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makkachin ([personal profile] makkachin) wrote in [community profile] yurionicekink2016-11-07 01:57 pm

Prompt Post 1

Notes: This post might contain adult contents. Proceed at your own discretion.

This is the place where you can request fics and fill requests

Rules (May change later):
1.Anon not necessary but recommended.
2.Put pairings/kinks/tropes/warnings on the comment title.
3.Any kink is fine. Fic or art fills is fine. Multi fills is encouraged.
4.If you see anything you don't like scroll down or use Dw blocker.
5.For the ease of prompt finding and email tracking please use full names from the official site in the comment title, except please write Yuri Katsuki as Yuuri Katsuki to differentiate him from Yuri Plisetsky.
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-Yuuri Katsuki
-Victor Nikiforov
-Yuri Plisetsky
-Seung Gil Lee
-Emil Nekola
-Otabek Altin
-Georgi Popovich
-Cristophe Giacometti
-Guang-Hong Il
-Jean-Jacques Leroy
-Phichit Chulanont
-Michele Crispino
-Kenjiro Minami
-Leo De La Iglesia

-Toshiya Katsuki, Hiroko Katsuki, Mari Katsuki
-Takeshi Nishigori, Yuko Nishigori, Axel / Lutz / Loop Nishigori
-Hisashi Morooka
-Yakov Feltsman
-Celestino Cialdini
-Mira Babicheva
-Lilia Baranovskaya
-Sara Crispino
-Kolya Plisetsky

Ao3 collection:

Part III, Victor/Multiple [tbc]

(Anonymous) 2017-01-29 08:58 pm (UTC)(link)
When Victor was sixteen, he’d finally gone up to the senior division. The decision to wait one year was something that was made between him and Yakov – and he was talented, of course, enough to really take Seniors or Juniors, no matter what, but. He’d decided to wait. And so, when the Worlds was over and he’d won the Junior’s division by a large margin, they formally announced that he was going to the Seniors finally. Victor had smiled at the cameras, tossed a rose at a young and coming competitor and played a gracious athlete all around. It wasn’t really an act, because this was how he really felt. He wanted to see more skaters flourish and reach the same stage, he wanted people to succeed, he wanted – perhaps, all he wanted was for him to not be so lonely anymore.

Though, there was a part of the whole thing that he did not wish on anyone. The part that had him parked at a hotel in Paris at the end of April, the streets slowly coming to life at night, glittering lights unspooling as far as his eyes could see. Victor glanced longingly out of the window, carding his fingers through his silky long hair without purpose. Soon, he’d have to get ready and the illusion of this being a vacation would break, and Victor might just break along with it.

It wouldn’t do to get that gloomy right away, would it? Victor pressed his finger over his lips to hold everything teeming behind his teeth back, and pressed his cheek to the cold window. The reprieve only lasted a couple of minutes, before the inevitable knock on his door came. Two knocks, then the sound of key turning, and Yakov let himself in. He was carrying a large clothes bag on his arm, and were – were those stilettos? Victor’s cheeks warmed at the idea of wearing those, because balancing himself on ice was one thing, but –

Yakov threw all of it on the bed and walked out of the room without another word. Victor tried not to let it get to him. Yakov refused to touch him, more and more, as time went on and Victor didn’t know what he’d done wrong. And since he didn’t know what he’d done wrong, he couldn’t fix it. The distance between them yawned beneath Victor’s feet, threatening to swallow him up. Still, he told himself: at least Yakov was still his coach. At least, Yakov hadn’t abandoned him like everything else.

He went to the bed and unzipped the bag to reveal a beautiful dress in the colour of opal, the fabric slipping through his fingers like liquid silk. Soft. It wasn’t that much different than the costumes he wore on the ice, except for being entirely feminine. He could do this without any issues. He knew he could. It didn’t really reveal much skin either – full-sleeved and a high neck, but then Victor was slowly starting to fill out, so despite the fine cut of his jaw, he’d still stand out like a sore thumb in anything more revealing.

Victor slipped the dress on, the lingerie that accompanied it, and the sheer white stockings. He walked over to the mirror to admire himself for a moment, because he wasn’t unaware of how he looked. Of course not. He pulled his hair into a loose bun, put on some lip balm. His hair would still stand out, even in such a disguise – would anyone be expecting Russia’s up and coming figure skater Victor Nikiforov to put on a dress, step into high heels, and then hang off the arm of this or that man? It was hard to say.

He looked again at the mirror and only saw two hollow blue eyes stare back at him. Victor tried to smile at himself, to soften his features into something close to what he felt on the ice, but it didn’t work. Nothing did. Sighing, he pushed his fingers into his hair, dishevelling it a bit, and walked out of the room.

It would have to do.


It didn’t do, at all.

There were eight of them. Eight men. He hadn’t been expecting that many because Yakov had desisted from letting too many men paw at him since that day, and Victor had been grateful. This, though, felt like betrayal. Victor was sat in a soft, red couch, and the men crowded around him. He felt boxed in, trapped by the heat of their bodies, their gazes that lingered over him and the way they kept finding excuses to brush against his knees or thighs.

Yakov was nowhere to be found.

Victor swallowed his drink, something fruity but his taste-buds were currently not working at all. His stomach was full of butterflies, so he didn’t attempt to eat anything either, just pushing the vegetables around on his plate until the tedious affair was over. However, he knew that the end of dinner would also signal the start of other things.

One large found itself on his thigh before the plates were even cleared and refused to leave no matter how much he tried to squirm away. He wondered as his lungs started to constrict and his vision got hazy: why did this part never get easy? He should already be used to this, and yet, each and every time he felt awful enough to vomit. The disgust curled up inside his chest and tried to push its way out of his mouth, either as a scream or a whimper, Victor had no idea. All awareness was focused on the warmth of that offending hand on his thigh and Victor wished, fervently, for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

Another hand wrapped itself around his hair, tugging painfully until his hair fell around his shoulders in a cloud of silver. They fisted his hair in their fingers and pulled his neck back, baring his neck for them. A mouth closed over the delicate line of his throat and Victor closed his eyes, letting the drug he knew they’d fed him sweep him away. It robbed him of most of his senses, though he wasn’t entirely unconscious – just loose, completely out of focus, so he could pretend that when they touched him, it wasn’t really him.

They spread him out on the couch, tearing the fabric of his dress to expose his skin, and hovered over him with identical predatory smiles, but Victor was already far, far away.

One of them lifted his leg and propped it over the back of the couch, exposing his underwear clad crotch to their hungry gazes. Another man slid the tiny, lacy thing down his thighs and left it that. It wasn’t as if it had hidden any of his modesty in the first place, so Victor was hardly going to mourn its loss. Also, what modesty?

“His skin is so smooth,” said the man who was currently running his knuckles up Victor’s inner thigh. “Almost like a woman’s.”

“Well, we didn’t pay for a woman this time, so it doesn’t really matter.” The man behind him said.

He got a chuckle in response. “But really, what a pity that this kid is that talented on the ice. Can you imagine the price he would fetch if we were to sell him?”

“He’s currently making waves for the nation, so enjoy while you can. You can tell your grandkids later that you fucked Russia’s National Hero on the cusp of his adulthood.” The speaker of those words came into focus, and Victor’s heart, even in this state, stuttered briefly. It was a familiar face; one that was rarely unwelcome before, but right now it was also the ultimate betrayal. As if Victor didn’t already have enough of this before. He let out a soft gasp and turned his face away, eyes burning. It seemed to amuse the crowd around him, however.

Quietly, swiftly, they tore into his clothes like a pack of hungry wolves. Someone – Victor did not know their names nor did he care to find out – tied a piece of fabric around his cock drawing his balls up. It hurt. It hurt quite a bit, but Victor did not make a sound again. They turned him around and prepared him, sloppy and impatient in their hurry to get inside. He could smell the arousal on them now, the head of it radiating through their expensive suits. Some of them were already stroking their cocks through their pants, others had pulled them out. Victor clenched his eyes shut and buried his face into the softness of the couch.

He knew that it would be over at some point. The quicker it began, the faster it would end. But it would end. It always did.

In the end, they couldn’t be bothered with complete preparations – not that Victor expected them to – and he felt the slimy touch of a condom-covered erection on the rim of his asshole. He took a deep breath and willed himself to relax. Struggling would only make it hurt more. He was so tired of hurting. He went limp and boneless against the intrusion, and that helped take off the edge from the bluntness of the penetration. It did hurt, but not as much as it could have and that was a victory in itself. So far.

Sweat dripped on his back as the man bent over his prone form, fucking him in earnest. Victor’s body bounced gently on the couch, rubbing his limp cock against the soft material, and he tried to imagine something else. Anything at all. He thought of his dog – his beautiful Makkachin who always welcomed him home with enthusiasm. Seemed to love him no matter what, and only cared about food and pettings as a reward. Nothing more. Dogs were uncomplicated creatures after all. The thought sent a pang through Victor’s chest and he squeezed his eyes, trying to not let the moisture escape them.

The man above him grunted and then spilled his seed inside the condom, right inside Victor. There was a small period where his weight rested directly on Victor’s body, and then he was off. Victor took a deep breath, rubbed his nose and prepared himself for round two. It was more or less the same as the first guy, but with a bit of biting mixed in. The man was a biter and he marked Victor’s neck and shoulder with his teeth until he, too, was coming inside. The third one, however, was on the heavier side so Victor tried to get in as much oxygen into his lungs between thrusts. He clenched his fingers and bit the couch, steeling himself for the rest that would follow. He could do this – probably. It didn’t feel as suffocating as the first time this had happened, so maybe he was getting used to it.

And how depressing was that?

He stifled a laugh of disbelief and focused on breathing.

Once that pressure was lifted, there was a brief lull in which Victor drifted in and out of consciousness. Then, without warning, there was a touch on the abused rim of his entrance – delicate but firm and Victor gasped, caught unawares. “Turn him over,” a voice commanded, and he was suddenly facing the ceiling again. The familiar face loomed over him again, lips thinned into an amused smile, and a touch – soft as feather but deadly – parted his lips for a kiss. That was the first time Victor flinched that entire night, trying to pull away from the unwanted contact, but the man above did not relent. Was never going to relent.

A camera was placed on the table they had dined on previously, set to record.

“Beautiful,” he murmured into Victor’s mouth. “And saved for posterity.”

Victor tore his mouth away and panted, weak and dizzy. “D-did Yakov agree to that?”

“What Yakov doesn’t know cannot hurt him,” came the amused answer. Then, Victor was being kissed again. Robbed of his breath and refuge in darkness, Victor struggled – however futile – before someone tied his hands too. That man’s weight settled in heavily on Victor’s thighs and his cock rested heavy on Victor’s hip. The heat and weight of it was familiar, just as was his taste and for the first time that night, Victor let himself cry.

And it wouldn’t be the last.


[sorry, gentle readers, rl kicked me squarely in the behind and I was unable to write. however, here, have some build-up that goes nowhere! hope that tides you over until I can get to the next part!]

Re: Part III, Victor/Multiple [tbc]

(Anonymous) 2017-01-30 12:14 am (UTC)(link)
His pain is so beautiful. I love it.

Re: Part III, Victor/Multiple [tbc]

(Anonymous) 2017-02-13 05:57 am (UTC)(link)

is the camera hinting at a leaked sex tape in the future?

Re: Part III, Victor/Multiple [tbc]

(Anonymous) 2017-02-26 01:24 pm (UTC)(link)
Oh, I hope for Yuuri making things better for Victor in future!