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there-must-be-a-lock · 4 years ago

Text

Contact Comfort

Spencer Reid x (gender neutral) Reader

Word Count: ~2000

Warnings: None, really? Emotional hurt/comfort and sorta like a touch starved deal doing on, but it’s pretty thoroughly fluffy and sugary-sweet.

A/N: For the “bed sharing” square on my @cmbingo card!

Title is from the referenced psych study, because I’m a dork.

“One sec,” you call, wincing at how thick and nasal your voice sounds.

You wipe your cheeks hastily as you sit up. It’ll be obvious anyway, though; wouldn’t take a profiler to notice your tear tracks and blotchy face.

It’s Spencer. Of course it is — because he’s the last person you want to see you like this, when you’re all snotty and puffy and gross.

His eyes go wide and solemn when he sees your face, genuinely distressed. There’s that empathy again, the too-big heart that everyone seems to overlook in favor of his big brain. You love him for it.

Well, you love him for a lot of things.

“Hi,” he says quietly. “I was going to just ask if you were okay, but… I guess I don’t actually need to ask now.”

You let out a watery little chuckle. “Guess not.”

“You want some company?” He looks hopeful, almost, and then seems to catch himself, dropping his gaze with a shrug. “I understand if you just want your space, though.”

If it was anyone else, you absolutely would not want company right now. But it’s Spencer, so. You pretty much always want him around.

“I was just about to turn on some shitty TV because it felt too quiet in here, honestly. Company would be really nice.”

He gives you a quick twitch of a half-smile as he steps past you, and after you close the door, there’s a pause where you both stand there and look at each other, Spencer suddenly shy as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, in a thin unhappy voice.

“Not really. Just… one of those days. One of those cases.”

“Can I do anything to help?”

You hesitate, because it seems like such an immature thing to say out loud, but you’re too tired to be anything other than honest.

“I could use a hug.”

Spencer’s expression goes all soft and sweet, and your cheeks feel hot under the drying salt water as he steps closer. He wraps his arms around you, and you bury your face in his chest and try to inhale. Your exhale is a ragged little shudder, and you fist both hands in the back of Spencer’s cardigan as you cling to him, feeling raw and sensitive and so very young.

He lets out a quiet, shaky sigh of his own, squeezing you tighter.

How long has it been since anybody hugged you like this? It’s like the contact — the warmth of him — the pressure of his arms around your shoulders — the rise and fall of his chest under your cheek — is lifting some massive weight you never realized you were carrying. All you want in the entire world is to hold him tight, take the comfort while you can, but you know you should pull away.

He hesitates for a second before releasing you, like maybe he doesn’t want to let go either.

Then he’s stepping back, hands in his pockets, slightly pink-cheeked as he bounces on the balls of his feet and gives you one of his frog-faced not-quite-smiles.

“You said something about shitty television?” he asks. “Or maybe we could watch some television that’s not actually shitty?”

“That sounds perfect.”

Turns out Planet Earth is on, which is the rare overlap in your and Spencer’s tastes, and it’s not until you’re eagerly toeing off your shoes that you realize the bed is the only seating option.

Spencer sits cross-legged, with his elbows on his knees and his chin propped on his fists, and he stays as close to the edge of the bed as physically possible. You lean back against the headboard and hug your knees to your chest, feeling the need to hunch over, like you could physically protect your heart.

Then again, it’s much too late for that. You knew your heart was in trouble the moment you met Spencer.

Today, especially, you already feel vulnerable, like all your carefully-constructed walls cracked open the second you let yourself cry, and now you’re just ripped-open and bare. You need a good night’s sleep and a long, hot shower before you’ll be able to go about your life as a professional, fully-functional, grown-up human again. Right now you’re just kind of a mess.

“I know there’s the germ thing,” you blurt out, without looking at Spencer. “But —”

His laugh sounds crackly and nervous, but relieved, like maybe he’d been holding his breath. “Come here.”

You give him a grateful smile as you scoot closer to each other, and apparently you’d been so worried about your own swollen eyes earlier that you hadn’t noticed the fatigue evident in every drawn, wan line of his face.

Not that he isn’t still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

You duck tentatively under Spencer’s arm, and it’s not like you’re cuddling, exactly, because there’s still an inch or so of space between your hips and legs… but the bony plane of his chest, between collarbone and heart, makes a surprisingly perfect pillow. You pull the sleeves of your sweater over your hands, tucking them under your chin, curling up.

The moment feels delicate, like a soap bubble that you could burst if you simply breathe too loudly, and you hold yourself stiffly, at first, not wanting to move any closer for fear of pushing a boundary. It feels like you’re glowing at the points where your bodies are touching; the warm weight of his arm feels like bright spring sunshine across your upper back. His palm on the round of your shoulder is thawing away the last chilly bits of your self-consciousness.

When the commercial break starts, Spencer says, “Do you ever think about how little physical contact the average single adult experiences on a regular basis?” His voice is quiet and almost sheepish.

You smile. “Yeah, I’ve considered it.”

“Especially when we live away from our families,” Spencer says wistfully.

You can feel the vibration of his words in his chest. You shift, making yourself more comfortable, feeling dazed and dumb with his proximity.

“The monkeys. I feel like — you know?”

“Harlow. I know exactly what you mean.”

Trust him to get that from your ridiculously vague mumbling.

“Except they’re babies,” you add.

“The emotional benefits of physical touch don’t decrease just because we get older,” he says softly. “It’s just that the fear of judgement makes it difficult to be honest.”

There’s silence for a minute as the show starts again, and David Attenborough says something about sloths. Spencer’s thumb strokes your shoulder gently, back and forth, soothing. It’s hypnotic, and the tension drains from your muscles, leaving you more relaxed than you’ve felt in a long time.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

You swallow hard. “For what?”

“Being honest.”

There’s no reason for your eyes to be stinging like this, but they are. “I should be thanking you.”

“Nothing to thank me for. This is… really nice.”

“Yeah. It really is.”

He’s quiet again.

Spencer smells like vanilla and old books — although the latter might just be your imagination, something to do with the power of mental association — Spencer could probably explain the science behind that. Your brain has them inextricably linked, though. You’ve caught hints of that smell before, but never up close like this.

The softness of the worn knit of his cardigan makes you want to rub your cheek against it like a cat. His arm, skinny as it may be, feels like protection — like you’re safe here.

After the brutal violence of the case and the emotional turbulence of the day, this quiet, golden moment is even more breathtakingly peaceful by contrast. It doesn’t feel real.

It’s too good to last. This isn’t yours. It’s not going to last, no matter how right it feels, and your chest already aches with the idea of letting him go.

You try to appreciate it while you can, to remember every sensation, but your body is leaden, exhausted down to the bone, completely drained of whatever adrenaline-stubbornness-caffeine combination was keeping you running until now. Spencer’s thumb rubs invisible circles on your shoulder, and he breathes evenly, and you feel safe.

You’re asleep before the next commercial break.

A distant car alarm wakes you, sometime later. In the handful of seconds before it’s turned off, you come to without opening your eyes, trying to remember where you are and who you’re with. The smell of vanilla makes you relax instinctively, before you can process why.

Spencer has all but melted against you in his sleep, soft and boneless. He’s got both arms around you now, holding you close, his breath tickling your forehead. Then he stirs, and you can feel the moment he realizes where he is, because his muscles go tense as he freezes.

“Sorry,” he murmurs hoarsely. He’s barely audible over the infomercial voices coming from the TV. “I didn’t mean to — sorry. I’ll go.”

And before you can think better of it, you whisper, “Don’t.”

He’s still frozen, and silent for a second that feels like an eternity. “You mean —”

“I don’t want you to leave. Stay.”

Honesty seems to be your default setting tonight, and anyway, you can tell without looking at a clock that it’s long past midnight, well into the early-morning hours where boundaries and reservations and reality don’t seem to follow their usual laws. You can’t lie to him (or to yourself) right now.

Spencer’s voice cracks as he says, “Okay. I’ll just — let me get the light.”

You don’t open your eyes as he slips away. This all seems like a dream, and the sharp bright lamp light might make it dissolve around you. You might wake up.

The TV goes quiet, and when you tug at the hotel comforter, sliding between cool sheets fully clothed, the barely-there rasp of moving fabric sounds loud in its absence.

Spencer turns off the lamp, and you open your eyes. You can just see his shape as he navigates the dark room, negative space on a charcoal backdrop, but as your vision adjusts, you can see a faint suggestion of his features in the blue-black.

You feel it, though, when his weight makes the springs of the old mattress dip. You’d expected him to lie on his back again, but instead his face is just inches from yours when his cheek comes to rest on the pillow. You feel the way he’s breathing, quick and shallow and nervous. You feel your heart kick in your ribs, thudding so loud he must be able to hear it.

He reaches out slowly, hooking an arm around your ribs, and pauses with just the very tips of his spidery fingers touching your back, between your shoulder blades: five soft points of contact that you feel so intensely they might as well be electrode pads connecting you to a defibrillator.

This is crossing a line, and you both know it.

It’s not a sexual touch, it’s not that sort of thrill going through you, but something about this feels profoundly intimate. That intimacy is almost more shocking than lust might’ve been, and it’s much more dangerous. It’s the sort of closeness you don’t walk away from unscathed.

Spencer’s fingers flutter, butterfly-wing delicate, like one or the other of you might be trembling.

“Are you sure this is okay?” he whispers.

“Yes.”

Maybe you’re both trembling.

His palm comes to rest on your back, easing you closer, and you shift, settle, readjust. He pulls back and tilts his head just long enough to brush his lips over your temple, soft and sweet, before tucking you neatly under his chin, where you fit like you were meant to be there, with your nose nudging at the gap between his collar and the delicate skin of his throat.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispers, sounding just as awed as you feel.

“Sweet dreams, Spencer.”

If you enjoyed this, please reblog or leave a message!

More Criminal Minds fic is here.

#cmbingo21 #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader

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sebstanns · 4 years ago

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Deserve

Summary: You broach a tricky subject with Bucky. Recovering / soft Bucky x female reader. Angst / fluff / smut.

Warnings: 18+ for sexual content. Unprotected sex. Language.

A.N: I kept meaning to write for Steve but this happened. I usually write for Boyd Holbrook characters on my sideblog - Masterlist.

I didn’t tag anybody but let me know if you’d like to be, possibly a part 2 or a prequel to this. I’d like to thank @ionlyjoinedforboydholbrook for her constructive feedback! It’s my first time writing for Bucky so please be kind!

Your heart skips a beat when you see Bucky waiting outside your office building, holding a bunch of flowers no less. He's awkwardly leaning against a wall, eyes darting around searching for you.

"You shouldn't have." You smile as you approach him.

"I was just passing." He murmurs, cheeks flushing as you kiss him.

"Passing a flower stall too?" You ask, accepting the blooms.

"Yeah, I guess so." He smiles.

"Mr Barnes, sorry to bother you." A voice pipes up. You turn and vaguely recognise the guy, you've seen him in the office building. What does he want with Bucky though?

Bucky eyes him warily. "Do I know you?"

"Oh no, I'm uh....I'm a big fan." the guy stammers, starting to sweat.

"So you're a fan of my work as the Winter Soldier or...”

"No no, I mean since then. Saving the world and everything."

"Sure, thanks." Bucky sighs.

You kind of feel for the guy, Bucky wasn't exactly known for accepting compliments, you know that better than anyone.

"Hey, can I get a selfie?" the guy asks, pulling out his phone.

"He's off duty, sorry." You say diplomatically, taking Bucky’s arm. "Let's get going."

"I'll never get used to that, " Bucky mumbles, as you steer him away from his fan. "I spent so much effort trying to hide and now..." He trails off.

"You saved the world, that's what people know you for now." You say, determined to put a positive spin on things.

"It wasn't just me." He says, as you cross the street. He moves his arm and grabs your hand instead, squeezing lightly. He's wearing gloves as is usual in public, concealing his gleaming hand in black leather.

You fall into a companionable silence as you head in the direction of your apartment. You can't help noticing that you're taking the route that happens to pass Bucky's favourite diner - where you first met in fact, a little over four months ago.

"Feel like coffee and pie?" He asks casually.

You grin at his predictability. "Sure."

Your flowers sit on the table in a kindly donated water jug as you and Bucky tuck into pie and ice cream, apple and cherry respectively.

"This...is...the...best...pie." Bucky says between mouthfuls.

"I knew you were going to say that." You tease.

He smiles, his eyes twinkling and crinkling at the corners. Oh, he seems so happy and relaxed, you impulsively decide to broach a tricky subject, figuring now to be a good a time as any.

"So, you know my sister's getting married in a couple of weeks." You begin, glancing at him as you toy with your food.

Bucky's eyes flicker and he fills his mouth with pie. "Hm-hmm." He mumbles.

You take a deep breath. "Well, I was wondering if you'd consider coming with me, as my plus one?"

He pales a little and offers a tentative smile. "I don't know sweetheart."

"Clare wants to meet you, that's all. You don't even have to stay for the full day, just to say hello."

"Sounds more like a family thing." Bucky says tightly, shifting in his seat.

"Well yeah," you swallow, feeling yourself flush. "But you are my....I mean..."

He sighs. "I don't think it's a good idea, you saw what happened outside your office. Imagine that times a hundred."

"Everyone will be focused on the wedding, my family won't bug you, I promise. They aren’t like that.”

Bucky scoffs. “You might be surprised how brave people get after a couple glasses of champagne.”

You sigh impatiently, feeling something inside you break. "What are we doing here Bucky?"

"I thought we were eating pie." He half-smiles.

"You know what I mean. Us." You hated to push him like this, you really did, and you already knew that he wouldn’t react favourably to it, but your developing relationship had seemed to come to a standstill lately.

"We agreed to take things slowly, didn’t we? One day at a time." He says quietly, reaching for your hand.

"But that was four months ago, I thought that we might have progressed beyond that by now. It's like one step forward two steps back with you." You say, your voice cracking with emotion.

"You're not my shrink, ok?" He snaps suddenly.

You slide your hand away from his and reach for your bag, tears forming in your eyes.

"I'm going home." You say softly..

"Don't go, please. I'm sorry." He says, looking up at you, a note of quiet desperation in his voice.

"Enjoy your pie." You sniff, not looking at him. You’re halfway home before you realise that you've left the flowers on the table.

X - X - X

By the time you get home you're angry with yourself more than anything else, cursing the fact that you even mentioned the wedding. You had agreed to take things slowly, but the truth is that you’re falling for Bucky and you want him to be a bigger part of your life. The wedding seemed like the ideal opportunity to introduce him to your friends and family, but on reflection, you realise how overwhelming it might be.

Half an hour later when there's a knock at the door, you know that it's Bucky. He's carrying the flowers, still in the water jug.

"The waitress said we could have this, I think she just felt sorry for me." He chuckles dryly, following you into the living room.

You can’t help but smile at the image of him walking down the street with the flowers.

"I'm sorry." You murmur, setting the flowers on your coffee table.

"Why are you sorry? I was a jerk back there." Bucky frowns.

"I shouldn't have pushed you like that."

"You weren't pushing." He sighs.

"I spooked you.” You say softly, looking up at him.

"Yeah." He smiles. "A little. Look, I’m still trying to figure this out."

"I know. Me too. I've never been in a relationship like this."

"I should hope not." He says wryly.

You chuckle, fighting the urge to just throw youself into his arms.

"I like you, so much." Bucky murmurs, his eyes searching yours as he strokes your face. "But I can't help thinking that you'd be better off with someone else."

Your stomach drops. "No, Bucky-”

"I mean like someone who doesn't get spooked when you want to do regular relationship stuff, it's not fair on you." He says, brow furrowed.

"Look, forget the wedding, I'll ask one of my friends to come."

"It's not just the wedding though is it?" He sighs.

“I don’t want anybody else.” You state firmly, placing your hand on his chest - you can feel his ever present dog tags through the thin material of his sweater.

"You've been so patient with me, it's more than I deserve."

"This is what you deserve." You say, and kiss him gently on the cheek. "And this." then corner of his mouth. "And this." finally the hollow of his throat.

He lets out a soft groan and grips the nape of your neck, kissing you deeply, opening your mouth with his tongue. He tastes of cherry and vanilla, his lips soft but insistent.

"I want you." He breathes. "I want you."

Without a word, you take his hand and lead him to the bedroom. Bucky was so gentle and hesitant when you first started sleeping together, terrified of hurting you with his strength and self-conscious of his arm. You managed to convince him that you could take - even sometimes desired - a little roughness. He loved to take his time undressing you, kissing and touching your soft flesh as he went. And when you reciprocated, he'd been touch starved for so long that the feeling of your hands and lips on him was almost enough.

Tonight he didn't deviate, pulling off your clothes and kissing you everywhere as you laid on the bed. He hovers over you, still half dressed, and you stroke his hair, fingers entwined in the short strands as his lips travel down your body, making you squirm. Finally he kneels between your legs and tugs at your panties, eyes dark with lust.

"James." You sigh, touching yourself, wetness coating your fingertips.

"You're so beautiful." He says gruffly, eyes focused on you as he removes his jeans. You'd seen him naked a number of times now but you never failed to be impressed by his magnificence, even his cock, now hard and leaking at the tip, is a thing of beauty.

You hold your hand out for him to return to the bed but his hands reach for your waist, indicating for you to turn over; you comply and he moves behind you, lifting your hips and pushing into you in one swift movement. You cry out as he fills and stretches your pussy, digging your fingers into the mattress as you back up against him.

"Does that feel good, sweetheart?" He growls.

"Yes, please...don't stop." You mewl, as he buries his cock to the hilt.

Bucky’s flesh hand is between your legs, fingering your aching clit, while his metal one still grips your hip. You place your hand over his, interlacing your fingers with his vibranium digits.

The rhythmic clink of Bucky's dog tags and the sound of your soft cries fill the air, he continues to work your clit in tight circles as he moves inside you, leaning down to pepper kisses on your shoulder - it isn't long before you feel the familiar tightness building at your core.

"Oh, Bucky, I'm going to-" you trail off as he drives into you harder, making you come apart and you moan loudly as your orgasm rolls through you in hot waves.

Compared to you, Bucky's almost silent, quietly panting and groaning, his hold on you tightening as you feel him throbbing into you.

Afterwards he spoons you, his bionic arm around your waist like a vice, kissing your hair.

"Look, about the wedding-" He starts.

"We don't have to talk about it now." You yawn. “Let’s leave it until tomorrow. One day at a time.”

“One day at a time.” Bucky repeats, softly.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #recovering bucky

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wienerbarnes · 4 years ago

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Italian Heart

Pairing: Bucky x Italian!MobBoss!Reader

Word Count: 4,867

Warnings: canon level violence, possible inaccurate italian slang lol

A/N: ive been watching a lot of the sopranos lately and i feel like ive never seen a bucky x mob boss reader au (ive only rlly seen em where buckys the mob boss. if there are ones where reader is the mob boss PLS SEND EM TO ME I BEG) a lot of the slang and mob stuff here is from sopranos bc... im not in the fucking mafia so forgive me anyway enjoy :)<3

MAIN MASTERLIST

Bucky’s never seen a woman quite like yourself.

Dressed in expensive satin and jewelry that hangs between your breasts, an angry look on your face at the fact you’re sitting before him and Sam in an interrogation room in the tower. Freshly done nails, clean and crisp lipstick, spicy perfume, and an expression of annoyance.

As put together as you look, you don’t look like someone to be fucked with. Which, he supposes is good for a mobster; the Boss of Newark.

Looking at you, though, he’d never thought you to be such a figure of intimidation. While the mafia is still alive, despite how the media tries to deny this, he always pictured an old Italian man that chain smokes cigars. He doesn’t think he’s too far off, to his credit; he can smell the remnants of smoke on you.

“Mind if we make this fast? My cousin’s comin’ for dinner and I was gonna make ziti.” You huff, crossing your legs under the table.

“Sounds delicious. Sorry for dragging you all the way out here.” Sam says, a calm look on his face even though he’s well aware of what you’re capable of.

When hunting down the last traces of the super soldier serum, he never thought Nick Fury himself would suggest getting in touch with you. He didn’t think it was worth the time to question how the two of you knew each other.

Theft. Drugs. Murder. Bribery. The list goes on, and there’s not a single thing that ties you to any of it.

A shrug of your shoulders, “So, what exactly is this about?” You ask.

“What is it that you do for a living?” Sam asks.

“I work in waste management.” You respond, a rehearsed answer.

Not exactly a lie, the environmental facility you manage is one of hundreds of covers used by your crew for your crimes. Environmental facilities, deli shops, strip clubs, auto shops. There isn’t a business in Jersey you aren’t tied to.

“Waste management? Like, garbage disposal?” Bucky asks, knowing exactly what it is you do for work.

You smirk, “Yeah, we dispose of garbage sometimes. What’s that got to do with me being here?”

“It’s to my understanding that you’re in the business of… buying and selling things. You and… the people you hang around got a real knack for it.” Sam tells you.

Bucky holds back a roll of his eyes. More like stealing and selling. Expensive Italian suits, antique watches, cars, electronics, illegal cigars. Who knows what else.

“I don’t know where you heard that… but I’m a popular gal, maybe I know a guy who might know a guy. What are you lookin’ for?” You ask.

You know this game, after being in the mob for so long. After being a part of your own crew for years, your patience and hard work paid off, working your way up to a captain and finally a boss. It didn’t take you long to learn in this business that government officials are jokes. Always wanting to bust my balls and then come crying to my corner for help, it’s a bunch of ugatz.

“Serums.” Bucky finally speaks.

A laugh escapes you, “What, like vitamin C?” You teasingly smirk at him.

His chair makes a loud sound in the small room as he pushes it back harshly and stands, resting his hands on the table in between the two of you. You don’t flinch.

“Enough with the bullshit. Super serums. To create super soldiers. We need to get them before they end up in the wrong hands and make a big ass mess.” He snaps at you, but you don’t seem phased in the slightest. In fact, you seem rather amused.

“You must have a lot of agita with all that anger, Sergeant Barnes.”

He doesn’t hold back this time and rolls his eyes before you speak up again, “Your first name is James, isn’t it? Ain’t that Italian?”

“No, it’s English. Or Scottish. Or Jewish - I don’t know, who cares? Are you gonna help us or not?” Bucky takes his seat again, crossing his thick arms over his broad chest.

“What’s in it for me?” You ask, leaning back in your chair.

“Not being arrested for all the shit we know you’re caught up in.” Sam offers.

You roll your own eyes this time, “I’ll take my chances. Thanks for wasting my time, boys, don’t let it happen again.” You stand, prepared to make your way back to the train station to go back to Jersey.

“Wait,” Sam stops you, “What is it that you want?”

You smile innocently and take your seat again, taking a minute to think before answering, “My little sister’s a big fan of yours. I’m sure she and all her friends would think it’s cool if you showed up to her prom as her date.” You wink at Sam.

Silence fills the room as the men think about your request.

“You’re gonna do it, right?” Bucky looks over at him and sees Sam rubbing the crease in between his eyes. He was expecting you to ask for immunity, protection, money, guns. But after hearing your request, he supposes you have enough of all that stuff anyway.

“Man -” Sam begins to refuse.

“Sam, it’s a fucking school dance in exchange for some of the most powerful and sought after serums on the planet - go to the fucking prom.” He tells him, eyebrows scrunching in confusion as to how he would hesitate on something so simple.

“She’s eighteen, so you won’t have any problems with the media or none of that.” You add, the information not really making Sam feel any better.

“Alright, alright, fine. I’ll go to the dance with your sister if you help us get these serums.”

You smile, happy to have done business with the two men, “What information do ya got for me?”

…

Bucky and Sam wait outside a back room in the facility you own. They passed the garbage trucks parked neatly outside, but could hear your screaming and the smell of Cuban cigars as soon as they entered the building.

She’s with a customer, they were told, by someone in your crew, them meeting Bucky’s expectations for mobsters more than you did. None of them ask any questions, but Bucky and Sam aren’t stupid, they’re sure your crew is aware of what’s going on and know the exact reason they’re there.

“You’re a fuckin’ asshole, you know that? The Bible says, Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit -”

“You listen to me, you take your Bible and your quotations book and shove it up your fat fucking ass! Now get the fuck out of my face!”

Bucky can’t help but scoff listening to you scream at whoever’s inside. Sam elbows him, silently telling him that now isn’t the time to find your work funny, especially not in front of the rest of your crew.

Bucky knows he’s old-fashioned, and while things that were taboo such as body modifications or certain fashion styles don’t phase him anymore, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to hearing a woman talk like that. He doesn’t think he’s ever even heard anybody talk like you do.

Suddenly a man bursts out of the room, huffing and puffing, and you walk slowly behind him, as if to make sure he makes it outside okay.

“Grab his plate for me, will you?” You say not to anyone in particular, voice smooth and calm as if you hadn’t been yelling and threatening that man’s life for the past twenty minutes.

One of the men from your crew follows outside, seemingly to collect the license plate of the man who just left.

“Nothing’s gonna happen to that guy, right?” Sam asks as he and Bucky enter the room, taking a seat in front of the desk you have in there. He knows there’s no point in asking, that you’ll do whatever you want regardless because it’s obvious you’re passionate about receiving respect, but it was worth a shot.

“Is that what you came all the way to Jersey to ask me? Christ, I’m fuckin’ starving, you boys want anything to eat?” You ask, accent heavy as you reach into the side drawer of your desk and pull out what seems to be some kind of meat wrapped in paper.

“Gabagool?” You offer to them, picking out a slice for yourself and placing it in your mouth.

“Gesundheit.” Sam responds.

“It’s pork, you asshole.”

Bucky silently reaches over and picks off a slice of the cured cold cut, putting the meat in his mouth and savoring the flavor. While he can’t stand the way you make a living or the sailor’s mouth you have, he loves Italian food, and actually chose a neighborhood in New York that has plenty of traditional cold cut markets and restaurants to live in in order to fulfill his cravings.

“There’s a big party staged downtown this weekend, we think that’s when the drop is going to happen.” Sam tells you, bringing the focus to their reason for coming here in the first place.

“I’ll send one of my boys.” You reply in between your chews.

“That wasn’t the deal. The deal was you get the serums.” Bucky speaks up.

“Buck, you know how many people want her dead?” Sam tries to reason.

“What the fuck do I have a crew for then? - No, if pretty boy wants me to do it myself, then I will. The same people that want my head are the same fucks who are terrified to be within twenty feet of me in fear they’ll make eye contact. I’m not scared of nothin’.” You say, narrowing your eyes at Bucky.

“What did you guys come here to talk about?” You ask.

Sam looks confused at your expression, “...To go over the plan? Hash out details? So you know how everything’s gonna go?”

“I’ll be fine; I’ve seen The Godfather once or twice,” You tell him, wrapping up the cappo, after Bucky picks off one last slice, and replacing it in the drawer, “Don’t worry Captain, this ain’t my first rodeo. I’ll get the serums for you.” You open a different drawer and pull out a cigar and a lighter.

Bucky watches as you place the large cigar in between your red-painted lips, bringing the flame of your lighter to the end and hollowing your cheeks until smoke exits from the corner of your mouth. Bucky feels blood travel south as his eyes glaze over your hand grab the cigar out of your mouth and blow out a long string of smoke.

“I guess we’ll be in touch then,” Sam stands and Bucky follows after.

“My sister’s wearing blue, so find yourself a nice tie.” You call out, lifting your feet up to cross them on the desk, dress rising and showing your legs.

Bucky blushes, and then laughs as he exits when he hears you, in a deep and more exaggerated accent than your own, “Just when I thought I was out… they pull me back in!”

…

The morning of the party, Sam and Bucky pick you up from your house, planning to take you into New York to discuss final details before tonight.

You get in the passenger seat, Sam offering it to you and climbing in the backseat. As Bucky begins to drive off, your phone rings.

“I told you to leave that.” Bucky says, telling you explicitly to leave electronics here to prevent anyone finding out where you are, and also to avoid any distractions.

“Wanted to see what you’d about it, Sarge,” You wink at him, pulling out a flip phone and answering the call.

“Yeah… Uh huh… He what? Are you fucking kidding me?... Alright… Tell him not to move a fucking muscle.” You hang up, slamming the phone closed.

“Stop at the facility for a sec, I gotta take care of something.” Bucky sighs and turns away from the route to head to your facility.

“Bucky’s going to be going with you tonight, by the way, he’ll be in disguise. Just in case anything goes wrong.” Sam tells you, not really caring anymore about having to make a stop for you to take care of whatever business you need to take care of.

Your only response is a hum as Bucky can feel the anger radiating off your now tense body.

You slam the car door shut as Bucky parks behind a garbage truck outside, not even waiting for him to fully put the car in park before you exit.

Him and Sam follow quickly behind you to see what’s going on. You enter through a side door that leads to a large room, a garage for the trucks, Bucky assumes.

There’s a large truck inside, and racks of suits wrapped in plastic scattered around. A younger man stands near the truck as your crew peruses around the racks, he couldn’t be older than twenty-five years old. Your heels click on the ground as you approach, slowing down as you glance between the suits and the young man. Bucky and Sam hang around a few feet behind your trail.

You stop, fuming, staring at the man before you speak, “You wanna tell me what the fuck happened?”

“I -” He begins, but you cut him off, raising an open hand at him.

“Actually, I don’t even want to hear your fucking voice right now. Because if what I heard you did is true; if what you did to Vinny’s guy is true, you’re gonna be a fuck load of trouble.”

“Can I -”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“But -”

“I said shut the fuck up, Christopher! What part of that don’t you understand?” You yell, and even Bucky feels intimidated.

You turn to your crew, “What the fuck happened.” You demand, more than ask.

“Kid says he tried to take the truck, Vinny’s guy had a gun that fell outta the seat, went off, shot him.” One of the men summarizes, not looking up from the rack of suits.

You raise a manicured hand to pinch between your eyes, “You keep me skinny, Christopher, with all the fucking stress you cause me.”

“Would you let me explain?” He tries.

“If you don’t do as I told you and shut your fucking mouth, you’re gonna be buried with two assholes,” You threaten before continuing.

“They were fuckin’ suits! All you had to do was take the truck! How did you fuck that up -” You stop yourself and sigh, attempting to calm yourself down.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna take all this shit, you’re gonna take it back to Vinny, and you’re gonna tell him what happened yourself.” You finish.

“Marone!” He exclaims, rubbing his face with his hands.

“Enough with the theatrics! You’re lucky I don’t put a bullet in your ass! Now, I don’t see you grabbing that rack and that rack and that rack and putting it back in the truck!” You wave your arms around the room.

The kid sighs and begins grabbing the racks one by one and rolling them back in the truck.

“Would it be such a shame if they all went back?” An older man from your crew asks, already wearing one of the expensive suits. You scoff and laugh.

“Bucky, pick yourself somethin’ nice for tonight,'' You turn to face him, and he jumps at the sound of your now calmer voice being directed at him, as opposed to the harsh one used on Christopher, “On me.” You wink.

...

Sam and Bucky sit on the bed and watch as you get ready. A small apartment near the party that’s already been swept for bugs. A favor, you called it, from someone you know.

They don’t question it.

“You and Bucky will go in together and I’ll be waiting at a secondary location watching and listening to everything.”

Bucky can’t tear his eyes away from your dress. A mermaid dress, he thinks it is, black and tight and hugging you in all the right places, curving around your ass and sleeveless at the top, allowing you to show off a nice necklace and your cleavage. It’s an understatement to say that he’ll enjoy accompanying you tonight, even if it’s in a costume.

His mother probably would’ve loved it if he would’ve gotten with someone like you. Someone who loves their family, a spitfire that wouldn’t take any of his shit, and whose god damn gorgeous. She might’ve had to wash your mouth out with soap, though.

“So, why is Bucky goin’ again?”

“Safety.” Bucky answers.

“Is he going for my safety or am I going for his?” You tease, finishing the last few curls of your hair, smoke coming from the iron after each time you pull your hair away from it.

“Once you find our guy, get talking with him and see if you can get him to make you an offer,” He begins.

“One I can’t refuse?”

“Then, you’ll try and get him alone, see if he’ll show you the serums, and once you do, we’ll be taking care of the rest.” Sam finishes explaining.

Bucky plucks a box from his pocket and opens it to reveal a pair of diamond earrings. One, a camera, and the other, a microphone. You’re also given a comm to hide in your ear so both him and Sam can hear everything and you can hear them.

“Easy - peasy.” You respond.

The ballroom is lively, loud music and people everywhere, and Bucky attunes all the action overwhelming him to a sweat and not that fact that you’re pressed up against him, his arm wrapped around your waist.

About a hundred different people come up to greet you, asking about your family, offering you drinks and food. Bucky can see right through all of them though; they’re all putting on the act out of fear. Everyone’s attention is on you, and Bucky’s sure if he wasn’t in disguise right now, no one would even notice.

You bring him to the middle of the crowd and he can’t be surprised when you start to dance with him, pulling at his arms to get him to loosen up. He complies, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close as the two of you move together.

“I’ll let you know when I spot him.” He tells you, voice causing goosebumps to rise on your neck; goosebumps that he notices but doesn’t point out.

It only takes a song or two before he spots who he’s looking for and sends you over, making sure your com is on, and choosing to stick by the bar, giving him a good view of you and allowing himself a break of having your body pressed against his.

He’s impressed listening to you talk to this guy, voice smooth and sultry, yet still commanding.

He knows there was a lot of talk when you took position as boss; not a lot of people in the mob took you seriously and didn’t think you or a woman in general would be good in that kind of position in power. So, you use that to your advantage to get shit done, and Bucky applauds you for that.

It’s not long before the guy offers to go somewhere more private to discuss business and Bucky follows far behind, Sam praising you through the coms from where he waits in the car outside, watching through the camera in your earring.

Bucky waits outside of a closed office door upstairs, listening to the conversation through the coms but hearing your exclamation through the door when the guys give you his asking price.

“5 mil each?! What do you take me for, some kinda stunad?”

“Take it or leave it.”

“Take it or leave it, yeah, I can put a bullet between your eyes and take it, alright.”

“Stop messing around and take the offer, it’s not real anyway!” Sam tells you, not wanting to lose their chance on the serums.

You ignore him prioritizing your need for respect over the stupid mission, “How do I know these aren’t Kool-Aid pouches poured in glass bottles?”

“Well, I’m certainly not going to test ‘em out for you.” The guy scoffs.

“Stronzo. You’re outta your fucking mind offering me that.”

“I’ll lower the price for you if you give me a little dance, how ‘bout that?”

“Vaffanculo.” You curse at him.

“Up yours, lady!” He yells back, and Sam sees through the camera, he grabs at you.

“Buck, get in there.” Sam tells him, and it only takes Bucky a second to kick open the door.

He’s a bit taken aback when he not only sees the case of serums out on the table, but you holding the man bent over the small table in the middle of the room next to the serums, gun held to the back of his head.

He very quickly decides that you’re fine and moves to grab the serums, closing the case and holding it securely in his left hand.

“Don’t kill the guy.”

You stay silent and Bucky looks at you again. He can almost see the steam coming out of your ears and he notices a small cut on your cheek bone. He looks down to the man’s cowering figure and notices a large ring on his hand.

You mumble something in Italian to the man, a threat of some kind that Bucky can guess given how the man shuts his eyes and shakes a bit under your hold. Sam finally enters the room, military grade handcuffs in hand.

“Feds are on their way, get her out of here.” He tells Bucky.

You slowly lift the gun off the man’s head and stand up straighter, walking over to brush past Bucky in the direction of the back door.

He makes eye contact with Sam and gives him a nod before following after you, watching as you scrunch up the bottom of your dress to replace the gun in an ankle holster. Once outside, he stops you under a street light near the car and raises his hand to look at your cheek.

“We gotta get going,” You swat at his hand.

“You’re still bleeding.” He says, using his thumb to brush away the line of blood, smearing a red tinge on your skin.

He looks into your eyes and for a second he sees the tough exterior drop. The face of someone who got smacked across the cheek all for mouthing off at some asshole.

Your vulnerability doesn’t last long, though, as you sniff and walk towards the car, opening the passenger door and sitting inside before Bucky can make it over there to open the door for you.

The drive back to the apartment is silent, and Bucky doesn’t know what to do or say to fill the silence. Stepping into the apartment, you immediately go to change and collect your things. Bucky moves to the bathroom to look for a first aid kit of some kind.

He meets you in the room and you’re now in cotton pants and a large t-shirt, sandals on your feet showing the bright red color of your toenails and the lines indented in your skin from how tight your heels were. You’re hanging up the dress and zipping it back in the cover when Bucky drops the first aid kit on the bed.

“Christ, it’s only a small cut.” You mumble.

“Just - Let me, would you?”

He takes out the liquid of disinfectant and soaks a cotton pad, cleaning off your cheek bone with it before covering it with healing ointment and a bandaid.

You don’t thank him when he finishes and he huffs as he closes the kit, “When do you drop the act, huh?”

“I don’t.”

“Really?” Bucky asks in annoyed disbelief.

“No. People tend to try and have me whacked when I drop the act.”

He sighs, “So, what, nobody ever takes care of you? Treats you? You don’t have any days off? Time to be yourself?”

“This lifestyle doesn’t really allow me to have days off, Sergeant Barnes.” You snap, gathering the dress in your hands and turning to face him completely.

“Take me home, I’m tired and my feet hurt.”

You leave him in the room and he waits an extra few seconds before dropping the conversation and following you out.

...

Bucky opens the back door to the environmental facility with his right hand and sees the door to your office open, you and your crew sitting together surrounded by cigar smoke and he can hear a TV on.

“Sir, please step into the vehicle.”

“Like the cop would be callin’ this asshole Sir if the fuckin’ cameras weren’t around!” You wave a hand at the TV, not yet seeing Bucky standing there.

He finds it funny that the gnarliest criminals - the literal Mafia - spend their time watching shitty, scripted cop shows.

It’s been about two weeks since the mission with you where you retrieved the serums. Sam went to prom with your sister five days ago, which was hilarious for him, especially when he got photo prints of different sizes in the mail at his apartment. He didn’t bother thinking about how you found his address.

One of the men sitting next to you glances his way and sees him standing there, smirking at the vision of him; hair combed slightly back and to the side, and a large bouquet of flowers in his right hand and a small paper box in his left.

“You got company, Boss.” He says.

You look over to the doorway and your jaw drops in an open-mouthed smile.

“Look at googootz! Now this is a man that knows how to treat a lady, are you boys paying attention?” You tease, scurrying over to him and pinching one of his cheeks, resting your free hand on his large bicep to guide him into the room, the rest of your crew ushering out to give the two of you privacy.

“What’s in the box?”

“Cannoli.”

You throw your head back with an exaggerated moan, “You know the way to an Italian woman’s heart, Sergeant Barnes. What’s with all the gifts?”

“Thought I’d treat you.” Is all his response is.

You narrow your eyes at him and stand up a little straighter, crossing your arms over your chest.

The last conversation before he dropped you off that night hasn’t escaped his mind. He understands the difficulties of life - how it’s hard to find time for yourself among the busy schedule that is existing. He catches himself sometimes, too, forcing his body to run with no sleep, burning through all of his energy until he’s completely drained and blaming it on life.

But life’s not always like that. Life allows for days off. For treats. For a bit of kindness. And Bucky’s come to show you just that.

“What, a beautiful woman like you never received flowers and pastries before?” He says, taking a half-step forward to be close enough to look you closer in the eyes.

“Are you flirting with me?” You whisper in amusement.

His eyes glance away from yours to look down at your red-painted lips. He gives you a shy smirk, really turning up the charm. For a big, bad, boss, you’re pretty easy to break down.

“Let me take you out tonight.”

“Maybe I’ve got plans.”

“Cancel ‘em.”

“What makes you think you’re worth canceling plans for?”

“Why don’t you trust me and find out?”

“You should know by now, Sergeant Barnes, that I don’t trust.”

He doesn’t respond for a moment, setting the box of cannoli on your desk before reaching his now free hand up to your face, using his finger to brush away a stray hair and push it behind your ear.

He then takes a hold of one of your hands, turning it over to place a kiss on the top of it, before wrapping your fingers around the flowers in his other hand, forcing you to take them.

“No restaurant you’ve been to a hundred times over, no drama, no business. Just a man trying to treat a lady.” You look down at the flowers before meeting his eyes again.

“I get to pick the place.”

“No.”

“The kind of food.”

“No.”

“The -”

“No. Let me take care of everything.” Bucky insists, determined to get you to give up control for the first time in what he can only imagine has been a very long time.

Bucky knows better than anyone how terrifying it is to give up control. It was terrifying when he was forced to give up control, his free will taken away from him in the war for decades upon decades, but it’s terrifying even now when he has to do it as a free man. It makes a person vulnerable. When was the last time you were allowed to be vulnerable for somebody?

“I’m gonna pick you up here at six. Wear something nice and leave the executive attitude at home.” He finishes, leaving you with the flowers and cannoli before returning back outside, ignoring the stares he receives from you crew who wait patiently outside your office.

He feels your eyes follow him at the door, and he can’t wait to sweep you off your feet tonight.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes mob au #bucky barnes x mobboss!reader #mob au #marvel #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes oneshot #even tho bucky wants her to give up control we all know he prob likes being yelled atin italian #and that the real reason he wants to take you out

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restapesta · 3 years ago

Text

They were sitting in their car in the middle of an empty McDonald's parking lot. It was three in the morning, star-lit darkness, the world around them only lit up by the white light of the always-opened drive-through.

It had been a craving that brought them here. Ian waking up for a midnight snack, realizing that Mickey was quite awake too, unable to truly rest until he knew his husband was near, with him. He had been standing in front of the fridge inside their scarcely illuminated kitchen, with Mickey sitting on the kitchen counter, legs criss-crossed watching him. Ian had been contemplating what would be best suited to satiate his hunger, besides the man licking strawberry yogurt clean off the spoon.

A light bulb had lit up above his head.

"Get ready."

"What?"

He threw his hoodie Mickey's way. It was big on Ian most of the time, but it was good enough to keep a person warm. "Trust me, Mick."

Mickey placed the gray sweatshirt over his head, pulling it over his torso until he was engulfed in it. Ian rummaged slowly around for their phones, wallets, and keys, searching for them in the dark. His eyes had accommodated to it, and the moonlight filtering in through the windows helped.

"Where are we going?"

"You look great in my clothes, you know. And, you'll see."

He grasped Mickey by the hand, their fingers locked together in a soft embrace, feeling the warmth of each other's skin. Mickey didn't resist for a moment, trusting Ian with his entire life, following after him like a moth to a flame. The only sound echoing throughout the silent apartment had been the turning of the key inside their lock, and later on the slight thudding of quiet steps outside in the hall before their door.

First they got inside their car, both Mickey and Ian staying silent as the redhead drove through the Westside streets—empty and calm. They were enjoying the peace, the clock on their dashboard showing 02:47, and their bodies were still touching, Ian's palm resting flat against Mickey's pajama-bottom-covered thigh, the ones he felt no need to change out of. Ian was in his too, checkered and amusing, reminding Mickey of a grandpa. It was ten minutes before the logo came into view, large and inviting.

Mickey's stomach rumbled unwittingly as he glanced at his husband, noting the twinkle in his eye. He himself was draped in a thick black sweatshirt, the hood obnoxiously pulled over his head, wisps of hair poking out, flaming red.

"Really?" Mickey asked, a slight flutter in his stomach at the image of it all.

"Open 24/7."

"That's your response?"

"Come on, baby, you're just hangry. Let's get some food in ya'."

Mickey couldn't argue.

Now they were in the car, stuffing their faces with hamburgers and fries, downing them with Coke like madmen—something about late nights made them starved—talking amongst one another with mouths filled with food. With anybody else, it probably would've been disgusting and unattractive.

But not with them. Never with them.

They were playing a game.

Twenty questions that were turning into thirty, all asked with no clear goal in mind, simply the first thing to pop into either one of their heads, out of their mouths only for them to hear.

"Have you ever thought about playing the ?"

"You know I play guitar."

"Do you want a guitar for your birthday?"

"It's my turn to ask the question."

"'kay. Ask."

"How old are those tiny as fuck briefs you have hidden in our dresser and why the fuck do you never wear them?"

"Those are two questions."

"You're blushing."

"'m not."

"Answer it, bitch."

"Just so you know, those briefs are brand new and they fucking fit amazing."

"Why was I then denied the pleasure?"

"Mick—"

"As soon as we get home, you're putting them on."

"Fine."

"You're gonna try them then too."

"Why?"

"Your ass. Have you seen your fucking ass?"

Mickey grinned.

They lapsed into silence as they slurped on the last few sips of their Cokes, plastic squeaking in their hands.

Ian finished his drink with a loud sigh, discarding the cup with the rest of the trash that was sitting between them. Mickey followed suit. They were stuffed now and slightly sleepy, drowsiness appearing in their eyes.

Mickey watched as Ian leaned back in his seat. They had reclined them all the way, so Ian was practically laying in it, long legs sprawled out underneath the console. He placed his hands across his stomach, palms across one another.

"What was the best day of your life?" He asked like the sap he was.

Mickey smiled at the question, teasing, "It's my turn."

"Mickey."

"Okay, fine," He chuckled, not wanting to play that specific game of pull and tug, content with the peacefulness of it all. "Let me think about it."

First kiss. Engagement. Wedding. Anniversary. Too many moments to pick from, each stained with a problem they had faced and overcame, beautiful in their own fucked up ways.

He nibbled on his lower lip as he recalled a memory of compete and utter happiness. No problems, no worries, no sadness. It dawned on him, the sensation like drinking water after days of dehydration.

"Remember that trip to Oklahoma?"

A smile graced Ian's features, his eyes briefly closing as he seemed to recall the day. "Don't think I could forget."

"We spent a whole day at that fair. Rented out a room at some shitty motel. From morning till night we went on every single ride possible. Literally saw every attraction there." He was getting lost in the memory, chest swelling with happiness. "Kissed on top of the Ferris wheel at midnight when it was just about to close, like fucking dorks."

He turned around to glance at Ian. He was looking straight at him, the small upturn of his lips reading clear in his eyes, gazing at Mickey like he was everything to him in this entire world.

Whispering, Mickey said, "That was the best day of my life."

Ian grabbed a hold of his hand slowly, delicately, placing it in his lap, the action making warmth heat Mickey's cheeks. Mickey leaned against his own seat, mirroring his husband, eyes on him all the way.

"The best day of my life was the 21st of June, 2021," Ian said longingly as if he was reading the beginning of some old fairytale-type story.

Mickey couldn't help the laugh that escaped him at Ian's sweet earnestness. "You know the date?"

Ian shot him a look, no bite in it whatsoever. "Allow me to tell the story, please?"

Mickey bit his lip to stop smiling. "Okay, okay, you're allowed."

Ian smacked lightly at Mickey's chest, not moving an inch, still slumped in his seat lazily.

"That night I had a dream," He began. "It wasn't even like a dream. More like a fucking vision—and I know how weird that sounds, trust me. But it was literally like a vision, clear and vivid and everything.

"Anyways, the dream—or vision, whatever—was of you and me, sitting in two lawn chairs, staring out into the world. But the thing is, we were older. Like, ninety-year-old old. We were just staring ahead. Then at each other. The way we looked at each other is how we look at each other now—filled with a bunch of love and fondness. It was just the two of us, together, old and gray."

Ian stopped and took a deep breath, leaning forward in his seat, locking eyes with Mickey who was listening carefully. Mickey straightened himself as well, and they were just sitting in their car, gazing softly at one another as Ian told the story, the remnants of their endeavor resting between them.

"So," He continued. "On the 21st of June, 2021, I woke up and all I could think about was that dream. It was like—like on a fucking loop inside my head, and each time I even glanced at you, I just saw the two of us, old and together.

"And I realized, as fucking weird as it sounds, that it was us. I swear Mick, it was you and me, years from now, just sitting in fucking lawn chairs, staring out into the world. Into each other's eyes." His eyes shone. "And all throughout that day, I knew that one day, we'd get there. That you and I would spend the rest of our lives together until we were wrinkly and gray and doing nothing but being together. Each time I even saw you from the cone of my eye, grumpy and frowning at whatever, I was so happy because I would get to spend the rest of my life with you.

"That, until the day I died, I would have you as my partner. My husband. My best friend. The love of my fucking life; by my side until there is nothing left in the world to do but sit by each other and just watch as time goes by.

"Just you and me, Mick. Until the end."

Mickey watched him inhale deeply.

"Best day of my fucking life, and I get to live it forever."

A tear slipped out of Mickey's eye. He felt it on his cheek, rolling down, hot against the already warm skin, yet all he could see was Ian. Ian with the shimmering orbs and that look in his eye like he was staring at everything he needed in life.

Mickey pulled his hand out of Ian's from where it was resting in his lap, then raised them to palm Ian's cheeks, pulling him in for a deep kiss. Lips moving together in the dark, serendipitous in all ways, the vulnerability for once a blessing instead of a curse.

"You never told me that story," He whispered against Ian's lips.

"It just felt right for me to know. Maybe we were just both waiting for this moment, unknowingly."

Another tear, filled with so much.

"We both live the best day of our life like that, Ian. Every single day."

Ian nodded, smiling against Mickey's lips. "I know, my love. I know."

They were sitting in their car in the middle of an empty McDonald's parking lot. It was four in the morning, star-lit darkness, the world around lit up by only them, the love palpable like a glow, allowing them to see clearly; see all the things that were important to them.

A person needed the match to their gasoline so they could light the fire that would burn and simmer. A person, too, needed the cord to their plug that would alight the darkness of the inside of their chest.

Because one would be lost without the glow in the dark. Or at least not be able to truly see.

#gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian and mickey #shameless #shameless us #fanfic #*ficlet #i went deep at the end #it is currently 2:24 in the morning #perhaps i am having an existential crisis #but i had a dream of this story #and it made something ache inside my chest #❤️

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sankyeom · 4 years ago

Text

letters | j.b

pairings: jacob bae x reader, a few elements of younghoon x reader but only a bit genre: college au, strangers to lovers summary: in which jacob accidentally gives you a love letter meant for someone else word count: 3.9k requested: nope! i saw the picture i used for my header on the boyz’s twitter and it just screamed college au so here we are 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

“Are you sure a love letter is the right way to go?” Kevin asked Jacob, a brow raised in concern. “You don’t want to, I don’t know, get their number and just text them?” he suggested. Jacob shot him a pointed look, causing Kevin to raise both his hands in defence. “Just an idea,” the younger boy mumbled, stepping aside so Jacob could face the door.

It had been approximately two months since Jacob first saw his crush in his history class. After endless pining and staring, Kevin and Hyunjae encouraged him to confess to his crush, or at the very least speak to them. Jacob had been far too shy to do so, and instead decided to pour out his feelings into a lovely letter.

Said letter, written with the neatest handwriting Jacob could muster on sky blue paper, was now clasped in Jacob’s hands as he and Kevin stood outside his crush’s dorm. “Is this too much?” Jacob wondered. Kevin smiled, shaking his head. “Okay,” Jacob whispered, bending over and slipping the note under the door.

On the other side of the door, you were sitting at your desk and studying your vocabulary for your upcoming French midterm. Once the letter was completely out of Jacob’s sight, he stood back up again and let out a sigh of relief.

“Great,” Kevin patted his friend on the shoulder. “Now let’s get something to eat, I’m literally starving,” he exaggerated as the door next to yours opened.

Jacob’s mouth dropped open in shock as his crush exited the room next to yours, chatting with their roommate as the two trudged down the hallway past them. “That-“ Jacob stammered, pointing at his crush’s back. “That’s-“ The colour drained from Jacob’s face as he turned paler by the second.

Kevin seemed to have enough sense to realise what was happening as his hand came to cover his mouth, eyes widening in surprise behind his glasses. “You mean-“ he pointed at the door Jacob had slipped his letter under, then back at his crush walking away from them. “That isn’t-“ Jacob frantically shook his head, indicating that he had indeed put his letter under the wrong person’s door. “Oh gosh.”

After an hour of studying, you finally had enough as you closed your laptop and took ahold of your phone, texting Younghoon to see if he wanted to get some coffee with you. Your best friend had replied with a pleased affirmative, telling you that he would swing by your dorm so you could go to the campus coffee shop together before it closed.

As you did a visual sweep of your room to try and find your wallet, something blue caught your eye: a little blue envelope at the foot of your door. Someone must have slipped it under the crack at the bottom of your door while you were studying, since you hadn’t noticed it when you came back to your dorm. Curious, you got up to collect the little envelope and read what was on it.

To the one who makes my heart soar

You blinked. That was unexpected. Your brows furrowed together as you opened the envelope and read the letter that had carefully been placed inside.

You probably don’t know who I am, so let me introduce myself. My name is Jacob Bae. I’ve seen you in class for the past two months and I think you’re incredibly beautiful. I never considered myself to be somebody shallow who focuses only on looks, but something about you makes me want to gaze at you all day long. I’m sorry if that sounds weird. Your smile gives me butterflies when I see it. Sometimes I get jealous of whoever made it appear because I wish I was the cause for it. I want to get to know you better. I want to know what else makes you smile. You’re very extroverted and confident. I’m more on the shy side most of the time. I like when classes meet late at night because it means that I get to see you when I end my day. My heart beats faster when I’m near you. Sometimes you walk past me to get to your seat and I feel like I might stop breathing. I hope this didn’t make you uncomfortable.

You felt a little embarrassed once you had finished reading. It wasn’t just a note, it was a love letter. Dedicated to you. You had never received a love letter from anybody before, nonetheless somebody you weren’t even familiar with.

“Y/n!” Younghoon called, knocking eagerly on your door. You easily opened it, revealing your smiley best friend. “Ready to go?” he asked, holding out his hand for you to take.

“Almost,” you said. Instead of taking his hand, you held up the blue paper with a raised eyebrow. “How do you reject someone?”

Taking a sip of coffee at the table in the campus coffee shop, Younghoon was thrilled to listen to your recap. “Wait a second,” he interrupted your explanation. “Did you say his name was Jacob Bae?” he inquired. You nodded, showing him the letter as evidence. “I know him! He’s friends with Hyunjae and Juyeon,” Younghoon recalled, taking out his phone to show you a picture of him.

You observed the brunet in the Instagram post on Younghoon’s screen. At first glance you could tell that he was attractive. He had big eyes and a kind smile, and after a few moments of scrutinisation you discerned that you recognised Jacob Bae. The two of you shared a Sociology class together. The longer you studied the image, the longer Younghoon studied your expression. “You think he’s cute,” Younghoon stated.

Clearing your throat, you handed the phone back to him and avoided his eyes. You and Younghoon had been friends for so long that you could easily read each other’s expressions with eye contact alone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you denied. “You said he’s friends with Hyunjae and Juyeon?” Younghoon nodded, pocketing his phone. “I guess I know where to go to give him my response, then.”

Younghoon pouted, eyes rounded and lower lip pushed out. “Go easy on him, okay? He’s really nice. Like, really nice. I’m sure he just thought you were really pretty.”

You sighed. “I guess so. And as rare of an occasion as that is, I still can’t accept the confession of someone who I barely know,” you retorted.

“Hey,” Younghoon dropped the puppy face and frowned. “Don’t say that. You’re gorgeous,” he assured you, and by the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes you knew that he was being honest.

Locating Hyunjae and Juyeon in the dining hall was easy enough. The two of them sat with their friends at the same table for almost every single meal, and that evening was no exception. “They’re over there,” you pointed them out to Younghoon. Hyunjae was laughing so hard he was clutching the table in front of him for support at something a black-haired, glasses-wearing boy said to him.

“Hi guys,” Younghoon greeted when the two of you reached the table.

“Younghoon!” Hyunjae exclaimed happily. His eyes always shimmered when he was happy. “Y/n, take a seat you two,” he offered graciously, shuffling up the bench and making room for you both. “This is Kevin,” he introduced the black-haired boy opposite him. Kevin waved at you with a bright smile before giving his attention back to his lunch.

Younghoon and Hyunjae engaged in conversation about their math class, and your eyes flitted across the dining hall to see if you could catch sight of Jacob anywhere. Soon enough, he was making his way over to the table, eyes focused on his phone rather than the path his feet were leading him on. “Hey Jacob,” Kevin greeted his friend brightly.

Jacob looked up from his phone. “Hey Kevin,” he replied before meeting eyes with you.

It was the first time you had been face-to-face, and Jacob was momentarily startled by the new person that sat at his regular table. He stopped in his place, taking his time to take in your features, and could only come to one conclusion: you were absolutely stunning. Jacob was about to introduce himself when he caught sight of the blue envelope on your tray. His entire body froze, eyes wide and lips pursed slightly. Not only were you beautiful, you were the person he accidentally confessed to in a love letter meant for someone else. Confused, Kevin followed Jacob’s line of vision before finding the envelope.

You gave Jacob your best smile despite the fact that you felt like cringing. “Do you have a minute?” you wondered, gently picking the letter up. Wordlessly, Jacob nodded and followed you out of the dining hall, shooting Kevin a worried look behind you. Kevin only shrugged and mirrored his concerned expression. “So…” you trailed off once the two of you were alone.

“Um, you found my letter,” Jacob observed, clasping his hands together to keep him from fidgeting.

“Well, you did put it in my dorm,” you replied with a small laugh. “Um… I don’t really know you very well. And I’m really sorry but I can’t say that I reciprocate your feelings.”

The way you rejected him was so formal that Jacob almost laughed, but then he realised that he was being rejected and he felt his heart hurt a little. The confession wasn’t even for you, and yet you were still rejecting him. The thought made his stomach feel uneasy. “Oh,” was all Jacob could say, nodding his head. “Do you think I could have that back?” he wondered, pointing at the blue envelope. It would be the only thing that could lessen his embarrassment. You easily passed the letter over to him, not heavily attached to it despite the fact that it was the first love letter you ever received. “Thanks.”

“I guess having lunch together might be weird, so I can go somewhere else if you want,” you offered him. Jacob was touched by your thoughtfulness, and it was enough to make a small smile appear on his lips. Jacob was handsome, but you thought he was spectacular when he smiled.

“That’s okay,” Jacob refused your offer. “It’s just a letter.”

When the two of you returned to the table, Jacob realised why you were so gracious while rejecting his offer. The way your eyes lit up when you caught sight of Younghoon, how you easily slipped your hand into his after he opened your drink for you and procured a metal straw from his jacket pocket for you. How you admired Younghoon when he laughed, eyes shaped like crescent moons.

You liked Younghoon; you wouldn’t be waiting for any confession from Jacob or anybody else any time soon.

Not that Jacob could blame you. Younghoon was handsome in a way that made other guys jealous, and he was also goofy and kind. Plus, the two of you seemed to know each other like the back of your hands. The letter wasn’t even for you, it was meant for somebody else. So why couldn’t Jacob look away from you?

“How did that go?” Kevin asked as he and Jacob got up to put their trays away at the end of their meal.

Jacob shrugged, leading the way back to the dorms. “She said she didn’t feel the same. I asked for the letter back. She gave it to me.”

“That’s good, then,” Kevin concluded with a smile. “Sounds like it could have been a lot worse.”

Jacob hummed, a vague sound that didn’t indicate how he felt. “Do you know that guy she was with?”

“Younghoon?” Kevin asked. “Yeah, he’s close with Hyunjae and Juyeon so he’s around sometimes. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious,” Jacob hums. “He’s really handsome.”

Kevin chuckles. “Right? When he walks around campus with Hyunjae and Juyeon, everyone just stares at them as they pass. Lucky guys.”

“Yeah,” Jacob agreed. Younghoon was lucky. And not just because he was blessed with good looks. The image of you playfully feeding Younghoon a forkful of your lunch came to Jacob’s mind. “Really lucky.”

Kevin was hilarious. And he got along with you really well. This prompted you and Younghoon to start eating with Jacob and his group of friends at every chance you got. During one of the many dinners you had been spending with them, Younghoon hadn’t shown up at first. Jacob thought this might be his chance to speak to you more, but he decided against it out of embarrassment with the love letter situation.

“Where’s Younghoon?” Kevin asked, voicing Jacob’s thoughts.

You smiled. “I see him right over there,” you said, pulling a funny face by sticking your tongue out when your eyes met Younghoon’s across the room. Kevin giggled at your expression, and Jacob couldn’t help but think that you looked gorgeous when you were this carefree. Your hair had been styled away from your face, further exposing your features to Jacob’s affectionate eyes.

Kevin was saw the look on his friend’s face. Jacob had been observing you in a way that Kevin could only imagine him observing his crush. Hiding a smirk, Kevin decided against disturbing Jacob’s gaze and struck up a conversation with Juyeon.

“Hey, you,” Younghoon greeted you as he slid into the seat next to you. “Sorry I’m late. I brought you a gift,” he teased, placing a tiny green tea swiss roll slice from the convenience store.

Your eyes lit up and you took the packaged pastry. “You’re an angel, Kim Younghoon,” you told him. Younghoon giggled, rolling his eyes at your excitement before greeting the others. He seemed to take notice of Jacob persistently peering at you the same way Kevin had.

“Jacob, right?” Younghoon snapped Jacob out of his stare. The two met eyes and Younghoon offered him a friendly smile. “We’re the same age!” Younghoon told him. “We should be friends,” he added.

Jacob nodded, reminding himself to smile. Younghoon was friendly and considerate; it wasn’t his fault that he was blind to the fact that Y/n liked him as more than a friend. “Definitely,” Jacob accorded with a nod. Then, his eyes went back to you. “You like the green tea flavour?” he asked you.

You had already abandoned your dinner in favour of unpacking the swiss role slice, pausing to acknowledge Jacob. “It’s my favourite,” you said with a smile so pure it made Jacob blush.

“I like the green tea flavour too. But chocolate is my favourite,” Jacob replied.

“Younghoonie likes strawberry,” you informed. “With all three of us, we’re a perfect set,” you added happily, referring to how swiss roles came in single slices or in a set of three flavours. Then, recalling how Jacob said he liked it, you broke off some of your swiss role and handed it over to him. Blush intensifying, Jacob accepted the treat with a whisper of a thanks.

You and Jacob never spoke of the letter. It was something you had silently agreed upon, and it just made things easier for you both. Jacob had started sitting with you during your Sociology lecture. Jacob found that you were a little more shy in class, preferring to only participate when it came to clarifying questions that you needed help with rather than answering. The way your brows pulled together and lips pursed when you concentrated was adorable, and Jacob found himself paying more attention to you than your professor.

“Thank god it’s Friday and this mess is over,” you sighed happily. “You ready to go?” Jacob nodded, reaching for his bag before the two of you made your way to the dining hall. You had been giggling at Jacob’s impression of your boring professor when you noticed Younghoon waiting for you outside the dining hall. “Hey Younghoonie,” you greeted him.

Jacob frowned. Younghoon had been dressed in a pair of dark pants with a button up shirt and a nice tan-coloured coat. He looked like a runway model standing by the footsteps leading to the dining hall, and Jacob felt jealous. Not just about the way Younghoon looked, but the way he commanded attention with his height and posture as well. And he certainly had your attention.

Younghoon smiled. “Do you feel like eating out?” he offered with a slight tilt of his head. “My treat. I’m really in the mood for convenience store cup noodles,” he added.

It was impossible for you to not smile back at him. “Sounds good,” you agreed. “As long as it’s your treat.”

Suddenly, Jacob felt like he was intruding. “I’ll see you guys later,” he excused himself with a wave, walking up the steps towards the dining hall to leave you and Younghoon alone.

At the convenience store, you were picking out what noodles you wanted to eat when the colourful treats in the refrigerated section caught your eye. Scanning the shelves, you found what you were looking for and took a pack, happily making your way to the cashier where Younghoon was waiting for you.

His eyes surveyed the colourful packet and he rose an eyebrow. “I thought you only like the green tea flavour?” he asked, motioning to the trio packet of swiss rolls in your hand.

You nodded. “You like strawberry and Jacob likes chocolate,” you told him with a smile. Younghoon paused in place, surprised by your words. He knew that you and Jacob were becoming acquaintances due to your shared Sociology class, but he hadn’t expected you to go out of your way to buy him something. Shrugging, Younghoon passed your food to the cashier and paid for your food.

“Hey,” Kevin greeted you once you and Younghoon sat down at the table in the dining hall with your food. You had both decided it was too cold to sit outside the convenience store and eat, so you made your way back to the University instead. “Nice haul,” he added.

You smiled, greeting him back before taking out the swiss rolls in your pocket. “Here,” you said, taking out the small chocolate roll and offering the packaged treat to Jacob. Jacob simply stared at it. “You said you like chocolate,” you added when Jacob didn’t take it. Kevin raised his arm to cough, using it as an excuse to elbow Jacob on the way back down.

“Oh,” Jacob said, reaching out for the roll. “Thank you,” you didn’t miss the way his fingers brushed against your palm, and the way it tickled slightly. You didn’t mind, though. The slight brush of your hands made you bite your lower lip to suppress a smile, Jacob doing the same with flushed cheeks.

“You like Jacob. Don’t you?” Younghoon asked. During one of your study sessions, Younghoon had gone crazy trying to figure out your feelings. Usually, you were an open book to him. On this matter, you seemed to be closed off.

Startled at the abrupt question, you glanced up from your review packet. Younghoon’s eyes were always soft and comforting. This time, it had been too much for you. You sighed. “Why do you ask?” you inquired.

“Y/n,” Younghoon replied in a kind tone. “He already confessed to you. Why don’t you just tell him?” he wondered.

You bit your lip. “I didn’t like him when he confessed,” you retorted. “I liked someone else.”

And there it was.

Younghoon sighed, closing his eyes. His eyes were warm and comforting and felt like home. When he closed them, you feared for the worst. “Y/n,” he said slowly. “We can’t. You know we can’t.”

You knew what he was referring to.

The elephant in the room.

The mutual, romantic feelings you and Younghoon had for each other. Neither of you were blind to it. And yet, you had never addressed it. Partly because you were afraid of ruining your friendship, but mostly because you knew it would never work out. It simply wasn’t meant to. “I know,” you admitted. “But you’re right. I do like Jacob.”

Younghoon’s eyes opened. They were still warm and still felt like home, but filled with pain. When he smiled, it was genuine. “You should tell him,” he said quietly. “I can’t do this with you and you can’t do this with me. But you like Jacob and Jacob can barely speak when you’re around,” you smiled at his comment, having experienced rendering Jacob speechless a few times. Younghoon laughed. “And you have that look on your face whenever you think about him. So you should tell him.”

Your best friend’s encouragement was genuine.

So you took out a piece of binder paper and started writing.

Dear Jacob. By now, you know who I am because I’ve gotten to know you now. And I know who you are too. I also figured out that letter you sent wasn’t for me. That’s one of the reasons it was so easy to tell you I didn’t feel the same. Your letter described someone confident who you saw during night classes. You and I always sit together in our morning classes, and I don’t like to speak up in class. But you know that by now. And I don’t think it matters that your letter wasn’t for me. You still make me smile when I see you, and I love the way I make you blush. I love that you eat the leftover swiss roll because Younghoon and I don’t like the chocolate flavour. I like that you can say more with a single look than you can with an entire conversation. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I like you. And I hope I didn’t read this wrong because that would be really embarrassing. I hope you like me too.

Jacob couldn’t stop the smile from growing on his face as he read the letter that you had slipped into his bag during your Sociology lecture. Kevin was growing impatient. “What does it say?” he pleaded, desperately wanting to know what was making Jacob smile larger than Kevin had ever seen.

“It’s a love letter,” Jacob said, warmth spreading through his chest. “And I need to go,” he handed the letter over to Kevin – since his younger friend seemed to be dying of curiosity – and made his way to the dorms he knew you were staying in.

When he arrived at your dorm and knocked on the door, you looked happy to see him. You smiled. “Are you sure you have the right room?” you asked him. It was a little joke, but Jacob knew what you were really asking. Are you sure you like me back?

“I’m sure,” Jacob promised, stepping through the threshold of the door and tenderly placing one hand on your cheek and the other behind your neck. Grinning, you allowed him to pull you towards him, lips meeting in a gentle kiss. You brushed your lips against his, slowly at first, and then with a passion and zeal you didn’t know you possessed.

You pulled away for a moment, lips throbbing slightly. “Don’t think I’m not expecting a letter actually addressed to me because-“ Jacob laughed, connecting your lips to cut you off.

“I will write you as many letters and poems and songs as you want,” Jacob mumbled, lips grazing yours as he spoke. His eyes looked so much more bewitching up close, and you easily wound your arms around his waist in a hug.

“I’m holding you to that,” you insisted, leaning in for another kiss.

#the boyz #tbz #the boyz imagines #jacob #jacob bae #the boyz scenarios #the boyz drabbles #the boyz fanfic #the boyz imagine #the boyz x reader #jacob imagine #jacob bae imagines #jacob x reader #fic: letters #deobiwritersnet

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twinklelilstarkey · 4 years ago

Text

Stopping You - Michael Gray [Part 9]

Words: 8.2k+

Summary: When finally able to leave the hospital, memories awake buried feelings in both Y/N and Michael.

Warnings: Female!Reader. Mentions of wounds and physical pain. Emotional Cheating. A very slight mention of smut. A character being touch-starved. Being horny [ :) ]. Self hate (discrediting their own sadness and feelings; hateful inner voice).

Prologue Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

It has been 2 days ever since you woke up.

The doctors don’t seem to be planning on letting you go home this soon since the wound is supposedly still “too fresh” and because “you’re too at risk of ripping stiches”. Which to you, what they are actually trying to say is “you can’t stand still so we will force you to sit the fuck down until you’re good enough to go back home”.

It does sounds more accurate, doesn’t it?

You’re already able to sit up on your own even though it still hurts like a bitch. And you’ve been playing more and more chess with Michael now that Finn and Polly are back to work.

It, honestly, hasn’t been that bad.

It’s still a little tense between you two when stuck in silence but can anybody blame you after all that happened?

But tense or not, you still like his company, nonetheless.

You know, also, that Gina has been making some visits at the hospital. Not to see you of course, but to see him. They always talk to each other behind the doors of your room, in the hallway, whispering and shutting up whenever a nurse or doctor would walk by.

You would’ve been lying if you said that you weren’t curious. But still, it is not your place to make questions about personal matters. So, behind the glass of the doors you stay.

The door of your room swings open again, letting a wave of cold wind hit you and you look up to see Michael, who is staring at the ground.

“Please, Michael. You have to listen to me, this makes no sense-” Gina says loudly, making Michael turn quickly and glare at her.

You look at the two of them confused and Michael whispers something at his fiancée before turning to walk back out of the room, but he doesn’t, he just stands by the door. Gina looks through the glass in the doors at you and you lift an eyebrow as if to question her glance.

She looks away and you grin while looking back to the papers in your lap.

“Go home, Gina” Michael whisper yells at her and you try your best to act as if the conversation is not making curiosity crawl under your skin.

The blonde, standing behind the door, sighs and takes a step back. And after that, all you can hear is her thick heels sound over the stone of the hospital’s hallways.

Michael sighs as her steps echo through the empty side of the hospital and he turns back to you, seeing you smirking while reading whatever is there to read in all the family’s money withdraws.

“Trouble in paradise?” You poke, not even lifting your eyes at him.

He doesn’t answer at first, he just walks towards the chair he had been previously seated and sits down ungracefully.

You chuckle under your breath at his silence and flip over the page, reading the handwritten numbers of everything that has been gained and wasted over the name of the Shelby family.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He pokes back.

You finally look up from the papers and he has a teasing look over his eyes, now.

He’s already comfortable enough to make jokes and tease you back, and, honestly, he almost doesn’t seem like the same Michael from the day after the event.

You don’t hate it. At all.

“Anything is more entertaining than this” You admit, looking back down to your papers.

“I don’t doubt it” He agrees.

You two stay silent again. Minds focusing on two completely different things.

Michael’s travels to Ginna’s words while yours goes back to the numbers.

Gina had just tried to make him follow the plan again. Hurt the prey while it’s weak, she said. But again, he doesn’t agree at all with her words.

Her tone is not understanding anymore, or even slightly sweet. Her tone is what seems to be a way to try and achieve an authorial one. Her words carry venom as she spills the, so, simple task of overthrowing Tommy Shelby.

Michael’s not even sure if she always talked like that and he never noticed, or is it just sounding different now because he can’t stop comparing his fiancée with you.

He honestly deeply hopes that he could just erase that plan from Gina’s mind, she almost seems obsessed over it. Judging by how tired she looks every time she visits, she must have not been sleeping lately.

How and why did this plan even seem good at all? As Michael always been so power-hungry? As he always been so thirsty for success, or felt pleasure over imagining himself sitting on the family’s throne?

No human doesn’t love success, that is the truth. Especially if it all is signed at the bottom with your family’s last name. But what Michael was planning with Gina is nothing of the sort. This was not about making your own money and achieve your own success. This was taking somebody else’s and claiming it as yours.

And that is nothing but dirty and foul. How could he have thought that this was good in the first place?

Fuck the American companies who shamed his family’s business over the not being the ideal business partners. His family is serious and hard working. They came from absolutely nothing. Unlike all those men, who swim in their, nothing but dirty, money.

He must talk to Tommy, to let him know about what they said. The news are going to be old, and he should’ve just told him everything when he had just talked to them. But he didn’t. And he regrets it now. Deeply.

Better late than never, right?

“When’s the wedding?” You ask, breaking the silence in the room.

Michael blinks his thoughts away and looks back up at you to already find you staring. You look curious.

“We- Uhm… we haven’t decided yet” He answers, short and simple.

You nod while pursing your lips forward in thought.

“And have you decided on where is going to be?” You ask, “At least in what country?”

“Gina wants to marry and live in America” He replies, fidgeting in his seat as his hand reaches his pocket.

Michael moves slowly to grab his cigarettes and his lighter from his pocket as you stare.

You don’t exactly know how to react. You’re quite disappointed with his answer, but you’re sure you’ll be able to accept it with time. At least to slow the bitter truth that is Michael finding love and moving abroad. Again.

But why should you care?

It’s true that you haven’t found love in another someone, but you also haven’t tried. In the time Michael was away, you occupied your mind and your heart with work. With papers just like the one’s that rest over your lap now. But you could start all over again with another person. Right?

But do you even know when you stopped loving him? When you gave up in love?

The answer is no. You don’t remember, nor do you feel it missing in your chest. You care for many people, yet you love less. You can count in your fingers how many people you would actually shed a tear if their life came to an unfortunate ending.

It would consist in people like Polly and Finn. People who took care of you at your lowest but also didn’t let you go when you stood in your own feet.

Michael moves forward to tap down the ashes of his cigarette on the ashtray beside you and you force yourself to look back at your papers.

Is Michael one of them?

(…)

“What’s with that face?” Michael asks as walks out of the bathroom.

You look up from your plate of food, the disgusted scowl still in your face.

“This is horrible” You tell him, cringing as you hold your fork in your hand.

Michael chuckles and you look back down, your fork pokes the small pile of overcooked rice and you swear to God that it just jiggled.

How is that even physically possible?

As you’re too ingulfed in your horrible meal, Michael walks to stand next to you and eyes your food from up close. You look over at him and the same exact features of disgust fill his face.

He looks at you as amusement overcomes your emotions and you giggle before looking at the food again.

“That looks…” He starts and you look up at him as he stands straighter, “Delicious” He says, trying his best to motivate you to eat.

You look at him with both a smile and a frown, and he looks at you, biting his lip to contain his other possible descriptions of your so wonderful meal.

“It could honestly be worse” He says, and you gasp.

“Worse?” You ask, smiling in amusement but also confused with his words.

“Yes…?” He answers, “I ate worse when I was here”

“You did not” You disagree.

“I did!” He defends himself.

“You did not!” You repeat, shifting in your seat.

“Y/N, it was way worse. You threw it at the wall once and it stuck!” He emphasizes the last word.

You bite in your laughter at the memory and shake your head.

“Still think it’s worse”

“Then…” He breathes in, serious look on his face, “You’re blind” A small smile cracks at the end.

You laugh a bit and look back at the metal tray. You poke the rice again and it jiggles one more time, making the man beside you chuckle through his noise, under his breath.

“It’s horrible, Michael” You say, slightly upset over this being one of the only meals you have today.

“It is” He finally agrees.

You sigh and put down your fork, falling back against your bed and your pillows.

“You should still eat-”

“I prefer to starve” You answer with a deep breath.

Michael grabs your tray from the small table in front of you and walks over to put it on the counter next to the door. He grabs the apple and throws back to you, landing beside your legs.

“You could’ve hit me” You say.

You grab it and let it rest over your lap as he walks back to the bed.

“Excuse my horrible aim, your highness” He teases, and you roll your eyes, “You’ve done worse to me before”

“Did not” You defend yourself.

“Yes, you did”

He sits down on the side of your bed, next to your legs.

“Like what?”

“You hit me with a jar once, with a rock back in the field, almost stuck a fork on my hand-”

“Those were not on purpose!” You say with a smile.

He smiles back.

“Don’t care. If I was as a careless as you, I could’ve been decapitated by now” He continues, and you giggle at him.

“Decapitated?” You repeat.

“Yes!” He says loudly, “Don’t you remember when you had that machet-?”

“Excuse you?” You ask, sitting up, “That was nowhere near your face!”

“Because I pulled away!” He says as loudly.

You let out a fit of giggles at the memory and the sight of his widen, terrified, eyes back on that day, and Michael stares at you with a smile.

“Good to know my suffering is that amusing”

You giggle away your worries but all of a sudden, you stop laughing abruptly. Your hand rests under your chest as pain starts to spread over your torso. The painkillers probably exceeded their ability to work, over not being able to cover all the pain since you kept on moving.

“You okay?” He asks, worried, smile completely disappearing.

“Yeah, yeah” You say, a small smile of reassurance on your lips, “I think so”

“Want me to check?”

You think for a second and your mind starts overthinking, what if you just popped a stitch?

“No… I think I’m okay”

He looks at you for a little longer and you lean forward a bit.

“I’m good, Michael, don’t worry”

He stays silent while eyeing, worry filling his thoughts, just like yours, and you sigh.

You bring your hand under your hospital gown and touch the thin bandage carefully. Michael watches as you do it, and you almost sigh in relief as you don’t see any blood on your fingertips.

“See? I’m okay”

He nods and you sit up straighter.

“No more laughing for you, then” He says, patting your leg, and another smile starts appearing in your face.

God, you missed this.

(…)

Michael reenters your room as silent as he can and closes the door slowly. The room is now back to its natural darkness of the night, as it is just 5 past 11pm.

You’re still laying on your side in bed, in a deep sleep, just like when he left you to get something warm to drink.

He walks towards you at slow pace, cold fingers wrapped around his paper cup, holding a fresh and hot coffee. He sets it down by your nightstand, letting the steam lift off the liquid into the cold air of the room.

Michael stares down at the vacant part of the bed by your side and lets himself sit next to you.

His mother had just left. You slept the whole way through her visit, but she didn’t seem to mind. She had a lot to talk with him, mostly business.

“She looks so peaceful while she sleeps.”

That’s what his mother had told him as they stared down at you, sleeping under all your blankets before she had to leave. He didn’t answer her. But he agreed.

“You care for her, Michael?”

“Of course, I do.”

The smile she gave him at the sound of those words was unexpected. It was sweet and loving, just like the look she used to give him back when she saw you two together. Back when you were truly together.

It reminds him of all the memories of all the times you would try to annoy him in family dinners.

He doesn’t know why those memories specifically, but he remembers a lot.

The way he would stare at his mom just to try and ignore you further, all because he was “mad” at you. As if he could ever be mad at you. You wouldn’t even hurt a fly at the time. You wouldn’t even screamed back in arguments.

His mother would only smile at him from the other side of the table while seeing you sigh dramatically and lean back on your chair over the lack of response from your pokes and pinches.

Your distressed feelings wouldn’t last long since you would go back to whispering his name right as the family would restart a loud conversation.

You would give up by dessert. You would just grab his hand and lay it over your lap to play with it, obviously bored with all the business talk.

So many things have changed now.

Without even acknowledging it, Michael brings his hand to your cheek. You flinch a little over how cold his fingers are but after that, you give no other reaction. He moves your hair out of your face and smoothly caresses it.

Michael almost feels like his fingers are vibrating. It’s been so long ever since he had touched you like this. Your skin is almost like silk under his calloused fingers.

His finger traces your eyebrow, brushing it carefully as he stares at you, scared to awake you with any sudden movements.

You look so peaceful while asleep, like everything potentially bad in this world had vanished and you were left to just live all there’s good.

He pulls his hand away after some seconds and looks down at you. He grabs onto the top of your blankets and brings them all the way up to your neck, covering any of your exposed skin from the cold wind that is forcing its way in by the small cracks of the windows.

His hand goes back to your face almost at the same second, almost like he misses touching it. It has been so long since the last time he had done it, it almost feels unreal.

In your deep and peaceful sleep, you move your head over the pillow as his movements slow, making his fingers graze over your skin again. Michael doesn’t move, he just lets you do whatever so you can lay comfortably without any interruptions.

The sound of the harsh wind surrounds the room in that same second, hitting and whistling its way against the old windows.

You dip your head a bit under your covers and Michael chuckles through his nose, under his breath. It was almost like watching a cute little chipmunk hiding back inside its tree over the cold.

Without even realizing, in the moments of silence his brain used to create an alternative reality, all he can think of is how much he wants to hold you right now.

His thoughts are completely oblivious to his reality. The one where you two share as much physical touch as two roosters, both fighting for dominance in a chicken filled world. But he can’t help it. He misses you and your touch. He misses your sweet and long hugs, and how warm you always were.

Not even 2 hours ago you two had been playing chess and everything was so… different. He can’t quite understand why, but something in your interactions was pulling the strings of his heart.

It was like 3 days ago when you were discussing your disgusting lunch, where you laughed so hard you two freaked out over ripping a stitch.

Those moments felt unreal to him. Made him feel warm on the inside.

A few hours ago, maybe it was the way you would laugh at his struggles to win the game after his complete horrible plays, or the way you would smile as he looked down at the board thinking.

But it was something.

You’re staring down at the board, chin resting on your fist as you look down at the chess pieces. Your mind going miles a second with all the plays you can imagine, repeating over and over again to see if they made any sense.

You’re surely slow at this game, slower than you were before, but Michael isn’t complaining.

He leans back on his chair, his victory smile already spreading over his lips while you struggled.

“Stop that” You whisper at him, not looking up.

“Stop what?” He asks, humor thick on his tone.

“Stop thinking you’ve already won” You explain.

You look up with a smile on your face as the competitive bones in your body vibrate for you to be able to win this and show him that you’re more than capable to win him 2 times a night.

Michael is already staring. Your gaze meets his almost immediately, it’s both warm and welcoming as the soft and playful nature of your conversation floats in between you.

You bite your tongue and force yourself to look away and back to the board. Your mind is back to blank, you can’t remember the play you had been repeating in your mind.

“The clock is ticking” Michael teases, making your smile widen.

“Stop” You say waving your hand in the air, so he shuts up.

“Better get ready to lose” He sings his words, and you sigh dramatically.

You cover your ears with both of your hands and force yourself into going back to the “chess mentality”. Michael continues to smile down while looking at you and you bite your lips to try and stop yours.

“Ten seconds left”

You glare at him playfully.

“You’re lying”

“Am not, look at the clock”

You ignore him and go back to the board.

“6… 5… 4…” Michael counts down dramatically.

In the middle of the stress and pressure forced upon you, you move one of your pieces without a second thought. As you place it down, Michael shuts up.

You look up at him and he is just staring you amusingly.

“Are you sure about that one?” He asks and you frown.

You look back at your piece and your eyes widen. Why would you do that? You just handed him the whole game in a gold platter.

“No!” You exclaim, hands flying to your face in embarrassment.

Michael’s laughter feels the room and you hear him move his own piece. Your heart swells at the sound of his cackles and you uncover your face to check the board again.

“I’m not playing anymore” You say, voice muffled by your hands.

“Are you officially giving up?” He teases.

You look at the board again and a fake sad look overcomes your face.

“Yes” You sigh.

Michael laughs again and you can almost feel your lips pulling up again. He starts rearranging the pieces and you stare at him as he does it.

“No need to be that sad over this, you’ll eventually get better” He teases.

“Fuck off” You curse.

He smiles widely at your words and you smile back. You continue to stare at him as he carefully places everything back, both of you silent.

As he finishes, he looks up at you.

“Ready to lose?” You ask him and he leans back in his chair.

“As if that will ever happen”

You smile at him while shaking your head and move your first piece, his eyes still on you as you do it.

The fall from those thoughts back to reality is as harsh as one can be.

He shouldn’t even be touching you right now, you probably don’t even want him to. All you’ve done lately is talk and make jokes, doing this will ruin everything.

Michael, right in that same second, retracts his hand away from your face and stands from the bed’s side. He breathes in sharply as he looks down at you and snatches his coffee back from the nightstand.

He shouldn’t be doing this.

He walks away and takes his seat back against the window.

He can’t do this.

(…)

Finally. The day of your freedom. Well, at least some of it. The day you’re finally leaving the hospital.

Polly is not working for the day, but Finn was forced to stay put and do as told. So, it’s just you and her.

You don’t know where Michael is, honestly. He stayed these past few days and nights with you at the hospital, always present in the room whenever you would fall asleep or wake up.

Whenever you would awake, he would be sitting close to the window, smoking and deep in thought. But not today. Your room was empty, with no sight of life except for your own. It was insanely cold there too. Everything felt different, and also extremely uncomfortable.

Polly appeared 2 hours after you woke up and sat up in bed, and many talks with the nurses later, they give you the good news of finally being able to go home.

You know that Polly is in the hallway talking to someone and it has been doing so for some good minutes since she left.

And since she ditched you for whoever that person is, you are now left alone in the bedroom to try and find a way to get dressed. She had brought you clothes from your house, and those same ones were a suit, and, of course, underwear. Some large suit pants, heels, and a silk dress shirt.

She picked those clothes without probably even realizing that you can’t really move at all. And because of that, you can’t stop cursing her enough.

You love that woman, but she does some things that make you question that same love.

You stand over the cold tiled floor with your wobbly legs and shivers run through your body. Why is everything so cold today?

You strip your hospital gown and put on your underwear, hands, or should you say, body shaking in both cold and, of course, pain.

You’ve now learned how you use your torso for almost every movement in your daily life, and you can’t hate this experience more than now.

You take a seat back on the bed and throw your dress shirt over your shoulders, carefully moving your arms, that feel sore, into the sleeves. The white fabric is freezing against your skin, which just makes you want to get dressed faster.

You button some of the buttons at the end of it quickly and grab your pants, pleading that they will bring you some warmth.

Now, how the fuck are you going to get them on?

Putting on your underwear already hurt as it did, and you did it quickly. But what about something like pants? You know, what you need to adjust a thousand times, so they sit well, and that are baggy enough for them to just slide down your legs when not buttoned at your waist.

Where is Polly when you need her?

Right in that same second, the door of the room opens, and you sigh in relief. Polly must have finally remembered the fact that you struggle to even sit for too long.

“Shit, sorry” Michael’s voice sounds behind you and you throw your head back in disappointment.

“It’s fine” You say, annoyance in your tone, but not over him. “It’s not anything you haven’t seen before”

You lean your head back forward and don’t even care to look over your shoulder at Michael, it’s not like you were naked, so it’s not like he’s seeing anything too bad.

You hold your pants in your hands, thinking deeply of every possible way of how you can get them in both of your legs without leaning too forward, like you did with your underwear (and now regret), and quick enough so they don’t just slide off and fall back to your feet.

“Do you need help?” His voice again.

You sit silent for some time, thinking. You could ask him to call over his mom, but what if she’s talking to someone important?

“Yes, please” You admit, giving up.

You hear Michael’s steps behind you, getting closer to the bed, and as soon as he appears next to you, at the end of the bed, you notice that he’s wearing a full suit, unlike any other day. Coat, blazer and vest. His, now, usual way to wear suits.

“I can’t put these on without them falling or hurting myself” You explain with a hint of embarrassment.

He doesn’t say anything, he just lets his eyes fall to your hands and to your pants. Without making you wait any longer, he stands in front of you and takes the piece of clothing from your hands, exposing the skin of your thighs to him and to the cold room.

He crouches and carefully slides each leg of yours into the pants, you don’t even have to do anything, he’s just doing it all.

“Can you stand?” He asks, his voice deep and low, almost in a whisper.

You nod, not looking away from his hands as they rest over your knees, and he takes a small step back for you to have enough space.

As your feet touch the ground again, Michael pushes the rest of the pants up to your torso, where the mostly unbuttoned shirt is. His fingers drag over your skin as they move to pull your pants up, and you almost gasp.

His blue eyes travel from his hands for the first time to your exposed skin. To your stomach, mostly visible over the unbuttoned shirt, to the bandage and to your chest, partly covered by your bra. His eyes almost feel heavy and his breathing quickens at just the sight. You notice it before he even can.

You look up at his face and right on that second, Michael lets go of your clothing. You don’t say anything at first, still feeling his eyes on you, and you swallow harshly as you feel the familiar tingles travel down your torso to the end of your belly.

God, you don’t remember the last time you, actually, felt turned on. It has been so long. But this surely is not when you expected this feeling to come back.

His gaze is so familiar that you almost have to slap yourself to not let your mind travel to so unholy memories. But, deep down, you would be lying if you said that you wouldn’t want him close to you again.

You clear your throat and finally look away.

“Thank you” You whisper.

Michael snaps back to reality and looks up at you. He gives you a small nod and takes another step back, this time, a bigger one.

You lean against the bed, so the baggy waist of the pants can rest over it and not fall, and you bring your shaking fingers to the buttons of your shirt.

You aren’t shaking over the cold or pain anymore. You’ve never felt so hot in your life. You’re shaking over how many emotions you’re feeling all at once.

You struggle a bit at the beginning, but you finally get the hang of it after some embarrassing seconds. Michael watches as your skin disappears under the thin fabric, as well as the small white bandage that covers your wound.

You don’t care that he watches, honestly. You don’t trust your voice all that much right now, so you can’t hide your emotions by teasing him about it, but he surely knows that he shouldn’t be looking.

He has a god damn fiancée.

You finish adjusting your clothes and quickly grab the blazer from the top of your bed, sliding it over your shoulders quickly.

You walk over past Michael to the small mirror in the corner of the room and you do what you can with your hair, since you seem like a mad woman with this much frizz on it.

The door of the room opens again, and you look through the mirror to find Polly.

“You were able to get dressed on your own?” She asks surprised, sparing her son a quick look of confusion.

“I’m a big girl” You answer before Michael can even open his mouth.

You turn back around and walk towards the bed, letting Polly laugh slightly at your comment. You pay attention to your feet as you put on your heels and Polly decides to talk to her son.

“Are you going to talk to Tommy today?” She asks while walking closer to him.

“Yes”

“When?”

There’s a slight pause.

“In an hour” He answers.

You look over your shoulder confused, and they notice it, looking at you with two different looks.

Polly looks like she’s seconds away of explaining to you what this conversation is about, but Michael, god, he looks like he’s about to plead you on his knees to not even ask.

“Can we go home now?” You ask, fulfilling Michael’s silent wishes.

“Of course,” Polly answers.

She’s the first one to start walking out of the room, yet Michael only moves when you start walking after her.

You look over your shoulder a few times to make sure you’re not forgetting anything behind, and Michael does the same, helping you out with an extra pair of eyes.

You follow Polly through the hallways you do not remember walking down before, and you can’t help but feel a little lost and overwhelmed with how long they are. They all look the same, same paintings, same number of windows, same color of the walls. It’s like a maze.

Some nurses stop to look at the three of you and you look down at the stone under your feet, not wanting to show any sort of discomfort or pain over moving, to anyone but the people close you.

Polly opens the crowded hallways of the hospital with her presence as you reach the actual part of the hospital that everyone is using.

Michael stands now beside you, both hands on his pockets while carrying himself with as much confidence as his mother. You almost feel uncomfortable over how different the energy is between them and you.

As you three move around a turn in the hallways, all types of people move as quick as they can out of your way, but a man is not quick enough.

His shoulder hits yours and you look up at him as a reflex. His eyes are filled with worry as they meet yours, his lips read inaudible apologies as you walk away.

Michael’s hand rests over your shoulder that just got hit, and he pulls you in closer to him, away from the crowd. You look away from the man as he shifts his eyes over to Michael, and you move your gaze back to the ground.

Michael glares at the unknown man and holds you in closer protectively, making the man almost cry in apology.

He looks away and looks down at you, finding you staring at the ground. You feel a slight squeeze over your shoulder, but you don’t look up at Michael, you just look up to look at Polly’s figure in front of you.

You all reach the front door of the hospital and a man, who doesn’t even work at the hospital, opens the door for you three. Michael lets you walk in front of him, letting go of your shoulder, and you wait for him by the door before following Polly to the car.

Most of the things you’re doing right now are not even controlled by you, your body is doing them before you even realize. Leaning against Michael, walking close to Michael, letting him touch you, waiting for him so he can stay beside you.

You don’t know what’s going on, but you’re in too much discomfort to even question it.

You reach Polly’s car and Michael opens the door for you. Polly walks around the car to go to the driver’s seat. You struggle a bit to climb up the seat, but you feel Michael’s eyes on you as you do everything.

You finally sit and the door closes beside you. Michael takes his seat at the passenger seat, beside his mother, who starts the car right in the same second.

You lean your head back and sigh under the loud noise of the car, your eyes closed at the soreness of your whole body and the slight pain of your torso.

The drive to Polly’s house is quiet. Nobody dares to open their mouth to ruin the silence as you suffer from the lack of painkillers in your system on the backseat.

You ended up halfway through the drive finding yourself not looking at the road or outside of your window but looking at Michael. He is at a fair distance for you to see his side profile just right, while you’re hidden from Polly’s eyes in the review mirror.

Your mind is blank as you do it, no memories come to hunt you, nor does any other negative feeling. You are at peace for these minutes. Something you haven’t felt for some time.

As Polly’s car comes to a stop in front of her house, you look away from Michael, careful so he wouldn’t notice.

You wonder what has gotten you so focused on him lately.

It’s weird and rather unfamiliar to look at him and not feel some kind of hatred. Maybe it is the fact that he saved your life, a few days ago. But it’s hard to say. There’s surely something else.

It could honestly be anything at this point too. It could be your way to say that you’re thankful for what he did, or even your way to show yourself that you don’t hate him anymore. But do you?

The door beside you opens and you jump in your seat for being so rudely awaken from your thoughts.

“You alright?” Michael asks from beside you.

You just nod.

He steps away from the door and you see Polly already walking inside the house, not even waiting for you two.

You slide slowly off your seat and stand aside from the door so Michael can close it. He does that and you both walk silently inside his mom’s house.

“Are you staying for lunch, Michael?” Polly screams all the way from the kitchen.

You take your jacket off and he looks over at the kitchen to look at his mother, who awaits his answer.

“Uh, no” He answers, also taking his jacket off. “I’m having lunch with Gina, today”

You swallow hard as you turn around and hang your jacket on the wall. Michael is quick to do the same and you keep your distance from him, walking towards Polly.

“Alright, it’s just us then, Y/N” Polly says with a smile to you and you give the same exact smile.

“Guess so” You say, trying to mimic her excited tone but failing horribly.

Michael looks over at you as you answer with an annoyed tone, but you can’t see him over your back being turned to him. He glances at his mom confused and she just gives him a quick shrug.

“I can stay if you want me to” He says, looking at his mom.

“Oh no, don’t worry about us” Polly says, waving her hand in the air to dismiss him, “Y/N is going to be working for most of the day anyways”

Michael does a quick nod, and you walk in the kitchen, leaning against the counter.

Your heart is beating faster than normal, you really weren’t expecting him to offer to have lunch with you two. Was it because of your tone?

Polly walks over to a cabinet and starts to grab the things she will need for whatever she’s making for lunch.

Michael appears next to you and takes a seat on one of the highchairs next to you. You ignore his presence and lace your own fingers together over to counter to hide your sweaty palms.

What is going on with you?

(…)

“Can you please let go of that and eat?” Polly asks you and you look up from the papers in front of you.

“Sorry” You say with a slight smile.

You grab your fork and eye the freshly made meal in front of you. Your mind is heavy with so many thoughts that it’s hard to even want to stop to work. You need to distract yourself, or else you’re going insane.

Could you be liking Michael all over again? Is that what’s happening?

He will hurt you again, you know. He has a person that he loves, now. Gina. You’re nothing to him anymore, just a friend… Oh… Can you even be considered a friend?

Have you even forgiven him yet?

You’re jumping to conclusions just because he is close to you. He has no interest in you anymore, Y/N. Grow out of it. Stand your ground. You’re being ridiculous. Since when are you this weak?

You bring a hand over your forehead in frustration and you rub your skin to try and make the thoughts go away.

“What’s wrong?” Polly asks as she looks up from her lunch at you.

“Nothing” You say, shaking your head a little.

“You lie to me now?” She comments, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest. “Be honest, come on”

“It’s nothing bad, Pol, I swear”

“Just tell me what it is about” She asks, curious, “You’re supposed to be relaxing, and you’ve been all tense since you got here”

You lean back on your chair as well and put your fork down.

You’re falling in love again. You want to forgive him. After so many years of fighting for your worth. Everything in the garbage now. All because he showed you the simplest of human empathy over being shot.

Your heart is beating rapidly against your chest as your gaze shifts over to the ceiling, your body seeking comfort in the memories that rest so deep and distant in your mind as your negative thoughts fight for dominance.

“I feel weak” You comment, “It’s ridiculous, it is. But I can’t help it”

Tears water your eyes in that same second and you sigh loudly at how ridiculous this whole thing is. You shouldn’t be crying. There’s nothing to cry about.

“Why do you feel that way?” Polly asks softly, worry heavy on her tone.

You wipe your tears away quickly and sniffle shortly, not wanting to show how upset you really are.

“I don’t know. I was okay before all of this. All I could feel was anger in me, or I just felt normal, and now-” You gasp for air as a sob fights its way to your mouth, “And now all I feel is sadness. It’s like… It’s like everything is crashing down on me”

Polly stares at you confused. Yes, you haven’t been your so happy self with her since you got home, but she just thought it was because you were tired.

You looked just fine back at the hospital yesterday when you were playing chess with Michael.

She stands in her chair and walks over to you as you wipe your tears forcefully, hating to be this distraught over something you don’t even fully understand.

“What is this about?” She asks, resting her hand over your cheek.

You shake your head, and you swallow your tears quickly. You’re stronger than this.

“I just feel like everything is going backwards” You admit, staying silent for some seconds, “I’m not healing anymore” You breathe in, “It’s like the wound is reopening again and it’s all my fault.”

You don’t use the actual words of what you are feeling. You’re too embarrassed to admit it out loud. But, at the same time, you’re scared that Polly might think you’re weak, or even ridiculous. Just like you do.

You’re at fault here, nobody else is. You made your bed by acting all nice and sweet with him, and now look at what you’ve done. You ruined everything.

Polly eyes you as she rethinks your words, not taking them literally and not thinking about your actual wound, and leans over at you, eyeing you eye to eye.

She frowns a bit as you calm down slowly after your confession and her thumb smooths your skin away carefully.

“Is this about-” She stops herself about instantly. It has to be.

You look away from her embarrassed and she eyes you sweetly. Her other hand coming up to cup your other cheek as she makes you look at her.

She understands it.

It’s like love is crushing you. Crushing your every little bit of strength all over again. Like it’s destroying you and destroying everything you’ve built in these 2 years.

As if your walls are falling, and all its bricks are laying on top of you. Punishing you for not fighting whoever attacked them or threatened to destroy them.

Polly continues to stand silent and pulls you into a hug, you lean forward in your chair and wrap your arms around her, right away. She wraps hers the same way and squeezes you close to her.

Kisses lay over your head as she hugs you close to her and you feel your chin start to shake again.

You’re falling again.

(…)

“Are you listening to me?” Gina asks and Michael looks up at her.

“No, sorry” He says shaking his head a bit, “I was thinking about work”

“It’s okay,” She forgives, “I was saying that I talked to some people back in America today…”

Michael holds a frown almost instantly.

“-And we’ve talked about all sorts of wedding venues” He tenses up, “The price range changes a lot from whether we want an outside reception or not”

“Hum…” He itches the back of his neck, “Yo-you’ve already decided on a date?”

“Of course!” She answers with a smile, “You said back at the ship that the sooner the better and I’ve checked with a lot of people and…” She stops to add suspense to her speech, “We can get it done next month” She announces.

Her excitement is not even slightly mirrored by her fiancé.

“What?” She asks, smile falling off her features, worry in her tone, “Do you not like the idea?”

Michael opens his mouth to answer but closes it right away, so she continues.

“I thought it would be a good thing.” She explains, “Since we’re not doing- what we were supposed to be doing, for now, and it’s always better to come back home earlier than expected- Do-do you not agree?”

“I uhm… I just thought we would have a longer engagement, that’s all” Michael says quickly. “But uhm…”

There are a few seconds of silence until he rethinks her words.

“For now?” He repeats confused, “Gina, god. We won’t be doing our plan anymore. You know that better than anyone.”

“Michael let’s not talk about this, please” She says as she brings her glass of wine to her lips.

“Gina, just listen to me.” He says calmly, “We’re not doing anything. I’ve talked to Tommy today and he’s already dealing with all of this”

“What?”

“I’ve talked to Tommy about-”

“Our plan?!” She asks scared.

“No.” Michael says in a scowl, “I told him what they told us, that they didn’t want to work with us. That’s all”

“Why would you do that?” She asks, disappointment and anger being the only expressions readable on her face.

“Because Gina… We are not doing this anymore” He repeats.

“You shouldn’t have done that” She says, shaking her head, “You should’ve asked for my opinion, for my side on this. You can’t decide everything on your own, I was in this too”

“I had to. It feels wrong to betray my family” He explains, feeling helpless, “How can you not understand?”

There’s a quick silence between them.

“I can’t understand because it was so sudden, Michael. I don’t know what happened when I wasn’t with you here, but we came into this country with a plan. A perfect plan that would only help us both. And now…” She sighs, “You just don’t want to do it anymore?”

“I’ve said this before. It doesn’t feel right to take everything out of my family’s name and put it in mine.” He answers calmly, “I can’t do it to them”

She shakes her head disappointingly.

“We can still live our lives after this plan, Gina. We did it for a year. We can still do it now” He insists. “Our relationship wasn’t about this before, and surely isn’t now”

His words didn’t sound right to him. It didn’t sound like he was convincing Gina anymore; it was like he was convincing himself.

And she noticed the hesitation on his words.

“Why did you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you are actually thinking twice if our relationship was just about business”

“You know that’s not true, Gina” He says disapprovingly.

“Well, it sounds like it” She says, anger on her tone, “I don’t know what has gotten into you Michael. Or what girl got on you, but you have to remember who really is on your side here.” She emphasizes the world ‘girl’.

“What are you talking about?”

“When we came here, she laughed over what happened with you at the Crash. Laughed, Michael. She wasn’t on your side” She exclaims.

He looks down at his food.

“I was always by your side. I was there when we saw all the numbers go down. Where was she? Here, probably cursing you and blaming you for everything that happened”

“It was my-”

“No, it wasn’t. We’ve talked about this. The warning that your cousin gave to you to pull out could’ve been just a false warning, you did what was right-”

“I don’t get where you’re going with this.” Michael interrupts.

He looks back up.

“She is not your fiancée, Michael. I am. I get it that she was in your past, for whatever reason, and that she got hurt. But we came into this country for a reason. Our. Plan. And she made everything stop.”

He stays quiet.

“There shouldn’t be sides for you to pick, Michael. I should be your priority.” She scoffs, “If we’re not here doing anything, then we might as well just leave.”

He stays quiet, again, but this time he shakes his head.

“See? You’re picking to stay here. Again.” She nods. “She’s your priority, Michael. And you should feel disgusted with yourself”

She looks away from him as Michael doesn’t agree or disagree, he just stares blankly at her in silence.

She breathes in deeply and grabs the napkin off her lap.

“I’ll see you back at the hotel. We can talk about this later” She whispers at him.

She rises from her chair and walks away from the table, leaving her dinner not even half eaten and most of her wine still on her glass.

He watches her as she walks away and out of the restaurant, yet his heart doesn’t budge, not even a little. He feels relieved as she walks away, but this new conversation is still difficult for him to process.

There is something stopping him.

Stopping him from disagreeing with her words. Something that is keeping his mind clogged in these situations. Something that whenever close, it makes his heart speed up and question his loyalty. As horrible as that sounds.

He knows what, or rather who, that something is. He doesn’t want to admit it, but it’s there.

And everything is coming back with it. Whether he likes it or not.

Taglist: @ohhersheybars @woodland-mist @onlythechicagoway @soleil-dor @finn-shelbys-bulldog @oh-theres-a-woman @peakyxtommy @ms-reader @beautycinders @lovemissyhoneybee @graceedwards @jadesbabylon @marvelismylifffe @a-dorky-book-keeper @peakascum @shanetoo @hufflemendes @cherrytop02 @http-cherries @burnitup @livingforbarnes @iccyyyybitch @ravennaofasgard @carezzesuigraffi @fernweh-fangirl @hufflepeople @huskyhunny @desertgremlin @fireawayxx @lemur46 @sugarcoated-lame @i-sneeze-to-appease @gabytodd @cococola-cocaine

If you’d like to be apart of the taglist, let me know.

Hope you enjoyed this! If would like to make any questions about the characters or when the next part will be available. My ask box is always open.

#michael gray x reader #michael gray imagine #michael gray #michael gray imagines #finn cole #finn cole x reader #finn cole imagine #finn cole imagines #michael gray fanfiction #michael gray fanfic #michael gray fic #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky

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futurewriter2000 · 4 years ago

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Love Hurts - pt. 9 - Final part

A/N: I totally wanted to end this completely different and it is making me a little insecure but since I had already written it and finished it, I’m just gonna leave it like that, hoping yall will like it.

Staring at the same line, over and over again was the most frustrating thing when your mind was somewhere else.

Food.

You felt your mouth water as you kept staring at the sentence, imagining a glazed donut and to be honest you really weren’t such a fan of donuts but the craving was too strong to resist.

“Fuck it.” you said, throwing your legs over the bed and leaving the dorm quietly. You tried to tip toe down the stairs and through the common room, despite the fact there was not a soul in sight. “Precaution?” you shrugged, talking to yourself as you climbed through the portrait hole and softy landed on your feet.

You turned around to smile at the sleeping Fat Lady and backed away, starting to run towards the kitchen only to fall back on your bottom.

“Bloody hell!” you heard a familiar voice and despite the fact you didn’t see him, you knew excatly who it was.

“Freddie?”

“(y/n)?” he replied, rubbing the back of his head. “The hell are you doing here so late at night?”

“I could as you the same thing.” you pulled yourself back on your feet, patting your clothes and rubbing your back.

He took a step closer, appearing into the moonlight and showing you his sleepily features; ruffled red hair, drowsy eyes and stretched clothes. He looked incredibly handsome when he yawned and rubbed the back of his head again, stretching his arms above his head.

You weren’t much different. The fact that you had seen him yawn in front of you, made you take a big yawn as well, covering your mouth with your hand as you did so. You could hear him chuckle in front of you but now see him look at you the way he did. His eyes were smiling at you, genuinely, lovingly, adoringly. Your hair was up in a bun, baby hair sticking out in all directions and strands of hair poking out. You also wore stretched clothes, a T- shirt and sweats. Your eyes, contrast to his, weren’t drowsy, nor tired in any way, they were smiling up at him just before your arm wrapped itself around his and pulled him along side.

“Guess, you’re going with me, then.” you smiled up at him as he furrowed his eyebrows.

“Going where?”

“Eat.”

“At this hour? Mum would break me like a twig if she knew I was going to eat this late.” he said and you laughed.

“Fred Weasley afraid of his mother? Who knew you were such a momma’s boy.” you teased as he let out a scoff.

“Do I look like a momma’s boy?” he twisted out of your arms and started walking backwards, his eyes on yours.

When he opened his arms to you to show off a bit of his physique, you only took one of his hands and twirled under it until you were walking forward and dragging him behind you. “You look like you could use some food right now.”

“Are you calling me skinny?”

You turned around with a smirk on your lips, looking him from his lovely pair of brown eyes to his muscular thighs and feet. You bit your lower lip just by looking at him and giving him a faint hint just before your eyes matched his and you let go of his hand, turning around the corner.

He heard you mutter something under your breath, making him a bit skeptical of your intentions but he kept his mouth shut about it and plainly ignoring what he might have heard you mutter. “Did you just check me out?” he ran after you, draping his arm on your shoulders.

“What were you doing so late at night?” you turned your head up to his and smiled. “I never asked.”

“You’re avoiding my question.”

“You’re avoiding mine.”

His eyes continued to watch yours, looking away when a flash of mischief travelled across that brown colour. “Late night shenanigans.” he let out a sweet, innocent giggle.

“Oh.” you let out a laugh. “Who’s the target?”

“You’ll see.” he looked at you from the corner of his eyes just before he ran to the pear and tickled it. The door opened and a gentleman he was, he bowed and gestured to you. “Ladies first.”

Smiling and blushing to his little gesture, you took his hand and walked in the kitchen first, catching a glimpse of your hair in the pot and dying from horror. You pulled your hand away from him and ran to the closest mirror you could find, widening your eyes at it. “Holy-”

“What? What is it?” he asked a bit concerned.

“Why didn’t you say my hair looks like it’s been stomped over by a herd of trolls?!” you looked at him before you turned back to the mirror and pulled the hairband off.

“Blimey, (Y/n).” he let out a laugh. “That’s what you’re worried about? Your hair?”

“I’m a girl, of course I am worried about my hair, especially when it looks like this.”

“I didn’t think you’d care.”

“I don’t.” you blurted out. “It’s because-” you stopped yourself, seeing your reflection in the mirror... seeing the red stain reach up your cheeks in the mirror.

Fred couldn’t help himself but grin. It was because of him, wasn’t it? He shuffled his feet and approached you like a little boy. He grabbed the headband from your wrist. “I think you look adorable.” he took your hair into his hands started braiding it. “But if it’s for any consultation, I am a master at braiding hair.”

You watched his fingers throw your hair in a wonderful braid, making a perplexed expression appear on your face. “How do you-”

“Ginny.” he smiled and finally secured the braid with the headband. After he finished it, he leaned forward and continued to look at your mirror reflection. “If you tell anybody about this, just remember I am also a master at pranking people and you are no exception.” he moved his eyes from the reflection and onto you, his breath hitting against your neck and sending a shiver down your spine.

Your turned your head to him, your nose close to his, almost touching as the two of your observed each other in the moment. It felt as if the whole world was pushing the two of you closer together.

“(y/n) I think-”

“I’m hungry.” you walked away, cutting him off and leaving that moment to falter back into nothingness.

He felt his breath leave his lungs as soul would leave a body. He tried to not show it but looking at you scrambling through the freezer made him leave it all as you did.

---

“This, Fred Weasley-” you said with full mouth, pointing your spoon at the hazelnut pudding. “-this is love.” you said as you put another spoon-full of it in your mouth.

“I’d beg the differ.” he leaned back but you looked at him.

The way he looked at you with those eyes, gentle yet daring. “Why do you do that?” you asked, putting the spoon back inside and letting it rest on it.

“Do what?”

“That.” you took the spoon back in your hand and pointed it into his face. “Look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like this.” you said, put the spoon back down, mirroring his position; letting your legs fall on the floor, a bit wide, your arms on the counter, hands together, a bit leaned back, tilting your head to the side and looking at him as he did you. You tried to ignore the feelings that his eyes stirred in you, the ones that made your heart beat faster and your stomach twist in three different directions at the same time and make your feet go completely numb.

“I thought you would figure it out by now.” he started, feeling his heart raise its beat.

“Well, as you said, I am a bit barmy in the head-”

“You’re never going to let this go.” he stopped his confession, feeling something heavy in his gut feeling but laughing through it.

“Then what is it?” you asked, pulling your feet back on the chair and eating the heavenly-made pudding.

You looked at him with your curious eyes, something in the back of your mind screaming- or down in your chest. Your heart maybe?

‘Say it, Fred. Just say it.’ - you thought as you continued to look at him.

He watched you just the same, shuffling in his seat and rubbing his thumbs together as he looked away. This was it. “Because-” he let out a laugh. “Because you look extremely funny eating this pudding like a tiny little piglet.” he scrunched his nose and let out a few oinks.

And thought you felt that last bit of hope die inside of you as he said it, you laughed, pushing it away. “You little twat!” you threw a cloth at him as he laughed.

“Don’t mind, darling.” he jumped from his seat, catching the cloth in his hands and running around the counter to you. “You look adorable.” he grabbed the cream from the pudding and put it on your nose.

“You’re a complete arse, Fred Weasley.” you grabbed another cloth, throwing it at him as he laughed.

“A cute arse though.” he sent you a wink before running to the cabinet and putting his head into it. “That pudding made me starve though.” he reached into it and pulled out a bag of chips.

“Chips?” you quirked an eyebrow, making him gasp.

“Are you judging me right now, Miss 1am pudding?”

You looked down on your pudding, then back at him with innocent round eyes, pressing out your lower lip and pouting at him. You batted your eyelashes at him, making him melt on the spot. His arms lost complete strength into opening the chips but he managed to play it off cooly, sitting down and shaking his head at you.

“That is totally unfair.” he pointed a chip at you. “Women should have that power.” he threw the chips into his mouth as you laughed.

You put the pudding away and dragged yourself to sit next to him, glancing between chips and him. Looking up at him again, bottom lip pressed out and your eyelashes batting at him, he let out a chuckle and offered you the bag.

“Just take it.”

You let out a laugh and took a few chips into your hands. “You’re weak, Weasley.” you shook your head in triumph.

“Well, you seem to do that to me, Princess.” he leaned forward, looking at your eyes, then your lips.

You smiled at him, scrunching your nose. “I could say the same, Fredrick.”

“Oh, Merlin.” he rolled his eyes and leaned back. “How many times will you call me that?”

“As long as you call me that awful god nickname.” you smiled, rubbing your hands off salt. “Princess? It’s bloody awful. It makes me feel like a damsel in distress.”

“And Merlin knows you’re anything but that.” his tone changed a bit and both of you couldn’t figure out why.

You were quiet for a bit, just watching his facial expression, trying to read him and the situation. “Are you cross with me, Freddie?”

“No.” he replied a bit grumpily. “I’m just saying-” he stopped himself, shutting his eyes and trying to figure out what was happening to him because all he felt was these emotions inside of him, trying to resurface and taking him such effort to keep them inside.

Because when you did look at him the way you did before, the way your eyelashes batted at him, the way your nose scrunched and the way you moved to him, giving him this feeling of numbness just by your present- it did make him feel weak. It made him feel like the weakest man alive.

And you saw it. You saw that inside of him, the same look you saw back in the beginning of the year. It made you think god awful thoughts; what if all he wanted was to be with you to play you? But that wasn’t him, that just wasn’t Fred but he did call you all the names he found in the dictionary and showed you that he also isn’t the-

“-nothing.” he mumbled, interrupting your racing thoughts. “We should go back.”

“Fred.” you spoke softly and like a broken little bird, he turned around. “What’s wrong?”

And he contemplated, Merlin did he contemplate how to tell you because when you were asleep it all came out so perfectly but now when you were aware of him, aware of what he was saying and acting- how perfectly you read him and his emotions...

“You make me weak.” he said, lowering his head. “And I hate it.” he continued, causing your heart to sink. He made his way back to you but kept to himself. “And you make me jealous.” he continued, keeping his eyes on the ground. “Especially when you’re with him.” he paused. “And you make me insecure because he is everything I am not and sometimes when I look at you- when I try to tell you or show you that I love you...” he finally looked into your eyes as he said those words, causing your breath to linger in your throat. “...you move yourself away and that hurts. Sometimes- no, all the time when I see you and I think of you and I smile to myself because you are so gorgeous and so precious to me but then I remember that you’re not with me, that you’re with him, that he attracts you and he holds you and he kisses you... and that just hurts.. Loving you hurts.”

Your eyes were glistened as he said those words to you but not from sorrow, nor pity but for him. They teared up for him.

Grabbing his hands, cupping them into your own, you pulled them close to your lips and gave them a soft kiss. He simpered.

“You hurt me too, Freddie.” you pressed his hands on your cheeks as his eyes watched yours. “You flirt with me constantly- like Lord do you know how that wrecks me.” you smiled and so did he. “But all I do is keep myself away and I think you know why.”

“Yeah.” he shuffled his hands so that his were now cupping yours. “But I don’t think like I did six months ago, (y/n). I don’t feel like I did back then. I just know I want to be with you, every day, every night, every morning, every second- I want to kiss you in the morning, show everybody that your my girl- the girl who makes me laugh and happy, the one who constantly teases me and George loves you, Ginny loves you, everybody loves you and you are so hard to not love because-”

“I’m amazing.” you teased, wiggling your eyebrows at him.

“Yes. You’re astounding.” he grabbed your chair and pulled you closer to him, placing his hand on your cheek and gazing into your eyes. “And I wanted to do this for so long.” he said as he pulled you into a kiss, letting his other hand wrap around your waist and pulling you from his chair and onto his lap.

You let out a small giggle as he did that, making him smile and pull you back into a kiss. His hands held you close to him, pressing you against him so you would never fall back. Your hands, however, lingered on his cheeks, down his neck and into his dense, messy hair. You felt like all the worlds are colliding, like a dream come true, you couldn’t believe he was kissing you- the boy you had loved for so long.

You pulled away, your fingertips on his cheeks, brushing along his freckles gently as he looked up at you, his eyes filled with adoration and love. “I knew you couldn’t resist me for too long.” you continued to tease as he let out a laugh, nuzzling his head into your neck.

“No, I really couldn’t.”

#fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader

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bxllafanficc · 4 years ago

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¡Skate/sing your hearts out! (Yuri Plisetsky x reader)

(part one)

part two part three part four part five. Find the rest on; Masterlist

Summary: After last year's cancellation of Figure Skating Grand Prix, Yuri Plisetsky finds himself unable to bring out his inner skater after a year of doing nothing but enjoy life like a regular teenager. That's when you enter the picture; We Are Voice Grand Awards's currently hottest competitive vocalist come first place two years in a row. Just like the other competitors of Grand Prix, it turns out that Victor and Yuuri faces the same issue. With an arrangement between Victor and Yakov, they agree to travel to Japan and hire you as a mutual coach for Yuri and Yuuri to help bring back the emotion into their performances like before, maybe even more intense than ever. Yuri however, who's never experienced issues with his coaches before, for some reason finds this one particularly difficult to coexist along with in their (reasonably) odd partnership. Warnings: none

*Yuri's POV*

"Remind me once again why we're going to Japan? It's clear you'd never take us there just because you miss Victor and I know by experience that it's not because of his apprentice."

First class flight like usual. The view out the airplane window of the sparkling city at nighttime below them would stun anybody but at this point, Yuri has traveled so many times it's only become regular sights and the lights of the streets are only plain colored spots in a dark void to him these days. One thing he will never feel comfortable with though is staying in the same seat for hours on end until the airplane arrives at its destination. His legs are itching from wanting to move around. He'll just have to jog it off back on the ground like every other trip in the past.

"You'll be spending some time with Yuuri Katsuki and Victor the following weeks to gain your fighting spirit back. You need to get back in touch with your emotions, remember?" Yakov slightly turned his posture towards the Russian skater beside him, folding his newspaper in half and putting it in his lap.

He only nodded with a slight hum. He could see Yakov's reasoning, some parts of it at least. He HAD been lacking in emotional performance ever since the new year began and it was time to get back into the mindset of winning yet another Grand Prix gold medal like last year. No, not last year. Last year's competition was cancelled after a minor pandemic spread through Russia and the nearby regions. In fear of the virus spreading, all competitions cancelled and larger crowded areas were forbidden to take place. Therefore Yuri's only been able to practice by himself and keeping himself fit for a possible competition next year. But a year of doing nothing can really change your spirit and afraid to admitting it to his coach, he's been missing several opportunities to hit the rink and stayed home watching anime or scrolled through social media instead.

But one thing he doesn't get is how Victor and Yuuri are gonna make him get his mindset in the right track again. He already won his first gold medal at his senior debut and he doubt that the Japanese skater will be in any better condition than Yuri's currently in right now. Pig-man must've been in a much worse state considering his boo Victor had to stay in Russia during the pandemic, unable to keep an eye on Yuuri's routines.

"Besides, there's a little surprise waiting for you where you'll be staying with the two of them. It better work out fine or else I'm out of ideas."

That caught his attention to say the least.

"Well if it's supposed to save me from the deep end then why be so secretive and hushy with it? Spill the news, Yakov."

The old man only grunted and picked up his newspaper once again and hid his face behind it. Well now he really wanted to know what it was. Clearly he would have to make some effort. Soon the article about a Russian charity event taking place this weekend got replaced with a clenched fist going straight through the back of the paper. Yuri expected some kind of reaction but Yakov only sighed and leaned back in his seat without even a flinch.

"It's no surprise if I tell you. I promised Victor to keep it a secret."

"Tell me."

"No."

Yuri groaned and folded his arms with a sour glare. The display in the ceiling told the traveler's that it was 10 minutes until landing so he gave up his attempts and let his eyes rest for a while. At least he would find out tomorrow, he assumed. It was 2am and he would be staying at a hotel close to the airport since it was too late to make rest of the trip in one day.

Yuri was out with the speed of a lightning bolt the second the plane doors opened. He sped past everyone before him and he didn't stop when he finally got outside. His feet carried him to run circles around the plane meanwhile he was waiting for Yakov to get out the normal way. It's a silly habit of his and he knows he looks stupid doing it but his coach has given him strict orders to not run away at one random direction like used to do at first. It would take like half an hour for him to be found once he took off, but only if he got lost.

"Yuri! Get over here!"

Well, there's his cue to get ready and head to the hotel. Finally he's able to get some sleep before he's forced to wake up early at dawn to head to Hot Springs and meet the two most annoying people in Japan.

...

He didn't even have time to eat breakfast. He overslept and got rushed to the cab with an angry Yakov behind him, newspaper folded tightly in his fist. The trip through the beautiful Japan would've been pleasant if Yuri hadn't dozed off every 10 seconds. He didn't get much sleep after all. He spent at least three hours thinking about the special surprise and raiding the free mini bar before he finally got to rest. At 8am he was woken up with banging on the door and now, at 10am, he was standing at the entrance of Hot Springs waiting for Yuuri's mom to announce their arrival. She hurried away somewhere with her usual bubbly happy self that Yuri had no idea how a person could be so... not moody all day long.

The place was as crowded with customers as last time and the two Russians were told to step inside to the more private parts of the building where the family lived along with Victor at the moment.

"Victor! How come my brand new lotion is used? You smelled a suspicious amount of peaches and wild berries at breakfast and there's no point denying it!" A fairly soft and modulated voice was heard from somewhere to the left where the private shower stalls were located. A couple seconds later a giggly Victor and Yuuri came through the direction of the living room and greeted Yuri with happy cheers. The slender white haired Russian caught Yakov in a bear hug, much to the old man's surprise. Yuuri extended his hand towards Yuri but Yuri didn't give any effort in taking it.

"Food. I'm starving."

Yuuri dropped his hand with a light blush but Victor pouted and let go of his former coach. Strong and clingy arms were suddenly wrapped around his chest and he couldn't breathe.

"So unpolite... Yuriooo we've missed you! Haven't you missed us?"

Yuri thrashed like a fish caught in a net and tried to hit the arms of the bastard trapping him. Yuuri joined in, only to get a kick in the hip. His stomach growled angrily and the endless void in his body didn't lighten up the experience a bit.

"Let go you old man! You too piglet!"

"I hoped you'd say it out loud but I know that deep down you've been missing us, Yuriii." Victor went to whisper in his ear with pouty lips but was swatted away by a backhand in his face. That finally caused him to let go and Yuri jumped out of reach for the two males.

"Hm... Or not." The expression he got from Victor was sad and pouty and the man earned a hand on his shoulder, put there by Yuuri. Yuri could only sigh and shake his head.

"Victor! Did you steal my shampoo too?! I will- Oh? What now?" Yuri turned around abruptly by the unfamiliar yet familiar voice behind him. His eyes widened.

The girl was standing to the left of the hall, seemingly coming from the shower. A curious hand rested against the wall beside her and her face was covered in a grey clay face mask, a toothbrush lazily hanging from the corner of her lips. Her (h/c) eyes glistened with mild shock along with her mouth hanging slightly open.

"You are early... Victor, you told me they would arrive at 1pm1!" She pointed a strict finger at the tall man who scratched the back of his head with a hesitant laugh. Her eyes narrowed and she grabbed her toothbrush. Because even if she was standing unprepared in front of two strangers, she would at least not forget to brush her teeth in the process, as you do.

Yuri might've considered it normal if it wasn't for that she was almost naked. Two towels were the only fabric hiding her, one wrapped around her dripping figure and the other tied up in her hair.

"Yeah, about that! I kind of mixed up the time of their arrival and your meeting with the press, that's, by the way now when I think of it, not actually cancelled but later today. Silly of me to forget, right?"

She eyed him as though her bullshit meter was ticking in the red zone and let out a huff. Yuri had to advert his gaze when it suddenly felt intruding to eye her the way he did. He also turned away because a light tint of pink was creeping up his cheeks.

"Right. Thanks for the early update. I appreciate it, really. I'll be with you again in 30 minutes. Don't wait up for me." And with that, she was gone. The silence of the men maintained for a few moments until Yuuri coughed with an awkward smile, his red cheeks still visible even after the girl had disappeared. 'It's a little weird to blush at your almost naked sister' he thought.

"So food, right? Mom is preparing pork cutlet bowls for you, Yurio, since she remembered how much you liked them last time-" He didn't have to say it twice. Yuri was off to the dining area before the man even finished saying 'pork cutlet bowl'.

#yuri plisetsky #yuri plisetsky x reader #yuriart #yuri katsuki #yuri on ice #victor nikirofov #anime fanfic #animelove #fanfiction

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