#beka is clumsy

[hispeculiartreasure]

BROKE MY TOE AGAIN

[ewansumfuk]

I’m a sucker for angst so can I request one where have a crush on obi wan and held your feelings for him despite him having a lover or two;; and then you accidentally confess to him after you both have a argument or smth like that? (You can give a happy ending! Obi deserves nothing but happiness) thank you babe!!

Angst is so critically important, anon. I’m glad we understand one another.

(PS I don’t care if that’s not how the Force works, it does in my story)

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Attached

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It wasn’t unusual to find Obi-Wan Kenobi in your apartment after a debriefing from his latest mission. You weren’t quite sure exactly when it started—maybe when he learned his old apprentice was getting one of his own, or when he came back from that one to Cato Nemoidia and he was too embarrassed to visit the temple medics. Whenever it had started, it had come on both sneakily and naturally, until it was entirely unsurprising to find him rubbing at a bandage somewhere on his body and rummaging in your cabinet for tea.

“You couldn’t have waited until I got back?” you asked teasingly as you set your bag down on the couch. He didn’t startle, because he’d obviously heard you come in, and you hip checked him out of the way with a grin. “Sit down, I’ll get the kettle on.”

It took a lot of effort to keep yourself from sounding strained, or your eyes from showing the burning curiosity inside as he settled at your kitchen table. Though you’d never admit it to him, you loved coming home to see him waiting for you. You loved seeing him dozing on your couch or standing by your stove. You loved it when his hair was still damp from borrowing your shower. It meant that you were the first person he thought of when the debriefing was over. You were the first thing on his mind, and it made your heart flutter like a trapped butterfly, even if you knew it wasn’t meant in the way you wanted it.

“What happened this time that you absolutely couldn’t wait to see me?” You turned to give him a cheeky smile, but only for a moment. You didn’t want him to get too close of a look at your expression after all. “I would’ve thought you’d be paying a visit to—oh, what’s her name—Bettana? Besma?”

You knew very well who you were asking about. Bekakalis was a ‘contact’ of his here in the city. While he’d never said it in so many words you knew, just from the delicate way he spoke about her, that they were engaged in some kind of...activity. He’d never call it a relationship—he was a Jedi, after all—but it still burned you to know how close she got. How close all of the women he knew, here and off-planet, were to something you so desperately wanted.

“Beka is busy with politics heating up on her home planet,” Obi-Wan said, with just the slightest note of disapproval in his tone. You were lucky you were facing away from him so he didn’t see you wincing. “And besides, I wanted to see you.”

You fumbled the box of tea bags as you got them down from the cabinet, hit in an unexpected way by that response, and it took a couple tries to catch it as it bounced out of your hands.

“Is something the matter?”

He was standing up and starting to come around to look at you and you flashed him a brief smile. “I’m fine, just clumsy. You know how I am.” You handed him a mug with a tea bag inside and moved over to the chillbox. “Are you taking milk? Sugar? I’ve got some of that fancy creamer—”

You cut yourself off when you felt his hand on your shoulder, turning you around to face him again, and your face immediately started to burn when you saw that serious expression on his.

“What’s going on? Why won’t you look at me?” he asked, looking more disturbed by it than you would have expected. “You’ve barely even glanced at me since you walked in the door and saw me here.”

Because if I look at you, you’ll see how I feel, you thought, but didn’t dare put into actual words. You couldn’t look him in the eye for a moment, but he called your name with an exasperated tone and you looked up. “I’m fine, really. It’s nothing to do with you. Just—been having a rough go lately.” You shrugged a shoulder up and down, as if to imply it wasn’t a big deal.

Though it burned you in that secret, ugly little place in your heart that he had all these people who could fill his needs, the last thing you wanted was for him to find out about that jealousy. Your friendship was carefully crafted, a card castle of massive proportions that was sure to come crumbling down the moment he realized how horribly far gone you were. You weren’t even sure what had started your friendship in the first place—he was a general, a Jedi, and you were...no one important.

“No one important...?” he said softly, looking a bit stricken. Your eyes widened when you realized what he’d skimmed off the top of your thoughts. “Who in their right mind said that to you?”

You gaped at him, scandalized despite the fact that you knew he probably couldn’t help it, and your face was redder than ever. You couldn’t believe he’d caught you in the middle of such a thought.. “Nobody! And you can get right out of here if you can’t keep out of my head! What the hell is wrong with you!”

In a whirl, you turned on your heel to stalk out of the kitchen but Obi-Wan caught your arm before you could get very far and wrenched you back around to look at him, looking incredulous and a bit angry. “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me is that the only insight I can get into one of my closest friends’ heads is accidental! What’s wrong with me is that you won’t talk to me anymore! I came here tonight to see you, because I missed you, because I wanted to talk to my friend! Not to be ignored and rushed out the door!”

“Well maybe I wouldn’t be rushing you out if you would mind your business!” you shot back, bristling up in spite of the fact that you knew he was right. “I don’t owe you any explanations, especially for something I didn’t even say out loud! We might be friends, but that doesn’t mean I have to tell you everything!”

You struggled to get your arm free, but Obi-Wan still had it in a firm grasp. He wasn’t hurting you, but he wasn’t letting go.

“Even though I tell you everything?” he countered.

That ugly little hole in your heart made you sneer. “Well maybe I don’t want to hear everything, did you ever think about that?”

He was shocked enough by that retort that his grip on your arm loosened and you wrenched yourself away from him, closing your arms over your chest in a protective stance.

“Maybe I don’t want to hear about Beka and her home planet and how you spent three nights together after the last time you saw me and she was so very gracious when you had to leave,” you found yourself spitting out, eyes prickly, and your face tingling and hot. “Maybe I don’t want to hear about that girl you know on Naboo who used to double for Senator Amidala. Maybe I don’t want to hear about what happens when you go out to the next system over for a mission.”

The anger on Obi-Wan’s face was starting to clear, replaced by confusion and then a slow dawning of understanding. You were too caught up in your rant to care, and you clutched at your hair as you kept going.

“Maybe—maybe I don’t want to know what you get up to when you’re avoiding attachments, Obi-Wan! Maybe I’ve gotten myself attached to you and I don’t particularly like knowing that you’re out there not-attaching-but-definitely-engaging with other people!”

He was drawing closer now and you were unconsciously backing away as you continued, red-faced and shiny-eyed and feeling like your throat was going to close up. It wasn’t until your back was against the wall of your apartment that you realized what was happening and you took in a shuddering breath.

“How do you Jedi even live without attachments, anyway?” you asked, voice hoarse and a bit sullen. A tear streaked down your face when you blinked, and you were surprised when you felt his hand reaching up to wipe it away.

The look on his face was much calmer now, and kinder. His blue-green eyes were shining out of his face, and he had the most serene smile on, like he’d finally figured out the solution to a problem that had been bothering him for a while.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” he said softly, and he leaned down into your space. “We don’t.”

Before you could ask him what that was supposed to mean, he’d leaned down to press his lips to yours in a firm kiss. You let out a little shocked sound, and for a moment your first instinct was to push him back and ask for answers. But his lips were soft, and warm, and his beard tickled against your face and that—yeah, that was his tongue. You let out another sound, softer and a little more aching, and leaned into the kiss, closing your eyes.

“I’m attached to you, too,” he murmured against your lips, and you laughed a bit as you reached up for his collar to pull him closer.

[bekadmfb]

That I haven't broken my little toe for just this reason is a miracle.

[67midnightwriter]

Wait For Me

A/N: Hi. It’s been awhile. To say life has been crazy would be an insane understatement, but here we are. I set aside my writing for the better part of a year in order to focus on the important things, like staying alive, and getting put on the appropriate meds, and a general sense of betterment for myself, and for that I will not apologize. It’s a new year, however, with new goals, and one of those is to write more. I’m not promising it will happen as much as I want, but I am promising you that i’ll try. All of that being said, let’s move forth with this, shall we?

I started this with in intention of it being a quick little one-shot, and it turned into a medium sized one shot. My bad, kiddos. It was started in the beginning of October with the intention of being posted before Halloween, and yet here we are in January of an entirely different decade, and I just finished this an hour ago. Whoops again.

Basically, @impala-dreamer gets on these rants where she asks me to kill her, and this was bore from one of those moments. It fits nicely in the new season without spoilers, so never fear. I hope you enjoy, and as always, please reblog and feel free to flood my inbox with your rants, opinions, validations, and screaming, even if you hate it. Criticism is the best way to learn.

W/C: 2166

Angst, Death

Dean x Beka, Cas x Logan

It was a simple salt and burn, a run of the mill ghost hunt they had done time and time again, an errand to stretch their legs after weeks of research in the bunker.

“Halloween is next week.” Logan’s voice called out through the still night, drowning out the squelch of their boots on the damp ground.

“Yeah, so? You’re a little old for trick or treating.” Beka shone her flashlight over the gravestones, searching in vain for one name amongst thousands. They’d already been at it for a few hours, and the damp air was beginning to make her hands ache.

“Does that make this a festive family outing?”

Beka stopped and shone her flashlight on her friend’s face, simply to be greeted by the signature Cheshire cat grin she had expected to find. “You’re insane.”

“After everything we’ve been through, that’s the line of insanity?” Logan’s laugh rang out across the graveyard, pulling an unwilling smile to Beka’s lips.

“Come on, let’s get this over with. I’m freezing and I want a greasy cheeseburger. With bacon. And mushrooms.”

Static filled the air as Beka turned, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end as the ghost they were hunting flickered into view before her, a large butcher knife glinting in the moonlight from its hand. She tried to swing the iron bar in her hand, but found herself frozen as the spirit closed in. She heard her name from her right, and from the edges of her vision she saw Logan launching herself from the top of a gravestone, a groan falling from her lips as her ankle buckled on the slick granite, lurching her towards the ghost. Her aim rang true, and the ghost disappeared as her fireplace poker slashed through its chest. She slammed shoulder first into a headstone as she fell, and Beka winced as Logan sat up on her knees, her back to Beka.

“You okay?”

“Can you get Cas for me?” Logan’s voice caused Beka’s heart to pound hard in her chest; it was soft, small and quiet, the voice she only used when she was terrified, stumbling into Beka’s room after a night terror. “I think I need his help.”

Beka caught her by the shoulders as she crumbled, rolling her onto her back. Her eyes were drawn to the deep red oozing from Logan’s chest, quickly soaking her shirt, spilling out from a jagged gash. She went into field dressing mode, pushing the edges of the already opened flannel out of her way and pushing Logan’s t-shirt up under her chin. She glanced over her shoulder and screamed for Cas, a sense of relief falling over her as he made his way out of a nearby crypt and began sprinting toward them.

The relief dissipated when she turned her attention back to Logan.

At first glance the wound seemed mostly superficial, but upon further inspection she noticed that she could see the edge of something, just below her ribcage, that seemed to be pulsating and oozing. Her face paled as she realized she was watching the bottom of her best friend’s heart beat. She screamed for Cas again as her hands began to shake, fear freezing in her veins and panic electrifying her skin. She pressed down on the wound, biting her lip at the squelch, wincing as the blood oozed hot and think between her fingers.

“H-how bad?” Logan’s voice was trembling, her face paling, her hands beginning to shake.

“It’s fine. You’re going to be okay. Just a scratch. Superficial.” Beka risked a glance back over her shoulder, adrenaline speeding her heart as Cas seemed impossibly far away.

“Promise?”

“Yeah kid, I promise. Maybe you could even talk Cas into leaving you a nice scar, it’ll be a great campfire story later.”

Beka tried not to think about the slowing heart beneath her palms, or how she could see her breath as she exhaled, or how the hair on the back of her neck was beginning to stand on end as the static once again gathered in the air. She risked a glance up, and saw the target spirit sprinting toward them, butcher knife raised.

She adjusted her position on the ground, putting herself between the ghost and her ailing friend, careful to maintain the pressure of her hands. She lifted her head to gaze at the spirit, rage flaring in her eyes; if she was going to die, she would meet death head on, the same way she faced the world.

Cas erupted onto the scene as a flash of beige in Beka’s peripheral vision, swinging a tire iron flaked with rust the way Beka imagined Babe Ruth swung a baseball bat. The ghost dissipated with an enraged howl, leaving Cas to turn towards the mutilation beneath her hands. Always in garrison leader mode, he was in action, his hands replacing hers and his gruff voice barking orders before Beka could fully process his presence.

“Salt circle. Now.”

Beka looked down, a shock induced sluggishness leaving her body with a physical jolt as she stared at a container of salt Castiel had placed in her hands without her even noticing. Her hands shook, both with intention and without, as she began forming a clumsy circle around the pair, allowing the soothing tones of Cas’s voice to lull her into a false sense of security.

“How bad?” Logan’s voice was now barely more than a gurgled whisper, and Beka knew that the ever paling face with bright blood stained lips would haunt her nightmares for years to come, even if they all made it out.

“Your artery has been severed from your heart.” There were many things Cas was, but tactful was not generally one of them.

“Superficial huh?”

Logan tried to scoff, and the wet coughing that replaced the attempt stole Beka’s attention away from the task at hand. She didn’t trust her tightening throat to allow words through, so she lifted her shoulders in a shrug, attempting to keep the pity out of the sorrow-filled smile on her face. Her friend's eyes widened, and years of companionship gifted her the ability to immediately see the danger in her eyes. Beka spun, coming face to face with their menacing, knife wielding foe.

Beka tried to do three things at once; complete the salt circle, step away, and flick the iron bar in her grasp through the spirit, and failed all three. In her haste to step back, she slipped on the blood-slickened grass, which caused her to lose her balance and fall backwards, thus skewing her salt circle line and rendering the circle incomplete. She threw her hands out in a vain attempt to catch herself, tossing her critical piece of iron off to twang against a distant headstone.

The spirit bore down on her, knife raised as though it was death’s scythe, eyes locking with hers. He opened his mouth and released a bone chilling cackle, but before he could deliver the finishing blow the cackle turned into a scream, and his translucent body went up in an orange burst of heatless flames.

Beka hadn’t even realized some of the blood dripping off the end of his knife had been hers until Castiel’s hand was wrapped around her throat, a rare desperate look blooming in his deep blue eyes.

“I think I got the son of a bitch!” Dean’s voice bellowed from a few rows away.

“Dean!”

The tone of Castiel’s cry brought Dean running. Beka’s train of thought began to feel loose, as though time was both speeding ahead without her, and standing still beside her. She wondered, momentarily, if she would even get to see his face again, as she felt the warm slickness of her blood pumping out from under Cas’s hand to join Logan’s on the grass beneath them.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit.” The word tumbled into the air like it was the only one Dean’s lips could form as he slid to his knees beside her.

“It’s okay Dean, I’m going to be okay.” Beka tried to calm him, but the sentence came out as a gargle. Hot copper replaced the cool flavor of mint in her mouth, and she fought the urge to cough, not wanting to know what her blood would look like splattered across Dean’s face.

She discovered regardless.

Dean’s hand replaced Castiel’s. Memories of the good times he had gripped her neck fought to take her away from the cold, damp night, but she resisted falling into them. She pretended not to see the tears filling Dean’s eyes as Castiel confessed he couldn’t heal them, his voice thickened by worry, sorrow and regret.

Beka forced as much spit and blood out of her mouth as she could without turning her head, blackness creeping all too quickly in on the edges of her vision. “Save her.” She murmured, as clear and loud as she could muster. “I’m ready.”

Dean bit his bottom lip, but was not quick enough to completely hide it’s quiver. He knew better than to argue, and nodded to acknowledge her choice. He bent to press his lips to hers, pouring every emotion he would never let pass his lips into their final kiss. Beka shut her eyes, content to just feel him for a moment, raising a hand to cup the sharp stubble on his cheeks, the bright blue of Castiel’s grace turning the darkness a deep red. She had accepted her death from the moment she had hit the ground, and was content to know that she had sacrificed herself to save the life of her dying friend, even if it wasn’t in the way she had imagined every time they stepped into the field.

Logan let out a gasp, pulling air into lungs that had been still too long with a ragged  wet sound. Beka opened her eyes as Dean pulled away, leaning into the touch of her palm. A cry left Cas, filled with exasperation, frustration, sorrow and defeat.

“I can’t. I’m so sorry, but I can’t. There’s nothing left. I only made it worse, I can’t-“

He broke off with another cry, and Beka tore her gaze from Dean in time to watch Logan lift her own trembling hand to Cas’s cheek, a knowing smile on her face as she tried to comfort the angel.

“Dean.” Beka could feel the cold creeping up her limbs as her tunnel of vision tightened, leaking out through the gaping wound in her neck. Green eyes found hers, searching her face for answers that would never be found. “I hated every stupid western.”

Dean barked a sharp, surprised laugh into the night, tears beginning to fall down his cheeks. Logan grasped for the hand that was still on the ground, and Beka squeezed back, both of their grips weak.

“Wait for me.” She rasped, her eyes searching Beka’s. Beka smiled, turned her eyes back to Dean’s, and let go.

A tear slid down Logan’s face as the hand in hers fell limp. She turned back to Castiel, quieting his murmured apologies with a single uttering of his name.

“Thank you for trying.” Her chest burned, but her limbs were icy, and her eyelids were beginning to feel impossibly heavy. “Thank you for being safe all these years.” She coughed, and Castiel winced. She reached up and guided his lips to hers, pressing a soft kiss to them. “I’ll find you in the next.”

Castiel held her as she slipped quietly out of consciousness, every rise of her chest, no doubt an echo of the stubbornness she had carried throughout life, broke pieces of him he hadn’t yet realized existed. Part of him bitterly wished she would just be still, and he hated himself for it, because his lack of grace and inability to fully heal her was the reason she was slowly suffering, the reason Beka’s dying wish couldn’t be fulfilled, the reason they were failing, the reason the wellbeing of the world was slipping out of their grasp.

Finally, as the damp air turned into a steady cold drizzle, Logan was still.

The pyres had been nothing but piles of cold ash for three days, but fire still raged in Dean’s eyes. The door slammed shut behind Castiel, and he flinched at its sound, though he could not find regret in his decision no matter how deep he searched. The sound of Dean’s shouts still rang in his ears, his soul still stinging with the lashing from Dean’s tongue. Nothing Dean said was foreign to Castiel, but his words still deepened the wounds of failure. He walked toward his truck with a gait leadened by guilt, wishing more than anything for his wings back so he could try and fly away from this place, so he could have one more last chance, so he could win where it mattered the most. Castiel pointed the nose of his truck toward the open road, sharing the cab with ghosts.

Tags:

@impala-dreamer @sculptorofbeginnings @adoptdontshoppets @supernatural-idjit-95 @team-free-will-you-idjits-67 @missjenniferb @tumbler-tidbits @maddiepants @crashdevlin @thoughtslikeaminefield

[icryyoumercy]

nimblermortal replied to your post “huh. i guess numair salmalin also counts for the ‘inexplicably...”

& have you got the Tricksters ones yet? Those were my favorite. (After Daine was, and before Kupo talked me round to Kel.)

uh. i read the immortals, and the alanna series, and the first two books of circle of magic. otherwise, i know nothing. i mean, maybe this weekend i’ll get started on the beka cooper books, and i’m looking forward to that, but sure, recommendations are always nice :)

nimblermortal replied to your post “huh. i guess numair salmalin also counts for the ‘inexplicably...”

Not going to argue, but where did Veralindhana come from?

it was her name in the old (and sometimes rather clumsy) german translation i read first, because for all their faults, the translator had realised that veralidaine would not sound remotely right to a german reader, especially not when parsed as german

[geekofmanyforms]

New Beginning

Chapter Seven

*This chapter has been edited by my Beta Casey. Please leave a review I am always up for hearing what you think. If you have finished the chapters I have uploaded on here and want more, then feel free to find me on Fanfiction.net, Ao3, or Wattpad to read more.*

I stepped out of the closet with the perfect dress in tow. It was a simple gown, but for me, that's what made it perfect. The eyelet lace halter top sparkled in the light as I did a twirl in front of the full-length mirror. I smiled as I admired my reflection; thankfully, the dress was ankle length, so I wouldn't have to worry about tripping on the stairs. I tended to be a bit of a klutz.

I decided on a loose side french braid for my hair, hoping to achieve a beautiful look with minimal effort. This seemed to be my typical philosophy because honestly, I didn't really have time to care or worry about what I looked like.

I patted a shimmery shadow overtop my eyelids, and swiped on some lip stain that matched the dark wine color of the dress. After sliding on my ballet flats, I gave myself one last once-over; I was passable, at least.

I rolled my eyes at the loud wolf whistle from behind me but had a difficult time hiding the smile creeping onto my face.

"Thank you, Beka. If you approve, then I obviously did something right," I said.

I gave her a grandiose twirl and nearly tripped over my own feet. Rebekah laughed merrily, clapping her hands to applaud my clumsy show.

"You better get outta here before you fall and break your neck — didn't you do that once?" she asked.

She bit her lip, trying to reel in her laughter at my expense. I sighed, shaking my head.

"Yes Beka, that was actually a death of mine. I fell down the stairs and broke my neck; the curse is a bitch."

I forced a chuckle at this, and Rebekah frowned. She had always been able to tell when I was faking humor to hide my sadness. She ushered me out the bedroom door before I could fall into a 'woe is me' depression.

As we were at the top of the stairs, Elena exited her room, phone in hand. I stopped dead in my tracks — she looked beautiful. Her knee-length orange dress complimented her brown hair marvelously. She'd chosen to wear her hair down, save a single strand on each side, and her sweetheart neckline highlighted her collarbones expertly. I tore my eyes from her gown; the expression she wore was making me nervous.

"What's up, Lena?" I asked.

Instead of answering my question, she bypassed me and bolted into Jeremy's room. I followed her and stood back, watching as she started hitting him.

"Ahh! God, what now?" he asked, covering his head with his hands.

Rebekah stood beside me, watching them in amusement. "You gonna do something?" she whispered, although only I could hear her. I shook my head, continuing to remain silent as my two siblings bickered.

"The pocket watch — Where is it?" Elena accused.

Jeremy looked at her incredulously. "What watch?"

Elena stepped back, her hands on her hips. "The one you stole from mom's box. Look, Mrs. Lockwood just called me freaking out. It was on the list, Jeremy, and she can't find it. She thinks she's the one who lost it."

I looked away from them for a moment, trying to remain impartial. It would do me no good to get involved, but it was hard not to. They could both be mad at me for not playing favorites if they wanted, but eventually, I wouldn't be here to play mediator. They needed to learn how to deal with one another without me.

Still, it was tough to remain neutral when Jeremy was the one who was supposed to inherit the pocket watch. Since it's technically his, he should've been the one to loan it out — and only if he wanted to.

Jeremy stared at Elena contemptuously and shrugged, "Maybe she did. Maybe Tyler took it,"

Elena looked at me as if I was supposed to jump in and yell at Jeremy for being childish, although she was acting just as annoying. I threw my hands out in front of me and shook my head.

"Not involved," I said.

Elena gave me her best 'so angry her eyes were bulging out' expression and turned back to our brother.

"Don't even play that card, Jeremy, you took it. If I go online, am I gonna find it on eBay? Is that how you pay for your pot?" she snarled.

At that, I stepped further into the room. Anger coursed through me — How dare she act so damned, holier than thou.

"Hey, Lena, that's not cool. You have no right to act this way — just 'cause Jer is handling mom and dad's death differently than you are, doesn't mean he would ever sell dad's watch." I said, jabbing my finger in her direction. "The one that was supposed to be his in the first place!"

They both looked at me in silence, shocked that I had said anything. It had been a very long time since I had gotten involved in direct family matters. After I took a few breaths, I nudged my head towards Jeremy.

"Where is it, Jer?" I asked softly.

He stood and walked over to his desk. Pulling out a drawer, he retrieved the watch and looked at Elena.

"Screw you. I would never sell this, okay? At least someone still understands me," he said, looking at me as he held the watch firmly in his hands.

I stepped away from Elena and put my hand on his shoulder. Elena sighed and looked anywhere but at us.

"Then why did you take it?" she asked.

I scoffed quietly. Of course, she didn't understand...

"Because it's supposed to be mine, just like Ellie said. Dad told me it goes to the firstborn son. His father gave it to him, and…now what?" he asked, handing the watch over to Elena.

I shook my head and walked back over to the door.

"...And he was gonna give it to you," Elena said, finally understanding.

Jeremy looked at me, and I nodded in support.

"Yeah," he said.

Elena looked down at the watch, frowning. "Look, Jeremy, it's still yours, okay? Mom promised Mrs. Lockwood. What do you want me to do?"

I bit my tongue trying to say out of it, but to no avail, I couldn't keep myself from calling Elena out on her bullshit. It was the classic Petrova 'only I matter' philosophy — they can't bring themselves to understand unless it matters to them or affects them directly. She was slowly proving to me how very much like her ancestors she was becoming.

"I don't know Elena, you could tell her to shove it. That the watch was never yours, nor moms, to give out. It was Jeremy's, and dads, and it's all he has left of him." I huffed.

Jeremy sent me a grateful smile and my rigid shoulders relaxed. He needed someone to understand him without judgment, and I could give him that — for now.

"Just take it and get out, Elena," he said, turning away from her.

Elena brushed past me with a harsh look in her eyes, directed at me, of course. I had chosen a side (something I really didn't want to do), and to her, it had been the wrong one.

Looking into the teary eyes of my brother, I knew I had chosen correctly. He was the one who needed me the most. He had no one, yes Jenna and Elena tried, but neither of them was willing to simply be there for him all while allowing him to make his own mistakes. They pushed and pushed, judging him for everything he did. I walked over and sat down beside him on the bed.

"This room is...musty. Maybe open a window," I joked, trying to lighten the mood.

He forced a chipped chuckle and leaned against my shoulder.

"Thanks for trying sis," he said.

I smiled at his tone of voice, it was soft and warm — something I usually didn't get from him. He was always blunt and sarcastic; I could often appreciate that — well, most of the time, at least. I was just as sarcastic as he was, but I did miss my brother. The one who used to sit beside me on the porch swing while I read, drawing pictures of our neighbors or random wildlife. He used to be so fun and care-free...then we lost our parents, and he fell into a dark pit.

One that even I couldn't get him out of.

He was drowning, and I just left him. I told myself it was to save him more heartache once I died, but in the end, it wasn't for him. It was for me.

I was pulling away from everyone to save myself. I wanted to hide away until my birthday. I knew now that I couldn't do that anymore. I had to be there for my family until I no longer could. I would save him. He was my brother — my responsibility. I had lost so many people already, and I was sick of it. Maybe Damon and Stefan were right. Perhaps I could fight this...

"I love you Jer, I'm sorry — I've been so out of it these last couple of years, but I'm here now," I whispered, "I'm back."

He pulled away from me, attempting to wipe the tears from his eyes without me noticing. I looked away so he could retain his 'manly dignity.' I bit my lip to keep from smiling and looked back when I knew he had composed himself.

"I'm glad. I've missed you. Aside from mom and dad, you were always the one I could depend on," he said.

I ruffled his hair, much to his displeasure, and then stood up.

"Well, I'm here — If you ever need anything, let me know. I'll get the watch back for you Jer, I promise."

I smoothed my gown as he smiled brightly. I made to exit, and he followed me out to the hallway.

"Hey, Ellie," he called to me once I reached the top of the stairs, "You look beautiful, by the way,"

I pulled my dress up and curtseyed for him with a laugh.

"Why thank you, good sir," I said, with my best southern belle impersonation.

He bowed to me and took my arm to help me down the stairs. By the time we had reached the last step, we were both laughing so hard we had tears in our eyes. It felt wonderful to laugh with him again.

Jenna was waiting for us at the bottom, a bright grin on her face. She appeared to be stifling back tears.

"You look lovely, Elara," she said.

The doorbell rang, giving me an excellent excuse to escape her teary gaze. As I headed to answer the door, I noticed Elena pull Jeremy to the side, a determined look on her face. I frowned until I saw dad's watch in her hands. I was pleasantly surprised that I didn't even have to guilt her into giving it back.

I opened the door to reveal a handsomely dressed Matt Donovan. He was smiling broadly as I ushered him inside. He gave me a quick once-over.

"Wow, Elara. You look amazing," he said breathily.

I moved my weight from one foot to the other, unsure of what to say. He was my sister's ex after all, and I didn't want to give him any reason to believe this was more than what it was. Matt was a great guy, but he wasn't for me.

"I'm almost ready Matty. I just need to grab my clutch and talk to Jeremy about something," I said, slowly backing away from him.

"Okay, I'll be here," he replied.

I headed back up the stairs and ignored the greyish spirit that was leaning against the wall, eyeing me suspiciously.

"So, who's that?" Rebekah asked as I reached for my clutch on my desk.

"He's just a friend — Elena's ex actually. He asked me if I would accompany him to the party. He is still not over Elena," I explained.

She gave me a tight-lipped frown and stared me down.

"What Beka? I promise there is nothing romantic between us," I turned to face her, narrowing my eyes. "I'm wondering, why would that bother you, though?"

Rebekah turned away with a dramatic huff. I crossed my arms and tapped my fingers against my elbow — something definitely was bothering her.

"What is it, Beks? After all this time, you should know I won't be angry with you. No matter what it is."

I reached out, and my hand hovered over her shoulder. She spun around her eyes, glassy with unshed tears.

"It's completely insane," She said, shaking her head, "It's just...when I saw you with him...it felt like you were betraying my brother. It's crazy, I know! I honestly don't even care if you do. It's just... your relationship with him gives me hope, and deep down I wish you two could work it out." she looked at her feet, then shrugged sheepishly, "Even though I know that is impossible..." she added, her voice cracking.

My heart sank further and further with every word she spoke. It was like hearing all my deepest and darkest thoughts expressed out loud. Should I tell her that I secretly wished for the same thing? That when I'm alone, and there is nothing left to distract me, my thoughts always find him?

"Rebekah, I understand. No man will ever possess my heart the way your brother does — not even Damon. You have nothing to fear, and even though we both know how insane the thought of a relationship between Nik and myself would be, I will never truly give up hope,"

I struggled but somehow managed to hold back my own tears. Rebekah gave me a half-hearted smile and ran her hands over her face with a small shake of her head.

"Okay, okay — enough of that! You have a party to get to, and I should check up on my brothers," she said, with a disgruntled sigh.

I ran my hands down my dress and checked my hair, smiling mirthfully "Okay, give them my love,"

"Yeah, I'll do just that," she laughed.

I gave her a quick nod and smiled at her lovingly. "See ya later Beks,"

I headed down the stairs and found Jeremy in the living room, talking to Matt with a stern look on his face. Oh no, what now?

"Hey, guys. Everything okay?" I asked, tilting my head at them.

Jeremy looked me up and down with a bright smile, his eyes crinkling. He looked so proud, and it made my heart lift and heal after the dark talk with Rebekah.

"Yeah, I was just making sure Matty here knows the rules. Ya know — different sister, different rules," Jeremy said, with a sly grin.

My mouth dropped open. I could feel my cheeks reddening. I opened and closed my mouth like a fish out of water. It wasn't often that I was speechless.

"And I was explaining to Jeremy that this wasn't a date. Just two friends." Matt said, speaking for me when he saw how flabbergasted I was. Always the gentlemen.

I closed my mouth and tried to control my blush as my brother watched me intently, his smile growing at my discomfort.

"He's right, Jer. This is strictly a 'friends' thing." I said, tartly.

Jeremy nodded at us both and slapped Matt, none too gently, on the shoulder.

"Okay, don't stay out too late sis," he said, grinning.

Matt took my arm and led me to the door. I turned partially to see Jeremy over my shoulder and gave him the finger, which only earned me a thumbs up and a loud laugh. When Matt tried to turn around, I pushed him forward and allowed him to open the passenger door of his truck for me.

I thanked him and watched Jeremy laughing at me from the living room window. I pulled my phone from my clutch and sent him a series of hateful texts, full of colorful language. I watched him receive them as Matt joined me in the car.

I grinned smugly as he quickly stepped away from the window, eyes wide. I leaned back in my seat as Matt pulled out of the driveway and down the street. I watched the scenery pass by with a genuine smile on my face.

The driveway of Lockwood Mansion was packed full of cars as we pulled up. I leaned forward and looked at all of the people piling out of their vehicles and heading inside. I could see Elena and Stefan heading through the door as a man approached the driver's side window. He told Matt to pull up closer to the house, so the Valet could park his truck for him.

"You ready for this?" I asked.

His face was slowly losing color — he wasn't much for this kind of thing, and I felt sorry for him. But he was under the Petrova spell and couldn't help but want to be around Elena.

"Yeah..." he quietly said.

I allowed the Valet to open my door, and I carefully hopped out. I looked up at the beautiful brick house adorned with white pillars and fought back the memories associated with the last time I had been here. Thankfully, Matt ignored my pink cheeks as he fixed his black suit. Gently taking my arm, he led me inside.

"Let's do this," he whispered to me as we passed through the massive front doors.

The entryway was packed full of guests and waiters alike. A tray of champagne was in front of us, and I reached towards it, pulling away two glasses. I handed one to Matt.

"Drink quickly before we come across Sheriff Forbes, "I joked.

I almost spit out the tart liquid when he started chugging his down. He really didn't want to be here.

I could see Elena and Stefan looking at a display a few feet in front of us and pushed Matt away from them and towards Caroline, who was picking at a plate of food she held. I took his empty glass and sat it on a passing tray.

"Here, talk to Care for a bit. I'm gonna find Elena,"

He tried to object, but I wanted to warn Elena that we were here so she could keep the PDA to a minimum. I didn't want Matt hurting any more than necessary. I pushed through the crowd and grabbed myself another drink. I sipped slowly when I came upon Elena and Stefan.

"Your parents?" Stefan asked her.

Elena shook her head a melancholic expression on her face.

"There's a lot of history here," she said, taking a glass of champagne from a server.

I stepped beside them and noticed our parents wedding set inside the display case. A wave of memories passed through my mind, and I placed my hand on Elena's shoulder. She jumped slightly, the gesture pulling her from her thoughts. Once she realized it was me, she put her head on my shoulder as we both lived within our memories for a moment.

After a few minutes, Elena headed to the next display, and I followed closely behind her with Stefan in tow.

"Hey, Elena. I wanted to let you know I came with Matt," I started, as she read the old Founders registry.

Her head snapped towards me for a moment, pure shock on her face.

"Oh...well..." she started before someone behind me caught her attention.

"So, the oldest Gilbert twin and Matty blue eyes. Ya know, I didn't peg you as the type to go after your sister's ex," the voice, one I recognized instantly, said from behind me.

I growled quietly and turned to face Damon Salvatore.

"Hello, Damon," I plainly said.

I tried to avoid his crystal gaze but couldn't help being drawn in. His eyes were clouded and expressionless. Something was bothering him.

"So, you and Matt?" he asked.

I rolled my eyes and repositioned myself to face my sister.

"It's not like that, Lena. He texted me and asked if I would join him as a friend. I wanted to let you know so you and Stefan could keep things G rated, for Matt's sake," I explained.

Her eyebrows raised, and she placed a hand on her hip.

"And since when do you care how Matt feels?" she asked.

I rubbed my forehead and tried to keep myself calm. My sister seriously knew how to push my buttons. I downed the rest of my champagne in one swift gulp.

"I've always liked Matt... Just be kind, okay?"

Damon took the glass from my hand when I tried to snag another. I grumbled at him and pushed past the small group to find Matt and Caroline. Once I was out of Damon's line of sight, I grabbed another glass and stood next to Caroline. She was talking to Matt about her mom. I listened in to their conversation until Caroline excused herself and made her way to Damon's side.

I followed her and was just in time to hear her ask Stefan to dance. She led him to the dance floor, and Damon used the opportunity to make his move. I had to admit, I was starting to become ready for Katherine's return.

Maybe after he realized Katherine was safe, and that she was never in the tomb, he would finally leave Elena alone. Hopefully, the big reveal will get the Petrova's out of his system.

I stepped to the side, just out of sight, to listen to their conversation.

"I want to apologize to you for being such a world-class jerk the other night when I tried to kiss you. There's no excuse. My therapist says I'm...acting out, trying to punish Stefan," he said.

When had Damon tried to kiss her? I felt anger stir in my stomach and tried to ignore it. I wasn't jealous, was I?

I rolled my eyes and continued to drink my champagne, it would be her own fault if she fell for his bullshit. I hoped she was smart enough to see through it.

"For what?" Elena asked him.

He inched closer to her without drawing attention to it.

"It's all in the past. I don't even want to bring it up. Let's just say that the men in the Salvatore family have been cursed with sibling rivalry. And it all started with the original Salvatore brothers," he told her a very fake, sad tone to his voice.

I turned my head to find Stefan and Caroline, who were both still dancing together. He was whispering something in her ear. I decided to leave Damon to his petty lies and save Stefan from an overly bubbly Caroline.

I set my glass down on the small silver table beside me and walked onto the dance floor. I swayed my way to them and stopped beside Caroline.

"Hey Chicka, mind if I cut in?" I said.

She looked past me to see Damon still preoccupied with Elena.

"Sure, Ellie," she said.

I switched places with her, and Stefan placed his hand on my hip. He allowed me to put one of my hands on his shoulder, and my other arm around his neck. A new song began to play, and I smiled at the choice. It was one of my favorites — Shut Up and Dance, by WALK THE MOON. We began to move as the first verse started. I looked past Stefan and watched Elena and Damon, who were still talking by the display cases.

"Thanks for rescuing me. I think Damon asked Caroline to pull me away so he could talk to Elena," Stefan said.

I gave him a coy smile. "I think your right. He was talking to Elena about the original Salvatore Brothers," I said.

Stefan's face fell for a moment before he controlled his reaction. "So that's his plan," he said flatly.

We continued to move across the dance floor, both of us dancing as if it were as natural as breathing. To us, it actually was — we'd had centuries of practice.

"You shouldn't have to worry about Caroline much. I made sure she had a nice supply of vervain," I said, as I twirled about. "Although, before I dosed her, he compelled her to have no fear, so that's something we'll have to deal with,"

We danced past Matt, and I sent him an apologetic wave. I didn't want him to feel like I abandoned him for the same person Elena had.

"Well, at least there's that. Isn't there something you can do for her? Using magic, I mean?" he asked.

I frowned and shook my head. "Yeah, but it isn't an option. It's excruciating and could potentially kill her. I'm thinking I wean her off the vervain long enough for him to fix it. Under supervision, of course," I added, quickly.

We started to slow our precession across the floor long enough for Stefan to dip me. I laughed merrily and saw Damon eye us from the other side of the room. Elena sent me a dirty look as he lifted me back against him once more.

"Show off," I laughed.

He shrugged and twirled me around. I giggled and added a few flares of my own to the dance. I lifted my leg and wrapped it around his midsection, allowing him to dip me once again. While I was lowered, Damon approached us. Stefan pulled me back up, and I dropped my leg. I spun behind him and pulled him with me further onto the floor.

Damon was stuck on the other side of the room, blocked by the many people who had joined us. I noticed Stefan was beginning to lose his momentum — as he searched around for Elena. The sympathy I felt for him made my stomach churn. He was always on duty, I couldn't remember the last time I saw him genuinely having fun. Yeah, he was enjoying his time with Elena, but he was always on guard and stiff with her. I think the only person I had ever seen him let go with was our old friend Lexi. Someone he wouldn't know I had seen him with, and a friend he didn't exactly know we shared. It was just something that had never come up between us, as Lexi rarely came around. Which was why Stefan so rarely had fun.

I pulled his face in front of mine and gave him my brightest smile.

"Let's have some fun, Stefan," I said, laughing, "Dance with me,"

His eyes lit up as I swayed in front of him, waving my hands out in a 'come hither' fashion. He laughed loudly and started moving with me. I threw my arms up and just gave myself away to the music. It was the most fun I'd had in ages.

He grabbed my hands and held them in the air with his, twirling me around and around. My red hair fanned around us as the lights from above shined brightly with the music. I was laughing hysterically as Stefan gyrated towards me, his eyes shining in the twinkling lights. His face was full of joy and laughter. It was a refreshing difference, and I was glad that for just this small moment, I helped him forget who and what he was.

I saw Damon and Elena make their way through the crowd and knew our fun was over. I leaned against Stefan and whispered in his ear.

"The fun's over. I think we're in trouble. Thank you for dancing with me," I said, pulling away.

His face fell, and he leaned into me.

"No, thank you," he said simply.

As he pulled away, the song ended, and the fun suckers had joined us.

"Looks like you guys were having a blast," Damon said, his eyes flashing irritably.

I ignored his hateful tone and forced a smile for Elena.

"You have to get Stefan to dance more. He's a great dancer," I laughed.

I pulled her beside me as a new song played. She shrugged me off and frowned.

"I think we should go, El. It's getting late,"

I huffed and looked around me for Matt. Unfortunately, I couldn't see him.

"Okay, party pooper. I'm gonna look for Matt,"

As I pushed my way through the crowd, I could feel someone following me. I ignored them; instead, I continued looking around for Matt. Of course, he must have seen me with Stefan and decided to leave. I stood by the front door and debated my options. I really didn't want to go with Elena and Stefan — being the third wheel is never fun.

"Matty leave ya behind?" Damon asked from behind me.

I ground my teeth together and turned towards him.

"Yeah, looks like it. You wouldn't mind giving me a lift, would ya?" I asked exasperatedly.

I hated myself for asking. After I had found out Damon had made a move on my sister, he was the last person I wanted to be alone with.

"Sure, I can't just leave you to fend for yourself, now can I?" he said, smirking

I bit my tongue and started outside, sending Elena a text that I was on my way home. I stood beside his car until he unlocked it and then slipped inside. The driver's door opened, and he was seated before I could blink.

Stupid Vampire speed.

I turned on the air and sat back as he pulled out of the Lockwood's driveway. The tension in the air was thick, and I hated the awkwardness of it.

"So, since when are you and my brother buddy-buddy. Was it not his fault you died in our time?"

His tone was laced with venom. I closed my eyes and let out the breath I had been holding in.

"That was not his fault, and you know it. Your brother and I are on friendly speaking terms, and we were just dancing. I'm surprised you even noticed, with how enamored you are by my sister," I spat back.

His brows furrowed and his grip on the steering wheel tightened, causing his knuckles to go white.

"That wasn't what it looked like," he grumbled through clenched teeth.

I couldn't help the sarcastic laugh that escaped.

"So, the kiss you tried to share with her, was accidental than?"

I couldn't believe he was trying to tell me he had no feelings for Elena. He looked at me in surprise. Obviously, he hadn't known I had heard them.

"That was a mistake. One that won't happen again," Damon said softly.

I avoided his gaze and looked out my window.

"What you do with Lena isn't my business. You are free to try for her affection if you want. But I'm telling you right now, she is more like Katherine than either of you realize. This will not end well," I said, finally meeting his gaze.

His blue eyes were emotionless, and I hated the fact that he looked as lifeless as Stefan had. I could still remember how full of life they had once been. Katherine really had destroyed not only their relationship but their souls as well.

The car pulled up beside my house, and he shut off the engine.

"What happened to us, Elandra?" he whispered.

I kept my eyes on the house beside us.

"I don't know. We are both different people now. You fell in love with Katherine, and her love not only changed you but everything and everyone around you. We can't go back to how we used to be, Damon,"

"I really am sorry, El. I never wanted any of this to happen. I need you to know that I still love you, in spite of it all," he said.

I looked at his face and found nothing but the truth his words held, and I knew that a part of me still loved him.

"I know. I still love you too, but that doesn't change anything. You still love Katherine, and you have feelings for Elena. I can't and won't be a backup." I said.

His face filled with regret. "I wouldn't ask you to be," he said.

I opened my door and looked back at him one last time.

"Can we be friends? As cliche as that sounds." I asked, with a small smile.

He gave me his signature smirk.

"Yeah, you won't get rid of me that easily," he said.

I shook my head at him and got out of the car. I closed the door and leaned into the window.

"Of course not. Life without you? How boring," I said, with my own smirk. "Goodnight, Damon."

He smiled back at me, nodding.

"Goodnight, Elandra."

[stusbunker]

Jared. Alex. Me. Mark Sheppard. Misha. Jensen.

I am going to loose all my fandom cred here. I don't know Mark and all I know about Alex is his cat's insta is amazeballs.

🤷😬

do the sexy love™ with: Jensen...did I say that out loud?

Sacrifice myself for: You! {I was going to put you in the top spot, but, uh, I like breathing and Beka knows where I live. Even if she doesn't realize it}

Kick: Jared, obviously. Also because I am terribly clumsy.

Take to Prom: Mark, accents man, everytime.

Abandon in Jurassic Park: Misha. No question.

Push off a bridge: Alex, sorry bub.

[aphroditewritesstuff]

Moments in the closet

between @storylover92 and I. The prize was winner’s choice, and surprise surprise, little wench chose some Forbidden lovers/ Smut scene XD

Aint gonna lie. Was fun to write.

Part 1

It wasn’t exactly comfortable, squeezing two men not quite finished with their growth spurts into the small, forgotten space between the lockers and the wall, but the collateral meant that their bodies interlocked, limbs filling in empty spaces in an effort to take up less room, and thus remain unseen.

Yuri was breathing heavily through his nose, Otabek saw and knew the guy well enough by now to know that it was equal parts frustration and excitement. Well, you couldn't be a figure skater if you weren’t just a little bit of an exhibitionist. Except Yuri didn't want to actually be caught, he just wanted the thrill of ‘almost’.

Because he knew Yuri liked it, Otabek rolled his hips forward, nearly upsetting their delicate balance, nearly making them stumble out into the open, but actually making Yuri clutch himself desperately closer to Otabek so he wouldn’t fall. The blonde's eyebrows furrowed into a scowl, green eyes glittering. But the blood was high in his cheeks, so Otabek did it again.

“You want us to get caught?” Yuri hissed.

There were at least 4 other people in the locker room, blissfully unaware they’d interrupted yet another hormonally charged tryst between Yuri Plisetsky and Otabek Altin. Their voices carried, though Otabek paid very little attention. He was currently more focused on the difficulty of an undeniable boner and tight denim. Still, he rolled again, starving for friction and the hitch of breath it caused.

“Stop it, you want me to come in my pants again?” Yuri warned, sounding more irritated than worried.

Otabek said nothing, as he usually did, but let his hands slide underneath the curve of Yuri’s buttocks and dig in. Yuri didn't have a lot of soft flesh; between the fitness that came from pro-skating and being in the midst of a three-year growth spurt, he was mostly muscle. But it was gorgeous, and Otabek personally felt that the shape of Yuri’s ass was the perfect fit for his hands.

“Can I?” he whispered, barely audible.

Yuri was already pushing their crotches together, too hard, punishing and slightly painful, incendiary. “Can you what?”

Otabek hands slid along the inside rim of Yuri’s jeans, questioning but waiting for permission. Yuri huffed a damp patch against Otabek’s neck.

“It’s your turn.” Yuri protested.

“Just touching, promise.”

“Ok, but you have to kiss me.”

The invitation wasn’t required, Otabek was always ready for kissing. All kinds of kissing; hungry, quick, lingering, teasing, clumsy...as long as they were kisses from Yuri. He almost forgot his hands until an impatient Yuri fumbled between them, undoing the top button of his jeans and forcefully redirecting Otabek’s hand down his backside, making sure not waste time with underwear navigation.

“Come on.” he chided, but Otabek would not be hurried. He took his time squeezing, lightly scraping and kneading the smooth flesh. It wasn’t that he was trying to drive Yuri crazy; that was more like collateral. He just enjoyed the man so much, his breath, his scent, the velvet feel of damp skin under his palms…

He almost bit his tongue when a hand came between them, slithering its way into his jeans lightning fast and gripping.

“Stop teasing me, asshole.”

“I’m not…” Otabek replied quietly, licking the salt from Yuri’s neck, smelling the roots of his hair.

Yuri started his own exploration of Otabek’s erection, rhythmically tightening and loosening around his shaft, gently pushing his thumb into the head, then smearing the fluid all the down the underside of it, before twisting his arm awkwardly, and closing his fingers around Otabek’s ball sack like a hot cage. Otabek closed his eyes, suddenly torn between sensations; to touch his lover or be touched? He couldn't concentrate on both, and he preferred not to do anything halfway.

“If you carry on like that, I won’t last,” he warned, licking at Yuri’s mouth.

“Well you’re just touching anyway, right? It’s not like you need to stay hard right now.” Yuri retorted nastily. “And if you cum, free lube.”

“Are we going to do this here? Now?”

“Where else?”

“At least a janitor’s cupboard has a door.”

Yuri’s hand tugged his ballsack slightly away from its base, and Otabek could feel the skin tense and shiver, then relax again. “So...you’re saying I should stop?”

In spite of the increasing throbbing in his groin,  Otabek did something even rarer than speaking; he smiled. He arms tightened on the parts of Yuri’s body they touched.

“Yura….” he couldn’t say it, never could. He couldn’t make words fit around the way he felt when Yuri was just being himself.

Yuri was tense for a moment, then melted a little more. “Beka. Wanna find a closet?”

I want to find a wedding ring.

The thought arrived by itself and the force of it made Otabek press his face against Yuri’s neck. He’d had no idea that was the right thing until just then, but there was no way he was going to say anything about it until Yuri would get there on his own. It was enough to know.

“Beks?” Yuri asked, his tone changing, uncertain. Otabek felt the vibration of the words.

“Sssh. They’re closer.”

Yuri immediately lapsed into silence, and they clasped each other until their breathing synced.

“Beks?” came the whisper in his ear.

“Hm?

“I’m still hard.”

It was a little needy, and it was all the Otabek needed to start up again.

Part 2

[beet-rootesoupevodkabanya]

Post-apocalips Military AU

I’ve lost in chapters and forgot how I called them... XD

It smells with burning powder. With disgustingly sweet metal. With burned flesh. And with something almost imperceptible. Like soft meadow flower fragrance. Smell of death. The one that can't be mistaken for something else. Silver-haired sixteen years old boy sneaked in a partly ruined window. "Frog" waits near. Elders are so predictable. Of course they try to be tricky. To catch them of guard. But... No. Not like they're stupid. It's just the tracks of their minds. If U understood it once, U'd have been always able to predict their actions. People are mammals too. And like mammals they have a tendency to trust their experience...to much. He lands right behind the "frog". They wait for him of course. But... From the other side. He steps on partly burned woods. It should break under his weight. Or at least drop some cinder uncovering his presence. But it won't. He knows it. Just knows with that weird instinct that always made him not to be scared of darkness. Absolutely opposite. He always happily fell in blackest abyss like in the embrace. If the death feels like eternal darkness, it's fine to die, right?... He jumps down almost silently. Soldiers see him too late. When he is already in the air. In a free fall. He presses the trigger. Minus one. Minus two. Minus...

Minus eight.

Finished here. Fast and easy. Or not so easy. Silver-haired shadow digs shivering fingers into burned bricks of the wall. Adrenalin of battle has gone. Head spins. Knees aren't weak. Just the entire body feels unreal. Like it happens sometimes in dreams. Battle lasted for 52 hours. He didn't sleep. Didn't eat. Didn't even talk. Only fizzed orders to Cris and rarely gulped water from metal flask. Something sticky touches his cheek. Sticky. Wet. Smells like rotten sweets and metal. He unwillingly turns head. Why this stupid, dirty and soaked in blood carpet is so close? And what a fuck the window is doing on the floor? He shuts lashes and shakes a head. Now. To open eyes. To get up. To walk 500 meters more. To take wounded Cris. And to go with him 800 meters more, to the place where helicopter will be able to take them. It's not difficult. Not too far. Just. One minute. One fucking minute of silence. Darkness in lulling. Tempting. It's so close. Inside the head. Under lashes. Just keep them tightly closed and it will wrap around and keep exhausted body in it's embrace. Black abyss caresses partly bruised white skin, takes away the pain, worries, duties... It eases every burden. Heals. Calms down. Black abyss must be silent. Silent and tender like depth of the Arctic Ocean... It's almost here... Only these stupid thuds ruin it. Thuds and too loud, annoyingly dry breathe. [Stop for a bit, U two...] Thin body in full battle uniform lays on the floor. In unnatural position of fallen porcelain doll. Heartbeat and breath become weaker. In this condition the dose of adrenaline is needed. But Capitan Nikiforov doesn't have it with him anyway. It's almost good. Pain is so dull already. A bit more... Noone waits anyway. Cris has connector. He will be picked up by that helicopter. The task is fulfilled. No need to return. To the war... To blaming... To gossips... To the life where U're always a target regardless of what U do... It's better to sink in black abyss. It's cuddling. It leans to the collarbone like dark silk. Softly caresses cheek...

Caresses?! Cheek?!

He forces himself to open eyes. Gloomy light hurts like broken glass dust. How long did he laid like this? Chronometer on the wrist says not more than 10 minutes. He tries to inhale but skin on dry lips cracks leaving annoyingly sticky traces. Shaking and chattering teeth from hell knows why appeared fever he hardly sits on the floor, gulps the rest of the water and slowly stands up on still weak legs. Some of eliminated enemies must have water with them. There are 1300 meters to go. He has to check up. Just to make sure that kid survived. It won't hurt - to die next time, right?..

**************************** Yuuri leaned to his commander, tracing fingers through silver, now short but still stunning locks. It was dark already. But still warm enough to sit on the balcony, stare at the Moon and talk about everything. They were only together for this weekend since Beka and Kitty used the day-off to visit Safe Zone. Their part of the building was all dark. Telling the truth it all began from simple talk about Victor's weird love to darkness. And somehow turned into rare frank memories. Yuuri set behind his General who half-laid on boy's chest. He tightened the embrace, nuzzling winter silk with a cheek. Snow King reached for Kay's head, blindly caressing dark locks in reassuring gesture. He had a long story to tell. Countless long stories... But he didn't want to make his boy feel sad. Especially for unimportant things that had already gone: - Ok, малыш, enough for tod... Yuuri's palm covered cold fingers: - Tell me everything. My Yuki no Kami-sama.

*****************************

Cris is heavy. "Падла ебучая/ Fucked up bastard" - almost inaudibly mutters Capitan Snow King - "Либо блять жри меньше, либо подыхай сразу в следующий раз.../ Either fucking eat less or die faster next time..." Although he realizes in the corner of his mind this blaming isn't really correct. His teammate is rather skinny. But for exhausted body it feels like a small tank. And when Cris breathes out: - What are U saying?... He just boldly fizzes: - Praying... Not like his teammate really believes but he snorts and doesn't ask anymore. Thin, almost invisible thread hides in a grass. It's supposed to be unnoticeable. Trap? Of course it is. Snow King curses silently. He told it to colonel Feltsman - that they have defectors since last huge operation. At the very least two soldiers who were proclaimed deceased. Burned corpses weren't theirs. It was too obvious from the way they laid. If air mine stroke them close enough to burn flesh to bones, it should have also torn bodies apart. And of course they wouldn't be able to fall down as if they tried to run away. It's technically impossible. No. These wounds were caused already after death. And corpses were left there intentionally. Of course he tried to explain it to colonel Feltsman. And of course old commander almost rolled on the floor, screaming how impossible it is for a martial from his division - to become a traitor. And how low it is - to suspect heroes who died for the rest of the civilization. Great. Just great. Are U happy, old fart?! He slowly lets Cris on the ground, whispering orders. Even in this weak state he can cover him with fire when needed. The riffle can be put on supporter. Silver shadow disappears between ruins and trees. Long time ago this place was an old cemetery. Then grown up trees almost turned it into a park. Then the war ruined it. What bothered Capitan Nikiforov much - was how the hell trees were able to survive it. They can't recover and grow this fast. He knew too well how real abandoned places look like. Nothing like this. Plants were too fresh an clean. Like in the pure depth of the wild forest. Impossible... But. It's not the time for it now. He hides behind the remains of old family tomb. People are weird. They're stupidly afraid of such places in peaceful life. But loose the last decency at the war. Although in a step from death the luck is needed like never else. Cold fingers lay on the gray wall in a wordless promise to make it silent as before in no time. Shot from the distance throws a man on the ground. They instinctively fall covering heads and trying to figure out where was it from. It takes less then a couple of seconds. But for this short moment they're a perfect target for a silver death jumping from the top of the tomb. Only 5 of them here. And two somewhere far. No way to catch them if not being a bait. Polar Death stays near the ruined wall, looking around and speaking into [turned off] connector: - Enemies are eliminated. All 5 of them. Task is completed. They will be too tempted to capture him alive. Move on the right. Almost unnoticeable. Silver shadow rushes to his hide-out inside ruins. It will cover from explosion. It definitely has too... He presses the trigger while falling behind the stone. Scream in the distance. He got the target. As always. He has no ability to miss. Microseconds of this occurrence last unnaturally long. Endless microseconds between the shot and the explosion... Fucking flash-bang shit!!! He covers head on time but ringing in ears is still painful. It could be harmless from this place... For a healthy body in a full strength. Not for deadly exhausted ghost he is now. Hurts. Everything hurts. Light. Sounds. Air. Where are U - beloved endless night?... He falls on the ground in unnatural position. As if being stunned unconscious. The last one will appear in some seconds. His [loud and clumsy on Snow King's opinion] steps are too obvious. Just let him close and shoot both shoulders. Then drag to the meeting place. He will be forced to talk. Sooner or later. And everyone will think the youngest high officer planned it all from the very beginning. To get a higher rank. Again blaming. Rarely aloud. Most of them are dirty looks and whispers behind the back. Although... Who cares... Black abyss is here again. So close. So soft. So accepting. Grenade under left hand. What if to pull the ring?... Traitor will be eliminated. Cris will be saved by reinforcement. Makkachin? He waits... But old commander won't leave him alone. Makka is loved by all the base. He will live a long, happy life there. Darkness is so kind. It never demands for something. It cuddles body and mind. It wraps around like a softest embrace whispering "My Yuki no Kami-sama..."

WHAT?...

He releases the grip on the grenade ring, forcing his mind to return to reality. Insanity took not more then a couple of [eternal] seconds. Steps are already so close... Deserter was too incautious. Broken frosted doll comes to life in a blink of an eye. Storms from the ground, pressing the trigger. Twice. Scream. Smell of burning powder. Drops of blood splashed in the air. Wounded prey struggles under Snow King's foot. Feelings are so sharp again. Every move is light and easy. It's so called "second wind". Sounds good. But in such condition it's just an irredeemable credit for body and mind... Capitan Nikiforov bends to the tied up enemy, cuts clothes near wounds and pours some powder there. And brings a lighter. It's painful but not deadly. Snow King knows it too well. How old was he when he had to use this shitty trick to stop own bleeding for the first time? 12?.. 13?.. It worked. Left an ugly scar. But worked. Scream. Captured one falls unconscious. But he still breathes. He won't die from blood loss now. Maybe in any other circumstances Snow King would prefer to bandage him. But he already spent all their medical stuff on Cris. He walks to his teammate, dragging the defector by his vest. Only 200 meters left. Lieutenant Giacometti says something but Snow King doesn't hear him. Only grabs his waist, dragging forward. 100 meters. 50... 20... Teammates jump up from the helicopter to take Cris and captured one. Gloomy air is still so bright. Even hurts eyes. When the picture is so vivid, why is it so hard to concentrate on anyone's face? Although... Is it necessary?.. The task is fulfilled... Darkness... Where are U?... It's too bright even through tightly shut eyelids. Black abyss creeps from inside the head. Slowly drowns the world in lightless waves. Drop by drop sneaks into every cell. Finally. Falling unconscious he indifferently hears medic's screams: "Put him on the stretcher! Glucose to the vein! Phys-saline! Adrena..."

He doesn't hear it anymore. Black abyss looks at him from wide pupils of boy's short-sighted eyes. It leans in, caressing cheek: - ...And I found U... My Yuki no Kami-sama. Capitan Snow King leans to this small hand, dissolving in lulling darkness. Black depth of Arctic Ocean wraps around his body in so healing, so loving embrace. He falls into it's caress letting it to take away all pain, worries, burdens... All weight of loneliness disappears inside the darkest polar night. Somewhere in the corner of his mind he still remembers he must check up about that weird kid from the hospital. Just to know he survived and is fine now.

Thin porcelain body in dirty uniform tosses almost in convulsions on the stretcher inside the helicopter. Medic team tie up his wrists and calfs to the sides. It's a usual deal. Wounded or exhausted soldiers can have different reactions on treatment. And often could unconsciously harm themselves and others. He shakes in bandages, laughing and crying and with cracked voice convinces someone (or maybe himself): - I'm just gonna get to know... To check up... I promised to protect... I need to know... If the one I promised it is still alive...

*****************************************

Warm drop fell on porcelain cheek. General hurried to get up but his domestic black abyss tightened the hug, not letting go. He wouldn't let go even if to order to. Snow King nuzzled boy's shoulder: - C'mon, Yuuri, no need to cry! It's.. Soft lips leaned to his with a stubborn denying sound. More tears fell on Snow King's face. But he already surrendered in the hold of the darkness. Now he could afford it. Feeling how toned body relaxed in his arms, Yuuri tried to smile through kiss and tears. Caressed silver locks and kissed small scar under the fringe that almost noone knew about: - I'm sorry... My Yuki no Kami-sama. I'm so late. I found U so late. Snow King leaned to boy's chest more, with half-lidded eyes, remembering something again: - Nah... Just on time. U can't even imagine how on time U was that day...

******************************************

- Feltsman! Fuck your mother... Do something about your subordinate! It's your responsibility after all!!! - highest officers of old school (now everyone who were in military before the catastrophe are called like that) were half in rage, half in despair. Old colonel hid his eyes and obviously didn't know what to say. Even if words of Capitan Nikiforov sounded reasonable. Even if he gathered proofs. Even if from logical point of view he had no choice and it's a huge luck he wasn't provoked by that fake kidnapping of civilian. Even if so... Is it natural for sixteen years old kid to be this cruel?? This calculating? And to stand against people 3 times older then him now? And what's the worst - he already officially stated he won't let any peaceful agreement happen. Yes, his reasons are serious. Yes, it's sad to admit but he is right. But still... In this huge conference-room, near the massive table young Snow King seemed too small. And even fragile. Especially when he set like that... With lowered head and loosened silver locks covering eyes. He hid hands under the table and his pose could give random watcher an idea he is nearly crying. The last who spoke jumped up from his chair, rushed to young Capitan and bended close to him: - What? Why did U shut up? Didn't imagine more bullshit? - Sir... - silver-haired Polar Death slowly rose head. No. No tears in sky-like gemstones. Only fathomless glades into threat. Absolutely unreadable. Merciless. And cold: - There's no need to get this close to me. I understand U use your body scent as a protection from being captured. But I insist! U should keep it for enemies only. Arrogant one-sided smirk lasted less then some seconds, turning into frosted hateful grin. Highest officer gasped, tuned red and inhaled deeply in desperate wish to defend himself. After all, how did this little shit dare??!! Mocking whistle stopped the fight a second before it began. Snow King who set childishly curling into a ball and hiding hands, spread his shoulders and laid hands on the table. Thin fingers held a glock and a flash-bang device. Both in battle mod. He tilted head to the side with humiliating grin and narrowed eyes: - Ladies and gentlemen... U all were technically on line all this time. And didn't notice it. How can U trust your judgement about a situation after this? Even now I can capture U all, sell U to any gang and have an actual sit of a King there. Behind the wall. And I can lure away all best soldiers. Be sure, they will follow me, not U. - He snorted bitterly - U forgot... U weren't in battle for too long... Polar Death looked the room around. Telling the truth he couldn't say for sure if they realized the meaning of his words or was it glock being this cogent: - Meeting is finished. Feel free to go. Snow King stood up, pensively nodded to completely lost (but not really surprised) commander and went away.

He stayed on the balcony for rather long. Or better to say - set curling into a ball and smoking cigarettes one after another. Of course old colonel already was here and played mother-hen part. Like "U're too young and don't understand! They can be rough but of course they didn't mean anything bad." And so on, and so force... [Oh, yeah, old man, I already believe... Let's be honest, if that teammate of yours tried to punch me, U wouldn't interfere, right?...] Of course he let commander see the empty cartridge of his gun. And when he sigh in relief, added indifferently that in fact he could kill them all with bare hands. And he'd finished the last one even before the first one reached the floor falling. Commander went away cursing and swearing his young subordinate will be the reason of heart-attack. And Capitan Snow King set here for a couple of hours longer. Idea came unexpectedly. Stupid idea but... The life is stupid itself... In some minutes he already sneaked from the Base to the Neva bank. With Makkachin and a bottle of vodka snatched from Yakov's cabinet. It's always said alcohol eases the pain, right?...

Piter's nights are gloomy. That very [shitty] white nights... Not white if to tell the truth. More like gray and dirty. They annoyed Snow King mostly because this season has stolen his precious darkness. That blackest dead freedom of night sky with not-existing-anymore stars. He opened the bottle, realizing he forgot snacks. Well... No other choice anyway... He gulped from the neck. Chocked and coughed. It was burning. It scratched the throat and hurt empty stomach. Of course he had neither time no wish to have supper. But. It's ok... It must work faster like this. Makkachin whined and poked his cheek with vet nose. Not like this hurting liquid really helps... Victor lit a cigarette, pensively caressing dog's fur, and gulped more. Half of the bottle is finished. Where's that famous unreasonable joy everyone talked about? Of course he drunk spirit before. But just a little. To feel warmer or to ease the pain. In short breaks between battles in the middle of frosted, covered with snow land. Head ached badly. From hunger, cigarettes, alcohol but mostly from that shitty meeting. What are they always so mad about? He brought victory. Found answers. Prevented more troubles. But... [Seems like the last thing people want is the reality... They demand miraculous solution. Without blood, dirt... Without efforts. If U can't make it like this, U'll end up being a villain in any fairytale.] Head spun. Badly. Polar Death opened one more pack of cigarettes. Finished the bottle and winked to Makkachin: - I look like spoilt brat, right? Teen drinking and smoking at night on the bank. Everyone would think so. Arrogant spoilt brat...

(Makkachin tapped the grass with a tail. At least young master began to talk...)

Snow King snorted with a wry grin. Ruffled soft brown fur and bursted into laughter. It took less then some seconds. He buried face into dog's back, hugging Makka. Laughing turned into tempest of sobs.

*******************************************

- Promise me, we'll visit that place together... That very Neva bank... - Yuuri's embrace became almost painful. Tight to the insanity. But the more possessive his hold was, the more relaxed Snow King felt in arms of his Kay. As if adoration went from skin to skin... He rested a head on boy's shoulder: - We'll do if U want. But... This place is all ruined now. Nothing interesting. Not like he wanted to return to that place ever but... Who knows... Maybe with Kay it will feel different?.. - I have a thing to do there... - Yuuri nuzzled silver locks with a cheek. Softly. Tenderly. But with not-so-hidden insane jealousy. - Even that land itself must see U're not alone anymore.

***************************************

He dragged himself to the Base after dawn. No need to hurry. He had a day-off anyway. Even without mirror he knew he looked like shit. Hang-over and sleepless night had no mercy. While crossing the yard he heard it. Whispers. "Nikiforov was in Safe Zone. Celebrated that victory." "He doesn't care how many people he killed." "Of course. He has money and ranks for it." "Look at him. Obviously had fun all night long." "I wonder if he slept with a boy or a girl? Or both?"

[With my riffle, U, scum!!!!!!!]

In any other condition he'd definitely say something mean. Not because he really cared but because such things need reaction. Actually it was how civil war began. Only because too many crimes were left without punishment by elders. It worked like a banner in the sky: "Do whatever U want. Civilization is over." But now he wasn't in the right state at all... Falling on the bed and sinking in lulling darkness he half-consciously asked himself how it feels - to have someone who would always be by your side? Stand for U whatever happens? Against the entire world... [Nah! Stupid thoughts. Such sentimental stuff exists only in books.] Cuddling darkness dragged him into comforting embrace for next 10 hours.

He woke up in the evening. Left furry lazy ass on the Base and joined the car to the Safe Zone. Not like he wanted to visit it, but he physically wasn't able to stay in these walls. ...Solution appeared in a head more and more vivid with every step on the stone embankment. Yes... Next time. In the battle... To be just a second late... To catch a bullet. And finally reunite with the black abyss. They won't suspect... And won't hurt Makka. They will cherish him for all his dog's life. [Arn't I adult enough to marry the darkness?..] He grinned to this thought. Now it felt even comforting. [Darkness is possessive. It will steal me from everything. Erase memories, duties, burdens. Yeah... That's the best of all...] He leaned to the fence and took out a cigarette...

Shadow. Between houses in fifty meters...

Black abyss looked at him from wide pupils of Asian kid: - Kami... Sama...

******************************************

- U know, it happened every time then... - Snow King lit a cigarette, inhaled the smoke and leaned tighter to Yuuri with his back - I made sure no child from that group of patients died that time. It meant U survived. So... I promised to myself to find U... But every time when I was in Safe Zone... I thought U don't remember me, and it'll be a useless bother... And... U know... I didn't want to see that look... Like... U don't need me... And... He stopped talking. Porcelain body felt tense again. Boy kissed his ear, stroking winter silk: - And?... General shivered and snorted. Bitterly and embarrassed: - Time passed... I... I couldn't even admit it to myself but... I was afraid to see U being in love with somebody else... U know... I thought I just imagined U loving me... I'm sorry, Yuuri! Of course I didn't mean U have no right, I just... Telling the truth Victor was ready to wipe boy's tears and comfort him after that. He almost regretted this unnecessary frankness. But Yuuri's hug only became tighter. Soft lips touched General's forehead: - Stupid kid. I always loved only U.

[This simple?? He isn't offended?? Isn't mad at me?? Despite of what I said??]

Warm fingers went through silver locks. - Vitenka... - boy's voice sounded weirdly (for Snow King's opinion) tender - If U would met me that time... What did U want us to do? General Nikiforov tossed in Guard's arms with a short laugh. Set on the floor not looking at Yuuri and biting knuckles. Even his ears were red. Boy leaned to his back giggling: - C'mon, sir, reveal your secret to your Guardian. I swear to do anything U wanted. No, playful intonations didn't help at all. It only made Victor even more embarrassed. - Well... U see... I... - he deeply inhaled as if before confession in crime - I-wanted-to-sleep-on-your-laps. He blurted in out fast. All red as if being caught on something stupidily childish: - I wanted to lay, cry and feel U stroking my hair. Ok. I said it. Now U can laugh. Yuuri silently pulled him back. To lay on his laps. Being still red and not opening eyes General followed his move. Milky-white fingers began to stroke silver locks, face, neck, shoulders. Slowly taking away burning polar dawn. Like decent black abyss should do. Of course it happened before sometimes. And every time Snow King stayed like this, defenseless and relying on his Kay, Yuuri couldn't help but chocked with bitter tenderness. Because in his hold Polar Death turned again into that lonely boy who was too scared to loose his only fairytale. After some minutes of silent caress, Snow King's lips shivered in a small smile: - Hey, what are U even doing, Kayio?... If U won't stop I'll cry from happiness for real. Boy reached to kiss porcelain, still a bit pink, cheek: - If it's from happiness, I don't mind to cause it. Splinters of northern sky looked into black depth of the Arctic Ocean. With a question Yuuri was able to recognize even before his King realized it himself. He leaned to Victor's lips answering: - I want to be yours. Completely.

*********************************************

Yuuri didn't properly remember later how did they reach their room. All he realized were that icy gemstones and slow nod of his King. After walking in hand in hand Yuuri led his General to the bed to sit there. And got down on his knees in front of him. Silence was tense. But softly. Overloaded with love and wordless devotion. Boy took both white hands kissing bruised from trainings knuckles. Cold fingers tenderly caressed his lips. He leaned in, warming them with breath: - Vitenka... (He loves how it sounds! Tinkling like silvery chime of icicles at the sunny end of the winter.) - I'm sorry... I had to be with U all that time. He buried face into frosted hands: - U were longing for death so often... It's my fault. I wasn't there for U. But... Thank U for waiting until I returned. Strong arms locked him into embrace. Desperate and even suffocating. Also General's voice sounded soft and cheerful: - C'mon, Yuuri, it's not your fault. And don't talk like saying good bye. U remember it, right? How to say thanx for such things in Russian. Boy raised a head. He remembered. Splinters of northern sky looked at him with bittersweet tenderness. That uselessly tried to hide behind a shining smile. Yuuri returned the embrace and kissed porcelain cheek. Trying to fill the innocent touch with all his love. (Not like it was possible though... He knew pretty well nothing can fit in all he felt to this man.) But Victor laughed quietly and happily, digging fingers into dark locks: - I love U, малыш. Yuuri made an unclear puppy-like sound, clinging to Snow King and searching for his lips. Blindly and desperately. Chocking with air and tenderness. It happened to him sometimes. Being overwhelmed with his Yuki no Kami he lost the ability to speak and hardly even breathed or thought. Because need to release all the love he kept for his Snow King was too unbearable. Words can't express it. Boy slowly raised black t-shirt, exposing perfect and scarred body of Winter Lord. Beautiful... Of course he saw it countless times before. Stared mesmerized at water drops sliding this white skin, at moves of strong and lean muscles under silky cover, at sun rays that shamelessly nuzzled every cell (God! He envied them to tears!!!!). Went insane seeing it bleeding in a battle. Cried watching it covered with bandages. And died from shame being unable to stop fantasies looking at drops of sweet and heavy breath of his General in the middle of training. Of course it wasn't the first time he took Snow King's clothes off to say "Aishiteru" wordlessly. By touches. And still every time he was stunned. Like Northern lights his commander's beauty wasn't a view to get used to. Seam of an old wound from the right under ribs. Uneven and partly burned. Yuuri caressed it with fingertips, looking in splinters of northern sky and making a questioning sound. Snow King waved his hand: - Yes. That very one. But now it's fi... Ahhh!!... Porcelain body shivered under soft touch of lips on the scar. Boy's compassion applied to damaged and healed skin went through flesh and blood, making limbs weak and head spin. Wet warmth traced the seam, caressing every uneven line. Cherishing it. As if painful past can be taken away when the touch is tender enough. Yuuri knew pretty well already how sensitive scarred skin can be. He spent hours in General's bed, talking about everything and caressing traces of old wounds. And his Snow King narrowed eyes and almost purred from pleasure that left him relaxed and even weak. And now it ended up just like before: Victor moaned and fell on sheets, letting Yuuri to explore flawless and damaged white silk. Boy crawled on the bed, pulled his General higher and leaned to his body again. Kissing sides, abdomen, chest. Caressing every centimeter with mouth, nuzzling still wet skin with a cheek. He loved every smallest move of lean muscles under this scarred velvet. Every shiver, every soft or death threatening movement. Long time before they saw each other for the first (second if to be concrete) time in their Base hall. Messed up boy, looking younger then he really is in his nerdy glasses and stupid hat with a piglet. And General Snow King. The most beautiful and unavoidable death ever existed in the whole world. Cold fingers went through dark silk. Victor pulled boy's t-shirt to take it away too. And pressed Yuuri to his chest. To feel how cuddling darkness leans in, wrapping around his entire body. So simple. And so good. Better than anything else. Soft lips touched his earlobe: - My Yuki no Kami-sama... Make me yours... How did they undress, took the lube out of the nightstand and ended up entangling limbs and locking lips on each other's, Yuuri didn't properly remember later. He was overwhelmed with fast and heavy heartbeat in porcelain chest. Tried to cling closer to this sound, to dissolve in it, laughing and screaming from happiness with every touch of his Winter God. Honey sparkles in black eyes were a kind of drunk already. As well as bright blush on milky-white skin. Although the reason was General Nikiforov and only him. Cold hand squeezed boy's thigh close to the arousal. Yuuri moaned arching his back and spreading legs. But [so pleasant] grip disappeared... Still breathing hard Victor cupped boy's face. So weird expression of icy-blue eyes... Still clouded with desire but a kind of worried. - Yuuri... - He caressed boy's cheek, blushing. - Are U sure?...

[Not this again, Снежный. Should I beg U to fuck me on my knees? Although... No so bad idea, U know...]

Seemed like mischievous thoughts blinked into Yuuri's eyes, because perfect lips dropped a small relived smile. Dark silver lashes covered splinters of Northern sky: - Are U sure U want me to do it to U first?... Warm fingers laid on reddish cheeks, pulling Victor into a kiss. Tender and reassuring kiss that replaced lots of words. Yuuri stroke silver hair and reached for General's ear, hugging his shoulders: - If U want... I'll repay my debt after... I swear to do my best... Sir. For some moments strong body laid on Yuuri with all it's weight, surrendering into warm, tender touch. As if charging from boy's confidence that was always woken up by physical contact. - Yuuri... - Snow King set on the bed, holding his breath for a moment like before jumping to the water. Boy arched his back, reaching for his face: - Mmmm?.. - I love U... Viktor bended to raise him and hold on his knees, leaning to supporting arm. As a doll or a little sleepy child. Seemed like these associations appeared in heads of them both, because Yuuri smirked gladly and Snow King blushed biting the lip in effort to stop smiling. Cold fingers, slick and wet from lube, teasingly traced Yuuri's hardness and stopped at the entrance. Caressing hand slid from side to side, changing moves from light touches of fingertips to forceful grip with all palm and repeated it again. Yuuri moaned and breathed hard, blindly reaching to caress Snow King behind him. He was already hard. Although things didn't move further then this yet. Panting boy dropped head on Victor's shoulder. To wait became more and more unbearable with every second. Especially if to take in count that hip felt twitching and dripping proof of how much his General really wanted to continue. - Do it... Pleeeeeease... Viiitenka... - Yuuri moaned it almost aggressively, grabbed white wrist and pulled it forward, making fingers to enter inside. Light shadow of pain from hurried move caused a loud moan and frantic jerks of hips. To meet Snow King's hand. Victor's efforts to slow down was met with unsatisfied growl. - Yuuri... Are U fine? Doesn't it hurt? - whisper in the ear was worried but still passionate.

[Fine? Nothing is fucking fine here! I'm almost cuming from your slightest move, Снежный Король, and don't know how much longer could hold back!!!]

- Do me... - Yuuri's husky whisper with closed eyes was even masterful. Of course Snow King didn't listen completely. Grip on boy's shoulders became tighter. Moves of cold fingers intensified, exploring the tight heat from the inside. Sharp, almost tormenting pleasure made him shiver and scream, scratching Snow King's back with one hand and biting another one in desperate efforts not to cum from only this. When Yuuri opened eyes he was already laid on sheets. Victor kissed fresh bruise on his hand. In icy-blue eyes splashed unfamiliar expression. Tender and a bit mischievous responsibility. He leaned to boy's lips, spreading his legs and supporting his butt with one hand while another one still caressed relaxed after it all entrance: - Now... Wet from lube hardness moved inside slowly. Somewhere in the corner of Yuuri's mind blinked a thought that it's good. Good that body feels weird and overwhelmed with not so comfortable sensation. Because in any other way he would definitely cum the second Snow King entered him. And he wouldn't be able to enjoy this very feeling. Of Victor's heating body inside of him. Of icy-blue eyes locked on him with wide pupils, observing every smallest movement - to know if little Kay would feel anything wrong. Of frosted fingers holding boy's hips in deadly strong grip, not letting any [hurtful] hurried move happen.

[Why so slow? Why not painful at all? Don't hold back, my Yuki no Kami-sama... I need to feel U going crazy...]

Yuuri spred himself over sheets, narrowing eyes and moaned. Even simple looking at his blushing and panting but so overprotective Winter Lord could make him finish it accidentally. Even before reaching the actual physical pleasure. - Yuuri?... - white hand laid on boy's cheek. Of course General was going to ask how his boy feels and if they should stop...

[Caught off guard!!!!]

Boy's legs wrapped around his waist, forcefully pushing him deeper inside. Victor gasped, instinctively trying to slow down and realizing that his self-control won't last long like this... Yuuri grabbed his Yuki no Kami into the embrace, tossing under him with closed eyes and an insane grin. Warm fingers traced scarred satin of General's back and stopped on his butt. Squeezing. And pulling forward to intensify thirsts. Just like it happened countless times in Yuuri's fantasies. - Yeah... Like this... Aaaaaahhhh!!!!!! - Boy screamed, digging nails into Snow King's skin. That very spot! If it wasn't still a bit uncomfortable because Yuuri rushed everything up before, he'd definitely cum already... - I love U... My Yuki no Kami-sama... - boy traced fingers through winter locks and [nearly crying from happiness] felt how Victor's body relaxed in his hold and thirsts became more free and wild. Soft lips leaned to boy's face: - I love U too, малыш... Burring face into boy's shoulder, General still did his best to move gently. His caress of dark locks and boy's chest kept a shadow of comforting. As if he regretted causing pain.

[Снежный... Do U really think I won't make U forget all these stupid doubts?...]

With a mischievous smirk Yuuri rolled them to change positions... So he could ride his King. Victor gasped unsurely. But heavy moves of white chest, husky moans and certain feeling of twitching, hot hardness inside Yuuri's body left no doubts: he liked it. Boy intertwined their fingers and began to move. Forcefully and even violently. Trying to take his General as deep as he could. (There were no need to go this far to reach the pleasure. But Yuuri didn't even think about having a release that moment. All he felt was a greedy need to possess his Snow God. Under him. Inside of him. To experience how they belong to each other for real and pass this feeling to his Yuki no Kami.) Splinters of northern sky looked into black abyss. Happy and lost at the same time. Grip of cold fingers on Yuuri's loosened. White hand stroke his hip, reached the arousal and began to move. Blurry world spin around... Through misty from lust mind Yuuri still regretted even that light shade of pain faded away so fast... He wanted...no, he needed everything from his God - excitement, satisfaction, pain, love... - Yu-uuri!!! I'm...close... - Victor tossed on sheets, chocking with loud moans. Thirsts of white hips were fast and desperate. He pulled Yuuri's hand, giving him a sign to move away. Boy pressed both palms to the white chest, holding his General, intensifying moves, trying to squeeze him inside. Bended to his ear and whispered: - Don't spill it outside, my Yuki no Kami-sama. I want everything yours only in me. In any other situations Yuuri would die from even thinking about something like this (moments of self-pleasing in despair don't count)... But not now. He leaned backward, arching his back and supporting himself with arms. To reach the maximum contact... Strong body tossed violently under him. Snow King screamed but Yuuri hardly even realized anything because of heating liquid that filled him inside. This sensation itself pushed him to the limit in no time... He fell on Victor, right on whitish traces of own release. Happy laugh replaced scream of pleasure. Heavy moves of white chest were so lulling... But Yuuri forced himself to open eyes. To look at the most beautiful picture ever - at messy and happy, blushing and smiling Snow King. Still a bit lost. As if that lonely winter child he was years ago (and - Yuuri suspected - still existed deep inside) fell right from the war to the insane water swirl of Kay's love. White fingers caressed boy's face: - I love U... Was it...fine?... Yuuri nodded, chasing away sleepy mist of tired joy. Pecked Victor's lips and smiled, remembering the phrase he knew from Yurio. Phrase that (according to Capitan Plisetsky) contained the highest level of pleasure and amazement. - It was really пиздато!!! ...Icy-blue eyes became round. Snow King's breath stopped. And even before Yuuri realized completely that something was wrong, Victor grabbed him into tight embrace and burst into laughter.

*******************************************

- U know, our Kitty must be hiccuping now... - even after short nap Snow King didn't stop laughing and grumping about their Capitan's prank. Yuuri stretched himself gladly and leaned closer, laying a hand on Victor's butt. In any other case he would at the very least feel embarrassed after that language mess. But still heated body clinging to his, gentle arms wrapped around and still wet feeling between buttocks and hips gave him weirdly strong confidence. - In my land we'd say he must be sneezing... - tip of boy's tongue slightly touched General's lips. Victor smiled caressing dark, silky hair: - I hope both...

- Yuuri... - After some time of silent cuddling Snow King stroke boy's lips with a fingertip, sliding slowly to the neck. - U promised me something, do U remember? For a couple of seconds black abyss was covered with puzzled mist. Then realization came... Yuuri leaned to his King with his whole body, gasping and narrowing eyes with almost predatory look: - I will do my best. As I promised... Deep inside Yuuri wanted to make it perfect for his Yuki no Kami-sama. To do something surprising, something that can excite his General to the limit, something... But he clung to this perfect and tender lips with a kiss and forgot everything. His hands wondered over Victor's body still not completely believing that this absolutely perfect, so beautiful, so loved General and God is here. Trusting him so much. Longing for him. Isn't it all too good for a mere human - to kiss the Polar star?.. Although... (Boy felt it too well now.) Wet hardness touching his thigh made it clear that he's has no right to doubt in God's will. Warm fingertips traced hipbone, teasingly touched arousal and balls and moved to the butt. Fast peck on Victor's lips was questioning. Snow King returned the kiss, reassuringly cupping boy's cheek and nodded. When General did it to him, Yuuri was too excited and happy to notice if the lube is too cold or not. But now he wasn't sure. He held liquid into the palm, sharing the warmth with it and spread it over fingers.

[Is it good enough?..]

He thoughtfully licked the fingertip.

[Must be fine.]

Loud gasp interrupted boy's thinking. Black abyss met splinters of Northern sky... And only then Yuuri realized his General was watching all this scene. Boy blushed, smiled and leaned to Victor's ear, caressing his face: - Sorry for making U wait... Boy's hand slowly slid between buttocks, stroking heated skin, trying to relax it with soft, tender moves. Burning cheek nuzzled Yuuri's palm. Snow King moaned with tightly shut lashes, spreading legs wider and breathing hard. He obviously anticipated for more caress, more touches, more physical expressions of love that only his Kay had a right to give. Boy covered his lips with a kiss. Slow but deep and desperate kiss. His fingertip pressed wrinkled skin a bit more. Not really entering yet, only asking for permission. White hips slightly rocked forward. Encouraged by this move, Yuuri entered him a bit, letting one finger to sink into burning, slippery from lube flesh. Heart thudded. Scarred porcelain chest raised in deep frantic inhales with every move.

[How audible is Snow King's heartbeat now?]

Without thinking boy laid head on this chest. So loud... Mixed with husky breath and impatient already moans. So good... The happiness itself in one sound. Yuuri's lips instinctively touched where these thuds were heard.

[Closer... Even more close...]

Boy covered white velvet with soft kisses. Reached the nipple and caressed it with tongue. Snow King arched his back moaning loudly. Boy's palm that still leaned to Victor's face, stroke silver silk and slid under his shoulders, holding panting General in a tight embrace. Mouth covered sensitive pinkish spot. Sucking. Tracing from side to side. Touching lightly and teasingly. And sucking with a bit of teeth again. Every moan of Snow King sounded more like scream already... Cold fingers traced dark messy hair.

[Should I do more?...]

Boy moved to another nipple and slowly added second finger. Strong body literally melted in his arms with every touch. Snow King weakly laid in Yuuri's grip, blushing and panting. Entrusting himself to his beloved Kay and almost dissolving in every touch and every gentle thirst. He didn't even move, tossing the head back with closed eyes. But perfect lips that let out loud moans were smiling to this so new for him feeling - of being loved. Yuuri clung to him tighter, sloppily kissing from chest to these beautiful smiling lips. Caressing burning body from the inside and feeling how it relaxes around his fingers, boy half-happily, half helplessly realized that he could very possibly cum right now. Just from this sensation. He bit a lip desperately to distract himself with this little pain. And in this moment Victor arched his back, screaming. Icy-blue eyes opened wide staring into the black abyss almost helplessly. Hand that weakly touched boy's side a second ago dug into his shoulder blade with nails, leaving red traces.

[There! That very spot!]

When insane blue sky was covered with dark silver lashes, and heating porcelain body began to move rhythmically to meet his hand, Yuuri looked down for a second. Twitching arousal of his King was all covered with pre-cum. Yuuri gulped fighting the temptation to lick it clean. To feel these throbs into a mouth. He was greedy for every drop... But... Not now. Later. He will do it later. And not even once. Boy leaned to already sweating forehead of his Yuki no Kami: - Do U want me to...? Gasping for air Victor nodded with closed eyes and reached for his shoulders. Yuuri answered the gesture, pulling his King to sit on his laps. Desperate grip of cold fingers will definitely leave marks. Husky moans of his Snow God and insane blue eyes... Everything else disappeared... Yuuri slowly put it in and almost forgot to breath feeling how this perfect body of winter moves forward. To meet him. Boy bit his lip again.

[Not-to-cum-not-to-cum-not-to-cum...]

For a moment blue void fixed on Yuuri's face, slightly returning to the reality. Soft kiss touched boy's bitten lip. Reassuring. Encouraging. Even now Snow King is so protective... So caring... Chocking with tenderness Yuuri hugged his General tighter, kissing porcelain neck.

[Снежный... Let me please U. Let me give all my love to U... Everything I kept for U for so long...]

Strong body on Yuuri's laps tossed, arching the back. Victor's scream was loud. But not louder then thuds of the own heart in boy's ears. He pulled Snow King closer, pressing them forehead to forehead: - My Yuki no Kami-sama... Don't close your eyes. Look only at me. The answer was a frantic nod and fastened jerks of white hips. With an obvious effort icy-blue eyes stayed opened and fixed on black abyss in front of them. Boy's hand laid on Victor's hard-on and began to move. Maybe in black depth appeared a shadow of doubts if he really is able to please his General. Because for a second eye contact was broken. Tender lips reassuringly touched Yuuri's forehead. He gasped, clinging to his King and intensifying moves. Screaming with every thirst, Victor buried face into boy's shoulder. Nails dug into milky-white skin of the back. It will leave both: bruises and scratches. Yuuri didn't even realize he was screaming and grinning, overwhelmed with happiness. He couldn't hold back more. But his General couldn't also... Chocked with moans whisper touched boy's skin while sharp teeth dug into his shoulder: - Yu-uri... Inside... Boy didn't even had time to properly realize... Tight muscle squeezed his arousal in uncontrollable rhythmic jerks, when whitish heat splashed on his abdomen and chest, covering them both. The world shook and melted. Loosing voice and ability to breath, Yuuri weakly fell with Victor on messy sheets, unable to realize completely that his cum is inside his Yuki no Kami now, they did it to each other, it all is for real and he won't wake up anymore desperately trying to cling to disappearing dream. Breathing hard his Snow King weakly caressed scratches on boy's back. It was a bit painful.

[God!!!! So good!!! If it hurts, it means it's for real...]

Yuuri slowly forced himself to rise from Victor's chest. To reach for a kiss. Messy, stuck from sweat silver hair. Burning cheeks. Parted in hard breathes lips. And tired and happy, the most beautiful ever eyes. His General was so stunning that Yuuri even forgot how [pleaseny] exhausted he already was. - I love U. Snegurochka moya... - What??? - Snow King laughed softly. He rarely was this relaxed, completely out of control. - I love you too. But why?? Want me to dissolve from love to U? Yuuri tilted his head to the side. In any other case he'd immediately feel uneasy and nervous but now he was too busy with this living happiness in his arms. - Snegurochka... Isn't it like German Schneekind? Morozko in childhood? It's the analogy of Snow Queen, right? Amount of mythological mistakes in one phrase was unspeakable... General laughed, locking Yuuri in a tight embrace and pecking his lips: - Whatever... When U say it, I love how any of these sounds. Boy pulled his Snow King to lay on his shoulder and caressed his hip in promising gesture: - I won't let my Yuki no Kami-sama dissolve anyway. I'll lick every drop from your precious body. To save it. This night. And always. General snorted. Embarrassed and excited at the same time: - I didn't know Kay could be this intense... Yuuri kissed him. Affectionally despite of all exhaustion: - Kay waited for U for too many eternities, Снежный.

[mtyami]

Symphony in F Major

Oneshot

Fandom: Yuri!!! on Ice Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky Synopsis:

Principal cellist Otabek Altin welcomes a new concertmaster to his orchestra, the famous violin virtuoso Yuri Plisetsky. Intertwined both by fate and the fervent melody that they create together, they discover what future may come for them between the lines of Brahms’ hauntingly beautiful third symphony.

While this fic could certainly be read alone, I highly recommend listening to the pieces mentioned in the work while you read, both Jules Massenet's Méditation from Thaïs (in particular Maxim Vengerov's truly flawless version) and Johannes Brahms' Symphony No. 3 in F major, Op. 90, third movement (poco allegretto). Enjoy!

He first fell in love with Yuri while watching a YouTube video of him playing Méditation from Thaïs, a melody lyrical and haunting like his heavy-lidded eyes. His blond hair, softly curling around a fairy face, swayed with him as the music swelled and his movements became large, impassioned.

What intrigued Otabek most as he watched was the roiling, tenuous anger that simmered beneath the ethereal piece, giving the impression of a tiger, restrained and muzzled. This was not the kind of music Yuri usually liked to play, no, he was more Paganini than Massenet, preferring to be swept up in the frantic, furious dance, his long, slender fingers drumming over the fingerboard in tempo with the piano, climbing and climbing up and up the black wood never stopping never faltering never erring—

But this was Massenet that he played now on the screen, and as Yuri’s fingers ghosted over the strings, Otabek thought to himself how much it was like a prayer. He wondered then what it would be like to touch Yuri while he was tense like this; corded muscles in his forearms and fingers coiled and ready to spring into a melodious run. Oh, and the way he breathed, each phrase an audible gasp even through the imperfect sound quality of the video. Otabek breathed with him, holding and releasing, each sigh a welcome respite from the tension of each clause, a proclamation from the rooftop more than a conversation. Yuri’s hand slid along the delicate neck of his violin to hit the final harmonic note, high and dulcet off the fingerboard, and Otabek shivered.

The video went silent if only for a moment, the audience suddenly erupting into uproarious applause, and Otabek almost fell off his chair in a daze.

It was hard to believe that this person was the same sullen, sour-faced boy that sat across from him that first day of orchestra rehearsal, first chair violinist and concertmaster to his principal cellist. But a single look was all it took for Otabek to know that he was indeed, one and the same with the boy in the video. Those unmistakable blue-green eyes held cold fire as he scrutinized Otabek behind the conductor’s back, appraising him as his unspoken partner in leading the orchestra.

“And this season we welcome the peerless Yuri Plisetsky as our concertmaster,” the conductor was saying somewhere off to Otabek’s right, a voice far away. “I hope you will accept him with open arms.”

Yuri stood and gave a low, tense bow to the orchestra amid polite applause, then sat again, rearranging his sheet music with a perennial frown. As the violinists began to warm up, Otabek was captivated, his fingers frozen, his body paralyzed. Yuri’s distinct, clarion notes cut through the din even as he blazed through the mundane scales and arpeggios in a way that would make even Ševčík envious. He was the wood and metal of his instrument embodied in flesh, and Otabek was so captivated that his fingers never touched the strings until his stand partner, Phichit, nudged him expectantly.

The deep vibrations from the cello as he at last drew his bow across the thick strings tore him away from his fixation on Yuri momentarily, but somewhere between arpeggios and open string exercises he felt the blond boy watching him with those piercing soldier eyes. He felt the heat rise from his neck to his cheeks, his bow suddenly heavy, his sautillé clumsy.

Yuri approached him during the break, extending his hand with a dubious expression, the corners of his lips downturned.

“You’re better than I thought you would be.” He sniffed, sizing Otabek up with those eyes. “And you respond to me well enough.”

While he spoke, Otabek caught himself responding well enough, but only in daydreams of what he hoped could be possible. Yuri would call him Beka with reluctant affection, and he would call him Yura, always with a coy smile. They would sneak kisses in green rooms and shadowed corners of auditoriums, Otabek’s fingers tangled in that silky blond mane, their lingering flush and kiss-crushed lips the only evidence of their dalliance as they assembled to play. At night, they would quarrel over whose turn it was to use the soundproof practice room, but all disagreements would halt if Yuri gave him that suggestive look that led, every time without fail, to hot, slick kisses and passionate lovemaking, Yuri’s slender, nubile body arched hard beneath Otabek’s like a bow drawn over strings. Otabek would play him with deft fingers, eliciting a sweet song from Yuri’s glistening, flush-pink lips, more rousing than even Rachmaninoff’s symphonic poetry.

Otabek returned to his desk, half lost in his fantasy until their conductor, the legendary Viktor Nikiforov, tapped his baton on the music stand enthusiastically. “Let’s go ahead and pick up the Brahms number 3, starting with the third movement, poco allegretto. This one is a personal favorite of mine, so please, make it count.” He inhaled audibly, long and deep, his arms sweeping to cue the sorrowful piece, its fragility uncharacteristic of Brahms.

The orchestra had barely played fifty measures before Viktor cut them off abruptly, pinching his thumb and forefinger with a frown. He pursed his lips and rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“I just want to hear Yuri and Otabek play for us so we all know what it’s supposed to sound like when the first violins and cellos are actually listening to each other. The beginning is so critical to this piece because it sets the tone and establishes the theme. If you please, sirs? Just until where the oboes take the melody. Answer each other’s call. Create a story. Who are you to each other?”

Yuri’s huffing sigh of annoyance echoed loudly in the silence of the auditorium, and Otabek regarded him with a cautious stare. But Viktor’s baton was already raised, and his audible breath pulled Otabek’s bow into motion.

It was rare for a symphony to open with the cello’s song, and the haunting melody was low and rich, pouring from the strings as Otabek painted tender, arching strokes. Yuri kept his eyes trained on the dark-haired boy, his quiet answer filling the sustained notes of Otabek’s bittersweet melody. They swayed into the air around each other, creating pressure between them even as they played on opposite sides of Viktor, whose smile was faint and dreamlike as he directed them with subdued movements of his hands.

Who are you to me? You're the arms wrapped tightly around my waist on the back of my motorcycle, your cheek pressed into my leather jacket, the wind whipping through your flaxen hair. You're the soft voice that still tells me that you love me even though you can barely admit it to yourself.

The violin answered sweetly in high, dulcet tones, repeating Otabek’s theme. His eyes locked with Yuri’s fierce blue-green gaze, their notes intertwining, call and answer, call and answer, the gentle swell of the melody transferring from one wooden body to the next.

Who are you to me? You're the outstretched hand asking me to trust you with those dark eyes of yours filled with promises. You're the solid rock beneath my feet when I'm faltering, the arms to hold me when my heart is fragile and I can't face the world alone, the kiss I crave all the days of my life.

Otabek’s response was a soulful thrumming layered underneath Yuri’s clear, lingering notes. Dolce, the music read, dolce, tender, adoring.

You're my first friend. You're my first love. You're my first heartbreak. You're everything and nothing to me, the beginning and the end.

The sound of their instruments began to meld, Otabek’s tenor and Yuri’s soprano synced in harmonious sixteenths, rising and falling together until they came to the indicated rest just before the oboes enter, and Viktor cut them off with a gentle closing of his palms.

From across the orchestra, violinist and cellist regarded each other with wonder, as if they had both somehow glimpsed the same future, a future where they had become so much more than what they had expected to at first.

“And that,” Viktor murmured with a smile, “is how two parts become one.”

[candideangel]

🍺

🍺 to kiss my muse while drunk 

It had been an amazing party, there was great food, all the skaters that knew each other were getting in some well deserved social time. Even Angelique got to become involved being a plus one for Otabek (though she wondered if he really wanted her to come or it was just a pity invite). However, someone passed around booze (was it Chris?) to her, saying that she was perfectly legal (at least in France) for her to drink. Though being 19 wasn’t such a problem, she could drink inside a house as long as she wasn’t going to be behind the wheel or be doing anything stupid or dangerous.

Watching the group around her as her cheek rested on her hand, the couples and she couldn’t feel but a little bit of envy at all the loviedovieness. Reaching over she picked up the glass in front of her and started to drink. It was a tasty vodka that someone had given to her, at first it tasted a bit strange, but that overly sweet taste was almost like a cake she had once. One look at the bottle showed it was cupcake vodka. Who the fuck brought that? She wasn’t sure. However, what she did know is that one glass turned into two, two turned into three and so on until her cheeks were red and she was practically giggling nonstop at the smallest of things.

Before she knew it, she was leaning on the one who invited here in the first place. “Beeekkkaaaa~.” she cooed as the words tumbled with a minor slur and her arms wrapped around him. “...Beka, Beka...turn here.” she urged him. Of course there had been hesitation until she almost pouted. The guy wasn’t paying attention to her. However, in her drink laden mind she knew just how to get his attention. Shifting onto her knees she reached over, placing her hands though a bit clumsily, on his face and turned him to face her a little. Suddenly her lips found his in a clumsy kiss, laden with overly sweet chocolate cupcake vodka.

[whimsicaldragonette]

Otayuri Week 2017 Day 6: Pair Skate -  Love is a Battlefield, chapter 7

A day late (damn those pesky migraines-that-leave-hands-unusable-for-an-entire-week!), but here’s my submission for day 6: Pair skate - chapter 7 (the final chapter) of Love is a Battelfield.

Yuri POV

“Morning Grandpa, Beka,” Yuri yawned, slumping into his chair at the table.

“Morning,” Beka replied, sliding a plate of potatoes and sausages in front of him. It smelled divine, and Yuri dug in with more enthusiasm than he’d been able to muster in days.

He’d been tossing and turning until dawn, wrestling with the impossible situation they found themselves in. He knew Grandpa was steadily improving, and that they’d soon have to make decisions that he desperately wanted to put off. He didn’t know what he would do, where he would go; only that he couldn’t bear to return to St. Petersburg. He dreaded having to share Beka with Mila, dreaded losing him to her even more. No. He’d have to go somewhere else - the only question was where. As for skating… Well. Maybe he could sweet talk Lilia into referring him to a ballet studio. Somewhere far away from Beka, and everything he’d lost. Somewhere like —

“Yuratchka.”

Yuri suddenly realized that Grandpa had been trying to get his attention, and he felt his cheeks heat. “Yes, Grandpa? I’m sorry - I didn’t hear…”

Grandpa snorted. “Evidently. I was just asking Otabek here if he’d drive us all down to the rink this afternoon. I’ve never seen him skate, and I’d love to see your routines in person.”

The blood rushed from Yuri’s face, and he felt faint. His ears rang, and he was having trouble focusing. The room went blurry, and he couldn’t get enough air, and—

“Yura!” Beka’s hands closed protectively around his shoulders and he took his weight, supporting and anchoring him. Yuri drew in a shaky breath, and then another, and the ringing in his ears faded as the room shivered back into focus.

“Thanks,” he said softly, shrugging his shoulders until Beka’s hands reluctantly slipped off. He glanced up through the curtain of his bangs and deflated at the hopeful look on Grandpa’s face. How was he supposed to explain that he was never skating again, now? “I don’t…“ he started, not sure where he was going with it, since the only thing he could say wasn’t an option. “That is…”

“It would mean so much to me, Yuratchka,” Grandpa said, smiling that rare hopeful smile, and damn, Yuri couldn’t deny him that.

“I — hell. Why not?” he said, defeated. “We’ll go this afternoon.”

“Yura—” Beka started, but Grandpa cut him off.

“No, no, Yuratchka,” he said. “You’ve not been skating at all since you’ve been here, nor has Beka, here. I’ll not have you hurt yourselves on my account.”

For just a moment, Yuri allowed himself to hope that he’d escape the humiliation of skating with - in front of - Beka… but then Grandpa continued, blithely ignoring his distress.

“You’ll just have to get back to practicing, work up to it. A week or so should do it, right Yuratchka?”

Yuri gave up, submitting to whatever forces were determined to break him. “Yeah, sure.”

“Great!” Grandpa beamed at him, and the last vestiges of his resistance fell away. He couldn’t deny him, not when he’d been so much better lately.

Beka patted his shoulder, in a gesture that was probably meant to be reassuring, but only sent tension sparking and fizzing though his blood.

“We’ll head over there as soon as we clean up breakfast,” Beka said.

Yuri groaned. The idiot sounded almost hopeful. Maybe he could accidentally injure himself while retrieving his skates from his closet? No. He was cursed with relentless grace. No one would ever believe that he’d become suddenly clumsy. Beka would never believe it.

“We’ll go after we clean up breakfast,” he repeated dully, rising abruptly to dump the rest of his potatoes. The last bite he’d attempted had turned to ash in his mouth, and he was afraid he’d vomit if he smelled them any longer. He just wanted to get this embarrassing spectacle over with. He refused to think about the hours he was now going to have to spend with only Beka and the ice for company. That he could now look forward to an entire week spent on the ice, where he had never been able to hide his feelings. If Beka didn’t know how he felt about him now… Well. By the time this week was up, he would, for better or worse.

He felt a tiny tendril of relief curl around his heart, take root in his stomach and spread through the rest of him, bringing a curiously detached peace. By the end of the week, all of the heartache and pain and hopeless longing would be over.

—

Yuri was angry. This was nothing new; in fact, he almost always skated angrily. It was one of his main sources of strength, the secret to his ability to consistently push himself past his limits. But now he was frustrated and angry, and most of that anger was directed at himself instead of outwards. Across the rink, Beka skated as serenely as ever. Yuri desperately envied him his apparent peace of mind, and also hated it. He wished that Beka would just show some damn emotion!

“Yura!” Beka called to him, interrupting his train of thought. “Slow down! You’ve not skated in weeks; you don’t want to injure yourself now!”

“Shut up, Beka,” he snarled, the anger taking hold, “I’ll do what I damn well please!” He felt guilty immediately, but when he turned to apologize, Beka had already skated away and was facing the far wall determinedly. He refused to look at Yuri again the rest of their practice. Yuri knew that Beka was right - he really hadn’t skated in weeks, and he really did need to take it easy, it was true - but his annoyance at himself for snapping at Beka tapped into his growing frustration, and instead he pushed himself harder. He refused to stop until, panting, he nearly collapsed on the ice. As he did, he felt a sickening wrench in his calf. It didn’t feel like a bad injury - probably just a pulled muscle - but it would still set him back several days if he didn’t want to injure it further.

He tried to conceal the injury on their way home, limping as unobtrusively as possible, but Beka, as usual, noticed.

—

Otabek POV

Otabek quietly massaged Yuri’s injured leg, ignoring a series of fumbling attempts to apologize. “Is there anything else I can get for you, Yura?” he asked, when he judged that he’d done all he could.

Yuri hesitated. “Read to me?” he finally asked, eyes cast down to focus on his anxiously twisting fingers, refusing to meet Otabek’s amused gaze.

“All right,” he said simply, trying to hide his amused smile. He didn’t fool Yuri, of course, who looked up, eyes narrowing dangerously. “What shall I read?” he asked quickly, aiming to divert Yuri’s legendary temper. He glanced around the room, brows drawing together in confusion as he took in the complete and utter lack of books.

Yuri snorted. “In there.” He gestured toward the closet. “Top shelf. Take your pick.”

Otabek gingerly pulled open the door, remembering the hazards of opening similar doors in Yuri’s other living spaces… and smiled at the pile of stuffed tigers he found instead. His fingers extended, reaching for the nearest one, and then his breath caught as his idly wandering gaze landed on —

“Yura? Are these…”

He glanced back and was rewarded with one of Yuri’s bright, unguarded smiles. “Yeah. Those were my mother’s. Actually, Beka?” he asked, as Otabek’s finger crept forward to caress the gilded jewel-toned bindings.

“Hmm?”

“The red one, maybe? It’s my favorite.” He flushed, anticipating the teasing, but Otabek merely smiled and drew out the red volume from its place, settled snugly between the blue and green.

“All right.” He could feel his voice deepen, words rolling fluidly off his tongue as the echoes of his native accent crept in, caressing the words and amplifying their emotional punch – a legacy of his father and countless hours devouring tales at the man’s knees. Yuri leaned forward, seemingly unconsciously, and Otabek allowed the sliver of a smile to escape. He was beautiful like this, soft and unguarded. He fought against the temptation to reach out and stroke the cornsilk strands of his hair, mussed from the fall, and the brisk winter air. It shone distractingly in the light that spilled across Yuri’s rapt form, and if he stretched his arm out, just a tiny bit—

“Beka? Yuratchka?” Grandpa called from the living room, “Come out here and keep an old man company.”

Yuri’s expressive face morphed instantly into his indifferent, indignant mask and his eyes flashed, promising murder. Otabek smothered a smile and smoothly rose to his feet, tucking the precious book securely under one arm as he ruthlessly tamped down his errant attraction, and then offered the other to Yuri, wordlessly helping him into the living room. He didn’t comment on how Yuri was allowing him to bear most of his weight.

Once he’d settled Yuri comfortably on the couch, he moved to sit in the other chair, but Yuri stopped him with an insistent hand on his arm.

“Sit by me? So I can see the pictures?”

“Of course, Yura,” he said, sliding in next to him, careful not to jostle his leg where it lay propped on a stack of pillows, and beginning to read once more.

Yuri leaned his head against Otabek’s shoulder and settled in to listen; Otabek struggled to keep his voice and heartbeat level. Yuri was right there; strands of hair tickling Otabek’s neck, the light scent of his shampoo wafting up with every breath… He took a shaky breath, released it, begged his voice not to betray how much he was affected by the simple closeness. He soldiered on, and soon was lost in the story once more.

—

They made it through the red volume, and were well into the purple when he conceded that Yuri’s leg was indeed recovered. He had borrowed a chessboard and checkers from one of Grandpa’s neighbors, and had insisted that Yuri and Grandpa sit and play while he waited on them. Though, really, he’d spent more time reading and helping Yuri, who was far too impatient for chess.

—

Otabek watched anxiously as Yuri slid smoothly across the ice. He knew it had been a minor injury, one that didn’t really require as much rest as he’d insisted on. Hell, Yakov would most likely have had Yuri back on the ice within the hour, with maybe a slightly-less-insane pace in deference to the injury.

He’d half expected Yuri to fight him, like the spitting tomcat he knew the small-but-fiery skater could be… but he hadn’t. He’d rested until Otabek had relented and taken them both back to the ice - where he was now executing the most remarkable sequence of jumps and spins Otabek had ever seen. He snorted. That was all for him, of course - a nonverbal “See?” that rang out loud and clear because it was said in the language they both understood best.

He stared, unseeing, as the words rang in his head like a bell. The language they both understood best. Of course. He waited for Yuri to pause, then seamlessly slipped into his own jump sequence. But where Yuri had leapt, he swooped low; where Yuri practically flew, barely skimming the surface of the ice, he sped along it, bent low, grounded solidly to the ice and calling forth its drumbeat. Then he paused, expectant, waiting, eyes fixed firmly on Yuri’s face.

Yuri’s head was tilted, birdlike; his brow furrowed in thought. Otabek waited. If only… And then Yuri shivered to attention, his eyes lit with delight and competitive fire, and he was off, leaping across the ice, answering the unvoiced question.

They played their strange back-and-forth game for what felt like hours, caught up in the magic of call and response, question and answer, spin and glide.

—

They stopped together, gliding through one last, elegant loop and then halting with a quiet hiss of blades on ice. For a moment, they stared at one another, panting slightly, catching their breaths. The moment stretched out and out, trembling like a soap bubble on the edge of breaking. Otabek said the first thing that came to his mind, desperate to keep Yuri from withdrawing again.

“Did you get my messages?”

Yuri’s eyes snapped up to his, searched his face. “What messages?” he asked, eyes narrowed slightly in confusion.

Beka frowned. “I sent several, the last few days before I got here. After I realized you might actually want to talk to me after all. I didn’t at first, but Mila—“

Yuri cut him off. “Wait. No you haven’t, I — Oh.”

“What?”

“I think maybe…” Yuri grabbed his hand suddenly, dragged him back across the ice.

Otabek, off-balance, tried to tug his hand from Yuri’s vice-like grip. “Yura, what are you—“

“Not now. I need to check…”

Yuri didn’t speak again until he’d tugged him all the way back to his room, with only a curt nod for Grandpa as they passed. “Now where did I…?” Yuri muttered to himself, digging through his drawers. Otabek just watched, thoroughly puzzled.

“Aha!” Yuri exclaimed, unearthing his phone from the bottom of a drawer. Otabek realized, startled, that he’d not seen Yuri using it once while he’d visited, and wondered how he’d failed to notice its absence.

“I, uh, haven’t turned it on in a while,” Yuri said sheepishly, turning the phone to display the blank screen. “Hang on — lemme find the charger.”

Otabek puzzled this over as Yuri impatiently flung things aside. “But, you said you talked to Mila?”

“Oh, yeah,” Yuri said, sheepishly. “She, uh, emailed me. I used Grandpa’s computer.” He was frowning down at the phone now, as it reluctantly booted up, lip sucked between his teeth in a very distracting way. “Oh!” he exclaimed, cheeks flushing lightly as he scrolled through the messages - Beka winced as he remembered just how many messages he’d sent - “I didn’t ignore them on purpose! I couldn’t—“ He smiled shyly up at Beka, who smiled shyly back.

“Good.”

Yuri’s eyes were soon glued to his screen once more, and he chewed his lip as he scrolled. Otabek tried not to look – he didn’t really want to know his reaction to…

Yuri’s hand flew to his mouth, and his eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline. “I am an idiot,” he muttered. Then he looked up. “No, you are an idiot. Why the hell didn’t you just tell me how you felt?”

Otabek winced. “I… well…”

Yuri sighed. “Fine. I know why you didn’t tell me. But why Mila didn’t…”

“I think she felt it would be better coming from me?” he offered.

That earned him a snort. “She didn’t want to risk my temper over her staggering idiocy, you mean. I suppose I can’t blame her.” His smile turned decidedly wicked. “But next time I see her...”

Otabek thought he probably ought to warn her, but part of him felt she deserved it for meddling as she had. She’d only been trying to help, but she’d nearly ruined things. Ruined this. In any case, she could most likely handle just about anything Yuri could dish out.

—

Yuri POV

The next time they skated, Yuri didn’t waste time on Beka’s subtle call-and-response game of the day before. He waited impatiently for Beka to pause, then grabbed his hand and swung him into a shaky spin. Beka wobbled for an instant, but quickly righted himself, taking control of the spin and leading Yuri across the ice. Perfect. He looked up, catching Beka’s surprised gaze, watching it turn to interest and exultant anticipation. Then he nodded. Your move.

Beka took up the challenge with his usual stolid grace - he danced Yuri across the ice, dipping him, twirling him, tossing him into gravity-defying leaps and then grounding him again. They improvised their way into a passable imitation of a pairs routine, and Yuri loved every second of it. Dancing with Beka was the perfect combination of wild and restrained - like dancing with a tightly leashed storm. It was everything Yuri had always loved about skating, everything that had seduced him from that first moment he stepped out on the ice. It was wonderful. It was exhilarating. And the best part was the look in Beka’s eyes, the look that said he felt it, too.

“So,” he said, once he’d caught his breath. “That was something.”

Beka nodded, hands on his knees.

Yuri grinned at him. “Since we’ve missed the deadline for competing this season and don’t have new programs to work on… wanna work on a pairs routine instead? Just skate for the fun of it?”

Beka didn’t answer him in words, but Yuri understood just the same.

—

They skated their routines for Grandpa at last. Yuri waited a beat after his final pose, then punched the air with an exultant fist. Yes! That was the best performance he’d done yet, and the excited gleam in Grandpa’s eyes told him the old man knew it as well. He turned, heart in his throat, to look at Beka.

He was met with equally bright eyes, an incandescent grin, and a thumbs up. He laughed. Then he stood spellbound, rooted to the spot, until Beka struck his own final pose. Yuri felt a spark of jealousy when Grandpa seemed equally delighted - but not in the way he expected. Instead, he found himself miffed that Otabek’s grace should be seen by anyone but him.

He gave his own thumbs up, then startled as Beka turned to him and stretched out his hand, echoing Katsuki’s final free skate pose, that season that changed all their lives.

“Skate with me,” he said, eyes bright and sparkling and crinkling up at the edges. “Skate with me in public, in front of an audience.”

Yuri frowned at him. “Huh? It’s too late for us to skate this season, Beka.”

His eyes didn’t lose their sparkle; if anything it increased, growing mischievous. “In singles.”

Yuri waited for a moment, then gestured impatiently. “And? We skate singles, Beka.”

“What if we didn’t? Skate pairs with me this season, Yura? We can use the routine we’ve been working on. The other team had to pull out due to injury - we have time to sign up. If you want.”

His smile was so hopeful and open that Yuri found himself powerless to resist. “I - hell. All right. But you’re the one breaking the news to Yakov.”

Beka’s laughter, bright and free as it echoed around the empty rink, was the best sound Yuri had ever heard. He skated abruptly toward him, letting out a peal of laughter of his own as Beka stood, staring at him, up until the moment they collided with a startled Oof. They ended in a tangle on the ice, and it didn’t escape Yuri’s notice that Beka had somehow managed to arrange them so Yuri landed on top of him, completely unscathed. He rolled his eyes, lowering his head until his breath skated across Beka’s face, ruffling his hair and bringing a delicious flush to his cheeks.

“You’re mine. Idiot.” Riding the high of the elation bubbling through his chest, he leaned down, brushed their lips together in a kiss gentler than he thought possible. Not that he should have been surprised. Beka had always brought out the best in him. He captured Beka’s hands as he pulled him to his feet, pressed their palms together, and they danced.

[allthereclists]

Otayuri

Birthday Boy by Ren 1,106

Otabek lets slip that he never celebrates his birthdays. Yuri decides to fix that.

what hoodies are made of by pissedofsandwich 1,235

Let it be known that Yuri Plisetsky is killed by his first friend, and possibly, if given more time—and if he could just admit it deep down in his heart that yes, he has a crush on Otabek the size of St. Petersburg—his first boyfriend, during the exhibition gala of Trophee de France.

Oh, what’s the murder weapon, you ask?

The goddamn hoodie.

Or: Otabek dresses sexy for his EX Gala and Yuri loses his shit.

Worth The Wait by Ren 1,277

"I turned eighteen in March," Yuri says.

melt me down by ohhotlamb 2,196

“Do you remember? In Barcelona? It’s been at least three years by now.”

“Of course I do,” Yuri mumbles. “That was when we first started talking.”

Methods of Falling by stutter 2,610

"When Victor was his age - younger, even, Yuri thinks, shame blooming in his chest - he’d made the whole world fall in love with him already. The long hair, the soft smile, the way he moved like he had a secret in his skin and he couldn't wait to share it with you. Yuri’s watched the tapes over and over. He could skate any of Victor’s early routines in his sleep. But he can't - the thing Victor could do so easily, the casual, guileless charisma he threw like a shadow - Yuri can't manage it on a single person, not even some moody Kazakh with a dumb haircut whose eyes are too far apart anyway - "

(In Park Guell, Yuri takes a hard fall. Otabek picks him up.)

The Death of Golden Locks by IzzyBee92 4,505 

Yurio shows up with short hair and Otabek tries to figure out what the hell happened. But Yurio doesn't seem to want to discuss it.

The Naming of Cats by unheroics 6,075

The photo gets almost drowned out in a sea of others, more flashy. It’s easy to miss, tagged only as #practice. Otabek doesn’t remember following Yuri Plisetsky on Instagram. Maybe his sister did it for him.

(Otabek, Yuri, and a relationship that develops in the margins of their careers.)

Baptism by InsominiacArrest 9,648

Yuuri Plisetsky has been waiting to lose his virginity to his boyfriend (and also take his boyfriends virginity) and on his 18th birthday, he gets his wish.

follow up: Otabek and Yuri have been apart for a couple months and finally get to reunite.

Anything But Obvious by Tessa on Ice (tessacrowley) 15,016

Yuri Plisetsky would rather die than ever be obvious.

let us be the unexpected by peachys 16,394 

Yuri is used to overworking himself but Otabek helps him see everything he's been missing out on.

Extended Free Skate by Opalsong 20,420

Otabek won silver at Worlds. Yuri was going win gold at fucking domming.

(Fuck his brain and its fucking innuendos.)

Something Old and Something New by heartsdesire456 30k

When Otabek's home rink is damaged in a fire, he and his coach get permission to train in Russia from Yakov. Yuuri and Victor offer their spare room to Otabek for the duration of his stay, and in doing so, Yuuri is given a front row look at Yurio coming to understand his feelings for his best friend, as well as the subsequent panic that ensues after he discovers his feelings aren't so 'friendly' after all.

in flesh and bone by csoru 32,077

After recovering from an injury that cut his previous season short, Yuri makes a comeback with a new coach, a new country of residence, and a relationship upgrade. Still: perfection takes effort.

AU

Panic! In the Hotel by sweatpantz 1,318 

Yuri has a minor panic attack after something that happens between him and Otabek. He comes to his gay dads for advice and then he and Otabek talk it out <3

Spontaneous Combustion by kanekki 3,589

When Otabek and Yuri present at the exact same time, chaos ensues.

concerto for piano, in a minor key not yet decided by 777335 5,260

magical realism au, where yuri is a tsar of ice (which, for the purpose of this fic, is almost a demigod, of sorts) and otabek is a very sad and musical young man who has moved to St. Petersburg to deal with the death of a friend.

it starts like:

Otabek moves to the outskirts of St. Petersburg and becomes friends with Yuri slowly and then suddenly, like ice sliding across a plate. How he meets Yuri goes like this: (a memory that retains the present tense, because it feels very much like a thing that is still happening to him, not a thing that is over)

by the nape of my neck by aphhun 5,499

Everyone has a counter that ticks down the hours until you first meet your Destined; your soul mate. Yuri Plisetsky has been actively ignoring his timer for the last eight years. That is, until it's dwindled down to zero behind his back, and he has no idea how or when he met his Destined in the bustle of St Petersburg

Fire Red by Qitana 7,813

The static reaches its peak before someone says, “Hello Mr Yuri Plisetsky.”

He’s different from the first person, of this Yuri is certain. He jolts slightly when the man pronounces his full name, and he finds an absurd amount of comfort in his voice. It’s soft and warm, with a stoniness that could rival Yakov’s and Lilia’s, and his accent makes it endearing as hell. A small flame slowly starts to burn inside of Yuri for reasons he can’t possibly fathom. It’s just a man’s voice, and a stranger’s to boot, but he feels significantly better already.

When Saving Fairies by Eshli 8,064

Otabek is a knight to the Kingdom of Kazakhstan. He winds up saving a fairy from a tough spot, taking love advice from a total idiot, and losing his virginity in an unsuspecting way. Such is the life of the Hero of Kazakhstan.

Someone to Protect by DragonofFernweh

Yuri's heat happens to take him by surprise the day before a competition, even though those stupid suppressants were supposed to take care of that. He'll head to the medical wing to take care of the problem, but what if he runs into someone else? He dreads anyone finding out about his being an Omega. Still, he's just fifteen, no one would be affected by his heat. He was just a kid.

It turns out, they hurt kids everywhere. It also turns out that Katsuki Yuuri is really fucking terrifying when he wants to be.

the birth of comets takes place on the tip of your lashes by apollothyme 15,622

His second visit to an ophthalmologist occurs five months later.

Just like during his first consultation, he doesn’t understand any of the medical jargon coming from the doctor’s mouth. Only now, after he’s done explaining everything in complicated, convulsed words, the man turns to Yuri with a smile on his face and explains everything once more, this time using terms Yuri can understand.

Yuri listens. He bites down on his bottom lip and he does not cry.

My Life is Over, I Might As Well Jump by accidental-mormon (crazyhomoinspace) 20,109

Yuri Plisetsky was not expecting to go into his first heat surrounded by competitive figure skaters in a classy hotel before an international competition. He was not expecting to sleep with his roommate.. and they weren't expecting to have to deal with the consequences.

First Door On The Right by TeaLovingTooru 21,218

When Yuri turns eighteen, his brother Viktor, informs him that he has to find an Alpha suitor. Yuri is angry as he doesn't understand why he would have to get married, causing him to run into town. After a chance encounter, Yuri makes an unexpected acquaintance with a local.

Neon Pink Motorcycle by goldheart 74,720

There are certain moments in Yuri Plisetsky’s life that he likes to forget happened at all. The time they were chased from the apartment, the landlord angrily spitting and waving threateningly at them when his mother couldn’t produce enough money for rent. Babushka’s funeral. The first time he fell in competition.

He cannot forget that, under the black band he wears around his wrist like a shield, his soulmark may as well be nonexistent.

Unsteady by otayuri_oh_nice 139,679

Otabek was going to kill JJ. He was going to take the next flight to Canada, hunt him down and kick his ass. Leo: I tried to stop him but he went and did it anyway, I’m sorry! (link)

- Or: JJ uploads one of Otabek's remixes of Yuri's songs to YouTube and Otabek freaks out.

- Or: what happens when you take episode 1, replace figure skaters with musicians and exchange Victuuri for Otayuri. Aka another strange AU no one asked for.

on finding your way; by crossroadswrite

When Otabek has to leave back to the dormitories, he turns to Yuri, looking slightly nervous and asks, “So, are we friends or what?”

Yuri stares at him. “Beka, I let you pet my cat.”

Prequel: on growing; by crossroadswrite

Yuri Plisetsky glares at him with all the righteousness five year olds possess, and says in heavily accented and clumsy English. “Be more gooder, stupid!”

And then he storms out in a sweep of blond hair and blue and red lights from his Sketchers.

(Or: in which everything is the same but Yuri Plisetsky is Victor's bratty five-year-old child.)

https://otayuri-ficrec.tumblr.com/tagged/yoi-fic-rec

wip

Eat Your Heart Out, Adonis by blackmountainbones 

The year is 2021. The Beijing Winter Olympics are just around the corner, and Yuri Plisetsky is forced to take a break from skating in order to recover from an ankle injury. His friend Otabek comes to Russia to keep him company during his time off the ice.

soldier boy, tripping over himself to win my praise by thissupposedcrime

Yuri cannot crater down the path Victor blazed, happily forsaking Russia and his career for an international love affair. Neither will Kazakhstan's favorite son.

Or Yuri and Otabek from 2016-2026 and the competitions, weddings, and longing that define them.

Not your usual love story by arcsinx

Baranovskaya's new face, Yuri Plisetsky (22), who shot in Venice for Vogue's last issue, was seen accompanied by Otabek Altin (25) as they left a coffee shop in St Petersburg yesterday. The DJ and voted 2017's hottest musician, Altin was in the city to compose for Victor Nikiforov's (30) new movie production. The couple met at the Paris Fashion Week after-party(image) and have been appointed to be secretly dating ever since. An intimate friend claims Altin to be completely besotted with the Russian beauty, having even gifted him a $35,000 diamond collar necklace!

For more photos of Plisetsky's front cover shoot for Vogue, click here For more articles on Altin's new collabs with popstars, click here.

Let the Record Drop by BoxWineConfessions 

A collection of PWP oneshots loosley based around the idea of DJ-Otabek.

[lumorie]

What was pre-hero!beka like? Was he bullied like Herk?

Otabek wasn’t bullied the same way Herc was, when he was a kid. Since Otabek is not that clumsy as Herc... he didn’t crashed a whole place. And people didn’t gave him attention, because he was more quiet and in his thoughts. Well sometimes the people stare at him, when he could lift almost everything with one hand or they said behind his back that he isn’t normal. But he didn’t got attacked in person.Though, he didn’t had any friends either.  

[ellysakura-blog]

I was listening to ‘Clumsy’ by Fergie and I kept grinning like an idiot while imagining Yurio being so clumsy around Beka

#otayuri #kyaaa

[abbywritestrash]

Get to know me

Rules: Answer these 20 questions and then tag some tumblr folks you wanna know better!

I was tagged by @yuratchka-speaks. She’s an absolute doll and if any of you don’t know who she is go to her fuckin’ blog rn. 

Name: Abby Nicknames: I was dubbed ‘Bambi’ all through highschool because I’m extremely clumsy and have stupidly large eyes. Zodiac sign: Gemini (fuckin’ fight me) Height: 5 foot 8 Orientation: Homosexual Ethnicity: White British Fruit: Strawberries and Blueberries Season: Autumn (Halloween, man) Flower: Lillie Smell: Vanilla 100% Colour: Green Animal: I like anything that’s soft and won’t bite me Average sleep hours: I just don’t.  Cats or Dogs: Both, I literally couldn’t choose. Coffee, tea, hot chocolate: Coffee. Favourite fictional character: This one is way too difficult to answer and I feel personally offended by it. Blog Created: A few weeks ago? I’ve been here lurking for forever, tho. And I have some other super secret accounts. (shhh.)

TAGGING:

@beka-speaks 

I literally don’t have any friends. Have fun, dude!