#// Awake and done afraid // (( OLDER VISAGE ))

[forevertheoutsiider]

TAG DROP 1// ( BASED OFF SONG LYRICS ))

[porquejimin]

SilkEND

Yandere!JiminxReader

Warnings: Mentions of death, kidnapping, graphic depictions of gore, drug use.

Summary: You never intended to catch the eye of the mysterious owner of the tea house, the place that covertly was a wash for the rich and powerful to reach its highest pleasures. Jimin had you once, and plans to keep you this time.

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It was the scrape of your knees against the floorboard and the dragging sensation of wood. The smell of smoke lingered like an unwilling bystander, and through the vignette of your vision you watched as you descended beneath an aged prayer mat,and darkness once again swallowed your vision. This time however, you knew you were awake for what came next.

A click and a gruff voice, a door opened and the heady smoke of untouchable elites and their terrible sin breached and singed the lining of your nose. Dim light fell across your face, and a throne room filled with silken bodies. Men of the elite and the women who served them, their eyes red and tinted with crazed ecstasy.

Those of power were there to enjoy the slaves of the tea house, and from one look you knew the addiction to the opium was apparent. The sluggishness and lack of fight. A girl no older then 16, allowing a man to feel squeeze her bosom while she took deep inhales of paradise lost from his other hand, its pipe producing a vapor like licorice and a contract for the rest of their lives.

You weren’t to see anymore as you were dragged center of the room, trying to carefully move your bruising ankle and untie your palms wrapped in unforgivable knots. Beyond the point of where a throne would sit, a curtain was lifted and your breathing grew heavier and heavier in fear.

You were going to become one of these lost women, trained to submit to the very poison that would kill them and to smoke the candy that will lead to their eventual end. Everything would end in smoke, your family, your village, all because of him.

The smell of the end began to fade, the scent of jasmine and a masculine flavor lingering like an old friend into a room with a large cot and 7 foot tall chest, within it where rainbows of silk, one of which could feed your village during the destitute winter. All of which he could have worn.

You always suspected a man like himself had a taste for the finer things in life. How he achieved these things, are the reason you made the decision to release him, and the outcome proved frightening.

You dropped and your chest met the floor as you wriggled. The door closed almost immediately after, and tears escaped as you realized your open wound has festered and would become an uncomfortable sore soon, not unless you could boil water and fetch an anti inflammatory.

Quickly scanning the room, on a small table laid thin blade, probably from the last time he shaved, and used your chin to give yourself a grip to wriggle to the bed, the sounds of lascivious moans and nasty laughter frightened you to move faster. As you approached the desk you sat up in a seated position, and minded your foot.

If you could push the table over it would cause too much noise, but you could stand to lean against the stool in from of the desk and crawl upward to knock the knife of.

Time was precious, and the more time taken would indicate whether or not you’d leave this frightening place, in his arms wrapped in decadence but stained in soot and blood.

With what little upper body strength you had, you propelled your body forward and knocked the little table over, and the glimmer of the blade on the floor. You crawled like a worm, and if you could just grip it in your teeth, you could stand to escape.

A few more inches, shift a bit more. Just there-

“Seeing you this vulnerable should not appeal to me the way it does.”

The chill and inflating feeling of fear within your body was all consuming as you heard footsteps, even and calm, approaching you.

You turned your head up, and you began to tear up at the vision he made. Beautiful and terrible like the slithering body of a snake. His hair as black as the soot that decorated the smoking halls and his lips swollen like the petals of the women who engaged in the obscene at his command.

Jimin had never been a large man, but he was plenty strong from the years you both worked at hard labor. His skin was warmed from years in the sun, and scars you had never seen decorated his skin. But what was most mesmerizing was the garment he wore. Possibly the only garment he was wearing.

It was as red as tsubaki flowers, but threaded with a visage of a fearsome demon or dragon of some sort, laid with gold and laden in such fine silk it could be mistaken for jewels. The robe moved like smoke around him and in time with the gentle tinkle of the earrings that decorated his ears, framing his unreadable expression.

He leaned in and with a lift of his robe sat next to your head, and reached with hands that were so manicured and soft and began to wipe the sweat and tears on your face.

“J-j-ji-i-min” you didn’t even try to hide the sob and shake in your voice, the despair in not his presence, but in his current state.

He shook very lightly, like a chill passed through him at your voice, and expression like finding lost euphoria came across his face. Those lips curved in its happiest smile, and those eyes disappeared, not a hint of redness to indicate he was under any influence but of you.

“Still the loveliest of all feelings, being with you.” He leaned forward gently turning you over, ignoring your despair and lifted you from under your arms to lean against his silk clad chest. With such swiftness he wrapped his arms around you, like the embrace of a snake.

He trembled with emotion as he gripped your chin and pulled your view up at his profile, no longer was he starved, but healthy from foods only wealth could provide, while your cheek bones were slightly sunken from the desolate season and the traders who refused to trade with your tiny, countryside village. Refused because of Jimin’s orders, so they’d have no voice but to turn to him, the outcast, where he would seek vengeance and receive without a fight his most sought after prize.

“Sweetest fruit. The most rare of my possessions,” he ran his hand across your trembling neck and traced your bottom lip slowly as if it were the most sinful thing, “how I have missed you. I have coveted you. And now, I have you.”

A sob tracked and escaped your throat sounding painful. He became making hushing noises and trailing his fingernails through your scalp and placing small kisses on your forehead and ignoring your heaving breaths. “My babe, I know you are tired and hurt, and you hunger. You will not hunger any longer.”

He left his lips against your temple, rubbing circles into your tummy and hip with the hand not wrapped around your limbs. “I will heal you, feed you, love you,” and his hands traveled upwards, dragging against your clothing and cupping your breasts through your clothing. Squeezing and trailing his fingers within the torn folding of your clothing with small and slow massaging circles.

“S-stop Jimin you c-cannot touch me like this! You are not my-“he interrupted by jamming two fingers into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue and gagging you. He looked down with a smug grin and wide eyes. “But I will be. I will be the man who owns your love and life. And it will be very soon, that you’ll be the one to share my riches.”

You began to cry quite loudly. You had never seen him so terrible. To think that Jimin’s ambition for wealth would drive him to sell the loveliest of poisons. To kill, and take and hoard like the dragons he wore on his clothing.

And the sudden realization made you cry harder. In sight you would choke, he finally released his fingers, momentarily running them over your lips before sucking them himself of your saliva. He hummed a sweet song from your flavor, and began to pick you up.

You fought hard, prayed to whoever was there your binds would release, and your injury healed,so you could run screaming from this terrible room, away from the man who fell in addiction. He breathed out a laugh and dropped you on the cot laden with fur and silk. In his hand, his shaving blade.

He stood on knees, your body underneath him trembling and tears ruining the fabrics beneath you.

He swore he’d never felt so alive before. Your body trembling and your clothing disheveled, revealing all that he had only imagined since he was a young boy. He suddenly became enraged with the shoddy burlap you were wrapped in.

“I will fix you.”

He began to tear away the clothing, cutting strip by strip. And you had never felt so afraid.

“N-NO STOP P-LEASE JIMIN. DON’T-” You wheezed desperately, your body compounding in fear. Jimin would take you. He would rape you like a vagabond, like a thief, like a criminal he was-

Jimin stopped, seeing your violent shivers and the panic in your breaths. “No my sweet hush..” her shushes you and peels the last of the trash away. He peels away his own robe, and you began to cry harder. Chuffing desperate calls for your mother and father.

“I will not take you. You are in no condition to receive anything but my attention and care.” He stroked your thigh lightly and the goosebumps that arose didn’t tame your fear. His words did not stop the panic within you. He took the knife to your trembling wrists, not bothering your feet and released them.

In your fear laden mind you could not find it within yourself to move, because the threat of losing your purity was more pressing. But then you were obscured by vibrant shades of red.

With some movements of your body done with utmost care, you found yourself draped in silk that smelled of the that ominous smoke and deceptive jasmine. You felt his gentle hands run though your hair and place it along your shoulder and wipe the mess of tears on your face.

“In something worthy of you, you would look a vision,” he leaned and looked you in the eye with the vision of a panther in the night. Seeking the vulnerable prey to satisfy their appetite. He would feast.

“But in my own clothing, I could devour you.”

He stared at you for minutes and watched as you slowly calmed down before he trailed his hands down the bed and left the cot, nude as the day he was born, all the planes of his face illuminated by firelight and his precious earrings softly twinkling.

While he was ready to take you at a moments notice, he couldn’t risk worsening your wound. Your feelings were raw. And why rush? He had a forever to look forward to with you.

He came back from the hidden door ten minutes later with a satchel of many things. He revealed herbs, water to boil and cotton strips to wrap around your feet. His nose scrunched at the fabric, obviously preferring a richer luxury, but cotton would breath, and be more comfortable for you.

In the time he spent painstakingly cleaning and wrapping your wound, he kissed your legs, massaged the aching muscles around it, and made eye contact many times while asking you little questions about the village that was no more. Just what was his game!?

When the questions went unanswered he would coax you with a squeeze not hard enough to hurt, but get the message across he could harm. He seemed most relieved you had not loved another (as embarrassingly blunt the question was) and even lamented how devastated your brother will be after he finds his village in ruins when he comes back from war.

The comment made you jerk your foot back, especially when he commented without remorse he could provide your brother with something to ease the pain. As if Jimin’s poison wouldn’t harm instead of heal. “Do not speak of my brother!” In your first act of rebellion, you turned away from him and brought your body up and under the great silken robe.

Jimin stared at you and began to laugh manically. He reached forward quick like a viper and pulled you down under his powerful body. Still laughing before he brought his face within inches of your own.

“Forgive me young one.” He brought your hair to his lips and kissed it like it was the most elegant of materials available, murmuring loud enough to hear, “ But, I don’t give a shit about the scum of those in your village.” He sat up and sat on your waist, weighing you down and catching your hands when you began to beat his chest to either be silent or let you go, preferably both.

He squeezed your wrists like another binding. “They kept me from you. Kept me from caring and providing and loving you.” His grip only tightens and your fear plummets further in your chest with every word that leaves his mouth.

“They are gone, and the riches of the world are mine. Your body and your love are mine! I won’t share with anyone!” He snaked his hand under you to grip your hairs and reveal the slope of your neck, ready to be decorated in his love markings like the most delicate jewelry. The tension in your scalp was excruciating. You screamed wriggling under him, nude spare a single protective barrier.

Jimin moaned a deep rumble from within his chest at your wriggling, not too different from a growl or a purr. He stared with his bangs obscuring his vision partially, eyes greedily devouring you. “Such a little tease.”

He chuckled and gripped you, shoving you up the bed and wrapping you both in the bed sheets. You could not stop crying, but no tears fell, only dry and silent sobs wracking your form. Addiction and obsession drove the boy you loved to madness, and there was death intertwined in his sweet scent now. Like cursed smoke, smelling up silken sheets. Jimin drew your shaking frame close. “Will you sleep for me my babe?”

A cloud of smoke met your face and the scent drowned your senses in a sea of red.

“I think I have something that will help you with that.”

That’s It! Hope you liked it. If you’d like a sequel let me know!

[sillyrounds]

Continued from this post (last addition: paperhyena/surelysilly) [Round Robin Guidelines]  

The pain recedes to an irritable itch, and then nothing at all. She sits up, and the blood adorning her vanishes with the twitch of a finger, but not without a brief case of vertigo.

Samael winces, a hand reaching for her temple. Everything’s a little greyer, duller really. The vanilla of the trees is no longer nearly as strong, and belatedly she notices the two humans curled on the ground. Dean, Sam. Right.

The ghost is gone, retreated to its anchor by the clump of barely malevolent energy she can feel from it inside the cabin.

With a wave of her free hand, she heals their ears, and clears the blood away for good measure.

“I hope no one heard that,” she says, perfectly bland, and eyes the two as they still further. “I know, however, that you two are fine.”

They both slowly sit up at that, Sam’s face a study of resigned fear, and Dean’s dark and furious.

“You shot a fifteen year old child,” she continues, and maybe her voice gets an edge here. “She even introduced us. Do you always shoot first, ask questions later?”

“We’ve got no sympathy for the Devil,” Dean growls, and it startles a laugh from her. He looks vaguely pained as realization dawns on him.

The brief good humor flees quickly, slipping away like mist. Samael frowns, though there’s not much behind it. Distanced, maybe a little separate and divided. Interesting.

Ruffling her feathers, she stands. The two scramble up as well, reaching for their guns, and she finds that she doesn’t like the weakness Valerie presents.

It takes naught a breath for the weapons to droop into swimming tubes, bright yellow and green, and undeniably plastic. “I’d rather not be shot again, if it’s all the same to you,” she says, and narrows her eyes. “Have we met in some previous life, perhaps? What have I done to ignite such hatred?”

Because that’s what it was. Not so alien, and easily a consuming flame. She ought to know. It’s not warm, it’s deadly to the touch. For all of those involved.

“What have you done?” Sam echos, disbelief clear on his face as he and his brother bare common blades. “What haven’t you done.”  

“Plenty,” she answers, a little late in realizing the question required no answer. Samael plows forward anyway. “Angels walk the Earth, yes? That’s why you didn’t question me at first, not really. Do you know what He has commanded then?”

“Last I heard God had taken a hike a long time ago,” Dean snaps, looks briefly confused, and what. “But you should know all about that, Lucifer.” What.

She opens her mouth, ready to argue because no, she really doesn’t. Only, the ghost is back, and strong enough to smear the wall with ectoplasm in determined lines.

Samael lifts a hand. “Wait—”

Everything bleeds white as she’s flung away.

Samael ends up in Vermont, of all places, and a chill settles over her skin the longer she lays there in the grass, tired, too tired. He... He can’t be gone. Can he?

“Father?” she asks the air, not wanting to hope, to wish, for an answer but.

The sun goes down, and it’s not like she gets one.

Her face hurts, the familiar emotion of sadness now like a far off dream, and the tears struggle free despite it. Father, what has she done? She can’t remember, can’t recall anything to do with this reality. She only remembers His voice, and then Michael’s horrifyingly dead Grace as he struck her down, her wings burning down to the barest trace, and then Darkness. Then Light. Valerie. Now.

They should be afraid. Awed, maybe. They should, for they stood before Greatness. Misguided, but a Guiding hand. So, why...?

Her tears dry, eventually, but night turns into day before she moves, and decides with a firm and sweltering desperation, I’m going Home. 

It’s as she is about to take flight that the human dwelling upon the property comes awake in the dewy morning, blue sunlight casting the acres of land in deep shadow. Samael pauses, and looks at it, takes it in. It’s aging, not well, and she can see that the roof is maybe a year from nature felling it with a hole. The small family inside can’t afford it, the Mother’s anxious thoughts like a lighthouse peering out to sea and Samael the ship looking to harbor.

“Fear not,” she whispers, and sets back the clock, leaves it about two years old and twice as strong.

With a nod, Samael takes flight. She’ll deal with the Leviathans, make amends, but for now she has a Home to return to. It takes naught a circle of the Earth to reach Heaven’s gates, but she dithers. 

Home. How long it has been since she last saw these gates? Heard the choir singing? Too long, much too long. I was such a fool, she thinks, and rubs absently at her chest. Such a fool.

She goes to the Garden a coward, and Joshua is there to greet her.

Though... greet may be too strong of a word as shears spear her in the side upon arrival. Samael grimaces, and staggers back a step. The Gardener merely looks at her, face carefully blank, and blades smeared with ichor. Strange, she thinks, takes in his all too human visage, the sprawling familiar-unfamiliar flora around them. So much has changed. 

“Lucifer,” he says, and she recoils even as Grace knits her body to health. “You are no longer welcome here, remember?”

No, she wants to say, but it’s one of many things she does remember. “I want to come Home,” Samael says instead, wings mantling with apology. “I... I’m sorry. I was a fool, a fool to cast away my Name and forsake my siblings and Father in spite. I’m so sorry.”

He continues to look at her in silence, and she waits it out, eyes lowering. She may be older, but he has always managed to make her feel young. “Samil,” he allows, and she briefly closes her eyes. Perhaps she has yet to earn back her true name, yet to have claim to something she so carelessly tossed aside. “Samil... you are changed.”

Samil offers a tentative smile. “I am Human as much as I am the Brightest,” she says, and unveils her soul, just a little. The emotions that well up are sudden and fast, and a tear slips free before she nudges Valerie back down. This can’t be healthy, but she’s a little pressed for time. “I don’t... I don’t remember anything after being cast into the Cage, and yet...”

“You met the Winchesters.”

“They knew to fear me,” she agrees, unsure. “Not like true believers might, but raw and unadulterated. They feared me as much as they loathed me.”

Joshua sighs, and motions to a bench she hadn’t noticed. “Sit. There is much you are forgetting.”

[fangirlshrewt97]

A Day without You is Like a Year without Rain

Author(s): Fangirlshrewt97

Rating: General

Warnings: no warnings

Summary: When Yuuri has to go to Japan for a couple of weeks, Viktor does not take it well. (Basically 2.5k of Viktor moping as he waits for Yuuri to return and a sweet reunion afterwards).

[Victuuri Week 2017, Day 2: Travelling, Yuuri: Reunion]

Link to A03: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9632222

Viktor Nikiforov was 28 years old, a five-time gold medalist at the Grand Prix and Worlds, engaged to the current World’s champion and also currently moping around his apartment in St. Petersburg. His fiancee Yuuri Katsuki, the top Japanese skater in the world was currently back in Japan, it was his parent’s 35th wedding anniversary and he and Mari Katsuki, his sister, had planned a special one. Viktor would have loved to go, but both Yuuri and Yakov threatened him with castration if he dared travel for a week before his first Grand Prix event in two weeks.

So Viktor was now stuck in his apartment while Georgi had driven Viktor to the airport on Yuuri’s request. The Japanese man had said that if VIktor had come with him he was afraid that they would not be able to separate and Yuuri would miss his flight. Which fair, although the couple had only been together for two years, neither could bear to be away from the other for extended periods of time. Even then, Yuuri seem to handle the separations a little better than Viktor did, because he did not become a complete slob who gorged himself on several pints of ice cream (or so Viktor thought, he didn’t realize the Japanese man did exactly that but was ok afterwards).  

Yuuri had been gone for a week now, but it might as well have been a year for how Viktor was acting. Viktor couldn’t help it though, till he met the younger man a couple years ago in an unforgettable night, he had grown tired and dull of life. He had developed a mild depression, feeling aimless as skating lost its shine to him. But Yuuri had burst into his life with alcohol and pole dancing, and cinched Viktor’s attention wholly. He had not been able to stop thinking of the man even after that one night that sometimes felt like a dream were it not for the photos.

Then meeting Yuuri, going to Japan, coaching him, getting engaged to him!!! Yeah, Viktor had been on top of the world. Then Yuuri had foolishly tried to break them up right before his free skate at the Grand Prix, but obviously, they had not broken up and were going strong now. Viktor couldn’t remember the last time he was this happy with life. He had his inspiration to skate back, he had his beloved Yuuri, friends among skaters who had previously only seen him as unapproachable and someone to knock off the pedestal.

So now with Yuuri gone, the only thing left to do was think about Yuuri for every minute of the day. Because that was what normal people did right? I mean, could you really blame Viktor for missing his precious Katsudon? Since Yuuri had moved to Russia with him almost a year and a half ago, the longest they had been apart was for the one-week lengths when Viktor had travelled elsewhere to compete and Yuuri had stayed back to keep training. But now Yuuri was gone for almost three weeks, and Viktor felt like he was slowly going out of his mind. Yuuri had told Viktor that he could cut it to two weeks, but Viktor did not want to deprive Yuuri of time with his parents.

Everywhere he turned he swore he could see his face smiling at him. His bed felt colder than ever before with Yuuri to cuddle next to. Even Makkachin was affected by the absence of his other owner, whining at the poster of Yuuri Viktor had insisted on buying. Eating was done because it was necessary as was showering and morning jogs, but they seemed harder than ever.

Viktor could barely recall how he had lived without Yuuri, the quiet of the apartment bringing back memories of too many lonely nights. Even worse were the memories of bringing back someone just to have the illusion of a companion for a few hours for when it got really cold. Loving Yuuri, Viktor knew those feeling paled in comparison to what he felt for the younger man. He barely had the motivation to get out of bed today, much less anything else that involved going outside, so he was grateful that it was Sunday.

It wasn’t like Yuuri had been radio silent, in fact they skyped every night before Yuuri went to bed, texted throughout the day, mostly Yuuri texting him to know what he was doing, where/who he was with, what he’d eaten. But it wasn’t enough, no skype video or perfect selfie could fill the empty hole Viktor felt around him. No photo could convey the warmth of Yuuri’s arms and no message could comfort him as much as Yuuri’s touches.

Feeling tears prick at the corner of his eyes again, Viktor rubbed them, Yuuri was going to call soon and he would hate to see Viktor crying. He got up from where he had been sprawled on the couch, picking up the empty cartons of ice cream and chocolate wrappers. Willing himself to clean up, he moved slowly through the paces, trying to distract himself from thinking of Yuuri and failing miserably. It probably wasn’t healthy to miss someone so much, but Viktor couldn’t help himself.

Hearing the Skype ringtone from his laptop in the bedroom, Viktor tossed the last packages in the trash can and ran to the laptop. He dived for the bed and making everything bounce, including a sleeping Makkachin. Answering the call and seeing the screen fill with the face and voice of his fiancee, Viktor felt a little more whole than he had all day.

*****

There were still five days left for Yuuri to return, and Viktor was more miserable than ever. Not only was his fiancee not around, practice had been absolutely brutal. Viktor swore that Yakov was not this sadistic when he last trained with him. Walking slowly to not aggravate his feet more than they were, the Russian took almost a half-hour to get back to his apartment only 5 blocks away.

He felt drained from the extra intense sessions, feeling his age in a way he hadn’t before. Barely able to lift his arm to open the door and remove his jacket, Viktor did not notice the extra pair of shoes by the door or the cleaned up kitchen counter. He did notice how his poodle had not come to greet him at the door as he always did, but shrugged it off as Makkachin sleeping. He leaned with his back to door as he tried to relax from the busy day.

As much he didn’t want to think about it, the poodle was getting older, and was more tired all the time. Thinking about the fact that he had to think about saying goodbye to his best friend was something Viktor avoided at all costs.

Pushing himself off, he shucked off his shoes and stripped his clothes as he went, wanting to just collapse into bed. He dropped his duffle bag on the couch to not damage the skates inside and kept walking down the hallway that would lead to his bed. Reaching the bedroom Viktor almost dismissed the lump on his way to the bathroom, the little tuft of black hair giving him pause though.

As he turned back to the bed, Viktor felt his breath hitch, his hands pinching his forearm to make sure he wasn’t dreaming because this would be the cruelest visage yet. At the same time he caught sight of the luggage that was next to the closet and the jacket and hat Yuuri always wore when travelling inside the hamper. Still holding his breath, Viktor walked softly to the bed, where his dog and lover were curled on.

Yuuri was mostly hidden by the blanket, the lump indicating that we was curled inward, with Makkachin resting in his arms. Hesitantly, almost scared to destroy the illusion if that was what this was, Viktor softly threaded his hands through the Japanese man’s soft black locks. Unable and unwilling to remove his hands from Yuuri now that the man was finally back, Viktor slowly moved his hands through his hair and down his face, tracing the hell of his ear.

How was it that Yuuri was here? He had spoken to the man yesterday, still firmly in Hatsetsu from the Onsen yukata he was wearing and the sounds of Mari’s soap in the background. Viktor could not help himself now that his lover was back and slowly moved to the other side, hating every second he wasn’t touching Yuuri. Softly he petted Makkachin awake and got him to scamper of the bed. Seeing just Yuuri now, the man was lying on his side, both arms outstretched as if reaching for Viktor, fingers curled. Under the sheet Viktor could make out a simple black shirt, and bare calves, so Yuuri was probably in boxers.

Sliding in softly into the spot previously occupied by the poodle, Viktor curled on his hands into Yuuri’s, lifting it softly to his lips and pressing a kiss. The fingers twitched, but the owner stayed asleep. Mindful of the long journey Yuuri must have had, because if he had been in the onsen calling at his regular time, he must have left soon after to make it to the airport and get here. Cradling the hand to his chest, Viktor slid closer to his lover, feeling Yuuri’s heat warm his very bones after two weeks of cold worse than a bitter Russian winter.

Softly, he leaned into his lover’s hair, addicted to him after so long without him. Yuuri was like a magnet, pulling Viktor in with a force that a bigger man might have resisted. But Viktor had long ago accepted that he was slave to this Japanese sleeping beauty, prepared to go to the ends of the Earth if he requested.

In his mind he knew he should stop touching Yuuri, lest he wake him, but the thought felt wrong in so many ways. The hand that had been playing with the brunette’s hair slid down, tracing his face lightly, making Yuuri’s nose scrunch adorably. Running a hand over the curve of his jaw, loving the soft chubbiness that was characteristic of the younger man during his off season. He followed the curve to the juncture of his ear, moving his fingers down the pale throat, skimming Yuuri’s Adam’s apple and collarbones.

A soft exhale drew Viktor’s eyes back to Yuuri’s face. Particularly those now parted lips that looked so plump and delicious. Leaning in more, Viktor pressed a light kiss to Yuuri’s lips, the soft barely-there press of lips was enough though. After almost 15 of not being able to kiss Yuuri, Viktor was a starving man who had found an oasis. He pressed more kisses into Yuuri’s face, one on his forehead, one on his eyelid, move down to his nose, further down to his chin, back to those lips.

Yuuri had managed to remain asleep through all of this, but seemed to be stirring now. Viktor knew he should definately stop, yet he pressed another kiss, a little firmer this time, so he was able to feel the exhale when Yuuri woke up and let out a soft moan, bringing the hand not trapped to VIktor’s chest to cup his cheek.

With Yuuri now awake, Viktor kissed him longer, pushing his tongue into an open mouth. The hand in his hair tightened, pulling him closer and Yuuri’s right leg came to wrap around his waist and pull him in closer. God, VIktor had missed this dance, the soft touches that inevitably became heated, the sounds from Yuuri that were the best song Viktor had ever heard. He slid his own hand further down, cupping Yuuri’s hip and pulling him closer still, till there was barely any space between them.

They kept kissing until they felt dizzy from the lack of air, but even then, separated the barest of distances.

“Good evening Viktor” came the sleep-soft remark from the still half-asleep man.

Viktor swore he was falling in love all over again as he kept caressing Yuuri’s hip and thighs alternatingly.

“Good evening my dearest. I wasn’t expecting you back, if you had told me I’d have come pick you up.”

“Mmmh, that’s why I didn’t tell you. You need to practice Viktor, even if you are the best skater in the world. The trip was hurried anyways so there was really no time to warn ahead.

“What happened? I am so happy you are back but why come back early?”

Yuuri yawned, swallowing and closing his eyes as he tucked himself underneath Viktor. “In Mari’s words? Apparently if I moped anymore I would drive all the customers away. She basically grabbed all my things threw them into my suitcase and pushed me into Yuuko’s car to be driven to the airport. She threatened to bring me all the way here but somebody needed to take care of the onsen and it obviously wasn’t going to me.” Yuuri ended in a grumble.

Affection rushed through every cell in the Russian’s body as he released Yuuri’s hand to free himself and wrap it around Yuuri, properly tucking him in.

“Zvezda moya, I cannot begin to tell you how much I missed you -”

Yuuri interrupted him “Let’s make a promise Viktor.”

“Promise?” Viktor questioned, tilting his head to looking into the younger man’s eyes.

“Mmm promise. Promise that we will never be that far apart for so long again. It was so awful, because even though I was happy to be back home and with my family, it didn’t feel like it. I realized it is because you and Makkachin and even Yurio, you’ve become home to me. And not having you there … I didn’t like it.”

Tears came out of Viktor’s eyes, as the Russian man just hushed any worries his fiancee might have with a deep kiss. Parting, he buried his head into Yuuri’s shoulder as he shook. He had lived alone for so long that he had forgotten what it was like to have someone love him unconditionally. No matter how much Yuuri claimed that Viktor had been the best thing to ever happen to him, Viktor was confident that Yuuri had saved him. In so many ways, so many times, Viktor knew that he would never be able to live without this beautiful soul ever again, and he was ok with that.

“I promise, moya lyubov, I promise a thousand times, i promise upon the sun and the stars, upon the ice that we skate and upon our love. Let us never be apart for so long ever again.

A day without you is like a year without rain

I need you by my side

Don't know how I'll survive

A day without you is like a year without rain

Translations: zvezda moya: my star moya lyubov: my love

---- If you want to read some of my other fics, check them out at: http://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirlshrewt97/pseuds/Fangirlshrewt97

[thespookydoor]

Journey Into Darkness 2

This was a dream I had earlier one summer, and back then it lingered with me a lot, just because of all the creepy and disturbing things it alluded to, and that feeling I’ve had several times in my life, as if I had taken a brief, but eventful, jaunt through someone else’s nightmare: …It starts out innocently enough, with me hanging out with some old friends at some mall or entertainment district. We’re at some weirdly-arranged, multi-level theater, having just finished watching one movie, and trying to decide what to see next. Hallways, ramps and stairways, interspersed with displays and animatronic cartoon animals, even a video arcade, like some children’s theme park, with only vague signs pointing the way, and somehow I get separated from everyone else, despite having just boasted of knowing my way around the place better than any of the others. After going up a couple flights of stairs, I find myself at this closed-up gift shop. It’s dark, and everything’s turned off, an entire inventory of items gathering dust on the shelves, yet for some reason, the door is wide open, so I wander in, most likely drawn by my own curiosity. It appeared to have been connected in some way with the theater and the other stuff, yet something about its atmosphere goes from forlorn to unsettling the farther back I explore. It’s not just that everything’s dusty and neglected, it’s a feeling of walking through some predator’s territory and into its lair. At first, it would be hard to describe, as there are no outward signs, just the sense of the place somehow becoming seedier, weedier, a vibe hinting at a history of decadence that feels jarringly out of place with what a kiddy-themed store is supposed to be about. It’s in the dingy back rooms that things take a turn for the ugly, starting with a desk calendar. You know the type— scantily clad girls, usually posing on or in front of cars— commonplace among auto mechanics, plumbers and other mostly middle-age male occupations, only the bound poses displayed in these ones would surely never pass muster with even the most lax “family friendly” workplace. Looking for all the world as if sicko decided to make a bunch of concentration camp victims pose for these ones. Followed by stuffed mascot animals hanging from nooses, or dismembered and lying in piles of their own stuffing in the corners, broken bottles, and mysterious dark stains my eyes refuse to linger on. By now, I’m not even sure why I’m venturing further into this den of depravity whose demented history already seems to be seeping into my mind, as if every corner of this place is desperately screaming of the wrongness visited upon it, both as a warning, and, I think, a cry for help of sorts. The shop itself is on the second or third storey of the place, with a big bank of windows overlooking the interior of what looks like some kind of museum or gallery, with various displays spread across the floor. There is an open stairway leading up, with both the beginning and the first landing marked with “CLOSED” signs hanging on chains across the steps, but hearing a commotion upstairs, I skip over them and go up. Above the shop, I find what seems to be a combination of business offices and personal quarters, all of it occupied by a group of sinister men in business suits, who appear to be having some sort of secret “party” here, unbeknownst to the rest of the mall/park proper. All around this level, I see evidence of drugs, torture, and other mayhem that I somehow already know has been concealed from the public here for a long time, almost certainly by someone on the inside of this company. With a strong hint of “No Witnesses” by the end of each gathering. I don’t know how else to describe these Bad Business men as anything less than slimy, degenerate Good Ol’ Boy types, and somehow their “guests of honor” have gotten out of their rooms, a group of young women who look like they seriously want to be anywhere else right about now, and are being chased around by their “hosts” with a total lack of festive pretense. The next part is a blur of violence, blocking doors, using objects as improvised weapons, and just generally taking the fight back to these monsters any which way I can. Holding them off by any means I can muster, hoping any of the captives might escape from this splintering of separate, desperate struggles throughout the level. At this point, the camera changes focus, following a young woman as she makes it to the stairs I came up earlier, one of the Good Ol’ Boys in hot pursuit, cussing and screaming that she can’t be allowed to get out, no matter what. But she completely eludes him by jumping off the landing and onto a bi-plane hanging on display in the gallery floor below, dropping onto a car display, then to the floor, making it to the entrance before her pursuer can get very far past the stairs. She then runs down the street, the other guy quickly giving up the pursuit once she got outside, apparently not wanting to draw attention to himself. From the there, the dream skips a bit, and when she turns up again, she’s working an under-the-table job as a bike messenger. Hair dyed, bike helmet, dark glasses. Not wanting to go back to her family or friends, for fear of some apparently very scary folks going to very scary lengths to keep their dirty secrets. Too afraid of going to the authorities against some very powerful and entrenched people without any proof. At one point, she meets an older lady, a friend of the family, who recognizes her, and she very curtly tries to cut the conversation short at every turn, even as the lady keeps asking her if she needs help, desperate to not have anyone she cares about possibly be seen with her, such are the kind of predators she’s hiding from. She finally loses the other lady, heading back out onto the street to continue what amounts to a ceaseless flight, never staying in the same place for long, when things take a turn for the worst. And the weird. It’s creepy, trying to describe what she runs into, so perhaps it’s best to simply go for the direct approach. Having passed into a run-down neighborhood, after dark, she spots two figures sitting on a park bench, sharing a 40 ounce brown bag of something. The first is troubling, yet hardly out of place in this setting, a very shifty police officer, whose reputation is surely as tarnished as his badge, and feels like bad news at first sight. Yet it’s the second figure that quickly grabs her attention, as he seems completely out of place anywhere humans claim to be even remotely civilized. Tattered, rotting dress suit, on a lanky scarecrow frame, claw-like hands… And a big, squat pumpkin head. His face a blazing, flickering— and, most unsettling of all, animated— Jack-O-Lantern, moving and shifting like some warped animatronic come to life. Although I pick up no specific details of their conversation, the two of them seem to a be having a crass, callous laugh about something, I suspect, past exploits above that closed-down gift shop, as if the atrocities there were their chief form of amusement, while the girl tries to walk away as if she hadn’t see him. But he has, and calls out to her, gesturing for the crooked cop to scoot over and let her sit between them, making it more than obvious that he knows who she is. When she backs away, he laughs, telling her something along the lines of “We’re not gonna do anything to you here,” but she still wisely keeps her distance even as he talks and acts like her experience in that building was a fun getaway or something. During this brief exchange, he seems to make no great secret that he’s the one who organized the “parties” up in that building, apparently finding no shortage of sleazy characters willing to pay for his services, and that the company that runs the place is too scared to confront him directly about any of it. As if he is not only above the law, but as if he is somehow beyond the reach of any of its agents, as well, speaking openly of matters most criminals who’ve done only a slice of his deeds would dare to say aloud at risk of being recorded. Yet still suggesting that she’s a “loose end” his boys need to tie up, lest things get complicated. After that tense confrontation, the girl flees again, the monstrous creature on the bench laughing at her in the distance, assuring her in an encouraging tone that she can only run so far… …That’s the last part I remember before I woke up. I’m not sure what lingers with me more, that creepy abandoned store, with all its sordid goings-on, or the creature on that bench, as he seemed to be a being of unfathomable depravity, a sadistic mind so warped, it has passed the limits of even the most demented human beings. There were depths of insanity flickering inside that pumpkin head that seemed to burn away at the minds of anyone who looked upon that fiery visage for very long. The whole thing felt skewed, as if I was being exposed to someone else’s fears, dreads, and terrors. More than anything, a sense of relief that he himself wasn’t present at the time when I helped that girl escape, because that wasn’t one of those dreams where I have super-powers and could bash that pumpkin skull of his in like someone should have done to him a long time ago, it was one of those rough, desperate, visceral dreams, where, rather than an action-adventure mode, here I was fighting for my own life right alongside those captives. Weirdly enough, I wasn’t terribly worried for myself after I woke up, and seeing as how I’m still alive and awake and dreaming about other things in the meantime, I think it’s safe to say that I managed to escape from the whole mess okay on my end. Still, I’m haunted by the inconclusive ending, and the feeling that whatever was going on in that twisted place continues unchallenged, while she decides what to do next. Although the whole bicycle messenger thing reminded me a little of Witch Hunter Robin, as for the girl herself, I can’t help thinking of Heather from Silent Hill 3, especially that feeling of being stuck with that no-win choice between running from the past forever, or risking everything to take back her life. -11/23/10