The worst part, for Victor, was that he hadn't asked for any of this. He'd spent his whole life avoiding it, in fact. He'd always dodged anything that might result in imprinting; he'd been very strict about protected sex, kept his flings to quick post-competition hookups, and sometimes just avoiding alphas entirely. Maybe he could afford to tie himself to someone after his competitive career was over, but not now. He had too much to do.
If he was going to have someone imprint on him against his will, though, he could have done worse than Yuri Plisetsky. Yuri wasn't a bad kid, no matter how hard he tried to give off the impression that he was; Victor believed him when he insisted it was just an accident.
And they could work with it. They came along to each other's competitions and coordinated their practice schedules. Makkachin was vaguely fond of Yuri (or at least of the cat hair clinging to Yuri's hoodies and skinny jeans) and Yuri eventually learned not to be so tentative with the ear rubs. At first Victor let Yuri sleep on his couch some nights, while they acclimated to the connection, but Yuri complained about the furniture smelling like dog, which actually worked well -- he had an incentive to get comfortable sleeping several miles away from Victor. By the time six months had passed he no longer felt the need to suffer through Victor's doggy apartment and Victor didn't need to account for a ravenous teenager in his meals.
The future looked interesting, and their link was honestly part of the reason. Yuri was a promising young skater -- having him as a rival was an exciting prospect, and so was the possibility of having him as a student or protege, instead, even if Yakov dismissed the entire idea of Victor learning to coach. It wasn't the ideal arrangement, but what would have been the ideal? It wasn't as though Yuri had snatched him out of the arms of the alpha of his dreams, after all.
And then he met Yuri Katsuki.
Looking back, he was almost certain they'd met before. Worlds, surely, and the Olympics? No doubt they'd shaken hands at some point, exchanged pleasantries. But nothing memorable, somehow, until Victor felt eyes on him and turned and said exactly the wrong thing without meaning to. Until Victor found himself watching the young man and his ever-multiplying champagne flutes, until Yuri approached him directly, if unsteadily, and slurred Victor? Watch me, okay? Don't you dare take your eyes off me. As if there'd been any risk that he would, even before the dancing started.
Yuri Plisetsky was beside himself. It would almost have been funny, if Victor had a sliver of attention to spare for the boy. But he didn't. He'd been drawn to Yuri Katsuki so instantly and so powerfully that it was almost a surprise he didn't imprint in his own right, like some operatic love triangle, but perhaps he was a bit old for that. It took youth's raging hormones and lack of foresight to really imprint on someone.
But of course by the time the party wound down, both their phones were dead and Yuri was far too drunk to remember his own number. Victor had breezily assumed they could find each other on social media, and then that they'd see each other at Worlds, but Yuri had effectively vanished without a trace until Chris sent him a Youtube link.
I just LEFT Japan, he'd grumbled to Chris, who'd just laughed at him, since they both knew he'd turn right around and go back. He hadn't even unpacked yet. Convenient, that. Of course, the jitters started before the plane was even off the runway, but that was what wine was for. Unfortunately, wine was no help with the pounding headache that followed; evolution had clearly been serious about keeping omegas close to home.
It wasn't until he was reunited with Makkachin, on the ground and through customs, that the headache started to subside. Maybe it was the association of Makkachin with home, or maybe it was just that petting a dog made everything slightly better regardless of the circumstances, but it might be worth insisting he needed his therapy dog to accompany him everywhere. While Makkachin sniffed him thoroughly and intently for every trace of everything he'd experienced (or better yet, eaten) during the flight, he pretended not to speak English as a few airport officials tried to tell him about quarantine procedures. As soon as they'd lowered their guard and started looking for an interpreter, he took Makkachin and slipped away, pleased they'd been too flummoxed to think of using their phones.
There was still a headache lingering behind his eyes -- maybe it wouldn't be so bad if his Yuri sent him packing -- but he could live with it. Being on the ground helped. Having Makkachin at his side helped. Knowing he was headed for the Katsuki family inn helped, too.
And the onsen helped most of all. He got the outdoor hot spring all to himself; no one wanted to bathe with the foreigner, it seemed, no matter how friendly he tried to be. Cold air, hot water, the sky overhead... but he'd barely gotten settled when Yuri came skidding out into the bath area, looking nearly panicked.
He was barely recognizable as Victor's pole-dancing Cinderella from Sochi: all shaggy hair and glasses, dressed like a college student in clothes a size or so too small, with quite a few extra kilos riding around his midsection.
He was going to have a headache all year, Victor thought as he stood up, and it was going to be worth every second of it.
Yurio's arrival hot on his heels was a welcome respite, even if neither of them wanted to admit it. Unfortunately for him, or possibly for both of them, Yurio sulked off back to Russia immediately after Onsen On Ice. He'd hoped they could all stay in Hasetsu. Yurio had claimed to want him as a coach, after all, but he supposed it could be some kind of alpha pride thing. He didn't even try to call or text to mend fences; he had his own pride, alpha or no, and he didn't especially want to be told what a terrible coach he was by a fifteen-year-old with a wounded ego and a matching headache.
On the other hand, being close to Yuuri -- especially touching him -- was nearly as good. It was terribly cliche, of course, cuddling up to a new alpha to displace an old one, but it was a cliche for a reason. And while song and story always made it seem like the unfaithfulness of a fickle omega, any omega knew there were plenty of reasons why you might want to break an imprint bond. Victor was just lucky his unwanted bond was so harmless.
Besides, he was fairly certain he'd have wanted to be in physical contact with Yuuri twenty-four hours a day even if Yuuri had been a fellow omega, if they'd both been betas, if there'd been no bond at all tugging on his mind. But the way wrapping his arms around Yuuri relieved the pounding in his head was a nice bonus on top of all the other things he liked about touching Yuuri.
Even with Yurio's defection leaving him on his own, and Yuuri's reserve keeping the snuggling nonexistent and the hugs painfully few for Victor's tastes, he had a few reprieves before the headache finally gave up the ghost permanently sometime in July. He still had the restless, unsettled sensation that had started nagging at him the moment he boarded his flight, but it was honestly a bit difficult to differentiate that from the way he felt on any day he didn't skate, so he could work around it. Long bike rides, walks on the beach with Makkachin, early skating practice at the Ice Castle while Yuuri was still sleeping -- he stayed moving as often as possible, all through the fall.
Autumn and winter were surprisingly mild, but Victor dutifully broke out what he would have called a light jacket and Yuuri apparently considered a winter coat, and they ramped up practice to get ready for Beijing. Victor was excited; international competition, as a coach this time, and he'd have a chance to see Yakov again, and Chris, and he really loved Chinese food. He daydreamed about taking his Yuuri out to dinner with Yakov and Georgi and ordering whatever he wanted and when Yakov tried to stop him Victor could just say but Yakov, I'm not competing! I don't need to worry about a hangover or food poisoning or anything! And then he'd order a bunch of those egg custard tarts.
And then they'd go back to the hotel and be really clingy with Yuuri, because he'd be tipsy so he'd have an excuse, and maybe Yuuri would be a little more receptive if they weren't under his parents' roof, on sheets his mom or maybe his sister would have to change, or else in his childhood bed.
Of course it didn't work out that way at all. Yakov was holding a grudge, much more than Victor had realized, and Yuuri was a bundle of irresistibly sexy nerves even before his perfect SP put him in first place. The night following the free skate was nice -- Yuuri was very interested in additional kissing after that first kiss, but too exhausted for more, and so Victor finally got a chance to really sleep with him. There'd been honest-to-goodness cuddling. Sleeping on Yuuri in the plane, or in an effort to get him to lie still long enough to nap, those were both nice, but this time they'd been under the covers together. Victor had been so delighted he'd even worn pants, though a shirt was still a bridge too far.
And then, the morning after they arrived back in Japan from Beijing, Victor went into heat.
Re: Yuri/Victor omegaverse accidental imprinting FILL (3/?) (Victor/Yuuri)
If he was going to have someone imprint on him against his will, though, he could have done worse than Yuri Plisetsky. Yuri wasn't a bad kid, no matter how hard he tried to give off the impression that he was; Victor believed him when he insisted it was just an accident.
And they could work with it. They came along to each other's competitions and coordinated their practice schedules. Makkachin was vaguely fond of Yuri (or at least of the cat hair clinging to Yuri's hoodies and skinny jeans) and Yuri eventually learned not to be so tentative with the ear rubs. At first Victor let Yuri sleep on his couch some nights, while they acclimated to the connection, but Yuri complained about the furniture smelling like dog, which actually worked well -- he had an incentive to get comfortable sleeping several miles away from Victor. By the time six months had passed he no longer felt the need to suffer through Victor's doggy apartment and Victor didn't need to account for a ravenous teenager in his meals.
The future looked interesting, and their link was honestly part of the reason. Yuri was a promising young skater -- having him as a rival was an exciting prospect, and so was the possibility of having him as a student or protege, instead, even if Yakov dismissed the entire idea of Victor learning to coach. It wasn't the ideal arrangement, but what would have been the ideal? It wasn't as though Yuri had snatched him out of the arms of the alpha of his dreams, after all.
And then he met Yuri Katsuki.
Looking back, he was almost certain they'd met before. Worlds, surely, and the Olympics? No doubt they'd shaken hands at some point, exchanged pleasantries. But nothing memorable, somehow, until Victor felt eyes on him and turned and said exactly the wrong thing without meaning to. Until Victor found himself watching the young man and his ever-multiplying champagne flutes, until Yuri approached him directly, if unsteadily, and slurred Victor? Watch me, okay? Don't you dare take your eyes off me. As if there'd been any risk that he would, even before the dancing started.
Yuri Plisetsky was beside himself. It would almost have been funny, if Victor had a sliver of attention to spare for the boy. But he didn't. He'd been drawn to Yuri Katsuki so instantly and so powerfully that it was almost a surprise he didn't imprint in his own right, like some operatic love triangle, but perhaps he was a bit old for that. It took youth's raging hormones and lack of foresight to really imprint on someone.
But of course by the time the party wound down, both their phones were dead and Yuri was far too drunk to remember his own number. Victor had breezily assumed they could find each other on social media, and then that they'd see each other at Worlds, but Yuri had effectively vanished without a trace until Chris sent him a Youtube link.
I just LEFT Japan, he'd grumbled to Chris, who'd just laughed at him, since they both knew he'd turn right around and go back. He hadn't even unpacked yet. Convenient, that. Of course, the jitters started before the plane was even off the runway, but that was what wine was for. Unfortunately, wine was no help with the pounding headache that followed; evolution had clearly been serious about keeping omegas close to home.
It wasn't until he was reunited with Makkachin, on the ground and through customs, that the headache started to subside. Maybe it was the association of Makkachin with home, or maybe it was just that petting a dog made everything slightly better regardless of the circumstances, but it might be worth insisting he needed his therapy dog to accompany him everywhere. While Makkachin sniffed him thoroughly and intently for every trace of everything he'd experienced (or better yet, eaten) during the flight, he pretended not to speak English as a few airport officials tried to tell him about quarantine procedures. As soon as they'd lowered their guard and started looking for an interpreter, he took Makkachin and slipped away, pleased they'd been too flummoxed to think of using their phones.
There was still a headache lingering behind his eyes -- maybe it wouldn't be so bad if his Yuri sent him packing -- but he could live with it. Being on the ground helped. Having Makkachin at his side helped. Knowing he was headed for the Katsuki family inn helped, too.
And the onsen helped most of all. He got the outdoor hot spring all to himself; no one wanted to bathe with the foreigner, it seemed, no matter how friendly he tried to be. Cold air, hot water, the sky overhead... but he'd barely gotten settled when Yuri came skidding out into the bath area, looking nearly panicked.
He was barely recognizable as Victor's pole-dancing Cinderella from Sochi: all shaggy hair and glasses, dressed like a college student in clothes a size or so too small, with quite a few extra kilos riding around his midsection.
He was going to have a headache all year, Victor thought as he stood up, and it was going to be worth every second of it.
Yurio's arrival hot on his heels was a welcome respite, even if neither of them wanted to admit it. Unfortunately for him, or possibly for both of them, Yurio sulked off back to Russia immediately after Onsen On Ice. He'd hoped they could all stay in Hasetsu. Yurio had claimed to want him as a coach, after all, but he supposed it could be some kind of alpha pride thing. He didn't even try to call or text to mend fences; he had his own pride, alpha or no, and he didn't especially want to be told what a terrible coach he was by a fifteen-year-old with a wounded ego and a matching headache.
On the other hand, being close to Yuuri -- especially touching him -- was nearly as good. It was terribly cliche, of course, cuddling up to a new alpha to displace an old one, but it was a cliche for a reason. And while song and story always made it seem like the unfaithfulness of a fickle omega, any omega knew there were plenty of reasons why you might want to break an imprint bond. Victor was just lucky his unwanted bond was so harmless.
Besides, he was fairly certain he'd have wanted to be in physical contact with Yuuri twenty-four hours a day even if Yuuri had been a fellow omega, if they'd both been betas, if there'd been no bond at all tugging on his mind. But the way wrapping his arms around Yuuri relieved the pounding in his head was a nice bonus on top of all the other things he liked about touching Yuuri.
Even with Yurio's defection leaving him on his own, and Yuuri's reserve keeping the snuggling nonexistent and the hugs painfully few for Victor's tastes, he had a few reprieves before the headache finally gave up the ghost permanently sometime in July. He still had the restless, unsettled sensation that had started nagging at him the moment he boarded his flight, but it was honestly a bit difficult to differentiate that from the way he felt on any day he didn't skate, so he could work around it. Long bike rides, walks on the beach with Makkachin, early skating practice at the Ice Castle while Yuuri was still sleeping -- he stayed moving as often as possible, all through the fall.
Autumn and winter were surprisingly mild, but Victor dutifully broke out what he would have called a light jacket and Yuuri apparently considered a winter coat, and they ramped up practice to get ready for Beijing. Victor was excited; international competition, as a coach this time, and he'd have a chance to see Yakov again, and Chris, and he really loved Chinese food. He daydreamed about taking his Yuuri out to dinner with Yakov and Georgi and ordering whatever he wanted and when Yakov tried to stop him Victor could just say but Yakov, I'm not competing! I don't need to worry about a hangover or food poisoning or anything! And then he'd order a bunch of those egg custard tarts.
And then they'd go back to the hotel and be really clingy with Yuuri, because he'd be tipsy so he'd have an excuse, and maybe Yuuri would be a little more receptive if they weren't under his parents' roof, on sheets his mom or maybe his sister would have to change, or else in his childhood bed.
Of course it didn't work out that way at all. Yakov was holding a grudge, much more than Victor had realized, and Yuuri was a bundle of irresistibly sexy nerves even before his perfect SP put him in first place. The night following the free skate was nice -- Yuuri was very interested in additional kissing after that first kiss, but too exhausted for more, and so Victor finally got a chance to really sleep with him. There'd been honest-to-goodness cuddling. Sleeping on Yuuri in the plane, or in an effort to get him to lie still long enough to nap, those were both nice, but this time they'd been under the covers together. Victor had been so delighted he'd even worn pants, though a shirt was still a bridge too far.
And then, the morning after they arrived back in Japan from Beijing, Victor went into heat.