Yuri On Ice x Reader Oneshots

Chris Giacometti: Cuts

Requested by: YuriHasBladeShoes
Type of Oneshot: Angst
Oneshot Idea: Y/N is a professional figure skater who suffers from depression. One day they meet Chris.
Warning(s): Depression and Self-Harm
Additional Info: Reader is gender neutral.
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-Y/N's POV-

Tears streamed down my face as I painted another line onto the canvas that was my flesh. The cut pooled up with blood and slowly slid down my arm, the warmth a stark contrast to my freezing skin. This red streak was only one of many, but they never seemed to be enough. I needed to paint more onto my skin to feel human.

"God dammit," I mumbled, my teeth clenched. "I'm such a waste of space. I don't know why I even try anymore."

I sniffled and wiped the tears off my face, my face as red as my arms. I sighed and sat back in my chair, looking down lazily at my arms. They stung, oh god did it sting, but at least I felt something. This was all I could do to even feel normal.

A soft knock sounded at my door and I cringed, my coach's voice cut through the wood,

"It's time to go to the competition Y/N."

I sighed and pulled down my sleeves, covering my cuts, "Alright, I'll be out soon."

Grabbing my bag and tossing it over my shoulder, I prepared myself for the competition.

-•-•-•-•-•-•-

I don't even know why I was here. Sure, I had qualified for the competition but did I really deserve to be here when everybody else was better than me? Whatever, I was already here so no sense in bailing out now unless I wanted to make everyone in my life disappointed.

"Y/N, it's time for you to warm up," my coach called.

"Alright," I sighed, "be there in a second."

I flopped open my bag and pulled out my pristine skates. I kept them clean and polished so at least one thing looked good why I was skating because god knows how ugly I am. Without much of a care, I pulled on my skates and fixed my hair, making sure I looked at least decent for the audience.

As I stood up and started walking to the rink, I pulled my sleeve down farther, making sure no one could see my cuts. I hissed quietly in pain as the fabric ran over my fresh cuts. I kept my eyes down, which in hindsight is a bad idea because I ran into somebody.

"Oh hello there beautiful, my apologies for running into you," a soft voice greeted my ears.

I cringed hearing the word beautiful and averted my eyes from him, "Sorry for running into you. I'll just get going now."

I went to walk past him but he grabbed my wrist making me wince audibly.

"Are you okay? You seem hurt," he continued. "I could get some help—"

I pulled away from him, hissing slightly, "I'm fine. I have to get to practice thanks."

I stomped off then, only now realizing who I was talking to.

"That was Chris Giacometti!" I whispered aggressively to myself. "Fuck my life!"

-•-•-•-•-•-•-

Practice was over and now I had to actually skate my show. My head was in my hands and I felt my anxiety whispering in my ear, you're going to fail... Tears stung my eyes but I wiped them away and stood up. Even if I didn't want to even get up this morning, I had to do this or risk being an outcast.

Sighing heavily, I changed into my uniform and headed back out onto the ice. My feet glided against the ice and I managed to put on a smile on my face, waving to the few fans I had. I paused on the ice and assumed position, so I could wait for the music to start.

The music, a soft sorrowful melody, began playing. I glided against the gracefully, swaying to the music. I didn't have many jumps in my show as the melody was very delicate and soft so we had decided any quads would be too abrupt for the audience. However I still decided to put in some Salchows for fun.

Throughout the show, the audience was mostly quiet except when I had to do a quad. That elicited a few "ooh's" and "aah's" but that was about it. Tears formed in my eyes as I reached the ending, realizing I had probably failed my competition and was going to be the disappointment of my family, friends, and fans.  As I finished and strike my pose, small tears dropped down my cheeks. I didn't even hear the applause that the audience gave me.

I skated off the rink quickly and slipped off my skates, tossing them to my coach as I slipped on my shoes. I ran off quickly, ignoring my coaches pleas to stay. I didn't want to see my score. I didn't want to see how much I had failed. I ran and ran, until I couldn't breath anymore.

My feet had taken me to an empty hallway and I could feel myself breaking down. I slid down the wall and curled into myself, silently sobbing. The tears slid down my cheeks and burned like acid.

"Why am I such a fucking failure?" I cried, bitting my cheek slightly.

"You know sweetheart, you're not a failure," that same soft voice greeted my ears.

"Go away. I'm not worth your time."

"I disagree, now look at me gorgeous."

I sighed and peeked up from my arms, meeting his beautiful eyes. He was smiling so happily and his hand was extended to me.

"I'm Chris Giacometti, you're Y/N L/N right?" He asked.

"I am," I mumbled. "What do you want?"

"I want to help the beautiful skater who harms them self."

My eyes widened and I pulled my arms closer to my chest, "How did you know?"

Chris smiled, almost sadly, at me, "When you pulled away from me, your arm left blood on my hand." He paused, "May I see your arms?"

I glared weakly at him but complied, unfolding my arms and pulling up my sleeves. Lines danced across both my arms like torturous abstract art. Some where red from irritation and he tsked.

"Let's get you cleaned up okay?" He stated softly. "I'm going to help you but you have to promise me you aren't going to do this again."

I watched him hesitantly but he smiled kindly at me that I could not say no.

"Okay," I whispered, "let's go."