock. It seemed like the kind of thing all advertisers ached for. An air of youthful relevance combined with age old money. It practically commanded people to buy what was shown without being too obvious about it. At least not until the company plastered their brand on the page with a massive scrawl across the pleasant scene.

“I do. I see a lot of things through the lens. A lot of very secret things.”

“Voyeur.”

Christophe smiled. “Have you considered using those exceptional skills at flattery on that man with the tight ass?”

Victor blinked, his blue eyes vacant as he tried to recall who Christophe was talking about. When he remembered his cheeks turned pink, his eyes sparkling. “If he shows up again, I just might.”

“Flirt.”

Victor gasped. “You? Call me a flirt?” He grinned. “Flatterer.”

A deep chuckle mingled with the light, airy sounds of laughter as they felt tension leave them with the faint breath of gentle comradery. Finally, Christophe turned from the computer, having saved the files, ready to take them in the next day for approval and printing. “So,” he smiled, deep burr fairly purring the word, “What plans do you have for the evening?”

“Dinner, I suppose. I should work on that desk, and I need to get some more boxes unpacked…” Victor sighed. “I need to put together my start of semester portfolio.”

“Victor! You should already have that completed,” Christophe chided.

“I did, but then I moved, and I didn’t want things ruined, so I …” A vague gesture to the many tubes and flat pack boxes with reinforced edges stacked in various piles gave depth to the weight of the problem. “Now I have to find everything again.”

“Oh, min vän. You start sorting this,” Christophe stood, wiggling his fingers at the daunting task, “and I’ll order something. We can make a night of it.”

Victor’s shoulders dropped as his knees bent back. “Must we?”

“Min kärlek, vi måste. There is no time like last week. Today will have to do.” Slipping through the door to the bathroom, disappearing through another, the tall blond was off, leaving Victor to stare down the many packages wanting his attention.

By the time Christophe returned with lobster bisque, fresh salad, and the crispiest chunks of crackling bread Victor had the privilege to break diet for, he was more than ready for the wine that accompanied it. He’d found several of his more necessary sketches wrinkled by box shift during the move. A few of his fabrics were naked, ripped, or had holes that made it very clear what postal thought of the extra money he’d paid to have them expressed and marked ‘KHRUPKIY’. All those rubbles down the proverbial drain.

“Oh, Victor. These photos. Did you mean for them to be so…” Christophe tried not to wrinkle his nose, he really did. Victor looked over sharply.

“Oh! Oh no! Net! Net, no, no, net, no!” Victor slipped between English and Russian in his frustration. The whole album was sticky, as if someone had spilt a sugar drink, carelessly pushing the package along without a care. His hands found his hairline, tugging great tufts of silver pale locks.  His whole fashion line from his previous collections was represented in those photos. Photos he would need for his classes, for reference, for the memories. “Christophe! Chris, comrade! Can they be saved?”

The Swedish man winced as he tried to unstick a few pages. Looking at the box of supplies they’d found earlier, Christophe rummaged until he found the pressure blade he’d spied earlier. Carefully he cut the picture free of its sheath, only for it to make a puckering, Velcro sound that caused every fiber of his being to shiver in distaste. Catching the pale cheeked face of his friend, his blue eyes so wide with the edge of desperation and hope, Christophe braced himself. Turning the photo to the light, the damage was clear. Colors peeled off, micro tears deformed some of the image. It was coated in what smelled like cola, which was clearly eating into the integrity of the paper. Victor’s throat dropped to his thighs, hands slack at his side. “What am I going to do?”

These photos were useless now. He’d not been able to get the originals, only prints. The photographer he’d worked with had refused to give up his claim, wanting exorbitant amounts of money Victor simply didn’t have. Someone’s carelessness cost him over a fourth of his portfolio.

“Do you still have the clothes?” Christophe asked, looking at the many unpacked boxes.

“I … yes, most of them. Some were sold to pay for my travel.”

“Bien. Here is what we’re going to do…”

cha 1&2

[moonstonerain]

I somewhat recovered from the devastating news of YoI Ice Ado cancellation, so to celebrate Yuri on Ice brings me joy day (which should be everyday) I'm writing down my headcanons.

The pets in the YoI universe have the general lifespan of their humans. Pets tend to die days before or after their owners died. Unless they have an accident, or a sickness (poor Vicchan). So essentially Makkachin is in fact immortal.

The YoI universe is kinder: there is no homophobia. I understand that sometimes exploring topics like these in fiction is important, but personally I think there is enough of that in the real world. So I want to believe in at least one universe where people are kinder. Viktor and Yuuri can get married anywhere in the world and it would be recognized. Nobody is bothered by the two being men.

Yuuri Katsuki is not a Viktor Nikiforov fan. He is THE Viktor Nikiforov fan. I'm talking fan accounts where he's protecting Viktor. The posters in his room are just the tip of the iceberg. He has hand fans, body pillows, limited edition bottle of water where Viktor did some promotion. One time he ordered a limited edition, signed poster from a "fan". (The person was thinking of ripping him of. And then he got an email. The only text read: his name, his address, his age, his social security number. Man was so scared he payed triple for ice show tickets, just to get the signed poster. Incidentally he also got invested in ice skating and found Yuuri Katsuki, Japan's ace. He's been a fan ever since.) After Viktor cut his long hair, Yuuri mourned for a few days and then layed waste on everyone on the internet who dared to complain about Viktor's decision.

All of Yuuri's fans, as well as all of Japan knows that Yuuri Katsuki is THE Viktor Nikiforov fan. Journalists that are usually ignored by Yuuri know that they only need to mention Viktor before Yuuri goes on a 30 minute tangent about his newest programs, his music, his outfits, that obscure program he did only once six years ago. If the journalist is brave, and willing to risk life and limb, they'll even add some sort of critiscism "Viktor's landing was a bit wobbly" Yuuri Avoider of Anything that Risks Conflict Katsuki: "First of all how dare you." 40 minutes later "I'm done! I'm done! ... And another thing!"

Yeah Yuri Plisetsky admires Viktor Nikiforov. He's ugh Viktor. But Yuri is a fan of one skater and one skater only and that is Yuuri Katsuki. I'm talking posters, hand fans, body pillows, limited edition sports drink Yuuri did some promotion for. He came to Hasetsu with one luggage, left with three filled to the brim with Katsuki merch. And a giant poster from the train station. When Viktor discovers Yuri's collection he is incredibly jealous.

Phicit, Yuuri, Leo, Guang-Hong Ji, Otabek, Emil, Michele, J.J., and Seung Gil have a group chat for gossip. While the group chat is used pretty frequently Seung Gil will only wildly appear once every blue moon, leave a devastating one liner and dissapear once again. Once Viktor goes to coach Yuuri the group has front rows to live updates: "omg Viktor just showed up buck naked at my parents' onsen" "ok so he asked if I want him to be my boyfriend. do you think this is code for something?" "He sure likes to be very touchy with me. very touchy. hmm silly europeans" "he just wants us to be close friends" the despair the others are feeling. after the live kiss, seung gil: "just friends huh. never lie to my face again bitch"

minami and yuri have beef. minami has a limited edition photo card that he brought with him to the juniors. yuri has another limited edition card that he also brought to juniros. they saw each others limited edition cards, argued which was superior, both incredibly jealous of the other. loathed each other since then.

yuuri was the first to give Viktor his blue roses crown. One time when Viktor was assigned to NHK Trophy Yuuri busted his entire allowance and some odd jobs to buy him the crown, to an exhorbitant price because roses are expensive, blue roses even more so, and a flower crown?! Yuuri was standing near the rink when Viktor saw him holding the crown. Viktor's heart melted, and he let Yuuri put the crown on him. ever since then Viktor was associated with blue roses. Years later a skating fan uncovered an old photo of yuuri putting the crown on viktor and posted it online. the skating world collectively lost their minds. at their wedding they each put a flower crown on top of each others heads.

[stargazer-sims]

Victor & Yuri appreciation post ♥

My beautiful boys have aged well, and in my opinion this is the best they've ever looked. I will never not appreciate these two. Writing their "journey of discovery" story took me over two years, and I'm glad I saw it through, because these characters deserve it.

They were characters of mine long before I ever made sim avatars for them, but I've had fun with them as their sim avatars as well. A lot of the CC i've made over the years and a handful of builds have all been for them. Whenever I want to quit The Sims, I always come back to playing with these two, and whenever I'm discouraged with the writing process, I look at what I've done with these characters.

A lot of people ask if Yuri and Victor are that Yuri and Victor (from YOI). The answer is no; they are not fan fiction characters. If you're curious, Victor and Yuri's origin story is here.

__________

A little about Victor & Yuri...

Victor Thomas Edward Okamoto-Nelson birthday: 2 December gender: male pronouns: he/him occupation: paediatric nurse spouse: Yuri Okamoto-Nelson child: Caroline Lily May Okamoto-Nelson (adopted)

random facts about Victor

Victor is a former competitive snowboarder. He retired from competition to attend nursing school. He's still obsessed with snowboarding though.

When he was six, his father Thomas and baby sister Caroline were killed by an impaired driver driving through a crosswalk

He is terrified of thunderstorms and has been ever since he was a child

He has a hereditary genetic abnormality which caused his hair to turn prematurely silver. His hair was completely silver by the time he was thirteen, and by eighteen, his eyebrows, eyelashes, body hair and facial hair were also completely silver.

He always thought he had a mild learning disability, but it turned out that he actually had a correctable eye condition that made reading difficult for him

He and Yuri met online, on a forum for snowboarding enthusiasts. They had a long distance relationship for three years, during which time Victor threw himself into learning to speak Japanese in preparation for going to join Yuri in Japan.

He loves dogs and has a gift for dog training

His pain tolerance is very low and he doesn't do well with being sick. Yuri teases him about it, but would move the earth to take care of him and make sure he's as comfortable as possible whenever he's sick or hurt.

He cries easily, which is one of the things he likes least about himself

His favourite colour is red

Yuri Okamoto-Nelson birthday: 20 September gender: male pronouns: he/him occupation: communications professional spouse: Victor Okamoto-Nelson child: Caroline Lily May Okamoto-Nelson (adopted)

random facts

Yuri was born prematurely, at thirty weeks. Initially, he wasn't expected to survive the first forty-eight hours of his life, but he defied all the odds and survived. He loves his birthdays and always wants to make a big deal of them because he sees them as a celebration of another year of being alive rather than just being another year older.

He has a lot of health issues, but despite being chronically ill, he's determined to live the best life possible. He's physically active when he feels well, and loves snowboarding, yoga, swimming and dancing.

He's the oldest of three children. He's closest with his youngest sister Shirayuki and is estranged from his other younger sister Hana

He owns his own business, BRAVE Communications, which is a PR and communications firm. He runs it alongside his friend and business partner, James Fairchild, who is also disabled

Yuri is a survivor of intimate partner violence, from his one and only relationship before meeting Victor

He once made 1,000 paper cranes, and wished for happiness. Shortly thereafter, he and Victor met online.

He loves animals, but was never allowed to have a pet growing up. He was overjoyed when Victor agreed that he could adopt a dog, and he adopted a rescued Pomeranian whom he named Sango. Over the years since then, he's had a lot of pets

He likes to write, and has published three children's books so far, along with his friend Fox Abbottsford, who did the illustrations.

His favourite food is strawberries. He will eat just about anything that's strawberry-flavoured, but for him, nothing is better than fresh strawberries.

His favouite colous are yellow and pink

__________

*** Their married surname is Okamoto-Nelson. Victor's original surname was Nelson and Yuri's was Okamoto, but they couldn't decide who should take who's name when they got married, so they decided to combine them.

[they-lived]

It is not - in fact - still Saturday BUT I did get around to posting my new addition to my adoption universe!!!

Featuring a few familiar faces and few fuck ups; all a part of growing up! 🇺🇦💕

[googiesita]

ok if i made a sasamiya socmed au on twitter nd tumblr would anyone be interested on that... like

ideas:

miyano being a yuri on ice fan and victuuri biggest fan, he's into angsty bls though, he knows yoi iss not actually a bl but he just wishes he could have a relationship like that lol

miya having both a tumblr and twitter account... where he talks about bl ofc

SASAKI MAKING A LOVE ACCOUNT for miyano.. he's the secret admirer who writes poetry and writings for miya,, only for miya to quote his tweets with fictional male couples.. lmfao

other than that i have none gimme a plot or ideasss

[ruby0403]

The background of my illustration of YOI is permission from a photographer living in St. Petersburg, Russia, and permission to use his work as a reference material. Interior and dance are also used for materials with the permission of professionals in that direction. I am able to draw the illustrations I want to draw in a very privileged environment. It is a very happy thing.

[pre-reform-voice]

A plea for imperfection

Warning: Random rambling ahead.

A friend of mine is beta reading my YoI fan fiction and in the second part (Love Aims At One Scope) she got really mad at Viktor. She's only seen the anime once, and when he makes a rather nasty, off-hand statement to an OC who is trying to make him feel better, she couldn't see it.

But here's the deal, Viktor isn't as clean as he seems. He is the epitome of a person who has no filter.

In the real world, a lot of people who say that about themselves use it as an excuse to be cruel. They put others down intentionally and enjoy it, and when that person has the audacity to tell them they're hurt, they claim they were only joking or gaslight the person in some other way.

Mind you, that is NOT how I see Viktor.

He's a great guy, he cares, he's affectionate, he can be incredibly kind and understanding - and sometimes he talks before he thinks through what effect his words will have. And that sentence in my fic - as bad as it is - I think is completely in character. I really contemplated changing that, or at least have him say something that isn't THAT bad, but it's something I can see. That sentence will stay.

I love Viktor. He's a wonderful human being. But he's also an incredibly flawed deuteragonist who hides his shortcomings behind his charms so well it works in the real world, apparently, not just within the universe.

My friend has since decided she has to watch it again for several reasons, and she'll keep a lookout for this. Currently, she has Viktor as much on a pedestal as Yuuri did, it seems. But for me his less-than-wonderful traits are what make writing him so amazing. It makes him feel real to me, and relatable, and even if I sometimes want to whack him with a wet towel (the original version in the anime and my own), I still think he's a walking green flag. Most of the time. When he actually uses his brain.