victor birthday week 2018

december 23th-29th

[vityaweek]

That’s it for Vityaweek 2018! (And a blessed week it has been 🙏) Thank you all who participated and helped celebrate best boy’s birthday! Please msg us if we didn’t reblog your post—tumblr tags don’t always work.

Don’t worry if you’re a bit behind. We’ll reblog and celebrate well into the new year!

(づ˘ ³╰)づ

[littorella]

@vityaweek day 7 home: hasetsu

around and around back to the place where it all began

[katzuyas]

for @vityaweek day 7 | home

Bordeaux, Moscow, Sochi, St. Petersburg. Bratislava, St. Petersburg. Moscow, Boston, Moscow, St. Petersburg.

Tokyo. Fukuoka. Hasetsu.

Fukuoka, Beijing, Fukuoka, Hasetsu. Fukuoka, Moscow, Fukuoka, Hasetsu. Fukuoka, Barcelona, Fukuoka, Hasetsu. Fukuoka, Tokyo, Moscow, St. Petersburg.

So many cities, so many different skies to cross, mornings to greet, and beds to sleep in, but all within a single year. At this point in his life, it feels so normal to Victor to find himself on a plane to yet another distant city that he doesn’t even realize how far he’s travelled through the years. He has never thought of how long his road to present has truly been, how far he’s come to be where he is now, because there was never a need for it – he just did it, and that was all there was to it.

There are more stamps in his passport than he could have ever imagined when he was drafting the papers for his first one, but back then… back then he couldn’t imagine that it would ever make him upset. Back then all he wanted was to see the world, to be where the most exciting things happened and to create something that would make people stop and stare, and gasp in delight.

That was his true aim. And if he had to travel to make it happen, fly miles and miles, and visit different cities every other week of the season, then it was a small price to pay.

Back then, it was.

Now, however, as Victor lugs his two heavy suitcases into the lift of his apartment building, his wishes are centred around anything but that. What his young heart ached to have, it had long since fulfilled, and now it yearns for something else entirely. With maturity, with winning, came a new thirst, a new dream that Victor couldn’t reach for on his own, because it’s something far sweeter than the attention of the masses, than the empty praises and adoring eyes looking at him from unnamed faces in the crowd of spectators.

This older heart of Victor’s, wiser, bolder, it now longs for things that are beyond compare to all of that.

He clambers out of the lift when it stops on his floor and wrestles his keys – unused for all of five days, five long, excruciating days – out of his pocket. He opens the door, eager like a child, and even before he steps through the threshold, he knows it: he’s home.

The scent of it, the warmth… It wraps around him like a comforting hug of a lover, and Victor sighs with delight before he pushes his suitcases inside. He expects a giddy greeting from at least one party, since he’s sure enough they must have heard him come in, but the apartment remains as empty as it was before.

If not for the lights that are clearly turned on, Victor would think Yuuri must have taken Makkachin on his evening walk. But no, he didn’t.

It’s surprising not to see Makkachin’s fluffy being bumble up to him on unsteady feet, which slip on the open floorboards in all his excitement, but Victor deals with that shock expertly. He leaves his keys out on the little drawer by the door, hangs his coat and toes off his shoes, after which he peers into the living room area.

He hears it before he even sees them – the telltale sound of Makka’s tail joyfully thumping the floorboards betrays their little hideout. And, sure enough, once Victor steps further into the room, he spots both of his most precious boys huddled together by the radiator. Makkachin is comfortably spread over Yuuri’s lap, the little rascal, while Yuuri has thrown a blanket over his own shoulders and another one over them both.

Victor can’t help his smile at the sight they make.

“Hey there, munchkin,” he greets when Makkachin’s tail doesn’t stop making that silly noise.

He kneels down to rub his head and soft cheeks, and Makka licks his wrist as if to give back the love. Chuckling, Victor kisses the little furry head.

“Have you been a good boy?” he asks. At the question, Makka’s ears perk up a little. “Yes, you, Makkachin! Have you been a good boy? My good boy, Makka-Makkachin?”

If the tail thumping was loud before, it only gets louder now when Makkachin’s enthusiasm suddenly picks up. Victor laughs at him before he gives him another dozen kisses, or so.

And then, and then his eyes lift up to Yuuri.

Ah, Victor thinks, it’s so good to be back.

Yuuri’s face is soft with sleep, warm, and so sweet that a smile touches Victor’s lips without his input. Victor shifts over, sits next to Yuuri and lifts the blanket that’s draped over Yuuri just a little, so that when he cuddles up to him it can cover him too. He wants to snuggle with his fiance until he wakes up and then greets him with all the kisses Victor has been starved for the past few days, but the moment he rests his head on Yuuri’s shoulder – with care, lightly enough not to wake him – it seems that he wakes Yuuri up anyway.

Yuuri stirs, leans into Victor as if searching for his warmth, and mumbles: “Mm, Vitya… welcome back.”

And then he rolls his head to the side to rest it on Victor’s, first dropping a little kiss in his hair. It makes Victor’s already smiling mouth even more tender, while his heart sing with the precious song of love.

“Tadaima,” Victor chirps back, knowing how much Yuuri loves hearing Japanese on his tongue.

Yuuri hums at him, happy, even though his hum sounds more like a sleepy breath. It doesn’t take long for Victor to realize that Yuuri has fallen asleep again as soon as he did that, pressed into him and with his nose in Victor’s hair, but Victor doesn’t really feel like waking him up. Or moving. Or doing anything, really.

Makkachin yawns, his sleepy eyes blinking and drooping once more, and Victor, well… Victor closes his eyes as well, and hides his sweet smile under the hem of the blanket. Blindly, he reaches for one of Yuuri’s hands and twines their fingers together: warm, welcome and happy.

And he, too, drifts off to sleep in the safety of the tiny nook the three of them have made for themselves here – in their little home, the best place in the entire world, right where love and happiness bloom year-round.

[victuurikatsu]

(Day 7 for @vityaweek 2018: Home)

Traveling far and wide was all a part of being an internationally renown figure skater, it was even more imperative when one was a five-time champion. Because of the traveling, Victor felt like he was constantly bouncing around to temporary accommodations around the world like it was nothing. It felt informal never staying in one place for too long, but that’s just what this particular sector of life called for at the moment.

While he had a permanent residence in St. Petersburg, he didn’t really know if it lived up to his ideology of what a home really was. He filled it with memorabilia, medals, and frivolous things that often never saw the light of day more than once. He remembered the first time he first stepped into the apartment, admiring the sleek and modern layout and pondering to himself how many plants he could try to cultivate in the space during an off season.

It got easier coming home to the apartment that was filled with too many things to count when Makkachin was in the picture. However, Victor felt awful leaving the loyal companion in that space, pondering if the pup felt as forlorn as he did thinking about what it would be like to be alone in the space for too many stretches of time. It wasn’t that Victor feared loneliness, he had quite often met with the feeling head on, but to admit he was lonely that was a whole other tier he wouldn’t come to terms with quite yet.

The neighborhood was friendly enough and Victor had no trouble charming his neighbors and the owners of the little strips of shops that were just a walking distance away, and he was grateful for the convenience. If things got a little too quiet and he was tired of listening to his own voice piping up coos at Makkachin, he would drop in and banter back and forth with the friendly baker who always spared him a freshly baked loaf of bread or the florist who was always keen to make him go home with a bouquet of flowers. But as most conversations went, they ended at some point and he found himself walking back and entering into his vast space, thinking to himself how he needed to snap out of it because he had to focus on his work. There was no time to figure out just what he felt he was missing exactly.

And without warning, he learned exactly what that was day by day the moment Japan’s Ace moved into the space. Yuuri chuckled at the organized clutter, telling him that his piles were way more than his were back in Hasetsu but that maybe it was time to try to free up some of the items for good. Victor watched intently as Yuuri every morning drew back the curtains to let the sun cascade into the space. He could swear it wasn’t just the sun that was providing warmth into the space.

Victor took Yuuri around to some of his favorite spots to be in while in St. Petersburg, and for some reason his heart didn’t feel as heavy when they went together. Yuuri’s natural curiosity and admiration of things he’d never experienced before was enough. He loved to just spectate as he could see those brown eyes searching in silence. For what, he didn’t know, but Victor could guarantee it would lead them to a new adventure.

When he got to bring him to the shops, everyone who was charmed by Victor was equally as charmed if not even more so with Yuuri. The loaves of bread doubled from the baker, much to Yuuri’s chagrin for not being able to indulge in the carb too often. As for the bouquets of flowers, Yuuri would spend a whole afternoon deciding which flowers would fit well in the space for that day, his sheepish smile as he presented them to Victor, carefully wrapped in its plastic sheath making his heart skip every time.

Then came the nights where Victor would lay restlessly in his oversized bed, that gnawing feeling of loneliness slowly creeping back up. But then the door would creak and Yuuri would slip in just in time to subside those feelings. Victor would keep his back turned to him, trying to feign being asleep but his senses were alert. He would hear the sound of Yuuri’s glasses hitting the surface of the night stand, the exaggerated groans that came as he stretched before carefully shuffling into the bed, and then all at once immediate weight and warmth would be against his back.

Sometimes a peck or two would be placed at the top of his silver locks, and sometimes Yuuri would play with the ends perhaps as way to lull him into a deeper sleep, either way, it felt blissful and like one of the missing components that made Victor wonder, is this what was missing?

The longer Yuuri stayed in St. Petersburg, Victor was realizing more than ever that the notion was coming true. Victor would never get over the way his heart swelled whenever Makkachin came running to the door after a long day and just seconds later Yuuri would follow suit to welcome him back with a smile that outshined the stars. How the once empty space filled with too many trivial things were starting to fill up with things that represented both himself and Yuuri in a meaningful way. How sometimes the smell of whatever Yuuri was cooking up that evening lingered around the home like it was always meant to be there. How even as the most hardest days transpired, they always made time to sit with each other on the navy couch that felt too big at times but now that he was holding onto Yuuri while on it, it felt filled to the brim.

One moment in particular that solidified the notion completely was when Yuuri wanted a turn in holding Victor in his arms for the evening after being well fed and the two were just trying to catch up on much needed rest. Victor could feel himself dozing off to the sound of Yuuri’s heartbeat when he felt him squeezing him close, sighing a thank you to god. Victor asked him why he was praying, meeting a blushing mess. Yuuri could only tell him that sometimes it felt like a dream being with him, almost as if he was always meant to be here and he was grateful for it.

Victor only remembered holding him tighter at that moment as everything connected. No matter where he went around the world, whatever room, hostel, sublet, or other empty spaces they landed, whether it was St. Petersburg or even Hasetsu, being with Yuuri felt like returning to a home he’d never known before, where he was not only welcomed but never had to feel loneliness again. Relief rushed over him to have finally found that solace.

[katzuyas]

for @vityaweek day 6 | prompt: his grace, royalty au

“welcome back, your grace,” yuuri greets, catching the reins of duke nikiforov’s steed.

he sets his other hand on the top of the stirrup, so that the duke can withdraw his boot with ease, and then moves a step to allow him to descend from horseback. the man springs down to the ground, but once he turns to yuuri, his pink lips are set together unhappily.

“have I not asked you before to simply call me victor?” he asks, and yuuri lowers his eyes against his gaze.

“you have, your grace, but that is hardly proper of a simple stable boy like me. I would not wish to make trouble.”

the duke, victor, son and heir of the former duke nikiforov, clicks his tongue in annoyance. “why must you be so stubborn about this, yuuri? it is only a name. it commands as much respect as you give it, and, somehow, I find myself unable to believe you would ever disrespect me, even if you use it.”

his words settle warmly in the depths of yuuri’s heart, but once again he only bows his head. he yearns for it, for the closeness that the duke offers, yet he cannot reach for it – not with his worked, dirty, servant hands. he would only tarnish his grace’s beauty, he would.

“it is not my place, your grace,” he insists.

the sigh that falls from the duke’s lips is a beautiful sound, as upset as it is. yuuri licks his lips absently, and when the silence draws out between them, he gathers his courage to say:

“if you have no further need of me, your horse needs attending to.”

with a sharp bow, yuuri begins to lead the maroon stallion away, but victor follows behind him like a shadow. it is his wont, however, so yuuri keeps his tongue behind his teeth and does what’s expected of him: brings the horse into its box, unsaddles him, checks his hooves for rocks, cleans his sides with straw. and all the while, the duke’s blue gaze burns into the back of his neck with enough heat that yuuri’s hands tremble expectantly, as if waiting for the moment the pin drops.

it’s only once he’s done and ready to leave the box – pass through the small space between the wall and the duke who is blocking the way, more like it – does the duke address him again.

“say, yuuri,” he starts, blue eyes alight with want, “what would I have to do to get you to hear my name on your lips?”

“I speak your name all the time, your grace,” yuuri tells him then, even though his ears burn with how much this attention flusters him. “I often say to my friends how his grace, the duke victor nikiforov, always treats his servants well, and how much he adores his horses. and how he enjoys his morning rides, that too.”

“you know that is not what I mean.” the duke steps deeper into the box, comes to stand where yuuri is readjusting the saddle simply to have something to do with himself. “answer me, yuuri. what would you have me do? you can ask for anything, as long as it is within my power.”

yuuri’s breath is shallow when he releases it, and it’s sharp when he sucks it in. he can’t truly find anything that he could want, anything that he would dare ask for… and for what? only for him to speak the duke’s name? what good would that do to either of them?

he purses his lips, takes another breath, and gives: “there is nothing, your grace, because I cannot.”

“cannot, or will not?” victor wonders.

he steps closer, touches yuuri’s shoulder, which makes yuuri turn to him, but still keep his eyes lowered, because he can’t bring himself to look into the sparkling, heated blue that he just knows is waiting for him. that would be tempting fate, and yuuri could not afford to do that.

“if I were not who I am, if I were a man with no titles, just my name and only that, would you call me by it?” the duke asks.

yuuri startles. “I… yes, possibly… but that is neither here nor there, because you do have titles, your grace.”

“then imagine I don’t,” the duke quickly adds.

he pulls his hand from yuuri’s shoulder, leaves a wonderful warmth in its wake, but the sensation dies when the cold, cold dread fills yuuri next. the duke, mindless of it, begins to shrug off his coat, his expensive vest, even pulls off his silken shirt – and he’s now standing with his bare chest in the stables of his own manor, before yuuri, a simple servant boy, who flushes deep crimson and doesn’t know where to rest his eyes.

“your grace, what–” are you doing, he wishes to ask, but the words die on his tongue when the duke begins to strip off his riding breeches, too. “stop, your grace, stop! you–”

but the man is not listening. yuuri has an urge to cover his eyes with his hands, another to peek through his fingers and watch, feast his eyes on the body of the man as beautiful as the moon on the darkest night, but…

he swallows thickly and, just as the duke is about to pull the breeches down his hips and bare himself fully, yuuri begs: “v-victor, stop!”

like charmed, the duke halts.

“again,” he asks and his voice sounds sweet, like the chirping of birds on a spring morning. “say it again, yuuri.”

“victor,” yuuri repeats, flustered and beyond embarrassed. and then he whispers it again, because he can hardly believe he’s really saying it: “victor…”

the touch to his chin comes as a surprise, but another surprise to him is the soft look in the blue eyes, which he is made to meet.

“was that so hard?” victor asks, his thumb dragging over the skin dangerously close to yuuri’s lips. the touch feels intimate, almost adoring, and yuuri bites his lip to keep the noise that rises in his chest locked in it forever.

flushed, with his heart aching, longing, confused, yuuri breathes a trembling “no,” but truth be told, it was, and he somehow enjoyed it far more than he should have. judging by the change in victor’s smile, he knew that as well, and that… that did not bode well for yuuri. oh no.

[suiine]

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ* he is Beauty *:･ﾟ✧*･ﾟhe is Grace *:･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ✧

[antarespromise]

Artemis

For @vityaweek day 5: Mythology

[littorella]

@vityaweek day 6 grace: performer

Viktor Nikiforov has a super power—he never makes ugly faces during spins

[victuurikatsu]

@vityaweek 2018 Day 6: Graceful Performer

“Promise to watch me closely okay?” Victor said, his back to Yuuri as he glanced over intently.

The look on his face was impenetrably concentrated, and Yuuri could not help but feel transfixed under Victor’s spell as he had for so many years. He watched as Victor made his way to the center of the rink, his right hand slowly careening up to his lips where the glint of gold on his ring finger met it. Yuuri brought his own up to kiss, a new ritual they’d taken up before a new skate.

The music swelled in the space as Victor’s performance began, his theme for the season being Unconditional. When asked about his drive for the particular theme, Victor as always was coy about it, often telling the audience that they just had to watch and interpret on their own the message he was conveying. Of course they were all on high alert, dissecting his toe loops and flips, being completely enthralled by his Ina Bauer and spins.

Unlike the last few programs of his Senior career, Victor’s facial expressions had never been more pleasant, noticeably less forlorn. It almost appeared as if he was bursting with this newfound joy that he couldn’t wait to share with the world. Yuuri couldn’t help but notice the change in difficulty, one that he’d never seen Victor pull off before.

The flourishing climax of the program approached and Victor moved like an ethereal being, so soft and pure and technically sound. The most technical he’d ever been. His final move was a spin that enraptured, as if he was making his body into a tornado that was threatening to take in all that dared to come close enough. The pull was enough that Yuuri found him subconsciously taking a step into the rink from the kiss and cry, before being tugged back sharply by Yakov.

It was then that Yuuri realized Victor’s hands were clasped together, his gaze fallen directly on him. The look in his eyes absolutely undeniable, this program was based on his feelings of unconditional love and gratitude for Yuuri. He could feel his heart beating in tandem to the way Victor was rapidly breathing to bring himself back to normal after a vigorous program. The audience cheered, cried, repeated Victor’s name and threw all that they could at him. He opted to pick up a flower crown made of blue orchids and hydrangea along with an oversized plushie of what appeared to be Makkachin.

His smile was glorious and not the usual one he flashed when he knew he was in the spotlight. It was one Yuuri had often seen whenever something truly piqued Victor’s interest, the one that appeared when he was surprised, and the one that showed any time he said his name. Victor was at the kiss and cry and beaming in front of Yuuri who carefully took the Makkachin plush and adjusted quickly to the flash of lights that came their way.

“Get your score, Vitya. I’ll be waiting for you.” Yuuri said with a beaming smile.

Victor was handed his signature sports jacket and winked at the Japanese man before leaning over to peck him on the cheek. A small display of affection to make due for now to hold back the bigger display that would have to wait until later. Victor was whisked away to sit with Yakov patiently waiting for the tally and when it came it was astounding: a new world record and personal best. He’d done it, successfully skated a program that had all that he was at the moment that he gladly shared for all to view.

Due to their stringent competitive schedule, Victor and Yuuri decided against sharing a room but stretched the rules by assuring their rooms would always be next to each others. Sometimes it helped especially when Yuuri was under duress and just needed to collect his thoughts on his own, and sometimes it was torture because of how stubborn they both could be to allow a wall to keep them apart when they so badly wanted to be closer. Yuuri had just finished getting ready for the titular banquet when he heard a knock on the door.

Throwing it open with no reservation, he was as always stunned by the vision that was Victor. “You’re early!” Yuuri said breathlessly.

Victor chuckled and took a step into the room, his hands immediately going for Yuuri’s tie to straighten it against the new suit he had picked out for him. He sighed in content, “I’m so glad we finally burned that old suit.” He mused. “You’re stunning.”

It takes but two seconds for a blush to form on Yuuri’s cheeks, and another brief one before Victor crashed his lips on his. They moved in sync with each other, desperate and wanting, but Yuuri is the one to hold back, keeping Victor at arms length.

“We can’t, not until we make our appearance!” He exclaimed only to be attacked by another slew of kisses against his cheek.

Victor sighs and pouts knowing that he’s right but it didn’t make the longing die out any less. “Then until we can be alone again, praise me.”

Yuuri laughed ushering the Russian out of the room as they made their way down to the banquet hall. He made generous proclamations about how cool his program was, how his heart felt even more tethered to him than before, how the look on his face as he performed was something he wanted to think of forever because he was as always the most beautiful skater on the ice. By the time they finally joined the rest of the skaters, Victor was beyond smitten which made it harder to have him pulled away from Yuuri to speak with potential sponsors much to Yakov’s dismay.

When all the pleasantries and obligations were through, Victor and Yuuri reunited in the middle of the dance floor after Yuuri had served yet another humiliating loss to Yurio on their annual dance battles. His cheeks are stained red, the small hiccups that came out of him signaling he may have had one too many flutes of champagne, but still he moved with agile grace and takes Victor in with him. The spectators are always amazed at just how well they move together and for a moment it’s hard to look away.

“Did I take your breath away with this program?” Victor inquired.

Yuuri responded by doing the signature move that he knew took Victor’s own breath away from the very start, a dip. Victor’s face lit up as he laughed with glee, steadying a hand on Yuuri’s back as he did the same.

His blue eyes met honey brown ones filled with admiration, before Yuuri replied, “You’ve taken my breath away since the very first time I saw you.”

It’s enough to cause Victor Nikiforov, the most graceful performer of the evening to melt into a pile of mush. How would he handle the power that Katsuki Yuuri had over him? The only way he knew how, by continuing to dance the night away with him.

[katzuyas]

for @vityaweek day 5 | prompt: mythology au

the day the poisoned arrow pierces victor’s heart is the best day of his life. undeniably.

he thinks he’s going to die– well, he is dying. and then somehow he… isn’t?

the arrow is yanked out of his back, where it hit him from behind while he was tracking a strange golden doe through the woods, and the only thing that remains is the sting of the poison is the burn of the still open wound. but even that disappears as soon as a warm hand presses to his blood-stained tunic.

victor is turned on his back then, and like that – stunned and shocked – he peers into the eyes of his saviour: a molten gold that shines like the golden sun on the blue skies above.

“please, forgive me,” the stranger says. “I did not mean to shoot you. I was aiming for the doe. are you… are you quite alright? does anything hurt?”

before victor can find the tongue in his mouth, the stranger’s hands are all over him. touching his chest, arms, shoulder, face, the man inspects him, and everywhere his touch lingers like the warm rays of the sun. victor would be drawn to that, if he wasn’t already drawn to that face – the sweet face, tight with worry over him.

“I’m–” he finally manages. “no, I, I think I’m whole? but how? how am I alive?” victor peers again into the beautiful golden eyes right before the man averts his gaze. “how did you save me?”

“it was my arrow, so it was within my power to reverse it,” he simply says, as if that’s what any archer could do with ease.

sitting up, victor takes him in once more. a beautiful face, rich tunic, a rope woven of golden thread slung over his shoulder – this man couldn’t be just anyone. and when victor sees the bow, it is of as fine a make as the rest of his clothes. no, he definitely could not be just a simple hunter.

“who are you?”

golden eyes look to him, but the man’s lips remain sealed.

“you can’t tell me,” victor guesses. “or you don’t want to.”

“I shouldn’t,” the man replies, standing up.

victor follows, and he delights in the fact that they are almost of the same height. he is slightly taller, however, and from that height he can clearly see the laurel crown on top of the man’s dark hair.

he must be a noble, victor decides. must be someone who victor should never have spoken to. must be someone–

“I shouldn’t…” the man repeats, gazing up at him from behind dark, thick eyelashes, “…but I find myself wanting to.”

victor’s mouth parts in surprise, but before the breath can even leave him, the man catches his arms and climbs to his toes, coming up to meet victor’s eyes on the same level. he’s close, so close victor can smell something sweet on his breath, something so intoxicating that his own eyes half-close in pleasure, but snap wide open when their noses touch in a tender, darling gesture.

“if you bring me that doe, I will tell you all you wish to know,” the man says. “bring me the doe, and I shall be yours for the rest of the day.”

victor’s heart throbs hard at those words, but he can’t help repeating: “mine?”

“all yours,” the man confirms. “all yours until dawn. whatever you want, whatever is mine to give. just bring me the doe.”

and victor, smitten, enchanted victor hunts down the golden doe, shoots an arrow straight through it’s side, and then, bound by the legs brings it to lay it down at the feet of the man who almost killed him, almost saved him, and almost… almost kissed him.

the gaze of the golden eyes is soft in the falling darkness of the forest, and it softens still when the man crouches next to the husk of the doe and victor himself, who knows not what to do with his bloodied hands. a warm touch to his cheek draws him in, brings him forward until he’s breathing that sweet ambrosia from the man’s lips again, even as he speaks:

“I am the twin. apollo by day, and artemis by night. the sun and the moon. the prophet and the protector.”

he pauses and as the last rays of the sun fade to nothing and the night takes over the world, so does the gold fade from his eyes. replacing it is silver, colder, yet just as beautiful, and victor shivers under its light.

“you have been chosen,” the god, because victor now knows he must be one, speaks to him, while his thumb softly drags over victor’s bottom lip. “and you will do well, won’t you?”

and victor, poor, foolish victor, rests a greedy kiss against that thumb, and vows:

“whatever you wish from me.”

the dark, yet pleased smile on the god’s face is the last thing victor sees, before warm lips claim his own and his world bursts into pleasure of such he has never felt before, but even then he can’t truly be upset for it. not if he can have this man, this god, as his own – if only until dawn.

[argyros]

Posting early because of the busy holidays ahead.

Happy Birthday Viktor!

I hope everyone has a great holiday week and happy new year ;))

[littorella]

@vityaweek day 5 legend: mythology

Chang’e (嫦娥) chose the moon when ascending to the heavens as it was closest to the earth, where their beloved husband was left behind.

[painterleey]

Day 4 of @vityaweek : hairstyle

(I think shoulder-length hair looks good on him)

[katzuyas]

for @vityaweek day 4 | prompt: hairstyle

“don’t move just yet, darling,” victor tells him, the little endearment falling from his lips like it’s nothing.

yuuri tries hard not to blush at it, but it’s nearly impossible when faced with the sweet sound of victor’s humming, victor’s hands tucking his hair here and there, and him being so close… so close that yuuri can clearly see the sheen of victor’s chanel balm on his lips. and yet, he needs to resist the urge to kiss that pretty mouth that’s saying such pretty, pretty things.

honestly, yuuri feels like he’s going to burst with want even though it’s only been five minutes. maybe even less. or maybe more, yuuri can’t really tell. being so close to victor always makes time seem like a rather insignificant thing to pay attention to. after all, why do that when he can admire his fiance’s perfect lips, jaw, chin, neck–

“there,” victor finally says after another minute. “all done.”

absently, he tugs on the little strand of yuuri’s hair that’s artfully hanging before yuuri’s eyes, and he smiles: a smile so full of satisfaction and adoration that yuuri’s blush deepens all on its own. before yuuri can say anything, victor steps to the side from where he was blocking the bathroom mirror and yuuri can see his reflection staring back at him.

except, it doesn’t look like him at all.

“wow, how did you…?” he starts, but he can’t really finish that thought. he’s too enraptured in his hair.

it looks mussed up, but in a way that is slightly rugged, handsome, mature and a whole lot sexy. yuuri can’t really believe that this is him, yet when he turns his head left and right that reflection turns with him. so it must be him. but how? how did victor make his hair into something so–

“a little gel here and there, but mostly? you’re just gorgeous, love,” victor replies.

he comes up to stand right behind yuuri and winks. his smile shines even brighter in the reflection of the mirror than the lights above their heads do. yuuri is caught in that far too much to fight a blush that rises to his cheeks at victor’s flirting. but as soon as it does, yuuri pushes it down and turns.

“oh really?” he asks, cocking his head to the side.

the little strand of hair dangles in his eyes, but yuuri can’t care about it now. not when victor’s eyes darken so sweetly when he takes a step closer. their chests brush as yuuri climbs to his toes and rests a claiming hand on the back of victor’s neck. his fingers slip into the baby hairs on victor’s nape, so tender, so soft…

he can feel victor’s shiver on his own skin without even trying to.

“don’t you think I look like a mess like this?” yuuri asks, close enough to kiss victor, but not crossing that line. not yet.

victor’s breath is faster than usual, warming yuuri’s lips as it leaves him.

“a very sexy mess,” victor corrects just as his hands find their place on yuuri’s hips. “but do you like it? if you keep your hair long I could do it like this for you before every competition.”

yuuri suppresses a laugh. “is that what you’ve been trying to do?”

when victor only grins in reply, yuuri gives in and laughs. it’s a short chuckle, though, because the little stray strand of hair tickles his cheek and victor’s eyes follow it: dark, wanting, so obvious.

yuuri’s lips quirk before he even knows it.

“I have a feeling that wouldn’t be good for either of us,” he says in a voice that is definitely lower than it was before. “we would get too distracted.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” victor insists, but his eyes are sparked with the same fire that churns in yuuri’s belly.

“you don’t?” yuuri licks his lips, delighting in the hitch of victor’s breath on his lips. “ah, I guess I just need to show you then, mm?”

when they leave the bathroom an hour later, yuuri’s hair is completely ruined by the very hands that made it so pretty before, his lips are red and shiny just like the blush on his cheeks and the gleam in his eyes, and victor himself doesn’t look much better than that, but still – the love-struck smile on victor’s face definitely says that he didn’t regret it in the slightest.

and secretly, very secretly and deep, deep down in his heart, yuuri decides that he could let his hair grow out every now and then. for, you know, reasons. and for those same reasons he could let victor play with it. after all, he is really, really good at it…

[suiine]

@vityaweek, Day 4……Hairstyle.

A very round coconut-head Vitya.

[victuurikatsu]

It had taken a few weeks for the rest of Yuuri’s belongings to ship from Japan to Russia, and he was just so tired of looking at stacked cardboard boxes that he enlisted Victor’s help to declutter everything. Yuuri never felt like he had a lot due to constantly traveling but he failed to count the time he landed in Detroit for the bulk of his university days and training. That’s where most of the clutter truly came from and he still to this day solely blamed Phichit for enabling him. Some of the belongings were easy to separate from for donation purposes, while other boxes were unmarked and a clear set up by an older sister who had a hidden agenda.

“Yuuri…” Victor started. “Did you ask Mari to send you old posters of me?”

Yuuri froze and immediately rushed over and to his horror found Victor sifting through piles of posters he had collected over the years.

“Makka! Look you’re in this one! It’s when we first debuted you!” Victor laughed heartily as his furry companion came rushing over to sniff and paw at the poster.

Keep reading

[katzuyas]

for day 3 of @vityaweek | happy birthday vitya ❤️

“Do you know flower language, Yuuri?” Victor had asked, presenting him with a small composition of two white roses.

Yuuri’s voice got stuck in his throat, eyes glued to the flowers: the buds looked like they were sprayed with fresh dew, skin made of snowflakes and glass, fragile beauty in each petal as they glistened and glowed in the yellow street lights. The stems were artfully entwined together, thorn-less, bound together with a white ribbon.

Yuuri swallowed, his throat dry.

When Victor had left him in the middle of the street to attend to some mysterious last-minute business, this was not what Yuuri had expected. And when Victor returned with the roses, smiling ever so gently, Yuuri could feel his heart stop, but it wasn’t a bad thing. Oh no.

With a slightly trembling hand, Yuuri took the roses, careful, so careful. They seemed like a dream, like something that couldn’t have a place in reality, something that was not meant for him, never him.

Victor was waiting for his reply, so Yuuri forced a raspy, “A little,” out of his throat, still unable to speak.

“Do you know what these roses mean?” Victor asked then, and Yuuri’s chest tightened.

It was hard to breathe, even harder to think.

Did he know…?

Yuuri kept looking down at the roses.

“White roses in general stand for innocence, purity, reverence, and…” Victor was explaining, taking his silence for a no, but Yuuri knew this. Oh, he knew. “…happy love.”

Cold fingers – Victor must have forgotten to put his gloves back on – touched Yuuri’s chin and he looked up without much prompting. His heart hammered inside his chest, expectant.

He knew what was coming. He knew.

Did he want to hear it? To hear Victor say it? To make it real?

“But two of them, like this,” Victor nodded to the roses Yuuri was holding, “mean something much more special. I know you said those rings were a good luck charm, but… would you marry me, Yuuri?”

The tears came without warning.

One second Yuuri was looking into Victor’s sincere, hopeful eyes, and the next everything was blurry and Victor’s face washed away with worry. Before he could change his mind, before Victor could misunderstand his reason for crying, before the world could catch up to the here and now, Yuuri pushed himself into Victor’s arms, holding him close, closer, tight.

“Yes,” he whispered wetly over a muffled sob. God, yes. “If you’ll have me.”

Victor tightened his hold on him, cradling him against his chest, as a breath of relief left him a little limp in Yuuri’s arms.

“I wouldn’t want anyone else.”

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