(Thank you so much, anon! I don’t think I’ve written G’raha Tia before, so I hope you like this?)
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A dream is a wish your heart makes
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Finding him is always a bit of a game. Not unlike the first game he had initiated on your first meeting, but perhaps a bit more fun. Hide and Seek without the need to fight.
You’ll usually find him surrounded by books, or mayhap even practicing his archery. He is always so very pleased to see you.
His delight made plain by the perking of his ears and the curling of his tail. The force of his beaming smile. The happy curve of his red eyes.
You know naught how touching him feels so very real when walking in his dreams, but you are thankful for it all the same. To feel the warmth of his body. To bask in his scent. To taste.
Yes, to savor the taste of his lips against yours. Through dreams had your relationship slowly blossomed from friendship to to flirtation, to outright romance. Did you love him? Without pause you could say with certainty that yes, you did love him. Very much so.
So much that you could not stay away for long. You missed him so in the waking hours that you found yourself eager for the time of sleep.
The sound of his laugh washes over you like warm sunlight as you take a running jump into his arms.
You send him tumbling in your eagerness, and the room he’d been practicing shifts to your preferred bedroom in hardly a blink as you fall back to land on his bed. Likely the one he had chosen to sleep until it was time to wake again.
You curl yourself around him, snuggling into the warmth of his embrace. Smiling, and sharing tales of your exploits as he rubs at your back. His voice rumbling through you with your face resting on his chest.
His tail flickering over your fingers until you give in and stroke over his fur.
You talk for hours on end. Holding one another close. Dragging your hands over his skin, kissing him sweetly. Stroking your fingers over his twitching ears. Tracing the markings under those ruby red eyes.
He smiles, always, and grasps your hand to kiss at your fingertips.
Your time together is never enough.
You tell him so, and still he only smiles.
“I could spend a thousand lifetimes with you, and still it would not be enough.”
What a romantic, you think, and proceed to kiss him senseless.
When you stopped skating, anxiety
spiked in his gut, especially when you fell to your knees, your arms over your
chest. All the things that could cause such a posture flew through his
head and he was moving before he even realized what he was doing.
“____-chan!” He called, his shoes sliding on the ice as he hurried across it.
“Are you okay? Did you hurt
something?”
You looked up at him and your face was
red. “Er…” You fretted, glancing down at her chest then up at him.
It took Yuuri an embarrassingly long
time to realize what had happened. To be fair, he couldn’t really see
your chest, since you were hunched over and guarding it, but still.
“Oh!” His face flushed, embarrassed for himself more than you. He
hated the idea of seeing you in a way you didn’t give him permission to.
“Something happened to your costume?”
You nodded, swallowing heavy. “I
think I might be wearing it wrong… and… well… You can see.”
“I can’t see!” Yuuri blurted, but he
was already shrugging out of his jacket. “D-Don’t worry. Put this
on…”
He set the jacket on your shoulders,
turning his eyes away as you pulled it on and held it closed over your
chest. He helped you up, keeping his eyes trained away so you could zip
the jacket up and cover yourself properly.
“I’m sorry,” you sighed, your hands
falling away from the zipper.
Yuuri smiled, relaxing as you
relaxed. Once you were safely zipped, he took you by the arms and pulled
you against him gently, leaning to kiss your forehead. “Better now than
in a competition?”
You laughed a little and cuddled into
him. “True.”
Yuri Plisetsky
He saw it, way too clearly, and now he
couldn’t unsee it, no matter how hard he pressed the heels of his hands against
his eyes. He didn’t have to see you to know that you were crouched in the
middle of the ice, protecting your chest.
He was well aware of what his face
looked like, the blasting heat was enough to tell him that. And
against his better judgement and will, he just kept seeing that flash of skin
over and over again. He didn’t want to be that guy – how was he
supposed to forget? He was a man damn it!
“Yuri… could you, um, bring me
something to cover up… please?” Your tone of voice told him that you knew
that he knew just went on, or at least that you could guess considering
how he was currently trying to scoop out his eyeballs from their sockets.
“Oh hell,” Yuri grumbled. He
wanted to blame you – after all, it was your fault you’d picked a costume so
flimsy, and it was your fault you had all those lovely curve—no, no,
that was definitely not your fault. It was his fault for not being
able to ignore them.
Finally removing the pressure from his
eyes, he blinked away the orange-yellow dots that floated across his vision,
and scanned the immediate area for your skating bag. However, when he
couldn’t, realizing you’d locked it up in a locket, he swore quietly and bent
over his bag, rifling through it until he found a spare training shirt.
Yuri tried his damnedest not to look too
closely at you as he made his way across the ice. He hated walking on ice
with shoes, he had to be way too careful he didn’t fall and break
something. Plus it was completely unnatural. When he reached you,
he carefully kept his head turned as he thrust the shirt at you.
“Couldn’t find you bag, this will have to do,” he muttered sullenly.
You sighed in relief and took the
shirt, quickly pulling it over your head. Once you were covered, you
pushed yourself back to your feet. “It’s okay, you can look now.”
Yuri turned his head, but the sight
before him wasn’t much better, because seeing you in his shirt was almost too
much for his heart. He looked away again, covering his mouth with the
back of his hand and wishing his face didn’t feel like it was on fire.
“Get a better costume.”
You smiled, leaning up to press a kiss
to his cheek. “Thanks, Yuri.”
Viktor Nikiforov
The second he saw you stop and curl in
on yourself, he was panicking. “___!” He shouted, scrambling to get over
the board. All sorts of fears flooded through him as he tried to get to
you – you’d twisted something, maybe broken a toe, or torn a ligament.
Was your chest hurting? You were holding it like there was something
wrong with your chest. Were you having a heart attack? You were
young, but it wasn’t unheard of – what if you had a disease he didn’t know
about? A virus? Were you dying?!
He almost fell several times in his
hurry. Fear, icy and sharp, throttled him and he was on his knees,
sliding across the ice the second he was in range. “Solnyshko,
where are you hurt? Is it your chest? Your arm? Are you-”
Realizing that he was having a meltdown
from worry, you huffed, looking up at him pink dancing across your
cheeks. “I’m not hurt,” you admitted, setting your teeth against the
embarrassment. “It’s my costume… it… malfunctioned.”
It took him a solid five seconds to
realize what you were saying. “Oh!” He exclaimed, blinking rapidly.
Relief was his next prominent emotion, and happiness that you were still
healthy.
You were just about to ask him to find
something to cover you with when he started pulling his shirt over his
head. “I’m sorry, if I had realized…” he bit his lip in worry as he held
out his shirt to you.
He cursed himself for lack of
forethought. Of course you weren’t hurt, he hadn’t seen anything catch…
if he’d been thinking he would have grabbed his jacket. Not that he
minded giving you the shirt off his back, or was particularly shy about you
seeing him half-naked in the middle of the ice.
You swam in his shirt, but it was
definitely better than letting anyone see the unfortunate accident with your
new costume. Just to make sure you were okay, however, Viktor caught you
by the hips and pulled you into his space. “You’re really not hurt?” He
said, nuzzling your temple.
He could feel the heat of your skin
against his lips, and it was in direct contrast to the iciness of your hands as
they splayed across his chest. He shivered a bit, but liked having you in
his arms too much to move right at this moment.
When you shook your head, he pressed a kiss
against your forehead. “I’m glad.”
A/N: GIRL I GOT YOU ❤ i too, am a thirsty hoe for
maximoff and kinda snowballed with this prompt but didn’t get to the more
heated stuff so would a part 2 perhaps be in order??
“I thought you said you weren’t going to dress up for
this,” Peter appears before you with a gust of wind that blows your loose
hair back.
Raising an eyebrow at him, you lift your arms up at the
elbows and reply, “I’m not…?”
The corners of his mouth curl up in a smirk as he looks you
up and down, and realizes you aren’t aware that you’re wearing his shirt. The
look of utter confusion on your face changes slowly as you look down to see the
familiar Pink Floyd Dark Side of the Moon
album cover print on the front of your— well, Peter’s t-shirt.
“Shit.”
You curse under your breath, hoping no one else will notice that the shirt your
wearing isn’t yours.
A/N: here we are at last! I’m finally starting this darn thing and it’s not on my blog’s anniversary but it is my birthday today so I hope you enjoy this drabble while I sob about how old I feel
“I’ve
forgotten what it feels like to be young,” Peter sighs happily, spreading
his arms out as thought he stands on top of the world.
You’re left
speechless as you stare at your boyfriend incredulously for moment.
“Peter…” The man-child you’ve just moved in with stands before the
giant pillow fort he’s made for the two of you to sleep in while you wait for
your bed to be delivered in the morning. “You’re 24…”
“Yeah,”
he drags out the word, his pitch increasing as he does so. “But I’ve never
been in a serious relationship before and it makes me feel so grown up.”
“We’ve
been dating for three years and you still eat a whole box of twinkies every
day,” you deadpan.
“Listen
babe,” His arms flop down to his sides. As if on cue, you blink, and
suddenly he’s talking through a mouthful of twinkie. You don’t even want to
know where he pulled that one out of. “Before you walked so gracefully
into my life—”
“You
practically bulldozed me over—”
“I was
just another kleptomaniac loser with stunning good looks who lived in his
mother’s basement— and I still was until yesterday.” The corner of his
mouth quirks up into a small lopsided smile. “And now…”
“And
now you’re kleptomaniac ex-loser with
stunning good looks, who’s about to spend the first night in his very own
shared apartment with—” the last words of your sentence are cut off by
Peter capturing your lips in light kiss— a relaxed kiss that still holds
passion and makes you feel weightless, but leaves you breathless nonetheless.
“With
the love of my life.” His eyes are locked on yours, and although this is
one of the many playful moments you share, you feel it hit somewhere deep.
“I love you.”
Those are
three words you heard and said a lot over the past three years, and they never
lose meaning with every time whether they come from your mouth or his. In fact,
they seem to gain more meaning with every occasion they are uttered; through
tough times, passionate moments, or during the most mundane activities, every
iteration of those syllables is a convention of your experiences and
insurmountable feelings for each other.
You can’t
keep the wide smile off your face as you say them back, “I love you
too.” Give him a quick peck on the lips before taking his hand and tugging
him. “Come on, let’s get into that fort, you magnificent architect.”
A/N: idk if
it’s the same anon who requested the other Peter drabble but you chose
perfectly 👌🏽 👌🏽 Also I feel like the prompt
could have easily gone both ways, but then I remembered that scene from xma and couldn’t not do this (it kinda just became a oneshot oops)
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Peter
throws his phone on your bed before flopping on it himself.
“Well
a good evening to you too, Maximoff,” you giggle, sympathetically petting
his head that’s made its way onto your lap. He flips onto his back and reaches
for his phone. You presume he’s trying to show you something, but he’s moving
so much you can’t read any of the words on the screen. “I’m going to need
you to elaborate.”
Jesse McCree. He wasn’t at his usual stool at the bar tonight. The scent of his cigars wasn’t clogging the air and there wasn’t a drink in your hand bought by him.
Toad's Cave 