#i wonder if an official chess set is rapidly in the works?

[kuravix]

Oda's sketching process of ch. 1113 colour spread (video)

[omgkatsudonplease]

yo i haven't seen pd2 in like YEARS but yuuri and victor in your little drabble had me weak and i don't even know what kinda factor they play in the movie or if there's anything else you can give us but i'd love to see more of them because. yes @ them being all over each other in front of everyone when people have shit to do, i.e. important ruling a kingdom stuff

well, the dynamic between the queen and joe in the movies (can’t say much about the books bc it’s been years since i read one of them lmao) is that they’ve got a will they won’t they tension going on and literally the entire damn country ships them (the friggin bishop or…. whatever religious leader officiating the wedding was like “finally” when they did get married in pd2 lolol) and yea that’s probably what i’d be going for. but with a couple tweaks since a lot of details have been shifted around in this au to make it work better with the yoi cast lol

Viktor’s never seen anyone as stoic as Mr Katsuki before in his life. He runs a tight ship, getting all the other security officers into line and smartly suited up. He obsessively goes over every possible breach or flaw at every venue, even drawing up blueprints and maps of the buildings Viktor sets foot in just so he knows the weaknesses of each wall, the locations of each ventilation shaft. He knows the precise details of Viktor’s schedule down to the minute, coordinating with Lilia, his chief advisor and assistant, until everything around the King seems to flow like clockwork, the well-oiled cogs of a machine designed to protect his every step.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks Mr Katsuki once, a couple months into his tenure as chief of security, and Mr Katsuki only smiles a tight, brittle smile that doesn’t reach his calculating yet sparkling eyes.

“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you were hurt, Your Majesty,” he replies.

Viktor laughs at just how earnestly serious the man looks. “My life is in your hands already, Mr Katsuki. You might as well call me Viktor.”

There’s a little chink in Mr Katsuki’s armour at that when his cheeks flush visibly pink. “I don’t know if I could, Your Majesty,” he says, his voice quiet, soft, and Viktor immediately realises he’d do anything to see this sort of expression on the man’s face again.

Mr Katsuki is a reassuring shadow at his side, watchful yet protective. Viktor values his work and dedication. Admires his bravery and honour.

But he doesn’t fall in love, though, until one fateful afternoon when he’s leaving his motorcade and a gunman opens fire, and Mr Katsuki is on him in an instant, tackling him onto the asphalt and shielding him with his body. As his heartbeat rings loudly in his ears, Viktor looks up into the wide-eyed expression on his chief of security’s face, and realises that the man is genuinely terrified of losing him.

“Yuuri,” he breathes, reaching up for him. The light haloes Mr Katsuki, making him almost angelic. The noise and commotion fade away with each blink of Mr Katsuki’s long lashes, and then the world fades to white.

When Viktor wakes up, he is in a hospital bed, and Mr Katsuki – Yuuri – has fallen asleep with his fingers inches from Viktor’s own. 

Falling in love is a problem when you’re a king. Especially when it’s with your chief of security. Each demonstration of concern, each command carried out eagerly, each reassuring smile – they could all be part of a careful facade crafted in the name of duty. Viktor’s familiar with careful facades; he lives under one each day even in the comfort of his own palace.

But around Yuuri, he tries to be himself. He gets him to dance (and finds out that Yuuri is quite talented at it). He gets him to play chess (and finds out that Yuuri is a brutal opponent). He gets him to agree to a skating trip on the frozen canals of the city, early in the morning with only the other King’s Guards for company. There, he finds out the sound of Yuuri’s laughter, the shape of his smile, the sparkle of his eyes. He also finds out that being lifted by Yuuri in some pale imitation of pair skating is the closest he’ll ever get to flying.

“What do you think about a ball for my ward?” Viktor wonders one evening in the middle of his paperwork. “He turns 16 in a week, and it’ll be time I paid him a visit and told him who I really was.”

Yuuri hums. “I’m sure that can be arranged,” he says. Viktor looks up from the law he’s reviewing and takes off his reading glasses, frowning.

“What would you do if I gave you the night off that evening, and asked you to come to the ball as my guest?” he asks.

Yuuri’s brows crinkle, almost like he’d never considered such a thing ever happening, and he replies, “I would be honoured, but I don’t usually attend balls.”

“No, you prefer to just lurk in the back in a suit, muttering things to other security guards for the entire evening,” Viktor deadpans, and earns himself a light chuckle.

“I’m not good at parties, Your Majesty; I would be a terrible guest,” insists Yuuri, now adding a pink flush to his smile, and Viktor wants to take a photograph of it and preserve it forever. 

“But you’re such a good dancer.” Viktor pouts. “Come on, just this once, for King and country?”

“If you wanted me to go to a ball for King and country, wouldn’t you just let me do it on duty?”

Viktor sighs. “Don’t make me order you.”

Yuuri’s smile is the widest Viktor’s ever seen on him before. He finds himself desperately wanting to kiss it. “As you wish,” Yuuri replies smoothly, and Viktor’s stomach flutters in response.

The ball had been simultaneously the best and the worst idea Viktor has ever had in his life. 

He knows he should be keeping an eye on the guest of honour, his ward Yuri Plisetsky, who had been raised by his grandfather with the patronage of the King. Tonight is when he announces that Yuri would be his heir and next in line for the throne, but all he can think about instead is Yuuri Katsuki.

Yuuri is radiant under the light of the chandeliers in the ballroom. He is dressed in navy blue, cutting a dashing figure through the whirling dancers. Viktor feels his mouth go dry and his heart race every time he locks eyes with the man, and he sincerely hopes none of it shows on his face.

The ceremonial aspects of the ball go by in a dream-like blur. Each minute separate from Yuuri feels like a year in a desert. But when the dancing resumes, and Viktor finally works up the nerve to ask Yuuri to dance, each minute feels more like a second, and the dance is over in four of them.

He asks for another, and another, even though there are other people he has to dance with, as per Royal protocol. But with each glass of champagne Yuuri gets friendlier and friendlier, and Viktor doesn’t want to lose any more of this night than he already had with all of the pomp and circumstance. With the conclusion of one more dance, he drags Yuuri with him out of the ballroom, onto the terrace. 

Hidden in the rosebushes, fuelled by the countless glasses of champagne, Viktor kisses a hungry line down the column of Yuuri’s neck. Yuuri gasps into the contact, but he doesn’t push Viktor away – only pulls him in to make their lips meet, and Viktor almost cries with joy.

“Oh god,” Yuuri breathes when Viktor pulls back, lips swollen and cheeks flushed. His champagne-clouded eyes are flashing with some emotion Viktor has never seen on him before. “Y – You have no idea how long I’ve – Viktor.”

“Shh,” Viktor whispers, leaning in to kiss him again, his heart leaping into his throat at how easily and beautifully his name rolls off Yuuri’s tongue.“I know.”

“Was I that obvious?” murmurs Yuuri. His hands, though slightly trembling, stroke down Viktor’s cheek with unerring tenderness.

Viktor chuckles. “You said once you weren’t sure what you’d do if I got hurt.”

“I’d do anything for you,” replies Yuuri bluntly.

“And I, for you.”

“Even…” Yuuri purses his lips. “Give up the crown?”

“If it would make you happy,” replies Viktor.

“I don’t want to marry the King.” Yuuri’s expression is earnest. “I want to marry Viktor.”

And that’s the most wonderful thing anyone has ever told him. Water blurs his vision as Viktor blinks rapidly, and then laughs, hugging Yuuri close. In response, Yuuri makes a low noise in his throat that sends heat coursing through Viktor’s veins. His lips are on Yuuri’s almost immediately after, and it doesn’t take long after that for Viktor to lose himself completely.

In the morning, Viktor finds himself fully clothed in his own bed. According to reports from the rest of the King’s Guard, Yuuri had to call for backup after Viktor had passed out in his arms while they had been in the garden, ostensibly from alcohol. The guards had returned him to his room fully-clothed and he had gone to bed almost immediately.

Yuuri doesn’t meet his gaze for a solid week after.

The years pass, and with each day things get worse. Yuuri continues to be loyal, dependable, stoic. Viktor continues to love him.

Yuri grows up, studies international politics at Georgetown in the United States. Once he graduates, he moves to Petersburg, begins learning the ropes of ruling the kingdom. Viktor watches his not-so-little ward all the while, his own heart aching when he sees him dancing with everyone at the annual Midsummer Ball. Yuuri, by contrast, is on duty at this event, sober and untouchable.

Viktor clings onto the memory of the warmth of Yuuri’s body and the perfume of the roses, and waits. 

He waits too long. “I’m thinking of moving on,” Yuuri admits to him after a game of chess one night, a couple months after Yuri has moved into the palace. “It’s getting too hard for me.”

“What’s getting too hard?” Viktor asks. “I can see what I can do to get you accommodations.”

“No, Your Majesty.” Yuuri’s eyes are sad. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

Viktor doesn’t know how or why, but suddenly there’s something wet and hot rolling down his cheeks, and blinking only makes it worse. “But you can’t leave,” he says, plaintively. “I need you.” I love you, he adds, but no matter how hard he thinks it Yuuri would never be able to read his mind. 

“Petersburg needs you more than I do,” replies Yuuri quietly. “You are a King first. I’m just a coward who keeps letting my personal feelings get in the way of my work.”

“No!” Viktor reaches out, grabs Yuuri’s hand. “You’re the best man I’ve ever met. You’re so beautiful and brave and loyal and – and – you asked me once if I would give up my crown for you. And I said yes.”

“You were drunk,” Yuuri points out. “And so was I. I could barely remember anything from that night.”

“The answer’s still yes.” Viktor presses tearstained kisses to Yuuri’s hands, watching the way the man’s eyes widen in shock as he does. “Please, Yuuri, stay close to me.”

Yuuri swallows. “Your –” he begins, and then catches himself. “Viktor.” Quietly, he tugs his hands free of Viktor’s grasp. “I could never ask you to do something so selfish.”

At the sound of that, Viktor feels something hard crystallising around the pieces of his heart. “Maybe I’m not the selfish one this time,” he snaps, and watches in a strange pained satisfaction as Yuuri’s expression crumples.

“You’ll have my resignation by the end of the month,” his chief of security says simply, and leaves without another sound.

Yuri is halfway into the cathedral before he bolts, and Viktor chases after him, finding him in a smaller chapel in the same building, the stained glass windows casting coloured light across his pale, terrified face.

“You don’t have to go through with this,” Viktor says quietly, startling the young man from his reverie. 

Yuri’s jaw is harsh. “Who’s the one who herded me through all of this?” he growls, tugging hatefully at the collar of his starched military uniform.

Viktor sighs. “I’m sorry,” he says, and enters the chapel to sit next to his ward. “I’m sorry I’ve put all of this on your shoulders.”

Yuri rolls his eyes. “It’s not your fault there’s a stupid law about how I have to marry before I can take the throne,” he points out.

“Laws can be changed,” Viktor replies. “Most of Parliament is here, you know.”

He raises an eyebrow. Yuri gets it, nods.

“So you admit you were just doing this for vicarious kicks, huh?” he asks.

Viktor laughs, rubs sheepishly at his nape. “I admit nothing,” he says, and Yuri rolls his eyes.

And after his ward has successfully ended the engagement with Prince Chulanont and forced Parliament to get rid of the adoptive heir wedding law, he takes Yuuri aside. Moments later, and to everyone’s consternation, Yuuri reenters the cathedral sanctuary and heads straight for Viktor.

“I’m sorry I haven’t had the chance to hand in my resignation yet,” he begins. Viktor opens his mouth, wanting an explanation, but Yuuri holds up a hand. “So this is the next best thing – Viktor Nikiforov, will you do me the honour of becoming my husband?”

(Viktor’s not sure if he’s just hearing things, but it sounds like the entire congregation has just breathed a sigh of relief.)

His smile is so wide that it hurts. “Yes,” he says, and watches with butterflies fluttering in his stomach as Yuuri takes off his headpiece and offers them to Mrs Nishigori, his deputy. Yuuri then extends an arm, and Viktor takes it eagerly as they make their way up the aisle.

At the altar, Yuuri takes his hands with a smile, before looking to the Archbishop. “I would like to take this man as my husband,” he states, “if he would have me.”

“Well, it was about time,” the Archbishop declares, and Viktor can’t help but laugh.