a picture from the detroit rink’s 80′s night where yuuri’s ass looked incredible in purple lamé tights, and his bulge was poorly concealed behind a neon green and pink D.A.R.E fanny pack. “talk to celestino,” phichit says. “he’s the one with the video of yuuri skating a routine to olivia newton john’s ‘let’s get physical’”
yuuri blackout drunk at a cowboy bar, and attempting to drink a beer while riding a mechanical bull. he seems to be fine on the bull, curved into it with a cat-like stretch, but the drink is pouring down the side of his mouth and running down his exposed chest, all of the buttons of his shirt undone. his face is determined and his abs are glistening and his ass is pushed out like an invitation and victor gets off to it three times in a 24-hour period.
yuuri passed out on a couch, sharpie messages all over his face like “VICTOR NIKIFOROV’S DICK GOES HERE” with an arrow pointed to his mouth, and “IF FOUND, RETURN TO PHICHIT CHULANONT” on his forehead. he’s drooling into a pillow with a big smile on his face.
a picture yuuri never knew phichit took where he’s sitting in the window of their old apartment with a mug of something steaming, watching the snow fall outside. he looks soft and radiant, ethereal almost with the glow of winter catching him in all the right places.
yuuri drunk in the backseat of a car, crying while holding roughly thirty big macs from mcdonalds. “i can’t remember if he was happy crying or sad crying,” phichit admits. “either way, it’s incredible.”