“Tadaima,” Victor called, tugging his scarf down from his mouth. The loss of warmth was distinct when he slipped out of his trenchcoat, but a smile made its way onto his lips when he heard Yuuri’s voice drift around the corner, soft and lilting around the okaeri.
He placed his shoes by the front door next to Yuuri’s, straightening them just so, before padding over to where Yuuri was snuggled into the couch. A thick, fluffy blue blanket was draped over his legs, along with Victor’s old Team Russia jacket zipped over his torso. He looked very warm, compared to the chilliness of the evening outside. A pastel green mug sat on the coffee table, thin wisps of steam still rising into the air, and his laptop was perched on the arm of the couch.
Yuuri offered him a sleepy smile as he came closer, his hair slightly damp and curling at the edges. Yuuri had felt stressed this morning, so had come home from the rink a few hours earlier than Victor did. And Victor was glad, because he looked so much better rested after taking that time for himself.
“Hi Vitya,” he murmured, pausing the video on his laptop and patting the spot next to him. “Wanna join me?”
“Always, lyubov,” Victor said, already grabbing his own purple blanket from another armchair and moving to sit down by Yuuri’s side. Once there, he noticed exactly what was playing on the screen. “Are you watching my old programs?” he asked.
Yuuri’s smile became a little shy. “They’ve always helped me relax,” he admitted, turning back to his laptop and hitting play. Almost immediately, the tinny sound of his Victory program floated through the speakers and the grainy image of a twenty-five-year-old Victor Nikiforov began to move.
Victor found himself critiquing the movements of his younger self almost instantly—he was too stiff in this one section, he wobbled slightly on the landing of the triple axel—but when he glanced at Yuuri, he was surprised to see a look of admiration on his face despite all the obvious flaws.
“I love the way you flicked your wrist here,” Yuuri said, his eyes sparkling as he pointed the movement out a second before the Victor on the screen even did. “It had perfect timing with the music, and I could feel the triumph you were trying to convey with this program. I ran out to the rink to practice my own program almost immediately after—it was really inspiring.”
“The costume choice could’ve been a little better though,” Yuuri continued, sounding thoughtful once the last notes of the music faded and the camera had cut to Victor’s smiling face. “If you were to reuse a costume, I think the one from 2010 would’ve been perfect for a free skate about victory.”
“You’re such a big fan,” Victor teased, resting his head on Yuuri’s shoulder. “Have you been following my career for that long?”
They were quiet again as the video continued and eventually settled on an interview right after Victor received a score that shot his name to the top of the board, assuring him as world champion for the third year in a row.
“How did you feel about this performance, Victor?” a reporter asked, looking eager, and suddenly everything clicked into place.
It was this season.
Victor had thought there was something strange about the program Yuuri was watching, why it had made him so uncomfortable, and now he knew. It was the year that Victor had grown tired of skating and winning and putting on plastic doll smiles for the public and his country.
The Victor on-screen smiled then, and to him it was so obvious how fake it was. No one else seemed to notice how forced it seemed, how his eyes were dark with fatigue, how his voice was overly bright as he answered.
“I’m really happy with it!” Victor replied, still smiling. “It was a difficult program to perfect, but it seems that all my hard work paid off.”
Victor remembered that the reporter had given him an almost patronizing laugh at that last sentence and said—
“Well, how hard can learning programs be for a three-time world champion, right?”
That had happened a little more than three years ago, but those words, no matter how well-intended they may have been, still stung even as he heard them now. He’d felt so much freer after meeting Yuuri, but hearing this and seeing the plastic smile he’d put on for years reminded him of how much he didn’t want to go back to a world that saw him only as Victor Nikiforov, Living Legend, instead of Victor Nikiforov, a man who liked to go on nighttime walks with his fiancé, cook anything and everything he could in the kitchen, and read as many books as there were stars.
It had bothered him more than he let on how people dismissed his hard work and drive in favor of placing him on a pedestal.
“You weren’t happy.”
Victor blinked, startled out of his thoughts. “What?”
“You weren’t happy,” Yuuri repeated, his smile a little sad. “I could always tell in your interviews.”
Victor could only stare at Yuuri, frozen. “You—what?” He swallowed down the growing lump of emotion in his throat. “…How did you know?”
He thought he’d hid it so well. No one seemed to question his loneliness or growing weariness once he started winning—no one stopped to think about how all this was affecting him. So Victor assumed that no one had noticed.
But Yuuri was there, thousands and thousands of kilometers away, watching as Victor’s energy and love for the ice was slowly sapped away by the pressure of years spent at the top.
And seeing Yuuri’s quiet, earnest expression in front of him now, and telling him how he knew how much Victor needed someone to stay close to him, all those years of suppressed emotions tumbled out.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, Vitya,” Yuuri whispered against his hair, arms wrapped tightly around him as he cried. “But I promise that I’ll be here for as long as I can.”
Victor laughed wetly, tightening his hold on Yuuri. He was currently under two blankets, a fiancé, and a wandering poodle on the couch of his apartment in St. Petersburg, and God, he’d never imagined that his home could feel so warm.
“You never fail to surprise me, lyubov moya. Thank you.”
Then Yuuri pressed a kiss to the crown of Victor’s head. “I love you,” he murmured, and Victor smiled into Yuuri’s side.
i asked mishi @biwheelers for a prompt idea and she suggested this: ok how about mike keeps staring at will while will is doing stuff bc he’s just so Taken by how… happy he looks (or cute he looks but he won’t admit it to himself) and someone calls him out on it in front of Will and mike dies?
“So pretty!” El comments on the cookie snowman that Will just decorated with beautiful swirls of colour.
Will looks up and smiles at her, “Thanks, El! Yours looks awesome, too!”
El gives a pleased nod and drops another dot of green onto the star-shaped cookie in front of her.
They are in the Byers’ kitchen. Mike, Will, El and Max. The latter is blowing big bubbles of chewing gum every other minute while watching the others work on the cookies. She already made the dough earlier -
“Seriously, guys? None of you have ever made cookie dough before? Not judging you, El. You didn’t really have the chance to and I bet Hopper is hopeless with these things. But boys, honestly?”
Max raising her eyebrows was always scarily intimidating and Mike and Will just looked at each other sheepishly, a blush creeping up their cheeks. They heard a loud sigh and looked over at Max just in time to see her rolling her eyes before walking to the fridge to grab the butter, throwing a “Can you grab a mixing bowl for me, please?” to Will over her shoulder. -
So now she’s watching the other three work, Mike using the different cookie cutters they found in a kitchen drawer and Will and El decorating the various shapes.
The radio is playing Christmas songs in the background and when the next song comes on, Will starts to sway side to side to the beat, his shoulder knocking softly into Mike’s whenever he leans to his left.
“Have a holly jolly Christmas, it’s the best time of the year - “, Will sings along quietly and Mike snaps his head up, the hand holding the cookie cutter frozen just above the rolled out dough.
Hi I’m the anon where you replied and said if we send a sentence you could see what au fic you good do... “I’ve been in love with you for so long” Don’t know if you can do anything with that. Xx
The thing is, Robert’s not in this situation because he wants to be.
It just happened and he couldn’t stop himself.
And it didn’t help that Aaron was the way he was, the broody unfeeling type with heavy shoulders and smouldering looks and the inability to say what he actually thought.
So, here Robert was, finally moving on and preparing to propose to his girlfriend, attempting to forget the fact that he has loved the stupid idiot for the last ten years of his life.
He’s presses a hand down on his suit and gulps hard as he sights himself in the mirror. He’s a mess of a man really, cheeks flushed and eyes wide and his hair is all over the place.
He should be happy, should be certain that Chrissie is the absolute one. But she’s not *him.
She’s not the lad who he was supposed to hate when he was a teenager yet ended up becoming infatuated with.
She’s not the boy who punched a bully in the face for teasing Robert about having no mates.
She’s not the idiot who stuck around and wouldn’t leave and then went and came out as gay and made Robert watch bloke after bloke leave him heartbroken.
Robert hitches a breath and remembers all of them, not one was actually worthy of him and he remembers the nights he spent telling Aaron the exact same thing.
It all fell on deaf eyes though, and then Aaron would do something daft.
He had a real bad habit of doing that.
He’d get wasted, really out of his head, mind numbingly drunk and he’d kiss Robert on the mouth and say things.
He’d say mad things, things Robert used to fucking dream about.
It happened three nights ago.
Some shitface called Alex just so happened to have a boyfriend already and neglected to tell Aaron. So they’d had this massive fight and Aaron had somehow landed on Robert’s sofa and cried his eyes out.
“Maybe, maybe I should stop trying.” Aaron had slurred, thick black hair curling from sweat and his eyes falling over Robert’s. “They’re not as amazing as you are they?”
And it made Robert feel like he couldn’t breathe, sitting there with low joggers on and no top and a mess on top of his head called hair.
He didn’t say anything, almost couldn’t and then Aaron was leaning towards him and he was smelling the alcohol on his breath and he knew it wasn’t honest.
Nothing was when Aaron was like this.
“Aaron, just sleep it off.” He told him, had to as he tried to move off of the sofa. But Aaron grabbed his arm and then placed a hand on Robert’s chest and let out a soft sigh and then he was dragging Robert down and looking at him.
“You’d never hurt me.” Aaron whispered, looked so sincere as he shook his head and then he was pressing his face against Robert’s. “My best mate.” He said, and Robert was a coward, a fool, an absolute mug for letting it happen, but he let Aaron kiss him.
And it wasn’t like it hadn’t happened before, it had happened a total of three times actually, but -
This was different.
Because Aaron was so much more tender, so much more soft and delicate and Robert closed his eyes for a second and just let it be.
Aaron was moving his hands up and down Robert’s chest and making him shudder and Robert -
He just let himself almost be wanted and it felt good, until Aaron was pulling away and smiling softly and then laughing about it and Robert felt his heart crumble a little.
“You taste nice.” He mumbled out lazily and then frowned because yeah Robert couldn’t hide the way he felt like Aaron was mocking what just happened, and then he was holding his hand. “Love you.”
And Robert was back to not being able to breathe again. ’
Robert reminds himself that what happened was in the past already, it was boxed off and he couldn’t touch it.
Because, he is with someone. Chrissie White, gorgeous, talented, what he needs really and he is jumping the gun with the whole proposal thing but it would work out in the long - run and he’d be happy.
Robert hears the door click open and in he walks. He’s not expecting him, but Aaron’s never cared about formalities and nods at Robert before coming towards the kitchen where he’s standing.
Aaron looks at him up and down and smiles. “You got a hot date with fancy pants then?” And that’s what Aaron calls her, even though he’s fully aware of who she is now. He’s met her, well accidentally had, bursted in whilst Robert was in the middle of having sex with her and cut everything short.
Robert doesn’t like to think he did it on purpose, because that’s hopeless.
Robert adjusts his cufflinks and Aaron sighs.
“Look, if this is about the other night then -”
Robert raises his head, he’s been here before too. Aaron denying almost everything, telling Robert that he was blind drunk and not responsible for his actions and treating it all like some massive laugh. It worked when they were nineteen, not now, not when Robert’s nearly thirty years old.
“You had no clue what was going on? I could have been anyone? You’re not responsible for your -”
Aaron’s eyes widen, “Hey, will you chill out?”
Robert huffs out a breath, “No. Not really.” He says, isn’t even aware of how angry he really is. Aaron steps forward and Robert hates how sorry he’s made him feel, because Aaron -
He’s the best bloke in the world.
He’s got the biggest heart and the best hugs and the softest smile. It’s just when it comes to Robert, it’s almost like he can’t say what he wants, what he *feels.
Aaron clicks his jaw. “I didn’t come here to have a go?” He’s saying, “I wanted to clear the air.” He’s saying and Robert just nods, and then he’s asking Aaron to leave and it’s clear that Aaron doesn’t want to go anywhere yet he does, he turns towards the door and Robert feels something frazzle inside his chest.
“I’m asking Chrissie to marry me Aaron.” He blurts out, and Aaron stops dead.
He has his head towards the floor and he doesn’t move for a good few minutes before he’s raising his head and frowning at Robert.
He looks perplexed, angry almost but the hurt is there, it’s punched right across his face and Robert latches onto it.
“What?” Aaron chokes out. “Her?”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s - she’s not right for you.” Aaron shrugs his shoulders, and pulls a face. “You must know that.”
“So who is?” And he’s suddenly brazen about things, he’s not the geeky teenager who followed the popular kid around school, the one with mates and the title of captain of the football team. He’s older, he’s braver and Aaron’s almost reversed.
Aaron suddenly looks towards the floor and Robert knows he has to speak now, has to say everything otherwise he’ll never get the chance to again.
“Aaron,” Robert whispers, has a hand in his pocket and gulps as Aaron meets his eyes. “I - never wanted to tell you this, never thought it would make a damn difference, it probably still won’t but -” he shudders and Aaron’s eyes are wet. “But I need to try, I need to know if - if you feel the same.”
And the air is so heavy.
“I want to know, I - need to know if you feel this too. If - if seeing me makes your heart feel like it’s about to *burst or something, like - I don’t know,” he’s babbling and Aaron’s just staring at him wide eyed. “I’m the only one who properly understands you and -”
Aaron steps even closer towards him and Robert apologises for going on.
“I’ve been in love with you for so long.” He blurts out, “And before I go and really try and forget that then I need to know it’s just me, it’s just been me for years and years and that you don’t mean the things you say when you’re drunk and -”
Aaron just doesn’t say a word, just like he can’t possibly say anything back and Robert waits for a second, and then drifts off, stops speaking, stops *trying and he ignores the way Aaron’s got tears in his eyes.
He’s done all he can.
Robert clears his throat and takes a step back, “I’ll - I’ll let Chrissie know to meet me at the restaurant.”
And then he’s wiping at his eyes, feeling this odd feeling course through him because he’d dreamt about this happening, about rejection, but they’d always been this glimmer of relief to not have the feelings all to himself anymore.
He doesn’t feel relief now.
He thinks about it all as he heads for the door, and then he’s hearing Aaron say something.
“I’ve always been scared of loving you too much.”
And Robert turns his head.
Aaron’s standing there, tears streaming down his face and voice shaky. He’s holding his hands up and pulling them through his hair.
“Always. Always knew it would land me in trouble, and I’d end up hurting ya. So I tried to stop it but - sometimes I couldn’t and it’d pour out.” Aaron looks utterly devastated suddenly. “But I wasn’t strong enough to let you know what was really going on in here.” He points to his head and sighs.
“Tell me.” Robert whispers heavily, eyes wide.
“It’s too late.” Aaron shudders, shakes his head slowly. “You really deserve someone who isn’t - isn’t like me. Who can just - love you without being terrified of what it might mean.”
Robert frowns, bites his lip. “What are you afraid of?”
“It’s you, you’re - you’re everything that everyone else isn’t. And I’ll only let you down, I’ll only muck it up and ruin us.”
“You wouldn’t.” Robert says hastily, eyes wide as he comes towards Aaron.
Aaron scoffs, “I would.” He whispers, “It’s too late anyway.”
And Robert, he comes closer and he looks straight at Aaron and he shudders. “It’s not too late.”
Aaron suddenly looks like there’s this ray of hope and his eyes glimmer with something. “Yeah?” He says, like he can’t believe it.
Robert nods, blows out a breath. “Just kiss me you stupid idiot.” And Aaron does, almost pounces on Robert really and he’s actually sober and it’s actually light outside and the sun is shining.
It’s sweet and soft and then passionate and filled with something Robert only ever imagined.
When they pull away Aaron has a hand over Robert’s chest, “Can you ring posh knickers and tell her that you’re going to be busy for a few hours.” He says, slithers a hand down Robert’s chest and makes the older man smile. “And then even more than that, for as long as you’ll have me.”
“For as long as I want you?” Robert whispers, and Aaron nods like he’s a flipping child, eyes gleaming and the heavy insecurities he just blurted out seem to have fucked off for a minute or so.
Forever then, Robert seals the thought with a kiss and everything else is forgotten.
Hey are your requests still open?❤️ I am in the mood for Jikook fluff right now❤️ can you do a jikook oneshot where Jimin is sick and kookie is like his nurse?❤️ and then because kookie couldn’t stop kissing and cuddling Jimin (because let’s face the facts Chim is to cute to resist) he got himself sick and Jimin will be the one nursing him ?❤️❤️❤️❤️
Hi!! Yes requests are still open ❤️💕 Thank you for requesting this, it was adorable 😭💜💜 enjoy!
Jimin knows he’s starting to get sick, he can feel his nose blocking up and his throat has an uncomfortable itch. But he refuses to rest, instead continuing practice for his upcoming collab stage.
The next morning, Jimin regrets not finishing practice early. His body feels worn out and his head is throbbing painfully. Deciding to stay in bed all day, Jimin rolls over and gets as comfortable as he can, ready to falls back asleep.
“Jiminie? Are you okay?” A small voice asks from the doorway. Jimin groans in response, already on the verge of sleep. He hears the door closing again, and light footsteps coming towards him.
“Jimin?” The voice asks once more. Jimin decides to roll over and face whoever is disturbing his slumber.
“I’m sick, I’m not practicing today. Let’s me sleep” Jimin mumbles, his eyes still closed, not finding the strength to open them.
A hand brushes the hair from Jimins forehead, checking his temperature.
“You’re burning up. I’ll look after you today, I’ll go get you some water and medicine. I’ll be right back, don’t go anywhere!” Jimin hears footsteps and the door opening and closing once more, the room finally silent.
Too soon, the room is occupied by another person, but Jimin is thankful he doesn’t have to be alone when he feels like this. “Here, have some water you’ll feel better. I’ve got medicine for you too, come on sit up” the voice is soft and caring and Jimin feels warmth in his chest. Finally opening his eyes, Jimin sees that his nurse is the one and only Jungkook. He helps Jimin sit up, Jimin not having the strength or energy to do it himself.
“There you go. How about movies and cuddles today? We can rest and eat soup” Jungkook says, looking fondly at the older. Jimin nods silently and moves over, making room for Jungkook on the bed next to him. Jimin relishes in the warmth created by Jungkook, and curls up into his chest. “I’m sorry if I get you sick kookie” Jimins voice is hoarse, his Busan dialect coming through.
“It’s okay, I don’t get sick very easily anyway. Now what movie would you like to watch?” Jungkook looks down to Jimin, even with his puffy eyes and flushed cheeks he’s the most beautiful person Jungkook has ever seen.
“The notebook please”
“As you wish”
The movie was halfway through when Jungkook hears light snores from the man curled into his chest. His heart skips a beat and he can’t help but litter kisses all over Jimins forehead, he’s just too cute. Jimin slightly stirs and clings onto Jungkooks shirt, mumbling nonsense in his sleep. Jungkook audibly coos at this, stroking Jimins hair and finds himself drifting to sleep.
When then both awaken, Jimin feels a lot more energised, his body no longer aching and his head not throbbing. The same couldn’t be said for the younger, as he groans and clings onto Jimin, not wanting to get up yet. “I think you got me sick”
“No wonder I feel better, I thought you didn’t get sick that easily hmm?” Jimin teases, getting up to retrieve some medicine.
“That’s what I get for being a nurse I guess” Jungkook manages to say, his throat dry and scratchy.
“My turn to be the nurse now, go back to sleep kookie, I will take care of you” Jimin says, placing a kiss on Jungkooks forehead.
“Thank you Minnie” Jungkook trails off, falling back into a deep slumber.