Yuri x (very) Dark Past Reader!

Chapter 1

“To the airport, please.” The hooded man asked the taxi driver while hopping onto the backseats.

Y/N sighed while putting on the seatbelt. It was raining outside, luckily he didn’t get too wet on his way to the taxi stand.

The young man checked his phone. 19:05. Right, he was perfectly on time. His flight to Japan departed at 10:00 and the ride to the Franjo Tuđman Airport from his hotel was only twenty minutes long.

The smooth lights of the city at night soothed him and the subtle rattle of the car made the man sleepy. Soon enough, Y/N was already drifting off to sleep.

💀🌸💀

He opened his eyes once again. Vast dunes of millenia-old sand surrounded him everywhere. He was sweaty and dressed with clothing too big for him. Between the poorly reinforced chassis of the crappy van, no sound could be heard other than the tuned engine roar and his own heartbeat. Well, that, and the mature man beside him praying while clutching his rifle.

“Bismillahir Rahmanir Raheem.” he repeated over and over again, closing his eyes and trembling.

Y/N awoke from his daydreaming and glanced upon his other companions. The second oldest man onboard was finishing up a tourniquet on his right arm and waiting for his veins to mark over his tanned skin. After a couple of seconds, he took out a needle and stuck it in his forearm.

Y/N looked away, uncomfortable with the situation, grabbing with force his own weapon (a very old and rusty assault rifle). The man who had just stuck himself with that needle tapped him on his leg.

“Sayajealuk taraa Allah!” he offered him another needle, “you calm.” he tried to explain in broken English, gesticulating with his hands.

The young man thought for a second about what was being offered to him, however, he ultimately decided that it would be more beneficial to stay completely awake in the battlefield, even if he felt like his aorta could tear apart at any given second.

Y/N looked to his left and found a small boy crying desperately while shaking. He gulped.

“Buu, ar bi ji! Ahtimi!” he suddenly heard the pilot scream.

Although he had spent over a year now at that slavering camp, his domain over the Arabic language was quite poor. Y/N only managed to survive because he knew, more or less, how to defend himself in French. However, if there was a word that he knew in Arabic, that was “ahtimi”.

He quickly ducked down and closed his eyes, bare seconds before the RPG collided against the vehicle and sent his world, quite literally, flying around.

He fell onto the hot sand, his ears ringing, and lost consciousness.

💀🌸💀

When he opened his eyes again, cold sweat on his forehead, his ears still ringed. Y/N looked around frantically, his pulse speeding way over 120 bpm. 

The ringing in his ears was just the claxon of a very angry driver.

“Fuck.” He thought to himself while looking through the window, “It was just a dream Y/N, deep breaths.”

The signal indicating that the airport was two kilometers away was flashed by the lights of the taxi.

After a couple of deep breaths, he managed to get his pulse back to 67 bpm.

“Keep the change,” the young man gave the money to the taxi driver and waved as he slowly drove off.

Y/N entered the airport with nothing more than his backpack, his trusty clothes, and a wallet full of blood stained money.

The chains of the past weighed on him, but his life has always been about pushing forward.

“New country, new life, new… me,” he took a deep breath, “no going back now.”