Feb 7
Have a little Ilia backflip, as a treat.
seen from Tunisia
seen from Philippines
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from United Arab Emirates
seen from Iraq
seen from Canada
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Yemen
seen from China
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
Have a little Ilia backflip, as a treat.
Double backflip in the gala for the 2026 Winter Olympics 🥰
i have a self indulgent fic request!
something about ilia’s gf being a fashion design student (totally not me) and her designing and making his costumes, people asking him during press conferences or interviews about his costumes and him just turning into lover boy golden retriever bf and ranting abt his talented gf!
(bonus points if she does the thing where couples embroider their initials on gifts and him kissing his wrist where he has her initials before every program)
🎀 Written in Thread - Ilia Malinin
❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥
in which
he wears her initials as his lucky charm and turns into the softest golden retriever boyfriend whenever someone asks about his costume.
❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥
Her room had always been a mess, but that afternoon it was in truly disastrous condition. And yet she had noticed it, which just proved how much of a mess it was. You couldn’t even say it looked like a bomb had gone off, because the problem wasn’t a bomb. There were papers, sketches, pens, pencils, notes, photos, fabrics. Everywhere. Not a single wall was free; everything was covered in bulletin boards with pinned notes or shelves overloaded with disorganized materials.
When Ilia entered the room, she could barely see him, almost swallowed by the sheer amount of stuff crammed into that small space.
As usual, he teased her immediately, which was his way of showing affection. She had gotten used to it by now, and while she might have gotten frustrated before, she’d learned to let it slide, sometimes even laughing, despite her being the kind of person who was easily offended, one of her defining traits.
And she certainly didn’t hide that about herself either; she was proud to be who she was, knowing her own strengths, and hated being teased, especially about messes, because she knew herself well.
There was nothing she could do. She worked much better in chaos. Order didn’t spark her mind the way disorder did. Disorder made her think faster, more creatively.
She didn’t respond to his provocation but let out a small laugh anyway.
“Stop saying things about me and come over here! Move!” she practically shouted, holding a meter stick. “I told you, come over and help me. Okay? I’m working for you here, so be grateful and stop wandering around,” she continued.
Even though he could sense the sharpness in her tone, he let it slide, knowing she was only stressed from the mountain of work he had given her.
“So… are you moving or not?”
After the third prompt, he finally stepped away from the doorway, carefully avoiding the thousands of things scattered across the floor. Between small hops,which, fortunately, he was good at, thanks to his training, he made his way into the small empty space she’d cleared for him. Spreading his arms, he let her take measurements.
“How is it possible that every time I measure you, the numbers change? Every single time. You either twist a bit or the measurements just… change.”
She tried not to panic. But she was panicking, and he could tell, because he always could. So, for the umpteenth time, he counted, not to ten this time, but to twenty, and didn’t respond. He knew that when she got like this, completely absorbed in costumes and sketches, she shouldn’t be disturbed. So he stayed silent, like a wooden mannequin.
After a long afternoon filled with her shouting and his silent, condescending patience, they decided the day was over and it was time to order dinner. She was far too tired to cook. And he would never cook, both for his own sake and hers.
Ilia decided to order pizza because she loved it, and somehow he knew it would cheer her up a little.
She was a bundle of nerves, unable to sit still, muttering curses under her breath, whispering things like, what if this seam comes undone? What if the dress rips? What if… while you’re moving and doing those crazy jumps, you catch the pants on the blade and ruin all my work?
These were the nights before important competitions.
He was barely nervous anymore because she absorbed all the tension.
And he loved her for that.
After all, if she was the nervous one, he could relax and distract himself a little.
It was hilarious to watch her pacing back and forth with the pizza box in hand, shouting, whispering, kicking, waving her arms, making those funny expressions that always made him laugh.
Morning finally came, and it was time to hit the rink.
He stepped onto the rink and began his warm-up lap. While doing so, he kept a sweatshirt on, needing to acclimate to the cold air.
She didn’t greet him directly, as usual; she went up into the stands, following her habit of staying back. She knew that if she stood close, her nervous energy might affect him. So she went up, smiled at those who smiled at her, waved at those who waved at her, but never positioned herself like she was someone important. She was just a girl there to watch a skating competition. And if anyone recognized her and greeted her, she returned the smile politely. She never demanded front-row seats or special treatment; in fact, she often chose the farthest, most secluded spots because she already knew his choreography by heart.
She needed to know it in order to design his costumes.
By the time she settled into her spot, he had finished warming up and was waiting to be called for his program.
He finally removed the sweatshirt, and the first thing he looked for. The first thing he instinctively searched for, was a small detail on his wrist.
Her initials, of course.
She had written them there on every costume she had made for him over the years.
At first, she had done it boldly, almost to claim credit as the designer.
Over time, though, it had become a small ritual that brought them closer together.
Being a public couple was complicated. Every shared moment was observed by others. So they needed something private yet meaningful, something that was just theirs.
This little ritual was one of those things.
Both of them were superstitious in their own ways, and this was their shared superstition.
From the moment he realized those two letters brought him luck, she never stopped writing them.
That was why, the night before, he hadn’t complained when she fussed about his measurements changing constantly while preparing the costume. He knew that the measurements of his arm mattered to those two letters. She always wrote them the night before a competition. Was it a ritual? In a way, yes because those two letters meant she was with him, even as he glided in front of the judges.
Since he had learned to calculate the exact second the announcer would call his name, in that fraction of a second before being announced, so fast yet so precise, he kissed those two letters.
Those two letters, barely noticeable to anyone else, but carefully observed by his own eyes.
The detail was now subtle; the color had been muted compared to the bright, bold letters she used at first to show off her work.
Now, it was just slightly lighter than the sleeves’ color. She didn’t want it to be seen it was theirs. And it had to stay that way.
The competition went perfectly.
He stepped in proudly as always, did a lap, made eye contact with the judges, and did what he did best.
Only once he had finished, music ended, did she begin to descend the stands slowly, making her way toward the rink’s exit.
She never entered the space before his program.
No, she waited until it was completely over, superstitious to the last second. And when it ended, only then did she give her compliments.
Calm, quiet, composed.
But he was different.
No, he wasn’t one for controlled emotions, especially after an important performance.
He always launched himself at her, kissed her in front of everyone, giving the photographers exactly what they wanted, and there were always countless photos, every single time.
After the photos and celebrations, which passed in the blink of an eye. They were so used to these moments by now that they hardly even noticed them. It was time for Ilia to step in front of the journalists to give his usual statements.
Sponsors wanted it, and so did he; by now he had grown accustomed to being sought out by reporters, and maybe he even enjoyed it. He had learned to make it enjoyable, and it was just part of the job. You could say his ego was satisfied by all the attention.
But the only question they asked him wasn’t about the complexity of his work. It wasn’t about the competition. It was just about the outfit he was wearing.
Ilia was taken aback; he had expected much more technical questions.
Instead, the question was simple: “Is this costume always hers? We haven’t seen the initials on your wrist in a while. We don’t see that bright flash when you move. What happened?”
He burst out laughing.
The only sensible thing he could do in that moment was laugh.
He laughed, right there in front of the journalists, without a second thought.
“Do you really think that just because she stopped writing the initials, someone else is dressing me? No, no, you’re wrong. She decides how I dress, how I wear my hair, apparently even how I sleep, but that’s another story. She decides everything. She decides what I eat, how I do it. And, make no mistake, I’m not complaining. She’s perfect. She’s perfect for me. And it’s exactly that everyday routine that lets me do what I did today on the ice. Excuse me if I keep laughing while I talk, but… I can’t help it. It’s just too funny to me that you think anyone else could create a masterpiece like this. No, no, it’s always her. And it’s only her. Do you think I tried to find someone else? It’s maddening to be handled and put up with while she takes my measurements, but there’s no one else who can do it properly like she does. So, not only do I have to put up with her, I have to pay her, and I have to live with her. Can you imagine the disaster? So, no, I can’t help but laugh. I can’t believe you can’t see something so simple.”
Even as he finished speaking, he kept laughing, but at some point, he stopped and turned, because he knew she would be behind him, leaning against a wall, off to the side, as always. She always waited in the same spot during his interviews.
He turned, pointed at her in a fraction of a second, then looked straight back at the journalists.
“See her? That’s her. She does this magic, I don’t know how. And maybe the biggest magic of all is putting up with me, because as demanding as she can be about the measurements, you have no idea how demanding I am about the colors. You wouldn’t think so, huh? But every time… it’s like giving birth for her, poor woman. I see her, I see that she has to put up with me, just like I put up with her. So never doubt again that anyone else could have sewn anything I’m wearing.”
The reporters thanked him and let him return to her.
They left the rink as usual, him with an arm around her shoulders, and her waving her arms frantically, repeating over and over that he needed to be more careful with interviewers, that he couldn’t just laugh in their faces, that he had to behave, control his emotions.
He stopped, and she stopped too.
She looked at him; he looked at her.
“Stop doing that, okay? You’re amazing, and it annoys me when people assume you’re not. So please, just once, let your boyfriend give you some good publicity. Now, can we go eat? I’m starving. I just won a gold medal. I deserve a meal.”
She gave him a light slap on the shoulder, then kissed him as usual, and they left, got in the car, and finished the evening at a cozy, quiet, intimate restaurant.
And that was how every competition would go from then on.
In fact, in the end, she would even have a little keepsake of the initials for herself.
The engagement ring he would give her years later would be engraved with his initials, so she could always carry it with her, together with herself.
❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥
I hope you liked it.
REQUESTS ARE STILL OPEN I LOVE ALL OF YOUR IDEAS
⟢ [ilia masterlist.exe]
♱ = fan favorite .ᐟ || 𑣿 = proceed with caution ── .✦ 𝓫ack to catalog.
malinin, ilia.
i. (physical) therapy [smut. 4.8k] ♱
⤷ ilia doesn’t often make mistakes, but when he does, you’re always there to pick up the pieces. yet tonight, amidst the heartbreaking chaos, you try to run away from the inescapable feeling that suddenly blooms in your stomach. so when you're finally forced to confront that truth, you find a different way to help him. and this one benefits both of you.
ii. bon appétit [smut. 2.4k] ♱
⤷ three years ago, you met the eighteen-year-old skating prodigy at a local rink. and in that time, you've experienced far too many let-downs with guys, whether it's behind closed doors or in a dingy movie theater. when ilia finally stepped up a month ago, you were enthralled. the only outcome you hadn't expected was for him to be absolutely obsessed with eating you out.
iii. wicked game [suggestive. 4.1k]
⤷ you weren't in a good place as his friend; his mental state was never any stronger. jumping into a relationship would only make things worse, though neither of you chose to believe it. what was once soft, calming touches, late-night talks, and sweet glances turned to something that lacked it all. only physicality. and when the final constraint snapped, it all fell apart.
iv. under the desk, on my tongue [smut. 2.0k]
⤷ you love your boyfriend, flaws and all. you've always been his rock, a figure skater yourself who hasn't yet made her mark, but is known amongst the community to be a sweet girl. you like to sit beside him while he plays games late at night, sometimes with others, sometimes on live for his little community to see. but what no one expects is for the same girl to be on her knees in front of ilia, right under the very desk that this all takes place on.
v. FEAR [fluff. 6.7k]
⤷ ilia malinin has been your pride and joy your entire life. he was the boy who infiltrated it almost instantly. and somewhere between childhood and adulthood, the line between friends and more blurred. you explored every first together, and that included your first olympic appearances. though for ilia, the experience carried a weight neither of you could have predicted. for a moment, fear got the best of him, and with you by his side, he showed the world what that was like.
vi. kinda like how hot it gets [smut. 4.8k]
⤷ you don't like him; you never did. skiing and skating — they were different sports. social circles blur, but don't blend. except six months ago, when the relationship was served to you like a sales pitch. neither of you jumped at the opportunity, but it wasn't a choice. cameras, eyes, voices; all focused on the golden couple that is nothing but a sham. and now, just one week before you board the plane to milan, italy, emotions finally come to a head with the man you're supposed to love.
vii. teamwork (and then some) [smut. 1.5k]
⤷ swamped with schoolwork and missed time at your job, you slip on a pair of sunglasses and bask in milan, italy, alongside your overnight superstar boyfriend, ilia malinin. when he wins the gold in the team event, you're both enthralled. and you? well, you might be a little too excited...because making him keep the medal on while you fuck? that's a new low, even for you.
vii. stifle: wrap me in your success [smut. 2.7k]
⤷ it must be pretty exciting to watch your boyfriend win his third world championship title in a row. at least, that's what most people would assume. so what exactly prompts you to bring up the trainwreck of february thirteenth? you don't really know. but when you do — and ultimately decide to push him further, for good measure — ilia decides to let you have a taste of gold, too...in his own, special way.
viii. no place i'd rather be [fluff. 4.1k]
⤷ you’ve been skating with him since you were 15. they call you the “sunshine pair” — always happy to be present, always smiling, always attached at the hip. but as your third world championship appearance approaches, you find yourselves on track to win your first medal, and suddenly, life isn’t so easy. tensions rise, feelings bubble to the surface, and you find that some things aren’t worth suppressing.
ix. sacrifice (eat me up) [smut. vampires. 7.9k] 𑣿
⤷ what happens when a hundred-year-old vampire meets a twenty-year-old human. and when she wants all of it.
x. why wait for the best when i could have you? [smut. 8.9k]
⤷ he was everything when you were sixteen. your teammate, your friend, your role model, and more; so much more. but when he broke your heart, it never fully healed. even four years later, after handfuls of events and competitions, you never mended that bond. but when the pressure finally cracks his resolve, and your own stress becomes too much to handle, the dam finally breaks. and the result? more hurt than you could have ever imagined.
xi. the logistics of head mid-stars on ice [drabble. smut. 1.0k]
⤷ blowing fwb ilia in an arena bathroom during soi. inspired by this video.
xii. all's well that ends well to end up with you [fluff. smut. 14.6k]
⤷ when you're in a relationship with someone for over three years, it's hard to let them go. harder when you grew up just a few homes apart. especially difficult when they've become your home. months of pettiness masking pain, anonymous posts that sounded too familiar to be distant, and the crumbled remains of a dream, all bloom into a mess of everything but closure. and, of course, one moment of weakness that makes you realize exactly what you're giving up.
xiii. you make me make bad decisions [smut. 3.6k]
⤷ he's everything you despise. arrogant, cold — so deceitful that he hurt someone you loved just to reach you. so manipulative that you let him. he's a black hole that keeps on taking, and taking, and taking, until there is nothing left but the remains of what once was. and worst of all? he's your weakness.
xiv. you, just like (heaven) [smut. vampires. 3.9k] 𑣿
⤷ when the bottle lands on both you and your hundred-year-old vampire boyfriend, spending seven minutes locked in a closet doesn't sound so bad. and they're definitely fucking heaven.
series.
♱ ― look after you. [vamp!ilia au. ongoing (ii published parts).] 𑣿
⤷ the world isn't kind to people like him. standing at one hundred and nine years old, ilia malinin's history with love is ― complicated. he was turned in 1923 by a woman whom he adored, betrayed by her that same night; a pawn in her game since the day he'd met her, left to navigate supernaturality himself.
you came along in late 2011, showed him what life could be (although he'd already lived a handful of lives). he let you in, perhaps, against his better judgment. and in short, ilia's world is changing for the better.
until ― inevitably ― the passage of time takes you away, too.
— © 2026 jaeyundazed, all rights reserved
Another silly ilia clip for you guys
All credit goes to the creator @iliabauerrr
Pairing: Ilia Malinin x Fem! Reader
Warnings: hurt/comfort
Disclaimer: This is fiction, although it's based off real events this is a work of fiction.
Notes: Reader is described as tall and buff.
Hellooo
I’m surprising myself with how fast I’m back with a new headcanons or something. So here you go. This is for the finals with ilia.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Comforting ilia after the results of the Olympics (already dating):
He already knew he fucked up the program as he was doing the last of it and he really had to just push through it to not just skate off the ice already. When he then comes off he sits waiting for his score ofc, with his dad beside him. He is mostly looking down. every now and then he will look up to see if the score has come but his eyes would flicker quickly down again not wanting to meet any of the eyes of his disappointed fans or you. Cause what if you also were disappointed in him. He had been so excited and talked it up so much and now this is what he gave his fans who had been nothing but supportive? He couldn’t believe it himself. He didn’t want to believe it. Then the scores came. An 8’th place. He should’ve done better. He could do better. He just got too aware and it fell apart. He can see his dad also looking at the score with a disappointed look but still a hand on his back. It was first now he peeked over to you and saw your soft face that always brought some happiness into his heart no matter the circumstances. He couldn’t do this feeling like he disappointed everyone. He had to atleast know that you weren’t disappointed in him. As soon as the camereas went away he was up from the seat making his way to you. You didn’t look mad or anything. He didn’t fully understand that yet. But the thoughts of that stopped when he saw you open your arms for a hug. He fell in to your arms and just tried taking all the comfort in while he half whispered and half sobbed all his thoughts out to you while you comforted him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Idk if this one was good or not and I would honestly really like to hear your feedback on this one if anybody wanna give it.
Thank youuu
