#and you triggered that box the day you arrived at the center. so dont expect to get away with some disgusting manipulative tactics | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

youremarvelous · 6 years

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I dont think it's in your prompt list, but if you're willing to give it a go-- Yuuri coming home from out of town, finding their house in a flurry of crayons and colored paper, with Victor and their daughter asleep in the bedroom.

Sure, honey! I love writing parental victuuri. I hope you enjoy it!

“Okay—” Yuuri stops outside the TSA line, turns to face Viktor—“so pick-up is at 1—”

“But leave early in case of traffic.”

“And—”

“And bring her a snack to eat because she always gets cranky if she falls asleep on the car ride home before having one.”

Yuuri’s opens his mouth, then closes it again with a slight nod, exhales audibly. “You’ve got it covered.”

“I’ve got it covered,” Viktor smiles, stroking Yuuri’s cheek with his thumb.

“Right,” Yuuri flushes. He sneaks his arms under Viktor’s blush pink sport coat, hugs him so tight he can feel Viktor’s heartbeat fluttering against his cheek. “I’ll miss your coffee.”

Viktor pets the back of Yuuri’s head. “They’ll have coffee at the hotel, dove.”

“Mm,” Yuuri hums. “It’s not the same. Maybe I shouldn’t go.”

“Hey—” Viktor crooks a finger under Yuuri’s chin, tilts his head up so their eyes meet—“it’s just two days. You’ll nail your photoshoot, have a nice, uninterrupted night of sleep, enjoy some subpar coffee—”

Yuuri snorts.

—“and you’ll be home with me and Anechka before you know it.”

“I won’t be able to sleep without your snoring.”

Viktor presses his lips to Yuuri’s forehead, the side of his nose, pauses over his mouth—“I trust you’ll manage—” before kissing him there.

Yuuri isn’t so sure, but he lets his arguments fall away for the moment, singed from his brain by the heat of Viktor’s lips satin-soft against his, the taste of Viktor’s favorite peppered cinnamon black tea on his tongue.

He waves Viktor one last goodbye from the other side of security, manages not to cry until he’s long out of view, safely locked in a bathroom stall near his gate. The truth is no amount of planning could ever adequately prepare him for the inevitable anxiety surge of his first weekend spent away from his daughter.

“It’s not that I don’t trust him,” Yuuri had whisper-cried to his Mom weeks earlier. He was home alone, crammed in the corner of the pantry between boxes of noodles and long-expired baby formula out of an ingrained impulse to hide the truth, even if only from himself. “But some nights he snores louder than the baby cries.”

For her part, Hiroko listened patiently, offering hums of understanding, the occasional, “I’m sure Vicchan knows Anna-chan can’t use the blender on her own,” over any real concrete advice. She knows as well as Yuuri, the only way for him to get over his fear of leaving Anna is to force himself to do it and prove to the hair-trigger, threat-seeking anxiety klaxons in his brain that nothing bad will happen because of it.

All the reason in the world doesn’t stop him from huddling over his laptop as soon as he makes it to the hotel room after the flight, torn between the blissful refuge of not knowing and his heart-rending terror of it.

“Yurik!” Viktor finally answers after Yuuri’s third time calling. Yuuri had already typed 1-1-2 on his phone after the second. He quickly clears it with trembling fingers. “How was your flight, my heart?”

“Fine.” Yuuri tries to scan the background, for the first time in the history of his crush, cursing Viktor’s perfect genetics for the breadth of his muscular shoulders. “Um, so…where’s Anna-chan?” He asks, totally shattering any poorly-constructed illusion of nonchalance.

“Hmm?” Viktor purses his lips. He looks adorably cute—forehead pleated, eyes unbearably blue in the laptop light. Yuuri would appreciate it more if his heart wasn’t pushing its way into his throat. “It’s naptime.”

Which, yeah, Yuuri does a quick time conversion in his head. It is. He’s an idiot.

“Oh, right. That’s right. Sorry.”

“Have you gone anywhere fun?”

Yuuri’s a shitty liar. He doesn’t even have to open his mouth before Viktor’s tilting his head, mouth turning down at the corners.

“Yuuri,” he scolds, stretching out the vowels.

Yuuri swallows down a comment about how nowhere is fun if Viktor and Anna aren’t there. It’s not true, anyway.

Probably.

Or at least, saying so would worry Viktor.

“I’ll go now,” Yuuri says instead. “Call me if something happens?”

“I’ll call you even when it doesn’t,” Viktor assures him. “I love you, please try to rela—enjoy yourself,” he carefully amends.

Yuuri tells him he loves him, too, that he’ll try. He slips in his earbuds after ending the call, tries to recall the choreography to his old routines while he walks around the city, eating up time before he has to leave for his sponsor meeting.

Work helps him get things off his mind a little. At least, until they politely ask about his life as a husband and father for the biographical blurb they’re including with the photoshoot. “It’s the most fulfilling accomplishment of my life,” Yuuri says, which is a true statement, if a well-practiced one.

“Does it worry you to be away for the weekend?”

Yuuri laughs, the sound of it skipping off the walls—stilted and unnaturally loud. “Not at all.”

His pocket buzzes. It’s a photo of Anna shirtless in their backyard, crouched in a mud puddle in her blue, poodle-printed wellies. The cuteness of which manages to distract the interviewer from Yuuri’s fingers drumming an aimless rhythm on his knee, his foot bouncing under the desk.

“Fed, bathed, and tickled,” Viktor reports over Facetime later that evening. “How was the meeting?”

“What? Oh, fine,” Yuuri answers distractedly. His image is blurred, distorted by the faint intermittent tremble wracking the knee on which the laptop is propped. “Did Anna go down okay?”

“Yes, dear,” Viktor smiles politely. ‘Stop fixating’ in code.

Yuuri manages to book himself an earlier flight the next morning. “So I wouldn’t have to miss your coffee,” Yuuri mentally practices himself explaining to Viktor. There’s no point saying that he couldn’t sleep in a crumbless, stainless bed, bereft of clingy dogs and even clingier husbands. Viktor will be able to ascertain as much from his lank hair, the purple bruises under each eye.

He probably expects it, anyway, and not just because Viktor himself has pulled the same move no less than five times in the three years since Anna was born. They know each other too well. It’s both a blessing and a curse.

When Yuuri arrives home—by taxi because he doesn’t want to wake anyone before 5 am—the house is dark and silent. A good thing, logically, but a terrifying thing to the irrational corner of his brain that insists it’s because he has yet to replace the batteries on the carbon monoxide detector since it went out last week and they’ve suffocated in their sleep.

He forgets about the potential poisoning when his head bumps something thin and fluttery in the threshold of the kitchen and living room. He backs up, squints at the obstruction through the dark before flicking on the light. A homemade “welcome home” banner emerges from the dark, rainbow letters written in Viktor’s careful script, decorated with scribbles of yellow and brown circles with legs that Yuuri knows from experience are meant to be happy suns and playful puppies.

Yuuri covers his mouth with his hand, tears stinging his eyes. He can see the paper scraps and crayons still littering the kitchen table, walks over to find a family portrait—a tall rectangle of green and a slightly shorter oval of blue, holding the hands of a purple triangle. There’s also a pink crayon with a deep, conspicuous bite mark, but Yuuri chooses to ignore it for the moment.

He wanders quietly to the bedroom, peeks in to find the centers of his world snuggled together on the bed, a tangle of limbs and dogs and stuffed animals. Yuuri shuffles to Anna’s side. He combs her tangled hair out of her face and kisses her temple, gently pushes away a dog to pull the covers up to her chin.

He makes his way to the other side of the bed next, runs his fingers through Viktor’s hair, brushes the pad of his thumb over his eyebrow until Viktor blinks up at him groggily.

“You’re home.”

Yuuri bows to kiss him. Viktor isn’t expecting it and their lips meet awkwardly—crookedly. It’s exactly perfect in that it isn’t at all. “Sorry I didn’t trust you.”

Viktor takes Yuuri by the wrist, pulls him into the narrow space between him and their daughter. “It’s okay,” he whispers, voice sleep-rasped and low. “You just wanted to make it home for the coffee, right?”

Yuuri hides a breathy, relieved laugh into Viktor’s chest. “Something like that.”

my yoi drabbles | kofi ♡

#yuri on ice #yuuri katsuki #viktor nikiforov #victuuri #yoi drabble #my writing #prompt fill

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