Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Me:
Someone invited me back to their room.

Yuri texted Otabek, biting his lip and bouncing his leg over the edge of the hotel bed. Today had been weird . He had sat with Mila and Georgi to watch the Ladies Free Skate, because Otabek was busy looking for souvenirs for his family - of all fucking things. Yuri had wanted to go with him, but Yakov had literally dragged him by the ear to watch Mila compete. But now she was done and Otabek couldn’t tell him what street he was on and there was no way he was going to hunt for him all over Fucking Marseille. So, he had been pissed. Pissed until a complete stranger had sat down in the seat next to him.

Me:
Should I go?

Mila wasn’t answering any of his texts, and, well, Otabek always knew what to do. His stomach was going to erupt. The way Mila’s eyes had sparkled suggestively when the stranger had introduced herself to Yuri, was forever branded into his brain. He still felt sick. He impatiently tapped his fingernail against his phone screen. Come on Beka - okay, there he was. The typing bubble popped up at the bottom of the chat screen.

Beka:
What?
Who?

Yuri swallowed, glaring up at the ceiling for a moment.

Me:
Canadian skater
Her name’s Megane

He paused taking a deep breath, trying to calm the revolutionary war in his stomach.

Me:
She’s an alpha.

Beka:
Ok

There was a long pause; probably only about a few seconds, but Yuri couldn’t tell time right then. Nervous sweat was already forming under his armpits.

Beka:
Okay, well it’s your choice first of all
Don’t force yourself to do anything

Yuri rolled his eyes; he would say that.

Me:
I’m not

Beka:
Okay, so the question is do you WANT to?

He hissed an exhale through his teeth, squeezing the edges of his phone and banging the back of his calves against the side of the bed.

Me:
She seems nice
Like when we talked this afternoon she was okay

Beka:
Not the answer to my question

Yuri tilted his head to the side; his stomach was tightening and clenching even worse now. He had no freaking clue what he wanted, though. God, he was sixteen, he was supposed to be adventurous, he was supposed to go out and live his fucking life, not sit in his hotel room texting his friend who was off having his own adventure that he would tell his fucking future children about. Fuck it, he was doing this.

Me:
Yeah, kinda

Beka:
Okay, just be smart about it

Yuri glared at his phone screen for a second before sighing in slight relief; Otabek never judged him whenever he asked dumb questions or came to him for advice. He always had good answers too, like his brain was fucking Wikipedia. It was amazing.

Me:
Don’t tell anyone

Beka:
Don’t tell anyone what?

Me:
That I’m going to hook up with Megane
Oh
Fuck off Altin

Beka:
:)
Have fun Plisetsky.
But promise me you wont do anything dumb. Set boundaries and make sure she knows them

He couldn't help but feel glad that it was Otabek who had answered instead of Mila. she would have probably yelled at him and stolen his phone because he was still a fucking baby sometimes. He shook his head and locked his phone, tossing it behind him on the bed and watched as it bounced against the comforter. He hopped off the bed, stretching his arms over his head before stuffing his hands into his pockets. Okay, he was going to  do this.

What should he do, though? Should he shower, should he do his makeup? Fuck, should he shave? How the hell was he supposed to know? Glancing to his phone, he decided against messaging Otabek again, even though he more than likely had the answers to all those questions as well. Whatever, he wasn’t a baby; he could figure this shit out by himself. Yeah. he breathed out deeply, biting on the edge of his fingernail as his stomach cramped. Yeah, it was whatever.

He ended up taking a quick shower and blow dried his hair then brushed it back before deciding on just leaving it down. He put on a pair of joggers that he hadn’t worn yet, a tank top and his black, zip-up hoodie. He ended up putting on mascara and eyeliner and filled in his eyebrows. He didn’t want to look like he was trying too hard, but he didn’t want to look like a mess either. Okay. Fuck he was actually doing this. He dabbed on a bit of lip gloss and took a deep, calming breath before grabbing his keys and phone, and took one last look at himself in the mirrored closet door. Okay, he looked okay; he fluffed his hair, pulling a lock over his shoulder, and ground his teeth. God, he wished it was longer. He made a face at himself and spun on his heel; no more procrastinating. He had messaged Megane to tell her he was on his way; he couldn’t back out now. He strode out of his room and let the door slam shut behind him.

There was nothing wrong with Megane. She was nice, she was normal; she had gotten him a  bottle of water from the vending machine down the hall. Yet, Yuri couldn’t get his breathing right. They were on the bed, uncomfortably close as some dumb french show played on the television. Yur’s skin was too tight, his hands and legs were too long and too big especially with Megane sitting as close as she was, leaning back on her hands, one was behind his back, not quite touching him, but close enough that he could feel it anyway. No, she was nice enough; her voice had a slight rasp and she had dimples when she smiled. And she was pretty, with coffee coloured hair, almond-shaped, grey eyes, and thick eyebrows. He had no reason to be so nervous. He swallowed thickly, grinding his teeth together, and cursed his stomach.

“Do you need more water?” Magane asked, tilting her head to the side.

Yuri jumped. “No. I’m fine.”

She shuffled closer; her arm was touching his back. Why was the room so hot all of a sudden?

“Your accent is really cute,”

“My accent? That’s a first.”

“No, really.”

“It’s Russian . No one has ever said it was cute .”

She chuckled. “Well, then maybe you make it cute.”

Oh. Yuri felt his jaw slacken and he had to try not to flinch when she brushed a lock of hair from his face. He was surprised she hadn’t been burnt by his skin. The sheets rustled as she turned to face him, and he probably should do the same. His legs felt wrong, though. Way too heavy and way too long. He tucked them under himself to hide.

Megane leaned forward, bracing herself on a hand in-between them.

“You too,” Yuri blurted, feeling steam rise from his ears. “You’re pretty, I mean.”

She smiled, dimples popping up. “Thanks. Nothing compared to you, though.” She reached out to cup his jaw. Yuri froze. “You’re one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen - and I’m not just saying that. Everyone who’s seen you thinks so. You’re gorgeous.”

He knew he wasn’t pretty now; he was beet red. Was she just saying that because - and she was inching closer; Yuri’s stomach was so tight he didn’t think that he was ever going to be able to digest food again. She was right in front of him, inches from his face. He swallowed, biting the inside of his cheek hard, before he leaned forward to meet her. That’s what he was supposed to do, right?

Their lips met, a bit roughly, but she shifted closer, guiding his head with her palm.Yuri’s heart exploded, basically; it had never beat so fast in his entire life. He screwed his eyes shut, holding his breath, because that’s what people did, right? Megane shifted closer, the hand that was between them, was now on his knee. Okay, okay. Okay. This was happening. It was going to happen. God, he hoped she didn’t think he was sick form how hot his face felt. It had to be hot to the touch; he could feel his eyebrows burning off.

He tried to copy the way she was moving her mouth and nearly flinched when she pressed her tongue to his lips. Fuck, he also hoped he didn’t look as clueless as he felt. She stroked his cheek with her thumb, the hand on his knee now on his thigh. Yuri wasn’t breathing, he hadn’t been for some time and he pulled away with a loud gasp, panting heavily through his mouth. Megane’s eyes were glassy, her lips were wet, and her cheeks were dusted with pink. He imagined that he looked somewhat the same, but redder. Swallowing thickly, he tucked a lock of hair behind his ear, but it swung back into his face almost immediately.

She smiled nervously at him; he smiled nervously back. She grinned, her expression softening as she leaned forward to give him a gentle peck on the lips. He knew what to expect now, but it still didn’t do anything to keep his muscles from locking up to the point of making him tumble flat on his back when she put the slightest bit of her weight on him. He landed with an ‘oof’ and she went with him, somehow using the opportunity to thrust her tongue into his mouth. His eyes flew open, hands suddenly gripping her shoulders and everything, but his racing heartbeat froze.

How did people do this casually? Mila and Viktor talked about hookups like they were talking about the weather. He didn’t even want to think about the things Chris said on a regular basis. He felt like he was going to die. There was nervous sweat on his back and the room was sweltering. He wasn’t going to survive. At least Otabek would know where to find his body.

Their shirts were the first things to go. Hers first; Yuri copied, his entire face was on fire and his ears were ringing. She was in a sports bra, while he felt completely naked. He tried to keep his breathing even and natural, but he ended up holding his breath on every inhale, so gave up on that. He swallowed thickly as he watched her eye his stomach and chest. She mumbled something in french then she was on his lap, straddling his thighs as she pushed him onto his back. He only just managed to close his eyes in time as she hovered over him, kissing roughly. He tried his best to keep up, but he didn’t think he was doing such a great job. She didn’t seem to mind, or was the hand on his jaw actually to guide him to do the right thing? What was he supposed to do with his hands? Fuck, why was this so hard? No one had ever said that it was going to be so hard.

He flinched when her fingers dipped under the waistband of his joggers and he felt her smile into the kiss. Okay, this was okay. He could get through this. As long as his heart didn’t go any faster, he might not even faint. She was easing his pants down his hips and he forgot that they were kissing. His stomach tightened to the point of being painful and he couldn’t feel his fingertips, unsure if they were numb with cold or from the impossible heat. Goosebumps rose wherever her hands touched, and they were trailing up the centre of his stomach, her nails grazing the indentations of his abs before circling a nipple. He swallowed, spiders were running all over his skin.

Then he started to shake. He didn’t know if it was a build up of nervous energy or if he was actually scared.

“You’re trembling,” Megane whispered, pulling away like she had been burnt. Yuri swallowed, slowly sitting up and rubbing his hands down his arms. His stomach was tying itself into knots, and his gut was tightening, but at least she couldn’t see that.

“I…” he trailed off, hunching his shoulders and wrapping an arm around his stomach.

Megane slid off his thighs. “Yuri, are you a… virgin?”

His face began to steam and he let his hair fall over his shoulder to shield himself. “I - yeah.” Now his throat was tightening as well. Why did saying that make him feel like he had failed at something?

She swore softly, scooting further away from him. Like he had a fucking disease. “I’m so sorry; I didn’t know. How can you be a virgin ?” He ground his teeth, breathing through a boulder of ice in his throat. “I’m sorry, if I had known. We don’t have to do this-”

He got to his feet, scanning the floor for his clothes. Well, this had been a fucking mistake. His eyes were prickling fiercely. He picked up his hoodie, tugging it on before he found his shirt and balled it up tightly.

“Are you leaving?” she asked, standing as well. He shoved his feet into his shoes, glaring at everything. Megan bit her lip, looking grey around the eyes as Yuri stormed to the door.

“Is it something to be ashamed of?” he spat, pausing with his hand on the doorknob.

“What? No! No, it’s just… unexpected.”

He wanted to ask why, but his throat was getting tighter by the second. He shook his head, slipping through the door before she could say anything else.

Viktor Nikiforov had won his fifth gold at the Grand Prix Final that year. It was expected that there had been a fraction of a point difference between him and Katsudon, but it wasn’t fucking fair to anyone else. He’d dropped from first last year to fucking fifth, both Otabek and JJ beating him out. He honestly couldn’t be mad at Otabek, because his programs had been amazing, but fuck JJ. If it hadn’t been for Otabek rescuing him from the banquet to drive around the city on the back of his rented motorbike, he would have punched more than a few people in the face - starting with JJ and his smug wife. Otabek had stolen a bottle of champagne and they had found a mostly empty park and had traded sips until Yakov blew up his phone. And then - he never would have admitted it aloud - but after they had gotten back to the hotel, not being on the podium hadn’t seemed so bad anymore.

Yuri waved his hand, blowing lightly on his nails. He shouldn't have been painting his nails on his bed, if he got any polish on the sheets Lilia would kill him.

“What colour is that?” Otabek’s voice was a bit tinny from his phone speakers. He was stretched out on his bed as well, using his laptop for the FaceTime call, dressed in a thin, black, cotton sweater and navy sweatpants. His glasses were crocked across his face as he lay on his side, propping his head up with his palm.

Yuri tilted his head, picking up the nail polish bottle to read the underside. “Sinister Burgundy.”

Otabek scoffed and the skin at the corners of his eyes wrinkled slightly as he smiled. “Did they make it especially for you?”

Yuri grinned. “I wish. It’s awesome isn’t it?” He held his nails up to the camera.

“Yeah, it’s nice; the colour suits you.” He paused briefly, picking at something on his hip. “So, uh do you have any plans for summer?”

“ Summer ? Summer is like six months away. Why would I have plans already?”

He exhaled harsly. “Okay, so do you want to come to Almaty for a few weeks?”

Yuri paused, screwing the  nail polish brush back onto the bottle. “Huh?”

“Almaty, this summer?”

“You want me to come to Almaty?”

“Yeah, you're my friend, aren’t you? You haven’t even seen my home or met my family.”

Well, he had stalked Otabek’s Facebook and Instagram. He’d seen his friends and family but he didn’t know anything about them. No one had invited them to visit their home before either. He blinked slowly. “Uh…”

Otabek shrugged one shoulder. “It’s completely up to you. But all my friends have been dying to meet you in person.”

He blinked. “They have?” Wait. “ You talk about me ?”

Otabek grinned sheepishly.  “Yeah. All the time. They’ve watched you compete before too.”

For some reason that made Yuri’s face go warm. “Uh. I’ll ask my Grandpa, but okay. Yeah, let’s see what Otabek Altin is like in his natural habitat.”

He rolled his eyes. “It’ll be fun.” He shrugged again. “We can do all the touristy things if you want, but Iska, my cousin, knows everybody in the city who has a club, so we can get into almost anywhere.”

Yuri bit his bottom lip, narrowing his eyes. “I’m not too young ?”

Otabek’s mouth dropped slowly and he gaped for a moment. “Uh, you were fifteen that time. There was no way I was bringing you anywhere, plus I was DJ’ing so I wouldn’t have been able to watch you.”

Yuri rolled his eyes. “I don’t need to be watched .”

Otabek raised an eyebrow. “I know for a fact you haven’t been to very many clubs.”

His cheeks started to heat again. Yeah, just add that onto the list of things he’d never done before. “Fuck you.”

Otabek blinked, frowning slightly. “What?”

“It’s not like I have anyone to go with,” he grumbled, grinding his teeth together.

Otabek sighed through his nose. “Well, we’ll change that this summer.”

Yuri tried to smile, but his chest was all tight again. Otabek was so cool and mature, why the hell would he want to hang out with him? The youngest skater in their bracket, and apparently an inexperienced baby.

“You okay, Plisetsky?” Otabek said and Yuri then realised that he’d been silent for a while.

“Uh, can I talk to you about something?”

Otabek blinked, sitting up and pulling his computer onto his lap. “Yeah.”

Yuri took a deep breath, wanting to pick at his nails, but the fresh polish stopped him. “You don’t think I’m young or immature, right?”

Otabek raised an eyebrow. “No… I mean, yeah, you’re a bit young, but I honestly forget sometimes. Did someone say something to you?”

He shook his head, letting his hair fly across his face. “No. It’s just that…” he huffed. “Remember when I said I was going to that girl’s room at the GPF?”

“Yeah. Something happened then-”

“ Nothing happened. She freaked out when I told her I was, like, a… A virgin.”

Otabek paused for a split second as his face went blank. “You’re a virgin? How did I not know this?”

Yuri scowled, his stomach clenching and twisting. See, that was the exact reaction he didn’t want. “Why is it such a surprise to everyone?”

Otabek bit his bottom lip, and God, Yuri blinked, did he know how attractive he was? “Uh, well, I guess, to put it stereotypically… you’re too pretty, I mean. And also the way you talk and carry yourself like you're not afraid of anything. It kind of sends the message that you're, uh, experienced.” He bit his lip again. “That sounded less offensive in my head, sorry.”

Yuri held his breath. In the year he had known Otabek, if he had gotten insulted every time he spat out something and only thought about it after they probably wouldn’t have lasted. He shook his head. “Why is everything about sex, God. how can you look at someone and decide if they’ve done it or not?”

Otabek shrugged again.

“I don’t get it.”

“Then don’t worry about it.”

Yuri raised an eyebrow. How ? Ever since he presented as an omega, it had just been weird comments all over his Instagram and Twitter. He had to announce it to the ISU for like regulations or something, but he didn’t think that it would have made social media news. He’d gained a few followers, but he wasn’t quite sure if he liked it. The comments on his selfies had suddenly become very suggestive and had him second guessing every single emoji. How could he not worry about it? He breathed out heavily through his nose, looking down at his hands. He’d smudged his nail polish. Fuck.

“Whatever,” he mumbled, uncaring as he bit the edge of the messed-up nail.

Otabek tilted his head to the side. “Uh, isn’t that stuff really toxic?”

Well, it didn’t taste too good.

Yuri scowled giving himself one last look in the mirror. His grandpa had made him change out of his dress because it was too short. He rolled his eyes, smoothing down the front of his black, wide-legged trousers; his dress had hit his mid-thigh, but apparently that had been too short for Christmas lunch. He’d like to hear him say something about this outfit, though. Fine, if the dress had been too skimpy then he put on long pants and a blue sequined sweater. He didn’t see why it mattered anyway; they were just going next door and it wasn’t like the dress had been any more revealing than some of the costumes he wore in front of thousands of people.

“Yurochka, it’s time to go!” his grandpa yelled up the stairwell. “We’re going to be late!”

Growling, Yuri shoved his feet into his heels, but nearly fell flat on his face when he struggled to slip them on. What the fuck, was he outgrowing these too? He nearly ripped the skin off his index finger as he forced them on, all the while his grandpa was hollering at him to hurry up. Yeah, the fucking best time of the year right?

Nelya Vasiliev had been their neighbour for as long as Yuri could remember. She was some years younger than his grandpa, but her husband had passed away when Yuri was very young. Her house, however, was always full with her children and grandchildren.

“ Schastlivogo Rozhdestva ,” he mumbled, inhaling a lungful of old-lady perfume and spices as he wished Neyla a ‘Merry Christmas’.

She pulled him into a tight hug then moved onto his grandpa. He sighed softly, peering around her into the living room which was already swarming with young children dressed in their sunday best and a few men in slacks and jackets with glasses of  vodka. He could already hear the commotion coming from the kitchen and rolled his eyes. They hadn’t been late at all. He glared at his grandpa, but he was already chatting with Nelya’s brother and gave him his back when he saw him looking his way.

“Yurochka, that’s such a pretty shirt,” Neyla said with a smile, wrapping an arm loosely around his shoulders. “I think I have a spare apron to keep it from getting dirty.”

“Dirty?” He realised she was guiding him over to the kitchen.

“We still have some final touches for dinner.”

“But,” he looked over his shoulder, begging his grandpa for help.

“Let’s leave the men alone, come on.”

The men . Great. He was shoved into the small kitchen and an apron was yanked over his head. He was already regretting wearing his heels. He  grumbled all throughout arranging kozulya  on a serving tray and pouring out glasses of mors and adding  vzvar to a giant glass jug of ice , wondering why none of the men outside got off their lazy asses to help.

“Bring these out please, Yurochka,” Neyla’s eldest daughter Kilina said with a small smile.

Yuri wanted to curse, but bit it down as he took the tray of short glasses of v zvar from her. He tried not to wobble too much; wearing these shoes had been a mistake; his toes would probably be bleeding by the end of the night. His grandpa was the first one to take a glass from the tray, smiling widely at him.

“Good to see you helping for once,” he teased.

He moved onto Gapa, Neyla’s son, rolling his eyes. God, he’d been reduced from a world class figure skater to a waiter. Once the tray was empty he headed back into the kitchen, giving his grandpa an icy glare.

“You’ve done a great job with him, Nikolai,” one Neyla’s sons-in-law said patting his grandpa on the back. “He’s grown up to be so beautiful.”

His grandpa chuckled. “That’s all his grandmother’s doing. He’s her spitting image.”

Yuri nearly tripped over his feet, wanting to turn right back around, but Neyla saw him and pushed him off to his next task - washing dishes.

“So, Yurochka,” Kilina started, sounding suspiciously mischievous. Yuri tensed his shoulders; he had first-hand experience with how much these women gossiped. “I heard you presented as an omega.”

Rolled his eyes, glad his back was to them. “Yeah…”

“It wasn’t really a surprise, Kilina. We could all tell that’s what he was.”

God. Yeah, cause he was thin, small, and looked like a girl. That wasn’t sexist or anything. He let them blab on about their presentation experiences, focusing on the dishes and the way the water fell onto his hands, until Kilina placed a hand to his shoulder.

“I know this can be a very confusing time, Yurochka,” she said, smiling warmly even though it made Yuri’s skin crawl. “But if you have any questions at all, feel free to talk to me.”

He didn’t have any questions. He’d asked Lilia and Yakov about going on suppressants as soon as his heat was over; he was never going to go through that again as long as he lived. He didn’t need anything else fucking up his career.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, grabbing a dish towel from the oven handle. “Uh, when are we going to eat? I’m starving.”

He scrambled out of the kitchen, making a bee-line to his grandpa. He was sitting on the edge of the couch, but Yuri wiggled between him and the armrest.

“Can we eat and leave?” he grumbled softly.

He started to chuckle gruffly. “Had enough already?”

“They made me wash dishes.” He held up his wrinkled hands.

He scoffed, reaching up to ruffle his hair, but stopped when he realised that he’d pinned it up and braided it. “I can say my back is giving trouble.”

He poked around his phone, while the the women set up the dining table, then held up his phone for a selfie for Instagram and Snapchat. He snuggled close to his grandpa who grumbled softly before smiling at the camera.

“Am I going to be famous now?” he asked teasingly, watching Yuri swipe through filters.

“Never.”

Yuri upended the box of mail on the carpet in front of Viktor’s coffee table. Yakov had cleared out the P.O. Box the morning they all returned to the rink; Yuri had been surprised that he had gotten the most fan mail this time, more than Viktor, Mila, or even Georgi. He sat down, crossing his legs under each other, in front of his pile and pulled the top most letter towards him. It was covered in pink hearts and he had to hide a smile as Katsudon sat down on the couch in front of him with a steaming mug of tea.

“Good haul?” he asked in slow Russian.

Yuri nodded, ripping open the letter. The mail from the his younger fans was always really cute, all misspelled words, drawings, and cute messages about how much they loved to watch him. He saved those ones in a box under his bed at Lilia’s apartment. He had re-read all of them after the Grand Prix Final that year. The Angels routinely sent him mail as well, he liked those a little less; he didn’t need holographic cat ears, or cheap nail polish, or the random stuff found in the cashier queues at clothing stores.  

He tossed a fluffy, pink headband with rhinestones at Katsudon, hitting him on the forehead, and folded the letter that came with it before setting it in the pile he was going to take home with him.

“It’s kind of weird how fans always want to give you things,” Katsudon hummed, stretching the hairband between his thumbs. “It’s sweet, but weird. It makes me feel kind of guilty, you know. I don’t really want people spending that much money on me.”

Yuri shrugged. “That hair band probably cost like five rubles.”

He scoffed softly, picking his tea up from the side table. “Yeah, but sometimes they send things that you know weren’t cheap.”

“Someone sent me Chanel sunglasses, once,” Viktor popped in from the kitchen, drying his hands on a dish towel. Yuri raised an eyebrow. “They were knock-offs, of course, but it was hard to tell. I’m not sure they knew.”

“Why the fuck would someone send you Chanel sunglasses?” Yuri stared in disbelief. He only got cat-eared headbands, phone straps, or candy, and extremely random accessories. Maybe treats for Potya, if he was lucky.

“ Fake Chanel.” He sat down next to Katsudon, throwing an arm behind him on the backrest of the sofa. Katsudon immediately snuggled against his side. “I think they said they reminded them of me.”

Yuri rolled his eyes, picking up the next letter.

“You got a package too?” Viktor noted, bumping a flat cardboard box with his big toe.

“Yeah.” He was saving it for last; he had never gotten anything that big before. But now that Viktor had noticed it, he sighed, discarding the letter he’d been in the middle of ripping open and pulled the box towards him.

“Open it,” Viktor said excitedly, drumming his fingers against Katsudon’s shoulder.

“I am .” He dug his fingernails into the tapped seam between the top flaps.The tape ripped easily enough, and he tipped it over, biting his lip to hide his excitement.

Both Viktor and Katsudon leaned forward to see better. An avalanche of papers and cards fell out; Yuri raised an eyebrow, pressing his lips together in disappointment. Damnit, it wasn’t anything cool.

“Uh, Yuri,” Katsudon started uneasily, “Are those…”

He flipped over the card nearest to him and physically recoiled, his neck jerking backwards and his upper lip curling. It was  photograph of him, printed from some tabloid website - it was blown up and grainy - but it was still weird that someone would send him a picture of himself.

“What the fuck?” he sighed, tossing it over to his shoulder and picking up another one. It was another picture of him. His spine started to tingle and his stomach gurgled. “Um…” He glanced around the pile of papers, most of them had landed face-down, but the ones that weren’t were clearly home-printed photographs. Viktor was on the ground next to him, his face a few shades paler and his mouth pulled into a thin line. He picked up a few of the pictures as well; his eyes grew stormier with each one.

“Who sent this?” His voice was sharp.

Katsudon grabbed the box before Yuri could even move. “There’s no return address.”

Viktor drew in a sharp breath through his nose as Yuri’s fingertips went cold. He actually didn’t know why he picked up another one of the pictures. This one was a magazine clipping, he was standing on the podium, holding a bouquet of flowers and his medal, but the skaters to either side of him had been scratched out with a black marker. He felt like throwing up suddenly, and something like cold water was dripping down his spine. Viktor grabbed the paper from him, swearing loudly.

“Help me clean this up,” he snapped to Katsudon, who was on the floor in a split second.

His elbow bumped into Yuri’s side, snapping him out of  his daze and he scrambled to help pile the photographs back into the box. God, people were so fucking weird. He crumpled a sheet of paper in his fist before noticing that there was something written on it. And he was reading before he could stop himself.

Dear Yuri,
You are the most perfect omega I have ever seen in my entire life . I have watched you skate ever since you were a child and watched you mature into a beautiful young man. I was hoping and dreaming, I prayed every night that you would present as an omega. And my prayers are answered. I love you Yuri. I love your luscious hair, your untouched pale skin, your beautiful innocent eyes, the slim, column of your neck, your slender body and tiny waist that I want to see expand with my pups and your breasts grow heavy with milk-

Yuri gagged, actually tasting bile. His hand flew to his mouth as the chills down his spine turned into a full on blizzard with hale. He scanned the rest of the letter, eyes landing on the word ‘breed’ which was gone over multiple times, before Viktor snatched the paper from him.

“What is this…” he trailed off. The room was spinning and Yuri slumped against the coffee table, trying to keep his breath even. Viktor swore loudly, crumpling the paper and throwing it across the room. Suddenly he was on his feet pacing the length of the room, balling his hands into fists. Katsudon sat next to him, setting a hand against his shoulder and squeezing.

“What the fuck is wrong with people?” Viktor spat. Yuri swallowed looking up at him. God, he felt so shaky and cold. “Who would send something like that? Yuri, call the police-”

“The police ?”

Yuri’s heart thudded slowly. God, was it that serious?

“We need to know who sent this and make sure they never do it again.”

Katsudon swallowed thickly. “Okay-”

“And Yakov. We can’t  let any more packages like this come through-”

Yuri tilted his head to the side. “So what? You’re going to start opening my mail?”

Viktor looked down at him dangerously raising an eyebrow. “ Yes . This isn’t okay, Yurochka; we need to find out whoever this is and stop them before it becomes dangerous.” He whipped out his cell phone from his pocket and furiously tapped at the screen. “Yakov,” he said, bringing it to his ear. “You need to come over right now.”

Yuri rubbed his temples, trying to convince himself that he wasn’t queasy.

“Are you okay?” Katsudon asked softly, squeezing his shoulder.

“What do you think? I just got a box of pictures of my own face and letter saying that some fucked up asshole wants to fucking breed me.”

He bit his lip, and took a shaky breath before pushing his glasses up his nose. “We’re going to sort this out.”

Yuri nodded, watching Katsudon’s hand as he stroked his shoulder. Suddenly he felt so small, so in over his head, that this word was just so fucking full of things he didn't know about, didn’t know how to do, or didn’t even understand. How could some person he didn’t even know, had never even seen before in his life, just sit down there and write all of that about him? How could they call him perfect and beautiful in one line then say how much the wanted to fuck him and breed him in the next? His stomach clenched at the thought alone and he tasted bile at the back of his throat.

“Can you get me some water?” he asked Katsudon, not trusting his legs to support him if he got up.

Katsudon jumped to his feet, scampering to the kitchen. Yuri pulled his knees to his chest and rested his forehead against them. They had prayed for him to be an omega so they could fucking breed him. He wrapped shaky arms around his calves. An omega. Ever since he presented, people had been treating him so differently, like suddenly he was supposed to be a different person or they were noticing him because of something different. It was weird and it was creepy. Actually, would Megane have even asked him to come to his room if she didn’t know his secondary gender? Would Nelya’s family still have made all those comments about him growing up to be so pretty? His stomach clenched painfully and Viktor’s sharp voice was now a low mumble in the background. He took a breath, angry when it sounded like he was crying.

“Yuri?” Katsudon’s voice was gentle and uncertain as he rubbed slow circles against his back. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. Viktor and Yakov and all of us would never let you get hurt.”

He nodded, peeking up at him from the hair covering his face. He offered him a small smile, sitting down next to him again and giving him a one-armed hug. Yuri sighed shortly, trying to force his shoulders to relax.

“Yakov will be here in ten minutes.” Viktor said, stooping down in front of them. “He agreed that we should call the police, but wait until he gets here. Try not to touch anything anymore than you already have, okay?” Katsudon nodded, squeezing Yuri’s shoulder’s again. Viktor’s smile was small and tight as he reached out to ruffle Yuri’s hair. “We’ll keep you safe, Yurochka, don’t worry.”

“I hate this,” Yuri mumbled, wrapping his arms around his stomach. He still felt cold. “I hate being an omega.”