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Truth is Stranger than (Fan) Fiction

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Yuuri didn’t expect his downfall to come with an innocent question from his husband. 

Yuuri and Viktor were snuggled together on the L shaped couch Viktor had happily gotten after Yuuri had moved in with him to train at the rink in St. Petersburg, Makkachin curled up by the warm oven where their dinner (Yuuri had tried his hand at lasagna) was cooking.  Outside the windows, snow fell over the city, but inside wrapped in blankets with the heat up, Yuuri was incredibly comfortable and more than a little sleepy.  He was stretched out on one side of the couch, a blanket over his legs and a mug of tea in one hand, book propped up on his knees.  Viktor was lying the other direction, feet up on the arm of the couch and head resting on Yuuri’s lap as he texted someone. 

“Zolotse,” Viktor said thoughtfully, squinting at his phone. 

“Mm?” Yuuri murmured absently, more focused on the plot of his book than Viktor.  He took a sip of tea and then set the mug down, tangling his fingers in Viktor’s hair. 

Viktor made a pleased sound, nuzzling Yuuri’s thigh, and then asked, “What does RPF mean?” 

That caught Yuuri’s attention, and he looked down at his husband, who was staring back up at him with wide blue eyes.  “In what context?” Yuuri asked, running his fingers through Viktor’s bangs. 

“Hmm,” Viktor murmured, glancing at his phone.  “Yurio keeps sending me links to things he wants me to read.” 

“It stands for real person fiction, then,” Yuuri replied.  “What is Yurio sending you?” 

“I’ll let you know,” Viktor said thoughtfully, and Yuuri shrugged, going back to his book.  Below him, Viktor made a small sound of surprise at whatever he was reading on his phone, but didn’t say anything.  Yuuri sunk back into the plot of his book, smiling slightly as a character he didn’t like got what was coming to them. 

“Hey, Yuuuuuri,” Viktor sang after about half an hour, tapping Yuuri’s cheek with a long finger. 

“What is it?” Yuuri said quietly, turning the page as his eyes skimmed over the last few sentences of his chapter.  Viktor rolled on his stomach and looked up at Yuuri with widened eyes, resting his phone on Yuuri’s leg.  Yuuri finished his chapter and set his book down on his lap, giving Viktor his full attention.  “What is it, Vitya?” 

“Listen to this,” Viktor said, and then looked down at his phone.  “Let me have control,’ Yuuri whispered, looming over Viktor and looking down at him with wide brown eyes, pupils blown with lust.  ‘OK,’ Viktor panted, reaching up to pull Yuuri down into a searing kiss.  Yuuri trailed his mouth across Viktor’s neck and then down his bare chest before finally wrapping his lips around Viktor’s-” 

“Viktor!” Yuuri shouted, covering his ears.  “Oh my god, what is that?” 

“Yurio sent it to me,” Viktor said happily.  His eyes skimmed whatever he was reading on his phone, but the fact that he didn’t share any more with Yuuri was proof that there was a god. 

“It’s pretty good,” Viktor commented.  Yuuri went red, and Viktor looked up at him.  “I don’t know why you’re so embarrassed,” he said.  “It’s not like we don’t do things like this all the time.” 

“I need to make a- bathroom, I’ll be back-” Yuuri stammered, scrambling off the couch and snagging his phone on the way by. 

“Zolotse, can you turn off the oven on your way?" Viktor called out, stealing the warm spot that Yuuri had made on the couch and pulling Yuuri’s blanket around his shoulders as he kept reading on his phone.  “I think I smell something burning.” 

Yuuri ignored him.  He had put the lasagna in less than an hour ago, there was no way it was burning.  Viktor was paranoid after decades of cooking disasters. 

Yuuri locked himself in the bathroom and sat down on the closed lid of the toilet, taking a moment to compose himself before dialing.  Yuri Plisetsky picked up on the fourth ring with a gruff, “What do you want, Katsudon?” 

“Yurio,” Yuuri hissed, hunching his shoulders and pulling his knees up to his chest.  “I don’t know if I should be more concerned that you’re reading smut about Viktor and I, or that you thought it would be a good idea to send it to him.” 

Yurio snickered.  “He actually read that?” he said incredulously.  “The old man’s dumber than I thought.” 

“Yurio!” Yuuri snapped.  “What the hell?  Why?  Why would you do something like this?  Do I need to tell Yakov that you’re reading porn about one of his former skaters?” 

Yurio snorted.  I'm not reading that shit. Minami keeps forwarding me stuff, it’s fucking annoying.  So I thought I’d share.” 

Yuuri went pale.  Minami is reading that stuff?” he whispered in horror.  “Oh, god, and now Viktor knows there’s fanfiction about us.  I want to die.” 

“Heh,” Yurio said.  “I don’t get it, what’s the big deal?  There’s stuff written about me and Beka, too, it doesn’t bother us.” 

“And you know that how?” Yuuri said suspiciously. 

“Minami sent it to me!” Yurio exclaimed, far too quickly.  “Like I would ever read that shit!” 

“Hm,” Yuuri murmured, unconvinced.  He took a shuddering breath, and then said, “Yurio.  Stop sending smut to my husband.  Goodnight.” 

He hung up before Yurio could say anything and set his phone on the floor, putting his head between his knees and taking deep breaths.  There was a soft knock on the door, and then Viktor let himself in. 

“Zolotse,” Viktor said softly, and knelt down in front of Yuuri, lifting the Japanese man’s chin with his fingertips.  “Why are you so upset?” Viktor asked, sounding genuinely confused. 

Yuuri buried his face in his hands and sighed.  “I’m embarrassed,” he said, voice muffled through his hands.  “I didn’t want you to know that people write this sort of thing about us.” 

“So you knew about it?” Viktor asked with a frown. 

Yuuri nodded miserably.  “Phichit sends me stuff sometimes, he’s very pro-Viktuuri.” 

“Hm,” Viktor murmured.  He rested a hand on Yuuri’s knee, putting the other on his shoulder.  “If it helps, that was the only explicit thing Yurio sent me,” he said.  “Most of them were very sweet and innocent.”  He handed Yuuri his phone, and added, “I quite like this author.  I’ve only read five stories so far, and apparently they’ve literally written hundreds of fanfictions about the two of us, but the ones I’ve read are nice.” 

Yuuri looked down at the screen of the phone, and let out an ungodly shriek, tears of embarrassment prickling at his eyes. 

“Yuuri?” Viktor said in confusion, taking his phone back.  “What’s the matter?  Have you read this one too?”  He smiled, completely misinterpreting Yuuri’s reaction.  “This author, viktor’sfuturehusband, is good.  I want to read everything they wrote!” 

Yuuri covered his face and broke down into tears. 

The smile instantly slid off Viktor’s face.  “Zolotse, what’s the matter?” he said, and then stood, scooping Yuuri into his arms and carrying him into the living room.  Even after being retired for a year, Viktor was still unfairly strong.  Yuuri couldn’t stop crying with shame and embarrassment as Viktor set him down on the couch and snuggled into his side, wrapping the blanket around the two of them.  He didn’t say anything, calmly stroking Yuuri’s hair as Yuuri sobbed into his shoulder until his tears ran out. 

“Zolotse, I think I’m missing something,” Viktor said when Yuuri’s tears petered out.  “Can you please talk to me?” 

“That’s me,” Yuuri whispered miserably, and Viktor’s brow furrowed. 


“That author, viktor’sfuturehusband,” Yuuri said, a little louder.  “That’s me.” 

“Yuuri, really?” Viktor said in surprise.  Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut, a humiliated tear running down his cheek, but nodded. 

“Yuuri!” Viktor squealed, wrapping his arms around his husband.  “Zolotse, that’s adorable!  I love it!” 

“You don’t… hate me?” Yuuri sniffled. 

Viktor gazed seriously into his eyes.  “I could never hate you, lyubov moya,” he said softly, cupping Yuuri’s face in his hands.  Never.” 

“But it’s so embarrassing,” Yuuri whispered, unable to look away from his husband’s face.  “I wrote self-insert fanfiction about you as a teenager.  You don’t find that weird and gross?” 

“Of course not, zolotse,” Viktor said, giving Yuuri an eskimo kiss.  “I think it’s adorable that you were my fan before we met.” 

“Viktor,” Yuuri said insistently.  “I wrote self-insert smut about you.” 

Viktor gave him a coy smile.  “All the better.”  He sobered and wiped away one of Yuuri’s tears with the pad of his thumb.  “Zolotse,” he murmured.  “I want to read what you wrote.  Is that OK?  I won’t if it will make you uncomfortable.” 

“I can’t stop you,” Yuuri muttered, bitting on his lip hard enough to draw blood. 

Viktor frowned.  “Yuuri, I want you to tell me what you want,” he said softly, caressing Yuuri’s face.  “I would never do something to intentionally upset you, zolotse.”  Yuuri took a few deep gulping breaths, trying to calm himself down. 

“I promise you, Yuuri, I have nothing but positive feelings about this,” Viktor continued in that same soft, calm voice.  “I think it’s very cute.  And the writing isn’t bad.  The story Yurio sent me was adorable.” 

“It’s pathetic,” Yuuri said sharply, curling in on himself. 

Viktor’s face fell.  “What?” 

“I was pathetic,” Yuuri whispered.  “Desperate.  I… I think I hate who I was.  I didn’t even know you.” 

“Is that why you stopped writing around the time we met?” 

Yuuri gave him an inquisitive look. 

“I looked through the stories, all three hundred and forty six of them, although I didn't get a chance to read all of them,” Viktor said.  “The last post was from nearly four years ago.” 

“It felt like a violation of your trust,” Yuuri said in a low voice.  “After I got to know you, I felt like I was violating you if I wrote about you anymore.  So I stopped.” 

Viktor kissed his cheek.  “That’s very sweet, zolotse,” he said.  “I wouldn’t have minded, but I love you more for thinking of me.” 

Yuuri sniffled, still not completely consoled. 

Viktor kissed the top of his head.  “Wait here,” he said.  “I’ll be right back.” 

He stood, leaving Yuuri on the couch to stare at his hands in shame.  He was so unbelievably embarrassed.  He had thought he had left the super-fan part of his life behind him, but to know that Viktor knew had had written fanfiction about him, that Yurio knew… It made Yuuri feel sick and panicky and jittery, like he wanted to throw up. 

Viktor returned a moment later, clutched his laptop, and wiggled back under the blankets with Yuuri.  “Look,” he said, and then opened up Instagram, Tumblr, and Twitter, logging in before handing the computer to Yuuri. 

Yuuri’s eyes widened in surprise.  Viktor had opened what didn’t seem to be his official accounts, and they were all dedicated... to him.  Yuuri scrolled through the Instagram, unsurprised to see that Viktor’s second account (@yuuri’sfavoritehusband) followed Phichit.  There weren’t too many posts, but they were all videos or pictures of Yuuri that were open to the public, and all of the comments on said pictures and videos were filled with exclamation points and happy emojis.  Yuuri found the oldest post, a video of his Sochi short program from nearly five years previous. 

“I started this after the Sochi GPF,” Viktor said in a fond voice, running his fingers over the back of Yuuri’s hand.  “At first it was just to Instagram stalk you through Phichit’s account, which I realize is incredibly creepy, but then… I couldn’t help but post about you.  It developed into a… fan blog, sort of?”  He laughed sheepishly.  “The same thing with the Tumblr and the Twitter accounts,” he continued.  “I started secret ones so I could post and rant about you without Yakov knowing and yelling at me.”  He looked at Yuuri with a gentle smile, but there was a nervous emotion in his eyes.  “What are you thinking, lyubov moya?” 

“Viten’ka,” Yuuri whispered, eyes wide as he scrolled through post after post about him.  “I… wasn’t expecting this.” 

Viktor laughed again, this time sounding relieved.  “I guess it’s true when we always say that we’re each other’s biggest fans,” he said, and then kissed Yuuri on the cheek.  “Even before we fell in love.” 

Yuuri felt his eyes brim with tears again, but this time with happiness.  “Vitya, I…” 

“I know, love,” Viktor said quietly when Yuuri didn’t finish, nuzzling his cheek.  “So do you understand now?  As I see it, there’s no greater compliment than the fact that you wrote fanfiction about us before we became a couple.  It makes me so happy to think that you thought of me that way before we even met.” 

“It’s still embarrassing,” Yuuri murmured, but he was smiling. 

“Mm, I don’t think so,” Viktor said.  He walked his fingers up Yuuri’s arm and then cupped the back of Yuuri’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss.  “You know,” he said coyly when they came up for air.  “There was one fanfiction of yours I happened to read that was quite good.  Bound By My Love, maybe you remember it?” 

Yuuri went red. 

“Although,” Viktor mused, fingertips brushing the short hairs on the nape of Yuuri’s neck.  “I’ll admit I’ve never tried that particular position.  Maybe we should give it a go… to inspire more of your writing, you understand.” 

Yuuri buried his face in Viktor’s shoulder, face bright red with embarrassment, but he nodded.  Viktor smiled and picked his husband up, carrying him bridal-style into their bedroom and closing the door behind them.