| HP. | A03. | This is a fandom sideblog from my main HP Fanfic blog. Please enjoy some stuff I have written in response to other fandoms I love dearly.
For fucks sakes, ever since he was young people have always told him that, or he overheard people talking about that, or he was being propositioned because of that- you name it, they’ve said it.
You up for a threesome?
You are so beautiful. You are a beautiful, beautiful man.
I’m gunna get me a piece of that.
It had always ended up being a sore spot in more than one of his relationships. Either with the men who were eager to claim him or the men who were jealous. And honestly, with most of them, he hadn’t ever really cared all that much about their need to possess or their jealousy or whatever insecurity wound them up so tight Ian was ready to walk out the door. That was their fucking problem.
Except, with Mickey. With Mickey, it was different.
If he was being really honest, he actually enjoyed it. The fact that Mickey always wanted to mark his neck up; the way he would grip Ian’s hip painfully to pull him close when some guy stared too long. Yeah, Ian fucking loved it.
When they were younger, if Mickey got a whiff of some guy gazing at Ian let alone touching him- well let’s just say his foul mouth was sure to scare them off before his fists ever did. And whenever he got like that, damn, Ian would be practically aching to jump his bones. He’d push Mickey up against the wall, the door, whatever solid surface he could and kiss him the way he fucking deserved. Hands under his thighs, lifting him up to grind their bodies together. Grip his neck, tilt his head, work his mouth open, drag his tongue across Mickey’s. Hot and dirty, the way Mickey liked it.
But it’s been a long time since they were those idiot kids- they’ve got actual fuckin jobs and their own apartment, and they go grocery shopping together now. Sure, Mickey still gets possessive from time to time but honestly, that’s their norm, always has been. People cross the line and Mickey beats them right back over it.
What isn't normal however, is the foul burning in Ian’s chest that’s been happening lately. It’s been rising for weeks and he doesn’t know what to do. He’s never felt it this bad before. And he can’t really remember ever feeling it so he isn't sure if it’s just the first time he’s actually started noticing people checking Mickey out or if people always have been and they're just actually more comfortable hitting on him openly now that he’s more than some unapproachable dirty thug.
Either way, Ian’s skin is crawling.
When they’re out at a bar, hell, when they're walking down the goddamn street, there’s this rage that rises inside him. His body gets tense, his shoulders pull back, and finds himself hoping some idiot will make a move on Mickey just so he can put them in their fucking place.
It’s the reason he’s raging right now. Why his body immediately tenses at the words he hears come out of this guy’s mouth while he’s sitting right next to Mickey. He feels himself go from zero to a hundred, but he can’t stop himself. Without giving it a second thought, his brows are furrowed, his eyes are piercing and he’s ripping this guy’s hand from where it barely sits on Mickey’s hip. He’s pulled himself up to his full height, shoulders back, his other hand now gripping the front of this guy’s shirt uncomfortably tight. He’s pushing himself in front of Mickey right in this guy’s stupid mug and the man looks alarmed.
People can say what they want about Ian Gallagher being a soft motherfucker but he’s still fucking south side and he’s going to make sure people goddamn remember that.
“You want to repeat that?” The guy’s hands raise automatically, and the stuttering almost makes Ian laugh, “Oh- I didn’t realize- I just-”
Ian releases the guy harshly causing him to stumble back a little bit, “Didn’t realize? Really? How about you fuck off before I put you through a fuckin wall?”
Ian watches the guy scramble off, a quick glance at Mickey behind Ian, before Ian’s eyes narrow again and he nearly crashes into another patron while scurrying to the door. He turns back to Mickey himself who’s still leaning comfortably against the bar, an almost amused look on his face peering up at Ian.
“Fuck was that about tough guy?”
Ian moves his hand to run along the spot where the guy had touched Mickey before dragging his palm upwards to rest on Mickey’s back. He shrugs his shoulders, “He touched you.”
Mickey’s eyebrows raise slightly, and his hand moves to brush Ian’s hair back from his forehead with a smirk, “Jealous?”
Ian smirks, “I was standing right beside you and the dumb fucker disrespected that.” Mickey’s brows furrow at Ian’s words but he just shakes his head and slams back the rest of his drink, “Alright, let’s just get out of here before you deck someone Rambo.”
*
When they get to their place Mickey’s pulling off his jean jacket and pulling open the fridge to find something they had left over from earlier this week while Ian’s throwing shirt across the room and toeing off his shoes.
They’ve been sitting comfortably on the couch, leaning into one another with Ian’s arm resting along the back of the couch and watching whatever dumb shit is on television at midnight on a Friday when Mickey brings it up again.
“What did you mean when you said disrespected?”
Ian’s eyes tip down and one of his eyebrows raises, “What? At the bar?”
Mickey nods, his eyes still fixed on the tv while his fingers fiddle with the fabric of his sweats.
“Just that we were clearly together- couldn’t just hit on you in front of me. Disrespectful.”
Mickey chokes on the beer that he swings back while Ian’s talking and leans away from him to connect their eyes, “Hit on- he wasn't fucking hitting on me. The fuck you talkin about Gallagher?”
Ian laughs and pulls his arm back from resting around Mickey on the couch to resting his palm on Mickey’s thigh, “He was about 10 seconds away from offering to take you home Mick.”
Mickey’s eyes go wide and now- now Ian is seriously confused.
“Happens all the time. You’re tellin me you haven’t noticed?”
The gears in Mickey’s head don’t seem to be turning as Ian grabs the empty beer bottles on their coffee table and move to the kitchen for two more. The whole walk to the fridge he’s rattling off the instances that made him want to break someone’s nose and he can feel the prickling of his skin.
“The guy at the coffee house? The guy when we got dinner on the west side last week? The client when I dropped by the shop to get you for lunch? Oh, and that moron when you came for a run with me, remember him? I swear to god I have never been more ready to get myself arrested.”
When Ian places the fresh beers on the table and takes his spot back next to Mickey- Mickey’s mouth doesn’t seem to be cooperating, “They- none of them were- why would they be...They wanted you!”
Ian runs his fingers through Mickey’s hair and lets his palm rest flat against the back of Mickey’s neck, “They would have hit on me if they wanted me.”
Ian lets his fingers scratch up the back of Mickey’s head to get his shoulders to roll back ever so slightly, trying to get the rigidity he’s got going on to soften, and he smiles, “You’re fucking gorgeous Mick.”
Mickey turns to look at him, not really sure how to respond. Yeah, Ian’s said that to him a hundred times before and he himself has joked about it for years to a chorus of laughter. Damn straight I’m the sexiest motherfucker here. But ... well to know that maybe that’s true? To know that Ian’s feeling ... jealous? Over him? He can’t really find the words to say anything, so he just looks earnestly at Ian, praying that he’ll understand what’s going through Mickey’s head. But all Mickey can see is this heat in Ian’s eyes dragging over him and Mickey’s skin is suddenly really, really hot.
Ian’s hand on the back of Mickey’s neck grips him more firmly, pulling their mouths close, “Don’t you know that Mick? Just how fucking hot you are?”
The palm of Ian’s other hands is running down Mickey’s inner thigh, “They want what I have.”
Mickey tenses at the palpable electricity between them, “And we both know I've never been the sharing type when it comes to you.”
This is the original first part draft of a story I wrote and re-wrote a hundred times and eventually posted on A03 titled “i wanna feel the way it feels to make you stay”. If you read both you can see that I really tore this one down to the bones but kept a lot of the phrasing I liked.
Mickey’s heartbroken.
As convoluted and complex and downright fucking devastating as that is for Ian to admit to himself, it’s also the truth. He broke Mickey’s heart. He had stood in front of him that day after travelling nothing short of fourteen hundred miles and let two simple words break them- I can’t.
He went home and he committed to his routine and sought to fill the deep gaping cavern in the middle of his chest with anything and everything. But the only thing that grounded him had been Mickey. And now when he thought of him… he just ached. But he couldn’t help himself either. He often thought about Mickey’s life south of the border. The friends he would make, the work he would do, and the home he would have. Did he think of Ian the first time he saw the ocean? When his toes felt the heat of the sand, his skin the burning of the sun, when he smelt nothing but salt, did he wonder where Ian was?
Not that Ian could tell anyone that he had pictured that life he almost had, over and over in his head when he smoked out his bedroom window staring aimlessly at the lamp-lit street. But there was nothing better to do when fighting his unbridled insomnia except ask himself over and over again if he had always been this cruel?
Sometimes, when the moon had started to dip in the sky, Ian would look up and wonder if Mickey was looking up there too.
But then the day came, and he just went about his life. The moments thinking about Mickey weren’t few and far between, but he buried them in the recedes of his memory. Two boyfriends passed, Ian spent 17 consecutive days in bed before his brothers made an appointment at the clinic to adjust his meds and his mania spiralled.
Blowing up a van? Not on his bucket list. Prison? Not there either.
But Mickey was.
He’s got on the same god-awful yellow jumpsuit that Ian has and he's making jokes about how he’s got bottom and he’s standing in front him. Really, truly, standing in front him with this soft smirk and these gentle eyes. And at the same time that Ian is absolutely elated, he’s also numb. Yeah, he’s climbing on top of Mickey, feeling the heat of his skin for the first time in what feels like a lifetime and just so earnestly licking into his mouth thinking this isn’t real, he isn’t real. But he’s also aching right down to his bones again.
It was stupid to think the reunion would be nothing but heat and passion and gut-wrenching admissions, but Ian did. And it was, for a while. Until it was clear Mickey was different now. Something had shifted in Mexico. Sure, he was more than happy to ride Ian into blissful oblivion, but he wasn’t giving up his heart this time.
Ian could feel it around them in the way Mickey tensed before calming at the feeling of Ian’s hand on his back; the way he never fully relaxed into a kiss the way he used to. With two words Ian had thrown them five years backwards.
So, Ian took what he could get and tried to do it with as much as grace as one can muster when they’re trapped in a cramped cell with a man who probably wants to bludgeon him almost as much as he wants to blow him.
Plus, he knows this Mickey. This Mickey is hard and anxious and always scanning a room. This Mickey hits first and thinks later. This Mickey says everything with his eyes. And because of that, Ian can’t tell him everything he had thought during their time apart. Not yet. If he says he couldn’t sleep without wearing one of Mickey’s old shirts or if he tells him there were nights plagued by thoughts of leaving his family behind after another episode and it was Mickey’s voice that pulled him back? Don't. Well, Mickey would throw it at him. You wanna say that gay shit or you wanna get on me you pussy. Even if he didn’t mean too.
And Ian was sure he deserved it. The rejection.
He had broken his heart after all; he had lost his trust.
*
“You don’t have to wait for me Ian. I don’t need you to.”
When Mickey finds out that Ian got his parole, he protects himself first. Ian knows Mickey. Knows that yeah, Mickey doesn’t need him to wait but he wants him too. So, Ian doesn’t even flinch, instead- he says the only thing he can think to say.
“I love you.”
He thought he would go home when he got out on parole, but he doesn’t think he can be in that space anymore. He had spent too many days staring at those walls, with Mickey and without him, far too deep inside his own head.
How do you stay in a room with so much history you could explode?
Instead, he finds an apartment- still on the south side- but close enough between his new EMT gig and his family. He goes for runs and he regulates his meds and he keeps up with his parole officer and he gets to work on time. He even visits Mickey this time around when work allows him, and he writes him letters when he can’t.
“You don’t have to keep writing me idiot, you’ll see me in two weeks.”
He just smiles, “I want to.”
Mickey never writes him back but honestly; Ian doesn’t really care. He puts his day on paper and talks about his job and the apartment and his nephew. He hopes he’s giving Mickey something new to dream of when he’s out.
He furnishes the place as best he can with a couch and a tv and a bed he can actually fit on from head to toe. When Mr. Babyak finally croaks and the neighbourhood empties the house onto the street for a real south side auction, he finds himself with two dressers, two bed side tables and a bookshelf. It’s almost a home, he thinks when his siblings pile inside with two large pizzas and a case of beer for him.
Now, he just needs Mickey.
*
He wakes up almost seven months into living at his new place at 8:00am to an incredibly loud banging on his front door that reminds him of all the times growing up that the police had come. He’s trying to restart his own heart as he slips on sweats and runs through the list of bills he might have missed or the number of parole violations he hopes to god be hasn’t committed when his meds made him foggy.
He swings the door open with a quick, “And what the fuck can I do for-”
And there goes his heart again. He’d always had a thing for bright blue eyes and a crooked smirk.
“You gunna let me in or you gunna stand there with your dick in your hand all day?”
His name comes out breathless, “Mickey.”
*
They didn’t exactly flow into living together considering Mickey was a messy fucking dickhead.
“Could you pick your shit up before I trip and fucking die!”
But it was everything.
There are days Ian comes home after work when it’s been pouring rain and his skin is drenched but Mickey’s napping on the couch. His body is relaxed, his face is soft, and Ian pulls down the quilt Lip half-assed back when he was knitting to curb the alcoholism. And there are Saturdays when he comes home from one of his early morning runs to the sound of the radio and Mickey making pancakes in the kitchen. His hips are swaying subtly, and Ian always watches until he’s caught. Stop being so gay and help me firecrotch. Ian wonders if it’s something he picked up in Mexico. He pictures Mickey surrounded by a family of faceless people in a room of bright colours playing loud music. The deep ache sits inside him again for a moment. Until he’s back in their routine. There are so many mornings Ian wakes up to the sound of the shower, and so many nights he falls asleep to Mickey’s breathing against his skin.
It could have been perfect.
But Ian knew the walls were still there no matter how many times Mickey may have pressed himself up against Ian’s back, his lips hot and wet on Ian’s neck, and his hands skimming under the band of Ian’s sweats. In those moments, when Ian’s deep inside Mickey, staring at Mickey’s face while his eyes are closed and his head is thrown back, he always says the same thing, “I’m so fucking in love with you.”
Mickey’s lips always uptick just ever so much, “I know fuck.”
Ian wonders if he’ll ever say it back again.
*
“You fucking idiot of course he’s in love with you. He went to prison for you, rolled on a motherfucking cartel, you don’t do that for someone you just wanna fuck!”
He calls Mandy. And regrets it almost immediately.
“It’s different now. I don’t- He just- We-”
“Of course, but what were you expecting? You broke his heart.”
Ian pauses, it almost hurts more to hear someone else say it so the words come out harsh, “Don’t you think I fucking know that.”
“Okay so stop being so goddamn sensitive-”
“I am not-”
“Ian. You’re soft as fuck, shut the hell up.”
Ian laughs a little, he knows Mandy can tell he’s worked himself up and his head is all over the place and the combination of nicotine and caffeine is making him jittery.
“Jesus Christ do I have to spell it out for you?”
Ian pauses on the other end waiting with bated breath to get some insight from somewhere.
“You know, you can be really fucking dense sometimes. Just because my brother hasn’t said he loves you, doesn’t mean he doesn’t. Mickey’s does- you douche. He went to juvie for you, he came out to Terry for you. Hell, he admitted more things to you punching out guys you fucked and asking you to sleepover and pulling you out of those clubs then he has to anyone ever.”
Ian thinks he stopped breathing somewhere down the line at Mandy’s words. He hadn’t really thought about it like that. But now that Mandy had said it ... He’s an idiot.
Gallagher’s were talkers. They had family meetings and they called each other, and they put together a system. When things were fucked up or their parents were wreaking havoc, they made plans. Together. With Milkoviches, well, they just weren’t like that. They hit things, they shot first, they took a tire iron to your face and figured out the rest later.
“So, he’s been saying it the whole time...”
“Yeah, yeah he has.”
*
So, he starts.
He puts in the leg work to show Mickey that he means it when he says I love you and I’m sorry. And he does it the best way he knows how. He says things off the cuff. He lets the feelings he wanted Mickey to know from the moment he had laid eyes on him fall out into the open because that’s what Mickey deserved.
In prison, he hadn’t wanted to say things to Mickey that Mickey didn’t want to hear. He couldn’t run from the rampant thoughts in Ian’s head and his relentless mouth and that irritating pit inside him that needed to know he was wanted just as much as he wanted Mickey. Now, at least if Mickey wanted to, he could run.
When Mickey comes home from his first day of work at the mechanic shop- “Fuck Mick- you keep comin home lookin like that and we’re never gunna leave again.” He swears he sees Mickey blush.
When Mickey wakes up to a Sunday morning and the smell of paint and the sight of an Ian with paint on his face and a brush in his hand in their bathroom - “When I pictured our apartment, it always had a yellow bathroom.” Mickey’s eyes go wide.
When Mickey asks if she should call his doctors because it’s been a week and he doesn’t know if Ian’s going to come out of this one, Ian shifts to look over at him- “I did. Appointments tomorrow. I always wanted to be better- for you… I think that's what gets me there now.”
But Ian knows it’s not always enough, so he takes Mandy’s advice and does more too.
He takes Mickey out to restaurants where no one will know their names and kisses him deeply in dark booths, letting Mickey lose himself in the feeling of Ian’s mouth for so long that it’s not until the waiter comes back a second time, clearing their throat loudly, that brings them back to reality. Ian smirks, Mickey’s cheeks burn as he orders, and Ian just slides his hand onto Mickey’s tensed thigh to make Mickey’s cheeks burn even more.
And he starts bringing home flowers trying to find the ones that will make Mickey light up. It takes him about several dozen until he walks through the front door with the ones. It’s an array of stargazer lilies in a mixture of pink and blue because Ian just couldn’t decide but the way Mickey’s eyes open wide, Ian wraps his arms around Mickey and tells he’ll buy him a dozen a week for the rest of his life if he gets to see that face again.
*
But sometimes, Mickey ducks out. And Ian doesn’t chase him.
He lets him disappear for the day, for the whole night, and when he comes back, he might tell Ian where he went when Ian asks softly. Ian tries not to let those nights break him, but they do.
So, he does what he used to do when Mickey was gone. He sits by the window and stares out to a new lamp-lit street and he looks at the moon. The ache is all the same. The last time Mickey does it, the last time Ian thinks Mickey punishes him for his decision to stay that day, he feels much to vulnerable.
“It’s fucking four in the morning Gallagher what are you doing?”
Mickey’s tone is clipped, a little harsh, Ian thinks he's probably been drinking but there’s also some concern there that Ian clings onto.
“I asked myself a lot if I made the right decision after you left.”
Mickey pauses in the centre of the room, just far enough away from Ian that he can look but not touch. “I sat up at night and hated myself for not going with you. I regret it and I don’t you know? They needed me here and you needed me there and I- well I don’t really know what I needed.”
He can see Mickey’s shape in the moonlight, but he focuses on taking another drag of the smoke in his hand, inhaling deeply so his lungs burn. He knows Mickey’s listening as he puts out the cigarette and takes a few steps forward, stopping hesitantly in front of the somber faced man. Mickey’s looking at him like Ian could break him and god, he never wants Mickey to look at him like that again. So, he lifts up his hand and lets his palm rest against Mickey’s chest to feel the soft thudding of his heart.
“I’m not going to leave you.”
After the night in the moonlight, after saying the words he thought Mickey needed to hear it gets better- and worse. They toe a fine line like they always have. Sometime Ian forgets that he’s pulling Mickey in too much and sometimes Mickey pushes Ian back too hard. The sex is mind-blowing like it’s always been, and Ian keeps letting his admissions fall from his lips, never failing to make Mickey stilt for no more than a moment before he’s moving again because Ian knows Mickey’s still wound a little tight with fear. Fear of hurt, fear of rejection, fear of the power Ian has.
But Ian tries.
And that’s what matters right?
*
It can’t always be sweet though.
“I thought about it. More than enough ways to do it. Tried to write a letter even but I could never figure out what to say to you or to them.”
Mickey’s entire body tenses up at how casual Ian lets those words fall. Ian had come home from work later and more shaken up than usual. A heaviness in the room that Mickey could choke on. His eyes were rimmed with red and he could tell there was a tightness in his chest that Ian kept rubbing at. He was sitting on the edge of their bed; Mickey’s been lying awake trusting Ian to come back and almost angry he hadn’t said anything. But at the sight of him, at the feel of him sitting, Mickey moves to place one hand gently on Ian’s back as his voice breaks the silence, “Guy jumped off a bridge today.”
Ian feels Mickey’s palm freeze, but he wants him to know, wants him to hear every thought that’s swirling around so he never has to second guess him again. Never has to doubt for a second that despite what Ian may do, what every version of Ian has done, that he loves him so desperately and irrevocably and absolutely that he would give Mickey every key to every dark door inside his head.
“I climbed up to the roof of the house, just like my mom did once. It was late, everyone was asleep, and I just stared for a while. At the ground. Came back in before anyone noticed.”
Mickey’s voice is more gruff than usual, and the words almost break apart in his mouth he’s so afraid to ask, “What made you stop?”
“Something my mom said once.”
Ian turns to look back at Mickey who’s moving to sit up now. His legs swinging around Ian, his chest leaning into Ian’s back, and his arms wrapping around him tightly. Ian smiles at the embrace and the feel of Mickey’s lips pressing into his back through his shirt.
“The most important thing is to find somebody to love and- and to have them love you back.” Ian takes a deep breath as he wraps his hands around Mickey’s, “And I have that. Even if for a second I thought I didn’t.”
*
Mickey softens around the edges after that. Not always, but he does.
When they’re out for the world to see them, Mickey is rough- as rough as he’s always been. He’ll backhand someone before he’ll apologize, and Ian hates to say that he loves it but fuck- he loves this version of Mickey. This Mickey, the piece of south side trash he fell in love with, makes his stomach drop and his face get warm. Ian usually finds himself pulling Mickey into a dark corner and shoving him up against a brick wall. Hot, open-mouthed kisses down his neck just the way Mickey likes it.
But when they’re home. When it’s the two of them and four walls, Mickey takes his time with Ian. He says he loves him in ways Ian could barely comprehend before. He’ll slip in behind him in the shower without a word, sometimes they’ll just kiss, slow and languid until the water starts to get cold. And he’ll run a hand across Ian’s lower back when he’s cooking, or he’ll absent mindedly play with Ian’s fingers when he’s breathless after he’s let Ian fuck him for hours. And sometimes, Mickey will look up at him, over lunch or after a few glasses of wine and Ian can see it. The words he wants to hear. And even if Mickey’s not ready to say it, it’s everything Ian needs.
They’ve got nothing but time.
And at night, when Ian feels a little wound up or a little restless, he’ll drag his fingers through Mickey’s hair, gently so as not to wake him. He’ll think about moments in their history that brought them here, and moments in their future. He’ll think about the small black box that he’s stashed behind some spare pillows on the high shelf of their closet.
Ian's first gallery opening is tonight and honestly, the only think making him nervous is what his boyfriend will think.That is until he realizes his manager used an old guest list and a number of people who he doesn't want to see again- people he really doesn't want Mickey to meet either- are approaching the two of them left, right and centre.Mickey's always been jealous so how many exes before he fucking decks them?
Enjoy.
The gallery is everything Ian had hoped it would be; it’s the exact type of chaotic beautiful he had wanted and each frame he passes feels a little more like a masterpiece than it had in under the red lights in the dark room of his studio. There were works of art from a period of time long since passed for Ian, but he remembers them so vividly. There will be many people who will fill the room tonight and not know just how deeply he had to dig in order to take the photographs that he selected for this.
What it was like to grow up practically destitute with nothing but a stolen camera and images of forgot part of the city he called home. Yes, they were images in the southside that had gotten him his first magazine cover and his first newspaper articles, but he’s sure that for his moment there are a few new pieces too. A few pieces he remembers taking not so long ago at a home he likes to visit again every now and then where his family still stays.
He takes a deep breath as he looks around, his manager is running in circles directing everyone who isn’t him to do something. It’s a complete whirlwind of a moment so he pauses, preparing himself for it- taking a much-needed moment. He’s praying, in the few seconds he has before he’s surrounded by guests and media, in the few seconds where he gets to see his works in a space he meticulously outlined, that Mickey will appreciate it. That he will understand what Ian had tried to do with the photographs and the space. It can be difficult being steeped in reminders of their home- reminders he’s splattered all over the building- but it’s theirs.
He’s pulled from the thoughts when a champagne glass is shoved in his hand and his manager is pulling him open the huge glass doors. He’s used to being behind the lens but now he’s in front of it and the lights are making his skin heat, but if there is one thing Ian Gallagher has always been able to do it’s pull it together with a smile.
“Thank you all for coming. I’d like to welcome you to the opening of my very first showcase. There are new and old pieces alike- I hope they make you fell all I intended them to.”
*
When Mickey arrives, he can’t help but freeze and yank on the tie that suddenly feels fucking suffocating. As he looks around, he realizes- goddamn, everyone is fucking gorgeous and dressed to the nines. Ian knows he hates shit like this- hates being surrounded by people like this who are probably wearing more costly things on their bodies than money Mickey has ever had to his name. But, it’s for Ian. So, he takes a deep breath and swipes the first glass of alcohol that passes him- this thing has fucking waiters for Christ sake.
He’s hoping to catch sight of Ian before someone pulls him into a conversation about art where he can’t really be an ass but in his searching his eyes catch sight of the first piece in a long line of photographs and he’s a little stunned to be honest. The art is, for lack of a better work, stunning. Mickey wonders if it’s the fact that he swallowed all that champagne really fast or if the bright lights and shiny people are making his head swim. Then again, maybe it’s what’s in front of him. Their world through Ian’s eyes. He follows the trail of frames around the room- piece after piece, wall after wall and even thought Mickey has seen some of them, they are absolutely goddamn breathtaking in this light.
Usually when people spoke of the southside- or when they visited- they were told horrifying things. Murders, robberies, violence. If it’s dark, be sure to roll right through stops signs. If it’s night, make sure you don’t take the train down there. Even if it’s day, don’t stare at the graffiti and the scattered garbage and the broken, splintered white picket fuckin fences for too long. Here, in this gallery, Mickey feels transported to that place. He’s been back so many times since Ian and him moved into their apartment but in these photos, he feels like he’s a young teenager sitting in the dingy single light-bulb basement of a friend of a friend getting his first set of knuckle tattoos. He feels young and reckless and a little harder than he is now.
He comes onto the few images he has seen before- he had kept the magazines in his bathroom (now their bathroom) with clippings of Ian next to photographs that had won him awards. But there are some new ones as he steps through the space- it feels like stepping through time. There are shots of those kick off to summer bonfires with large, rusted metal tins billowing trails of dark smoke over a crowd of faces. The people are holding cans of cheap beer and smoking cheaper cigarettes. Then there are shots of the inside of the boarded up Ukrainian church- the inside scattered with blackened metal spoons, broken off needles and sleeping bags. Images follow of the day it was raided with flashing lights and battering rams and scattering weak, homeless bodies.
He wonders now if this is what Ian had been doing in all that time leading up to the gallery- in all those late nights in the dark room. He had told Mickey there were surprises- you’ll understand soon, go to bed Mick, I’ll meet you there.
Then, Mickey stops- completely startled by the next set of three images. They’re set against a wall off to the far left and they’ve got their own row of lights. They’re taken in black a white, much like the theme of the rest of the gallery, and they’re fucking beautiful.
They-re- they’re him. He’s sitting on the stairs in the backyard of the Gallagher house, a cigarette in his clearly bruised and cut up hand, his eyes closed as he leans back, as the smoke slowly billows towards the sky in each image. Mickey clasps the glass in his hand as he leans forward to read the small placard to the right of the series – “southside forever.”
He’s trying to place that night in his head- a night back in the southside where Ian someone got a camera on him and didn’t get caught when he hears his voice.
“You found my favourite set.”
Mickey startles slightly, lost in looking at himself the way Ian has clearly been looking at him through that goddamn lens, and lets the breath he’s been holding in stutter out of him as turns to see that familiar face.
Ian.
“You remember that night?”
Ian is standing next to him, watching his face intently and Mickey feels the small smile break across his face as it comes to him, “Knocked that guy on his ass over at that fuckin bar- what was the name of-”
He watches Ian’s smile widen, “The Green Door.”
Mickey nods, “Shouldn’t have put his hands on you.”
Ian lets a quiet laugh out and leans against Mickey’s arm. His voice comes out much more quietly after that, “You like ‘em?”
Mickey to look up at him, nervousness suddenly filling him which he tries to shove away, this is your fuckin boyfriend- chill out.
“I-” he huffs, “Everything is incredible. You know you’re talented as shit okay?”
Ian smiles, leaning further into Mickey to brush his lips against the shell of Mickey’s ear, “But do you like them Mick?”
As he speaks, Ian reaches his hand out to rest against Mickey’s lower back- a shock spreading up Mickey’s spine. Clearly, he’s not talking about the gallery or the images or the night.
Mickey hesitates. He wants to tell Ian that his art takes his fucking breath away. He wants to wrap his hands around Ian’s neck and pull their lips together, wants to let Ian’s tongue dive into his mouth, wants to bite his lower lip and fuckin pull. Mickey’s always been better showing how he feels then saying it, but he knows he can’t just lick his way into his boyfriends’ mouth and palm his cock through those perfectly tight pants right now so, instead, he moves his hand to rest against Ian's hip and smiles.
“Yeah ... Yeah. They’re fucking amazing.”
*
"Ian Gallagher," comes a pleased, sultry voice. Mickey’s head swivels just as Ian’s does and his fingers clutch a little more tightly on the glass in his hand. Some gorgeous dark-haired man in an irritatingly fit dark blue suit has come up to them from where they stand in front of Mickey’s pictures.
Mickey takes his time narrowing his eyes and checking out the new company. This fucking stranger is too tall with too nice blue eyes. He is smiling with way more elation than he needs too, and Mickey tries to ground himself with the feeling of Ian’s hand in the middle of his back when said stranger decides it’s a great idea to lay his fucking hand on Ian’s fucking forearm. Mickey tenses.
He turns to look at Ian for some indication of who this fucking tool is, if he’s allowed to bite the guy’s head off, but Ian looks almost nervous. His face goes from soft- the way he had been looking at Mickey- to abrasive yet, charming. Mickey feels warmth spread in his chest a little at that- if he didn’t know better, it almost looked genuine. "Ethan," Ian breathes, and Mickey swears it sounds like Ian’s anger is bubbling up. "It's been years."
"I know- three long years!" Ethan’s smile, if possible, expands even more. He’s fucking radiating excitement- way too much for Mickey’s comfort and honestly, if Ian hadn’t pressed his palm more firmly into Mickey’s back he would leave.
"I was just in the city for a business trip- my father sent me, of course, closing some deal or whatever- plus, he knows how much I love being here,” Mickey grimaces at the implication of just how much this man enjoys being in their city, “And I saw you were doing your first showcase! I had to come and support you- I always knew how talented you were."
Ian nods at the way this guy is batting his fucking eyelashes, that charm sliding right into place as he lets himself laugh through the fucking cockiness. Mickey can tell it’s a little forced but then Ian turns to look at him. "Ethan, this is my boyfriend Mickey. Mickey, this is Ethan. We used to work together when I was travelling to San Francisco a few years back." Mickey can feel Ian swiping his thumb back and forth on his back through his suit jacket and he moves to brush the back of his hand against Ian’s thigh. I got it- it’s all good. He can tell Ian's nervous with what Mickey assumes to be an ex just suddenly rolling up on them and all he wants to do is reassure him. I trust you, idiot.
Mickey begrudgingly extends a hand to the man who takes it slowly at first- a questionable look crosses his face for a split second before that ridiculous smile is there again and Mickey has to remind himself where he is just so he doesn’t deck the guy. Sure, Ethan doesn't seem to dislike him, but Mickey doesn’t really want to know just exactly how much business was taking place in San Francisco.
"Nice to meet you,” the man drops Mickey’s hand and turns back to Ian- his face softens for a moment, “Well, I’ll let you two do your rounds- so many people here to catch up with Ian! I'll probably be in town for a while at the hotel- you know where I like to stay-," okay now Mickey might deck him- "and we definitely have to catch up!"
Mickey winces for a moment, feeling like a jealous fucking psychopath and gritting his jaw tightly. He knows Ian can feel the way his shoulders roll back, “Mickey and I are pretty busy right now- with the gallery and all- but some other time.”
It settles something in Mickey when the guy simply nods, the fucking smile shrinking inwards just a bit and the guy stalking off. Mickey watches him get lost in the crowd before he’s turning to meet Ian’s eyes, “Guys got some fucking balls to goddamn proposition you while I’m standing right fucking here what the fuck-”
Ian simply draws Mickey towards him and presses his lips to his temple, pushing Mickey forward. Fuck that fucking guy.
*
Ian has been taking him through image after image of a life that makes him as teary eyed as it pisses him off. Pictures of places that throw Mickey back to times he loves to remember- the dugouts after dark with cigarette butts and starry skies overhead- and others he would much rather forget- an abandoned building with a perfect birds eye view of the area with walls covered in graffiti and bullet holes and shattered glass.
No one else could really truly understand what each image meant to Ian- what Ian felt standing their taking them, what Ian probably felt knowing Mickey was going to completely understand. Mickey shuddered- it felt like their fucking love story plastered all over the walls. He wanted to gag and swim in the thought of it at the same time.
When they get to the next image Ian is already smiling down at Mickey’s wide eyes. Everything about this feels a little too much but Mickey’s quells the feeling and presses himself against Ian. He can feel his hands tensing at the feeling that he has to reach out and grasp his boyfriend but all he can do is murmur his name, “Ian.”
The shot is wide showing an array of scattered boats by a set of wooden stairs. The bridge is in the background and there’s a faint reflection off the water from the scattered lights in the distance- the reds and whites of signs and homes across the water. It’s the docks. Mickey feels like he’s been fucking teleported to that night. The sight of Ian smoking a cigarette and leaning back against that covered boat. The way he stilled when Mickey called out for him. The way they collided together like the fight and the distance in the days before that moment meant fucking nothing. A kiss he felt down to his fucking toes. Just licking his way deep into Ian’s mouth with his hand on his neck, his fingers trailing down over the skin of chest exposed by the open buttons if Ian’s shirt.
The way they had finally ended it that night… after four years of playing way too intense emotional games. Mickey almost going to prison, Ian falling off and getting back on the bipolar pill wagon more times than he could count, the cheating and the running and the toxicity of it all. They weren’t ready- for each other, for a life, for something stable. It was the last moment they shared. Ian pressed up against his back, the sound of the metal of his belt hitting the ground, Ian’s lips and hands. Fuck. Then Mickey told him he was leaving.
With the sound of shattering glass Mickey stiffens and comes back to the gallery- startlingly slipping out of the moment that this image brings him too. He feels the tightness of Ian’s palm in his hand- he had probably actually reached out and grabbed it at some point. He turns to look at Ian who’s already looking at him- how could we let ourselves lose all that time, and Ian squeezes his hand. It’s okay- we have time now.
*
Ian had wandered off to get Mickey something that tasted more like whiskey and less like carbonated apple juice- ugh champagne- and just as Ian is about to get back to him some dark-haired fucker has intercepted him. Mickey can see Ian peering over the guy’s shoulder to make sure Mickey’s exactly where he left him- can see the guy oblivious as all hell smiling and chattering incessantly. He’s got this dark maroon suit on that Mickey thinks would look fucking great on Ian but he’s also looking at Ian like he’s the goddamn sun and it makes Mickey’s skin prickle. It takes the guy putting his hand on Ian’s arm for Mickey to turn away and look at the next row of photographs. He’s got to make sure he doesn’t walk the fuck over there and shove the dude to the ground even though he really, really wants too.
“Guys got an incredible eye huh?”
Mickey turns to see where the British accent is coming from only to be brought eye to eye with a man standing a little closer to him than he would like. He’s decked out in a gray suit with wavy blonde locks and he is eyeing Mickey blatantly. All Mickey can do is nod and pull his lips together. God what he would give for a smoke right now.
“He’s also apparently got quite a lot of gorgeous friends,” the guy is smirking at Mickey now and reaches his hand forward, “I’m Oliver.”
Before Mickey can even register, he’s probably supposed to reach his hand forward because he doesn’t want to seem like a total fucking prick at Ian’s event, he feels a strong body press against his side.
“Mick, here’s your drink,” Ian is saddling up next to him quicker than Mickey even realizes and placing the drink out for him.
Mickey takes the glass with a surprised look on his face and watches Ian’s darkening expression, “Sorry, Ian Gallagher, and you are?”
Ian’s holding out an open hand as his other one moves over Mickey’s upper arm, his back and drop down to his waist pulling Mickey into him. The guys eyes shoot wide open at the name, “The artist? Wow, I was just telling, Mick was it?How amazing you are.”
Ian’s face breaks into a smile and all Mickey can think is there’s that forced charm again as he smirks into his drink, “Mickey. My boyfriend. And thank you- appreciate it.”
The guy swallows harshly, eyes darting from Ian to Mickey before realizing this is going absolutely fucking nowhere for him, nodding with a quick excuse about the bathroom or bar, Mickey doesn’t quite hear him, and wandering off.
Mickey chuckles low as he watches the guy scamper away, “Lay it on thicker why don’t you?”
Ian lets his hand at Mickey’s waist squeeze much to Mickey’s irritation, but all Ian does is laugh and Mickey can’t help but feel much more content then he had earlier.
*
"Gallagher," an unimpressed voice drawls, "Never worked up the nerve to call me huh?"
Mickey chokes on the second glass of whiskey he’s tipping back, and Ian’s cheeks blush a shade of red, “Caleb. I didn’t know you were coming- this is Mickey, my bo-"
The man brushes his fingers into the air at Ian’s words and quickly takes a folded piece of paper to slot into Ian’s jacket pocket. He's stalking off before either of them can open their mouths and Mickey wants to throw the glass in his hand just so it hits the dumb fucker in the back of the fucking head. He fucking gets it already. He knows Ian is a goddamn GQ model trapped in the southside of Chicago with talent pouring out of every goddamn crevice of him, but he doesn’t need to be reminded that everyone else knows that too.
Mickey thinks he might fucking explode. Three exes, one gallery opening, really?
Fuck off, Mickey doesn’t need this shit tonight.
“Guy always had a huge fucking head- thinks he’s hot shit," Ian mutters, his palm sliding lower to rest in the dip of Mickey’s back. "Made out drunk in Miami one fucking time, biggest regret of my life."
Mickey wants to laugh, wants to let it roll off his shoulders that these fucking men got a chance with Ian when they were a part. Fuck, all he wants is to let Ian keep showing him his art, keep chatting his ear off about difficult shots and how he wished he had some other fancy fucking camera that Mickey doesn’t know the name of. And yet, he can’t. He pulls Ian towards him to an area a little darker, with a little less people.
"Alright, what the fuck is going on?" Mickey knows he sounds exasperated but he’s beyond fucking irritated. He crossed that one ex ago.
He thinks for a second Ian is going to pretend to not have realized but he seems to quickly decide that it’s not in his best interest to play dumb with the way Mickey’s eyes have narrowed, "It was… difficult after you and I, well, I needed-."
"Needed what? To get your dick sucked by a fucking dude in every state and then invite them all to your opening night?"
Ian’s eyes go wide, "No Mick, god- just-” and then he takes a deep breath before gesturing to the room, “look at them."
So, Mickey does. Fucking models all around them. He can just feel like he’s getting more heated wondering how much of these fucking assholes had bent over for Ian and how many different fucking times. All these narcissistic dark-haired assholes floating around the room, glancing over at him and Ian- fucking leering at them hoping Mickey will step away for a second and they can offer Ian a repeat of whatever had happened before.
“What the fuck am I looking at Gallagher because-”
Ian scoffs, “Gallagher?”
Mickey’s voice strains, “Because I don’t fuckin get why you brought every stupid fucking lay you’ve ever had to this goddamn opening-”
He feels Ian lean in closer to him, his voice is low, whispering in Mickey’s ear as he steps back from Ian to stare at whatever photo they’ve come to now. But Ian pulls him back, stepping into his space with his hands resting on Mickey’s arms, "Being without you. It was- It made me a person I didn’t want to be. I was reckless- careless- I worked all the time and clearly made some bad fucking decisions."
Mickey’s watching Ian searches his face desperately from some reaction. Ian seems regretful, like it’s painful to be reminded of their time apart and Mickey wants to wrap Ian up in his arms because he gets it- it was fucking awful. But he's also still fucking boiling and he needs to know why all Ian's fucking exes were invited.
"Wherever I went I didn't give a fuck. I just wanted to be someone else. But that only worked for a bit and then I was waking up sober and- and alone. You weren’t fucking there. So, all those fucking flings- I just..."
Mickey reaches his hand up to brush Ian’s cheek because fuck, he's so gone on him he can't even stop himself, “I fucked around. Back then. You know – Mick, you were the only one that made me ever want more,” Mickey feel’s himself inhaling the words, “So, with them, I was leaving and not calling and just being a fucking asshole. I didn’t care. I don’t."
Mickey turns to glance at the next photograph they’re standing in front of and tries to calm the way his stomach is flipping. He's still wondering why all these stupid assholes are here, still wondering why Ian’s even telling him this. He gets it- in spite of the jealous rage- he does. They were fucking one night stands a hundred years ago. They were all after the Mickey he was then and before the Mickey he was now. He hadn’t expected Ian to hold a fucking flame for him- be a virgin for the last few years until they both pulled their heads out of their asses. For fucks sake, he hadn’t done that when they had broken a part. He understands it.
"I wanted you to see my work. Not- not be reminded of that. Fucking manager never emailed me the guest list, must have copied an old one or some shit."
Oh.
"Ian," Mickey lets his voice drop and pushes the rage aside, "past is the fuckin past man, I'm-"
Then it hits him like a goddamn train. The connection between all these fucking guys who keep cutting them off and slipping into their moments. The reason Ian is rambling about those guys and him and what it all means. The dark hair, the pale skin, and the fucking blue eyes. Mickey’s features are plastered on all of them in one way or another. He blinks a few times as Ian leads him into another room and he’s fucking choking on it.
“They- they-”
Mickey finds himself completely taken with Ian for a second. They're standing close- face to face in a room with dozens of people but Mickey feels like it’s just the two of them. Those damn green eyes, that perfect fucking jaw. His fucking boyfriend. His. Then his stomach is doing somersaults or something and he slips his open palm into Ian’s, their fingers intertwining. They had only been a part for a few years before they had run into each other again, before this had started again and the bubbling feelings inside of him- this was exactly how Mickey felt the moment their eyes connected across that goddamn restaurant.
It was always going to be him for Mickey.
And after tonight, Mickey knew just how much it was always going to be him for Ian.
"Take me the fuck home," Mickey whispers.
*
It’s a flurry to Mickey really- how they get out of the gallery, how they get back to their apartment, how they even make it through a whole fucking drive and elevator ride when all he wants to do his taste his boyfriend. But when they finally get inside Ian’s got him pressed against the front door so fast, he thinks he gets whiplash.
The redhead is hungrily grabbing at his body and undoing his belt and pushing off his jacket. Mickey’s doing the same, grabbing at Ian’s arms and tearing at buttons and fuck this fucking tie. Ian’s sucking at his throat and biting at his skin in a way that makes Mickey grind against him as soon as their boxers hit the floor. He knows he’s being loud but goddamn, when your Adonis of a boyfriend is gripping your thighs and pulling up to carry you through the apartment, you’d be fucking loud too.
Mickey lands on the bed with a huff and he opens his eyes to see his beautiful handiwork decorating Ian’s mouth and neck and chest. His hair is mused, and his eyes are dark. It makes Mickey’s dick throb.
“Goddammit Mickey,” Ian murmurs before he’s on him again.
*
They had always been rushed.
Everything about being with Ian was hard and fast. Always in back rooms and alleys and bathrooms; always waiting for a brother or a sister or a raging alcoholic to storm in on them. Always fucking Mickey good and hard until he’d bit his lip and came. But now- fuck, now Ian’s got time.
He’s got Mickey blissed out and naked and writhing underneath him. There’s no where he would rather be, he thinks. So, he’s moving slow, taking every fucking second- and he can hear Mickey mouthing off, hurry the fuck up bitch, but all he can do is smile. He knows Mickey’s loving the way Ian is grinding his hips slow and hard into him, the way’s he’s caressing his skin with his hot palms. With their legs tangled and their chest connected- Ian feels like he’s on cloud fucking nine.
He’s letting his hands brush over the sensitive skin of Mickey’s neck where he’s marked and bitten and licked; letting his hands run through Mickey’s hair, nails scraping so that Mickey arches into him. He opens his mouth slow, tilts his head and lets his tongue move against Mickey’s own. Ian can feel the way Mickey’s hands grip at his waist, grip his ass and pull their cocks together so that his dick is fucking aching for more. He can feel the wetness glide between. He can tell by the way Mickey’s hands grip, the way his leg muscles tense that the kiss is hitting him just the way Ian intended.
Mickey pulls back, his eyes still closed, their noses still brushing, “Christ Ian, get the fuck inside me, please-”
Ian smiles as he leans back to press his lips against Mickey’s mouth and pull back again, “Just shut up and take what I give you Mick.”
Then Ian’s leaning back and moving his way down Mickey’s body. He’s starting at his neck where he’s licking and sucking and bruising Mickey up again. Lips moving hot and wet and open down Mickey’s chest to the sound of Mickey’s deep moans. His fingernails are gently scraping their way down until they come to Mickey’s hips where Ian takes another moment to lick and suck and bruise. Ian holy fucking- but Ian just hushes him and runs his hands over Mickey’s strong thighs, dropping them over his shoulders as he settles between them, letting his mouth trail the spots that make Mickey’s back arch off their bed.
Ian peers up and it’s an absolute fucking sight to have Mickey breathless and glistening all for him. Mickey’s hair is mused from where Ian had run his fingers, his chest is splattered with red, and his neck is dotted with marks that just keep darkening. It makes Ian feel possessive deep inside his chest. Mine. He watches as Mickey’s eyes seem to flutter open- what’s the hold- but Mickey swallows his words with a guttural moan as Ian raises his thighs and licks a strip up the crack of Mickey’s ass to his balls and back again.
Mickey was always pushy- when they were younger, he wanted Ian to spread him with a few fingers and then pound into him hard and wild and deep. Ian remembers the first time he had gotten to properly prep Mickey- his moans had gone straight to Ian’s cock and damn, his pupils had never been blown so wide. It’s why Ian takes his time doing it now. Stroking Mickey’s thighs, gripping him to pull Mickey against his face, pressing his tongue inside Mickey, sucking his fingers into his mouth and pressing them inside Mickey at the same time. Oh, goddammit Ian. Even though it made Ian’s cock strain painfully against the mattress, desperate for friction and Mickey’s hot embrace, it was always worth it for those fucking noises.
It made the moment that Ian sat up, shoved his tongue into Mickey’s mouth, gripped his thigh, lined his cock up and thrust deep into Mickey, even better. Those noises, fuck- those ones that had Ian biting the inside of his cheek to keep grinding and rocking his hips just the way Mickey needed him too. And definitely to stop himself from coming right away.
After a brief stop at the Alibi with Liam and a man who probably shouldn’t have been carrying as much product on him as he was in the south side of Chicago, Ian gets home. He’s got two rings resting in a box gripped tightly in his hand and he feels like his heads swimming or his feet are locked on a tight rope or maybe he’s just fucking drowning. He’s not really sure, but either way, it’s a lot. And he doesn’t want to believe he’s lost Mickey before he has a chance to make it right. With the rings, maybe he has time.
Liam breezes past him but Ian stops at the bottom of the stairs and takes a deep breath. It had all flashed through Mickey’s eyes that day, those ridiculously beautiful blue eyes- joy, trust, anger, pain, ache. Ian wishes he could go back before he had burned him; before he had burned them.
After a brief stop at the Alibi with Liam and a man who probably shouldn’t have been carrying as much product on him as he was in the south side of Chicago, Ian gets home. He’s got two rings resting in a box gripped tightly in his hand and he feels like his heads swimming or his feet are locked on a tight rope or maybe he’s just fucking drowning. He’s not really sure, but either way, it’s a lot. And he doesn’t want to believe he’s lost Mickey before he has a chance to make it right. With the rings, maybe he has time.
Liam breezes past him but Ian stops at the bottom of the stairs and takes a deep breath. It had all flashed through Mickey’s eyes that day, those ridiculously beautiful blue eyes- joy, trust, anger, pain, ache. Ian wishes he could go back before he had burned him; before he had burned them.
“A pity party huh? Care if I join?”
His head jolts up and he feels his hand instinctively rise to his face to wipe away the evidence of whatever feelings have crossed it while standing in the darkness of his home and the relentless pounding of his thoughts. Lip is leaning against the frame of the doorway between the kitchen and the living room looking at him, a cigarette already lit in his hand, already being offered out to Ian.
Ian snorts, taking a few strides across the room to take a drag from the cigarette and letting the burn in his lungs ground him a little.
"I never really understood it you know?" Lip's still leaning against the wall, the dim yellow light of the kitchen behind him, "You and Milkovich."
Ian hums, he knows his brother didn't get it, that no one in his family really did. He knows his brother saw Mickey exactly how Mickey wanted to be seen. How the image of a violent, homophobic thug had stuck and clashed so completely with the soft mother fucker that was his younger brother.
"But after he brought you back. From the club, from that edge you seemed to be sitting on, I think- I think I get it now."
Ian peers down at Lip whose got his brow furrowed but soft look on his face. He can't help but smirk, "Oh you do huh?"
“Mickey’s what you need."
Ian feels his body tense for a moment. His jaw locks, his eyes burn again as he turns to Lip, passing the cigarette back.
"And you’re what he needs."
Ian opens his mouth to say something, to tell Lip that he knows that already. But the words stick in his throat as Lip lifts the cigarette from his fingers, the softness of his face turning somber.
"You know you’re not Monica, right?”
He feels a shudder run up his body, his voice is so quiet he feels like the world might break if he says what he knows is true, “I can be though.”
Lip takes another drag and tilts his head to the side as the smoke rushes out of him, “Maybe you’re just the good parts of her? The parts we never really got to see because she was so out of her fucking mind all the time.”
Ian grunts out a laugh again at days they spent in this exact room during their childhood. Days of Monica spinning around the room sprinkling the carpet with glitter which is probably still there if you look hard enough. Days of her piling all the furniture in the house together in the living room to make the world’s largest fort for them.
He’s staring at his feet when Lip breaks the silence again, “I think you should marry him.”
Ian nods gently.
Yeah, he really should.
*
When Lip finally shuffles out the back door to a life he has outside, a life he’s trying his hardest to live without fucking it up as Gallaghers always eventually do, Ian sits on the couch. Everyone thinks he should marry Mickey; everyone thinks that he’s crazy to be worried about his illness because Mickey gets it. Micky is not going to run; he’s never been the one to run from this.
But Ian can’t help the familiar tightness in his chest as he wrings his hands together.
“For fucks sake,” he softly curses as he rests his face in the palms of his hands, a wetness there for what feels like the hundredth time today.
Even if he can get past the fact that this illness is stitched to the bottoms of his feet like a shadow always waiting to crawl up, slip inside and drive him around for a little while. Even if he can ignore that welt of insecurity that lies so freshly beneath his skin; he still wonders because it’s fucking marriage.
When they had stood in city hall he was thinking married. He was thinking protection and keeping Mickey beside him and no more prison walls. But Mickey- Mickey was thinking marriage like a future, like a forever, like just the two of them til death do us part. And Ian wants that. He’s wanted that since Mickey, with grease marks and dirt on his stupid face, saddled up next to him on that damn couch- thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder- and told him to watch and learn. Ian feels like he’s been doing that every second of his life with Mickey. Fuck- he couldn’t remember how many nights he spent giddy at the thought of a tomorrow with Mickey. That version of him, before the diagnosis and the army and Monica and fucking prison, ached for Mickey.
And Ian still aches for Mickey that way.
Beneath the several layers of self-doubt and anger and guilt, he thinks he’ll always ache for Mickey.
He knows he will and if that isn’t enough of an answer, then what else is?
*
“You're a fucking idiot Gallagher. You know the answer to that stupid fucking question.”
He calls Mandy while he's still sitting in the darkness of his living room not entirely aware what time it is because the anxiety that’s building inside him makes feel like the answer to whether they should get married is out of reach. There’s no fine line, there’s just an unknown and he can’t jump without an answer. He had spent half his life jumping and not thinking. Mickey was deserved more.
“I fucked up Mandy. I don’t- He just- We-”
“You broke his heart.”
Ian pauses, it almost hurts more to hear someone else say it, so the next words come out harsh, “Don’t you think I fucking know that?”
“Okay so stop being so goddamn sensitive-”
“I am not-”
“Ian. You’re soft as fuck, shut the hell up.”
Ian laughs a little, he knows Mandy can tell he’s worked himself up and his head is all over the place and the combination of nicotine and caffeine from the day is making him jittery.
“Jesus Christ. You know what it means for Mickey to want to marry you? To want to wear that ring on his finger?"
Ian thinks he stopped breathing somewhere down the line at Mandy’s words.
"Stop letting all the bullshit get in the way.”
She hangs up before Ian even has a chance to open his mouth.
*
Ian had texted Mickey to meet him at the dugouts. He wanted to be romantic, make some sort of grand gesture, hell- he’s got the rings in his fucking pocket and the speech in his head. He’s ready, he’s so ready now. But fuck, the asshole had never made it easy on him before, why start? So, instead of sweeping Mickey off his feet like you’re supposed to when you’ve got the love of your life and the future finally mapped out in your stupid head, they’re fucking wrestling in the grass.
“You’re un-fucking-believable”
Mickey had gotten a good clean hit right to the side of Ian’s head, but Ian had gotten one in too and now they were both trying to get the upper hand on the other rolling on their backs. Ian’s trying to get him to stop fucking swinging long enough to talk so, he uses the leverage of his lower body to pin down Mickey’s legs, grip his forearms and slam them into the ground around Mickey’s head.
“Would you just let me TALK you son of a bitch!”
Mickey stills underneath him, and Ian rolls off him with a huff. His back hits the ground, the soreness of Mickey’s fist connecting with his face starting to resonate all over. He peers over at Mickey whose chest is huffing; he’s got his forearms resting across his waist, his hands folded together at the centre of his body and his eyes are closed. Ian steadies his gaze on Mickey for a moment, looking at the way the sun catches him, partly in light and partly in darkness as he lies there. As much as he wants to talk, Ian doesn’t want to disturb him yet, so he turns his head back towards the sky and breathes deeply. He lets his eyes close, hoping Mickey breaks the silence to hear him out rather than stalking off again.
But as soon as his eyes close they’re jolting open at the feeling of Mickey’s legs straddling him. He can feel one of Mickey’s hands moving to intertwine with his so they’re resting next to Ian’s head. His other hand presses flat and open on Ian’s chest. And he’s kissing him. It’s soft and gentle and languid and Ian can feel the hot coil in the pit of his stomach start to burn. Mickey’s opening up his mouth and tilting his head up with nothing more than the unhurried movement of his lips. Ian’s completely lost in it. He can barely focus on the way Mickey slowly grinds down against him or the way Mickey’s grip tightens in his hand. But his body is definitely responding. His hips are moving up to meet Mickey’s and his open palm has moved to grip Mickey’s hip, to slide and grasp his ass the more his hips twist.
But then Mickey’s hand pulls from his and moves to rest against his chest alongside his other hand. Ian’s eyes blink open to Mickey looking down at him, those pale blue eyes staring almost hesitantly but more angrily. Mickey takes a deep breath and deflates slightly as Ian relaxes his grip on Mickey’s hip. He knows Mickey’s tired; his eyes are dark, and that often means he hasn’t been sleeping. But Mickey also seems insistent with his stare, talk motherfucker.
“When I proposed, I was thinking that I love you and I need- I need to protect you. And when the need to protect you slipped away from us, I thought,” he can feel his throat tighten, “I thought that marrying you would be like signing your fuckin death sentence Mick.”
He can see how quickly Mickey’s mouth tightens, how his eyes narrow, how his spine stiffens, “Here we fuckin go-”
Mickey is moving up off him to stand before Ian has a second but then Ian’s moving just as urgently and he’s standing with Mickey’s wrist tightly in his hand, pulling him back towards him, “Just shut the fuck up and listen!”
Mickey’s eyes go wide, but his mouth turns back into a tight line and Ian sighs, relaxing his grip again but still letting the feel of Mickey's skin agains this wave over him, “I know you want to take care of me- good times and bad, thick and thin, sickness and health, all that shit. Right?” Mickey lifts his chin slightly, tenses his jaw, possibly a nod, maybe not, but Ian will take it.
“I want that too. God, I want that. And I want to take care of you Mick. But I- well I just didn’t think you knew what that meant. Not really. How uneven we’d always be.”
Mickey’s voice is harsh, “I know how to fucking take care of you.”
Mickey pulls his wrist out of Ian’s grip and drops so he’s sitting in the grass. Ian moves to sit too, side-by-side with Mickey, looking out over a baseball diamond he had seen in so many different lights. Ian moves his hand to touch Mickey’s thigh, Mickey’s head swivels and their eyes connect.
“I know you took care of me. And I hurt you. All the time. My mom was- she always-,” Ian pauses to take a breath- “She fuckin broke us, okay Mick? Every time she left or stole from us or- fuck Mick, when I saw her in the kitchen that day. You know?”
Ian bristles at the memory and takes a deep breath hoping to collect himself; his eyes flutter closed but he feels Mickey’s fingers brush against his own. He remembers telling Mickey about that day and the way Mickey held him. He hopes to give Mickey that same grace now.
“I don’t wanna do that to you Mick. I don’t wanna keep doing that to you. Because I have been. I've been fucking breaking you and I never wanted that. You deserve so much fucking better than that.”
Ian opens his eyes to look at Mickey again. He reaches his hand into his pocket and Mickey’s eyes move to focus on the movements rather than his face, his lips parting slightly when the box comes into view.
“I couldn’t protect you. Not from Terry, not from the cops, not from fuckin prison. The least I could do was protect you from me.”
Mickey’s voice is as gentle as his finger son Ian's hand, “Ian.”
“But I get it now.”
Mickey's eyes stare intently at the box that Ian is rolling in his hand and Ian raises his eyes to watch him; watch how quickly the heated glares have fallen and turned soft.
“I visited my mom and- well I remember what she told me back then. I had told her about you and me and all this shit and she told me that the most important thing,” he flips the box open with his eyes still on Mickey whose eyebrows raise, whose eyes widen- “was to find somebody to love. And make sure that somebody loves me back for who I am.”
He reaches into the box to grab one of the silver bands, "And I have."
He sees Mickey's eyes flicker to the rings, chewing on his lower lip, “You proposing Gallagher?”
A small smile breaks across Ian’s face and Mickey can’t help the way his own mouth breaks into one too.
Mickey reaches his hand towards the ring in Ian's fingers which is glinting in the setting sun. Ian has heard before that in moments like this you’re supposed to feel the buzz of electricity or something practically ethereal but honestly, all he feels is tethered and certain and happy.
“I told you I needed time. And I do- there’s a lot of things that I- that we will have to face and fix and whatever. But this- you and me- isn’t one of those things.”
Ian moves to slide the ring on Mickey’s finger, “I love you Mickey Milkovich. More than anything.” As soon as the ring slips over Mickey’s knuckle he feels Mickey moving to push him backwards again. With Mickey’s body pressing against him again, before he can even catch his breath, he feels his skin tingle. Mickey’s hands are around his neck slotting their mouths together and everything clicks into place. Mickey’s body falls between his legs, chest to chest, heart to heart. Finally.
From the moment he had seen Mickey at the dug-out he had just wanted to lean into the gravity that he has always been for Ian. So, in this moment, he does. He responds eagerly. He presses his lips roughly against Mickey’s. He opens his mouth and lets himself fall into the heat of Mickey’s tongue and lips and hands. He runs his palms up Mickey’s back and lets his thighs tightly press against Mickey’s hips. He can feel his heartbeat through his shirt, and he thinks that maybe- just maybe, he can protect Mickey from the whirlwind he knows he can be… even if he stays.
As Mickey pulls back slightly, their noses brushing, their foreheads resting together Ian huffs out a laugh, “You didn’t even let me ask.”
Mickey’s eyes blink open, his voice is low and husky and Ian's skin heats at the sound of it, “I’ll marry you. Of course, I’ll fuckin marry you.”
Then Mickey’s grasping around for something beside them and coming back up just as quickly to grasp Ian’s hand. Ian watches Mickeys face as he feels him slip the cool metal band onto his finger. At the light in Mickey’s eyes, at the warmth he feels spread throughout him, all he can do is whisper, “Come here.”
*
When they had gotten home, Ian had barely taken a second before he was licking his way into Mickey’s mouth; gripping his hips and his neck and pulling them together. He had fucking worshipped him; had let his legs drag over the curves of Mickey’s body like he’d finally found an altar he was more than willing to pray at. He had taken his time spreading Mickey out on their bed with his fingers and tongue and that relentless fucking mouth. He had Mickey panting and begging- Fuck Ian please, please- had turned his mind to a mess of wanting him. Then he had slid inside him with one hand gripping Mickey’s thigh pushing him back until Mickey’s body arched up into him. With their eyes locked together and his hands gripping Ian’s neck to seal their lips together Ian had thrust into him. I fucking love you Gallagher. He knows it had left Ian breathless, left him feeling like his chest was going to explode, because Mickey felt it. They felt so fucking right.
When they fall back to earth and the sheen of Ian’s skin against his own is too much, they roll away from each other. They’re lying in their bed and Ian’s arm stretches out so it’s under the back of his head, the back of his neck. He’s lying on his back but Ian’s on his side stretching out the length of his body but curving into Mickey. He lets his eyes close at the same time that Ian’s other arm moves up his chest. His palm is still hot as it runs up his sensitive skin. Mickey feels Ian’s thumb brush against his ear, his fingers softly spreading to scratch where his hairline runs on the back of his neck. Their faces are so close together and just because he can, just because he hadn’t for much too long, Mickey leans up to press his lips to Ian’s.
He feels Ian’s palm move to rest against his cheek as he does so; the cold metal of the band on his finger makes his cheek tingle and his heart stutter. He feels the way Ian’s mouth curves into a smile as his lips rest against Ian’s skin. When he pulls back, Ian’s hand drags down his neck and their eyes meet. Mickey can’t help the ways his lips curve just so or the way he breaks into a smile when Ian’s fingers move to rest against his neck, when Ian’s thumb brushes against his lower lip. Staring into those deep blue green eyes he wants to freeze time.
Someone had told him once that you can figure out a lot about a person in the way they leave you, but you can figure out even more in the way they come back. Mickey finds solace in the truth of that- and in the truth of Ian, it had taken them a decade to get here, but it was worth it.
*
The sun is probably ready to come up any minute but lying in their bed under the familiar roof of the Gallagher house, with the familiar breeze of a slightly jarred window and the soft white noise of nothing, Ian lies awake.
The last few times he had lied awake in this bed he was in pain; his body was sore, his head was pounding, his eyes were so dry they burned. But not right now. Not with Mickey pressed up against the side of him, his head resting partly on Ian’s shoulder, partly on his chest and his hand limp over Ian’s heart. Ian can feel the weight of his ring and that’s what keeps him awake.
For some reason, the fear had dissipated, and he’s feels so impossibly full. Way too full to sleep - too much, too jittery and too fucking hopeful.
Sure, there’s still some anxiety crawling around inside of him. He won’t lie about that. He thinks there’s always going to be this fear that he’ll set this all aflame again; fear that Mickey’s going to realize this is all a big mistake and run. But as he tightens his arm around Mickey and lets the feel of his breathing relax him, Ian calms. He doesn’t want to think about that. Not right now. He wants to picture an apartment with bare rooms and battered blinds where nothing but a mattress, a few pizza boxes and a couple empty beer bottles litter the floor. He wants to picture how soon that apartment will be filled with utensils and a couch and a television. He wants to picture how that even though the first night they get there the apartment will be bare they’ll make love- they’ll make love with their hands gripped tightly together and Mickey’s name falling off his lips.
As he lets himself drift into sleep in the warm embrace of Mickey and the comfortable images of a future, he thinks about his mom again. He thinks about Frank’s words the day they all said goodbye.
She taught me how to live.
She changed everything.
Until now, he had never understood his father more.
I wanted to get into Ian and Mickey’s heads in 10x08 to 10x10. I wanted to see why Ian proposed again. It’s canon divergent in a sense but the eventual happy ending makes up for the heartache. Please review the tags, this gets heavy. Enjoy.
He walks into the ocean and its warm. He hums as it thrashes against his pale skin. The sun has barely risen, and all those faint red and orange hues feel about a hundred thousand miles away across an unfiltered blue green ocean. Him. His eyes. That’s why he had walked into it. Just to feel that again; to be embraced by it again; to be close to him again. Its soft. For a moment.
But then he’s almost hips deep and it turns sour in his mouth. He’s choking on the moment and his eyes are stinging and he doesn’t know what to do because all he wants suddenly is to break out of his skin. He feels so hot, everything is hot and painful and god, his chest hurts so fucking bad. Is he crying? His eyes are practically burning and he’s rubbing at them and he’s fucking screaming. Just screaming before it all settles again. Before his eyes fix on the horizon again, on those reds and oranges that had brought him out here. His chest constricts. Then there’s that blue green again. His eyes.
Then he’s jolting awake like he’s just heard Terry walk through the front door or there’s still the faint ringing in his ears of gun shots outside an apartment too far south of the border. But he’s not there and Terry’s not here. No. He’s alone. He’s alone in a bed made for two and falling back against the pillow letting all the air filter out of his lungs.
He doesn’t know how long he lays there; he doesn’t know what time it is when he falls asleep again or when he wakes up and he doesn’t care. Sometimes he opens his eyes and it’s faintly light around him; sometimes it’s so dark that he feels like he’s been swallowed whole. When he does wake there’s a water bottle on his bed side table and he chugs it before he falls back into the mattress. The cold hits the empty pit of his stomach and there’s nothing but ache in his chest. Well, except maybe sleep, and sleep makes it better. For a few precious hours, sleep takes it away.
When his eyes slip open the next time there’s a warm hand on his cheek and he wants to lean into it, but he knows down to his bones before he consciously even realizes it that it’s not who he wants it to be.
“It’s okay to grieve Mickey. Doesn’t just happen when people die ya know? You can grieve life too. Missed chances, lost time... mistakes.”
But he just turns away from his sister, the ache is all too much.
*
“Mickey, wait! Please!”
Ian’s running down the steps of city hall with those stupid fucking papers scrunched in his hand, his eyes frantically wide. He’s stumbling after him down steps and across the sidewalk. Mickey can hear him rushing after him, hear the pleading, but it just makes his knuckles turn white.
“Go FUCK yourself Gallagher.”
Mickey’s not having it. Not today. Not right now. Everything around him is crumbling. Blood is pounding in his ears and he knows, he knows, if he doesn’t get the fuck out of here right now, he might just rip someone’s throat out.
“I just need to know how you feel Mick. This is a marriage, and I love you but that’s- it’s marriage- it’s just so, so much. Gallaghers and marriage, we don’t- and I don’t want to fuck this up. Everything’s been so fucking good Mick-”
Mickey spins around at the feeling of Ian’s hand wrapping itself around his arm, Ian’s pleading is swimming in his brain as his knuckles crash across his jaw, “You already FUCKING did!”
Mickey’s entire frame is shaking. He had been ready. Fuck was he ever ready. He had gripped that pen so tightly in his hand he felt he might break it before he threw it on the counter and looked up at Ian. But the crushing weight of realizing you want something more than the person standing beside you? The way that shit hits you in the chest? No, he hadn’t been ready for that.
God, just moments before he was sitting in that diner listening to Ian talk about loving each other, trusting each other. Letting Ian reach for his hand across the table. It had felt like he was reaching across a chasm. Like Ian was finally choosing him; finally seeing them for what they could be. Like maybe Mickey was actually going to be able to breathe his first breath of fresh air in years. In that moment, Mickey was safe, comfortable, at home.
But Ian had hesitated.
And honestly, Mickey wished Ian had punched him. He had felt wanted, completely. But it was barely a moment; a stupid fucking fleeting moment that Mickey never thought would come.
“You ever get tired of jerking me around?”
Mickey’s pushing him back now. He can feel the way his heavy palms slam against Ian’s chest. Ian’s grasping at him, a redness at the side of his eye already forming, a disorientation in the way he stumbles back.
“Please- talk to me Mick.”
Mickey can’t feel anything but rage and hurt and he just wants Ian to stop looking at him like he fucking broke him. So, he keeps slamming his hands until Ian’s backed up against the wall outside of whatever fucking building they’re outside of now. He wants to tear his fucking head off.
“Running off with your mom, leaving me at the fucking border? Huh? This some sick fucking game your crazy ass is playin with me?”
And Ian flinches so hard he practically bounces his own head off the wall behind him. His whole-body freezes under Mickey’s hands and his eyes are blow wide as Mickey slams against the wracked frame of Ian’s body one more time.
He practically spits the next words in Ian’s face, “Fuck you.”
*
As convoluted and complex and downright fucking devastating as it is for Ian to admit, Mickey’s heartbroken.
Again.
He feels just like he had that day he stood in front of Mickey after travelling nothing short of fourteen hundred miles and let two simple fucking words shatter them- I can’t.
After that, he had gone home and buried the loss. He committed to his routine and sought to fill the gaping cavern in the middle of his chest with anything and everything. But the only thing that grounded him before each fucking disaster had been Mickey. And whenever he thought of him, it just hurt.
But he couldn’t help himself either. He felt like he deserved that at least; to make himself feel what he was trying to bury; to make himself feel what Mickey was probably feeling.
He often thought about Mickey’s life south of the border in those weeks. The friends he would make, the work he would do, and the home he would have. Did he think of Ian the first time he saw the ocean? When he felt the heat of the sand and the burning of the sun and smelt nothing but salt, did he wonder where Ian was?
Ian never told anyone that he pictured the life he almost had in Mexico over and over in his head. He would smoke out his bedroom window staring aimlessly at the lamp-lit street picturing a cove where Mickey would dip his legs in the water; a market where Mickey would graze the back of Ian’s hand with his knuckles; a home- just the two of them. There was nothing better to do when fighting his unbridled insomnia.
Except maybe ask himself over and over again if he had always been this cruel?
He’s asking himself that same question now as he watches Mickey stalk away from him on the busy Chicago street.
While Mickey had been gone, before Ian had created this new fucking mess, he had started up a habit of sitting outside on the porch just when the moon was at its peak in the sky. He wanted to look up at it and wonder if Mickey was looking up there too. Wherever he was. But then the sun would rise, and he would go about his life. Those moments thinking about Mickey weren’t few and far between then, but he buried them in the recedes of his memory. Two boyfriends passed, Ian spent 17 consecutive days in bed before his brothers made an appointment at the clinic and his mania spiraled.
Blowing up a van? Not on his bucket list. Prison? Not there either.
But Mickey was.
He wishes he could go back to that first day, to that reunion and tell himself to hold onto it. To hold onto Mickey. Not to fuck it up again. Not to let that part of him that doubts every step he takes take hold. But he can’t so, he just imagines a day better than now; imagines a Mickey who still wants him.
He’s got on the same god-awful yellow jumpsuit that Ian has and he's making jokes about how he’s got bottom and he’s standing in front him. Really, truly, standing in front him with this soft smirk and these gentle eyes. And at the same time that Ian is absolutely elated, he remembers feeling so fucking afraid. Yeah, he had climbed on top of Mickey, feeling the heat of his skin for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. Yeah, he had earnestly licked into his mouth thinking this isn’t real, he isn’t real. But he found himself aching right down to his bones for reasons besides missing him and wanting him.
The Ian he is now wishes he could tell the Ian he was in prison to stop being so stupid. To enjoy all that he has in front of him- under him. But again, he can’t, he can only replay his own stupidity in his head.
In prison, he hoped, like the fucking moron he was, that the reunion would be heat and passion and catching up on so much lost time. And it was, for a while. Until it was clear Mickey was different. Until it was clear that something had shifted. Sure, he was more than happy to ride Ian into blissful oblivion, but he wasn’t giving up his heart this time. Ian could feel it around them in the way Mickey tensed the second Ian’s hand touched his back; the way he never fully relaxed into a kiss the way he used to. Maybe it was prison. But in Ian’s mind, those two words had thrown them five years backwards.
So, Ian took what he could get and tried to do it with as much grace as one can muster when you’re trapped in a cramped cell with a man who wants to punch you almost as much as he wants to blow you. It was the Mickey he had fallen for after all- hard-fought, perpetually vigilant, hitting first and thinking later. This Mickey said everything with his eyes. And because of that, Ian had never told him everything he had thought during their time apart. He knew if he let the soft slip between them in a space where you just couldn’t be soft that Mickey’s skin would rile. The words had been on the tip of his tongue the whole time though- telling him that he couldn’t sleep for weeks after that day at the border. That it wasn’t until he found one of Mickey’s old shirts that he felt any semblance of peace.
Mickey would throw it at him. Enough with that gay shit you pussy. Even if he didn’t mean too. Even if he didn’t want to. But Ian felt like he deserved it. He deserved it then and he definitely deserved it now. He had broken his heart. And worse yet, this time, he was almost sure that he had lost his trust.
This time, with nothing but a pen and a promise and city hall, he had undone it all.
*
Mickey says it to hurt him. The moment the word leaves his mouth he sees the shock filter across Ian’s face, the fucking pain that Mickey has become so familiar with in their time apart.
Crazy.
He knows he can be cold. He knows thoughtlessness like the back of his father’s hand. He knows he’s good at being hard to understand. It’s in his genetics- it’s the Milkovich way. His father had cursed him with every split lip and every cracking headache to be hard and stunted and everything in fucking between.
But he hadn’t meant it.
That’s the difference.
He wanted to take the word back as soon as it tumbled out of his mouth but sometimes, he’s more emotion than control. Ian does that to him; has always done that to him.
And it makes him angry. But at the same time, he had missed Ian so much he could hardly stand it when he was gone.
Some days, he looked up and wished for something that could tell him how to quit Ian. He had sought it in Mexico. He buried the pieces of him that loved Ian on that dusty road in Texas and let himself fall into the hardness of a life on the run. He chased him away with tequila and men and sometimes redheaded tourists looking for a story to take home. But it was never enough. The friends he made there would peel him off a bar room floor and throw him into the icy water of a shower to restart him. He remembers Sonia, he remembers the day he told her he was leaving, he can’t be your whole world Mickey.
When he gets home, with those words in his head, he can’t walk through the door. Instead, he just slams himself down on the porch steps and lights a smoke wondering how long it will take for one of them to work themselves up enough to find the other. That’s what they did. No matter how much they tore each other up, no matter what pulled them away, it felt like nothing when he was standing in front of Ian again hearing that voice.
Come here.
*
On his walk home Ian doesn’t want to think of all the ways he’s fucked up today or this month or this last fucking year. He just wants Mickey. He wants to be wherever Mickey is, and he wants it so bad he could combust. So instead he tries to calm himself. Tries to do what his therapist had told him, be grateful for the time. It was something they had talked about a lot, being mentally ill and reclaiming what lost minutes.
Back when he was younger there were days and weeks that he could barely recall. Moments beginning and ending but with deep, dark holes between them. He would open his eyes to an unfamiliar space with unfamiliar people and he chased it so that he didn’t have to cope with it. But now- now he was recognizing that time was a gift for him. While the world might shake everyone else, he could remain stagnant in a moment. He could refuse to follow the alarming pace the universe had set for him in his head. Sure, things will still ache for way too long; everything will feel at a stand-still; and some wounds will eternally be wet. But he still has moments; quiet moments that he keeps locked inside his head when Mickey had gotten out and come back to him through the window and straight into his embrace.
They hadn’t exactly flowed into living together considering Mickey could be a fucking dickhead and Ian always left his pants on the floor beside the bed, “Could you pick your shit up before I trip and fucking die!”
But it was everything.
There were days Ian would come home after work when it had been pouring rain and his skin was drenched but Mickey was napping on the couch. His body relaxed, his face soft, and Ian would pull down the quilt that Lip half-assed back when he was knitting to curb the alcoholism. Some Saturdays when he would come home from one of his early morning runs, he could hear the faint sound of the radio and Mickey making pancakes in the kitchen. When he walked in, Mickey’s hips would be swaying subtly, and Ian always watched until he got caught. Stop being so fucking gay and help me firecrotch. Ian wondered if it had been something he picked up in Mexico. He pictured Mickey surrounded by a family of faceless people in a room of bright colours playing loud music. He would feel an ache so deep he might keel over but then there was Mickey pulling him in and handing him a spatula.
There were so many mornings Ian would wake up to the sound of the shower, and so many nights falling asleep to Mickey’s breathing against his skin.
It could have been perfect.
But Ian can feel the quiet moments he holds onto slipping away as he realizes how tainted he has made them. Back then, he knew the walls were still there for Mickey no matter how many times Mickey may have pressed himself up against Ian’s back. His lips hot and wet on Ian’s neck, and his hands skimming under the band of Ian’s sweats. Ian would feel himself deep inside Mickey; would be staring at his face while his eyes are closed and his head is thrown back, “I’m so fucking in love with you Mick.”
Mickey’s lips would uptick just ever so much, his voice a breathy whisper. “I know fuck.”
Ian had wondered then if Mickey would ever say it aloud again. And he did, eventually.
But now, feeling the quiet moment that should have calmed him slip away, after watching Mickey walk away from him and after walking home with his chest so tight he can barely breath, all Ian can wonder is if he’ll ever hear it again.
*
When Ian gets home, he doesn’t know what to do so he sits on the edge of his bed. No, not his, theirs, their bed. The papers are burning in his hand and he’s wondering why he couldn’t just sign them. He can hear the voice in his head that was shouting at him when he was still in at that counter. Just do it. Just pick up the pen and write, goddammit. They were right motherfucking there. He had Mickey beside him. His Mickey, who had waited nearly a fucking decade, who had done everything to get back to him. For gods sake, Ian was the one who had proposed! His stupid idea to lean across that grimy table and pull Mickey into him like he had wanted to for years.
He pauses and wonders for a second if maybe he’s just manic. If he can blame his mania for throwing him and Mickey into some sort of a hell spiral again but he picks up his pills, picks up his journal, and checks his alarms. Nope. Everything’s in check. So, why was he such a fucking idiot? Why couldn’t he just do it? For Mickey?
When he closes his eyes, he hears Mickey’s words and he sees Monica at the fore front of his mind. He flinches again; clutching his hands more tightly and he can already feel the red marks his nails will leave in his palm.
You’re crazy.
Yeah. He was. Well, he could be. He knows he had been a fucking lot back then; that sure, he had it under control now but that didn’t mean forever. He knows this. He feels it just beneath the surface of his skin and he tries to stop the rapid thumping in his chest at all the images that just assault him.
Days in a future he doesn’t want where he’s completely soaked them dry of all their savings because the deep, dark, twisty part of him thought it would be a great idea to go on a week-long bender at the Waldorf. Days where Mickey’s pulling doubles and triples just to make up the rent that Ian can’t offer because his meds stopped working and he’s lulled himself into a depression so deep he’s almost thankful he has no energy because his mind is trying to get him to walk straight off the balcony. Then you can fly.
He doesn’t want that; doesn’t want Mickey to be trapped, to be tied to him, to be sinking with him. He can’t hurt Mickey that way again. He won’t.
Her words have been raging in his head because of it.
Like it breaks their heart just to look at you.
Like it breaks their heart just to look at you.
Like it breaks their heart just to look at you.
*
When he opens his eyes, he’s a little confused to be standing outside but he knows where his feet have taken him instantly. The day is crossing that point into dusk and the wind is nipping but there’s still some warmth in the air. So, he sits on the matted grass that’s still more dirt than grass at this point and stares at the stupid broken headstone.
He’s hoping it means something that his feet brought him here; that maybe his mom will tell him something. Or she’ll give him something. Hope maybe? Faith? Just some kind of goddamn sign that he’s not as doomed as she was.
He imagines all the moments he had her when he hadn’t wanted her. All the pent-up irritation to mask the hurt he felt- that they all felt. She parachuted. That’s what he had told her the last time he saw her. Parachuting into his fucking life; free falling and hurling at him like a goddamn meteor on fucking fire. Not caring who she destroyed when she hit the ground.
But there’s the part of her that tugs at his heart. Not because she’s his mom but because she knew him. She really knew the piece of him no one else could understand and he- fuck, he can feel his throat closing and his chest tightening again- he wishes he just had one more moment. A little more time to ask her why she couldn’t pull it together. Why love wasn’t enough?
But then he hears her. In a memory long since lost to him. Much more clearly. Soft and sure.
“I want love for you.”
He wonders somewhere if she even knew what love was.
And then realizes easily enough that while maybe she hadn’t, he did.
Just finished my Shameless binge and I fell head over heels for Gallavich. Enjoy.
Mickey’s jealous.
But then again, when is Mickey not jealous. He’s standing at the bar with his shoulders so tense and his jaw so gritted he might pop a blood vessel. But honestly, it’s like everywhere they go lately people are picturing fucking Ian right in front of him. And he isn’t sure just how much longer he can take of it.
It makes him absolutely fucking furious when he’s trying to order at a restaurant and the waiter’s eyes keep veering off to peer at Ian. Sorry what the order again sir? It makes him want to bloody his knuckles on every asshole who looks them over twice just to send the goddamn message that when they’re walking down the street people’s eyes should fucking avert.
But he knows he’s being a little too melodramatic so he takes a deep breath, curls his hands into fists and presses his blunt nails into his palms to calm the fuck down. It’s something he had developed over the last few times he had shoved some dude into a brick wall with his forearm against their throat and Ian’s soft apologetic eyes pulling him back to reality. With his parole, and Ian’s, he’s not about to risk what he has, or what they have, just to fuck some prick up. Even if it means he gets wound up every single goddamn time Ian leaves the goddamn house. Even if it means he has to accompany him to every stupid club night his idiot sister drags them on which is exactly what they’re doing tonight and exactly why his whole body is so tense.
The moment they had gotten to Boystown he had been ready to fuck up someone’s night. Hell, when Ian had thrown on those tight clubbing jeans and slipped into a shirt that was way too tight across his broad shoulders, fuck- Mickey had almost put his fist through a wall. It was going to take a lot of alcohol to get him through this. And he could have sworn Ian almost looked amused watching Mickey’s eyes narrow and his eyebrows furrow. Like he knew Mickey’s heart rate had already picked up. But then Ian slipped his hands around Mickey’s neck, massaged his nails gently into the back of Mickey’s head and thanked him for being such a good sport. With a quick peck on the mouth they were out the door into the hot Chicago summer and the sprawling clusterfuck that was about to be Mickey Milkovich’s night.
He knew Ian was hot, alright. He knew other guys, other people really, would do a double take every now and then. Trust him, he was very, very aware. And sure, Ian had told him countless times how much he loved him, how much he loved Mickey’s body and how hot he thought Mickey was. All that shit. God, when Ian was lying on top of him thrusting deep inside of him, one hand gripping Mickey’s thigh and the other gripping the back of his neck, Ian’s mouth was relentless with that shit. Fuck Mick, you’re so fucking hot. Ian couldn’t shut up if he tried. God dammit Mickey, could watch you forever. And honestly, Mickey didn’t want him to shut up. This ass is mother fucking mine. In fact, right now, standing at the bar, he wished Ian would just bend him over. At least that way, maybe everyone would hear Ian moan those things and fuck right off.
You know what was the ultimate kicker though? Ian didn’t even seem to notice or care. Consider tonight, here Mickey was trying to get the bartender’s attention long enough to order them a round and the guy’s eyes were already shooting straight to Ian’s profile. The guy was making no attempts at hiding his interest the longer he stared. Rather, the tenser Mickey’s jaw got, the wider this fucker’s smile got whenever Ian’s head almost turned his way. And, of course, Ian was leaning back on the bar inadvertently posed like some kind of Calvin Klein model so, Mickey took one his deep breaths and bounced his shoulder casually off Ian’s, “This bartender is taking his sweet fucking time. Let’s just hit the one at the back.”
Ian furrowed his brow and the corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk, “Nah Mick, I got this.” The moment Ian turned around and leaned forward to catch the bartender’s eye, Mickey thought he was going to deck the both of them just to get them all kicked out.
“What can I get you sexy?”
Yeah, Mickey’s skin was itching next to Ian, blood boiling, all the classic Milkovich rage building up. But Ian just rattled off an order with that beautiful full mouth smile on his face as he dropped his arm so that Mickey could feel the full expanse of Ian’s hot palm on his lower back; the idiot bartender flirting his ass off the entire time. Ian’s skin was grounding. But Mickey still counted to mother fucking ten one more time, threw down the bills and bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from saying the exact slew of insults that what was going through his mind. He ended up chugging both his drinks just to cool the rapid-fire thoughts of murder in his brain, much to Ian’s soft laughter. “Slow down champ, we got all night.” Mickey cringed at the words, all goddamn night? He just nodded as he dropped the now empty drinks to the bar top and averted his eyes from Ian’s hoping he could read his mind for once.
If I slow down, I may actually kill someone.
As the night drove on it almost seemed like they would make it through the whole stupid event without incident and Mickey could happily take his boyfriend home. Ian had been on the dance floor with Mandy and some pretty little blonde for a while and Mickey was comfortably numb leaning on the rails nursing a watered-down whiskey. He was not one for dancing and this, well this gave him a view of all the idiots who were probably going to try something and the one idiot who eventually did. It was definitely too bad for him, and ever worse for Mickey who apparently lived in a world where everything was shit. Even on his one night off. But that was fine because also in Mickey’s world, shit got solved with black eyes and bloody noses.
The guy had slung one hand around Ian’s waist and pulled Ian back against him hard- bringing his dick right against Ian’s ass. The guys mouth went straight for the back of Ian’s neck and Mickey saw absolute fucking red. Hell, he didn’t even take another breath before he was storming through the crowd, wrenching the guy’s arm off Ian and using his other to cut off the guy’s air supply.
“I highly suggest you back the fuck up you dumb fucker.”
The guy’s eyes instantly started to bulge, and Mickey wasn’t sure if it was from his fingers tightening around the dude’s throat or the not so subtle threat. But before he could really get in the guy’s face he was being pulled back into a very familiar chest with very familiar hands and being spun right around.
“What the hell Mick!? You’re going to get us kicked out!”
At first, he thought the building anger inside him was from the volatile combination of alcohol, hot men imagining dragging their tongues all over what was his, the pounding of trashy club music and the seventy thousand bright flashing lights that might give him a seizure. But now, now the anger was Ian pulling him away from some stupid prick looking at him like he was the insane one.
“Did you want that guy’s junk rubbing all over you?!” Mickey’s sure his voice is much too high pitch and going to be very hoarse from how loudly he has to yell but he was staring incredulously at Ian. Was he for real?
“No! But I could have dealt with it!” Ian’s eyebrows are rising up his forehead and Mickey could swear he almost looks annoyed.
“Oh by asking him what? To politely pull his dick out of your ass?!” Mickey can’t believe what he’s hearing. This guy was basically ready to run his hand down Ian’s stomach and grip him through his jeans on the dance floor, but somehow, he’s the one in the wrong?
“What the- it was just grinding Mickey-”
Mickey’s stomach completely drops, “Just grinding? Just grind- Okay Ian, okay, you know what? Fuck you. Fucking enjoy your grinding.”
It took Mickey all but half a second of complete and utter buzz-killing rage to rip his arm out of Ian’s hold and get the hell out of the club. He could hear the urgency of his name over the club music but nothing was stopping him now. When he broke through the front entrance, he just kept pounding forward one foot in front of the other blindly hoping his anger would temper off before he ran into someone and lit them up. He pulled his cigarettes out of his jeans and chain smoked the whole walk. He knew he couldn’t make it home entirely on foot, it was nearly three and a half hours through some sketchy ass neighbourhoods and as fucking pissed off as Mickey was, he wasn’t looking to get shot. So, he walked for the better part of an hour and then found his way to the L with no Ian in sight.
The entire ride home he couldn’t help his mind from racing with each cigarette he lit and each uncontrollable bounce of his knee. Maybe Ian wanted those stupid fucking pretty boys gawking over him? Maybe he liked getting the attention from dudes who were better looking with bigger bank accounts? It probably wasn’t entirely fair to assume but honestly, what the fuck was he supposed to think? Sure Ian had said things to Mickey about the two of them and what he wanted for them and all that gooey love bullshit. But people lied to other people about that all the time. Maybe he had meant it and now he didn’t? That kind of shit happened right? Why should they be any different?
When the train came to a stop and he started heading toward their neighbourhood on the South Side those racing thoughts were starting to hurt his chest. What if he had lost him for good this time? Pushed too far? I mean, there’s only so many times you can go berserk before people don’t want to put up with you. He had seen it with practically every adult in his life. One partner is always too much to handle... it’s why his mom had left.
He doesn’t even notice no one is home when he slams the front door shut, strips himself down to his boxers and slams his fist through one of his bedroom walls. Searing pain always helped to calm his thoughts so why not try to pull the chaos out and leave it there? He sits on the edge of his bed, lighting up another smoke from his bedside table hoping he’ll get enough of a reprieve focusing on his throbbing knuckles.
But honestly, he’s not home even ten minutes when he hears the front door open and the footsteps of someone much too heavy to be Mandy. The door to his bedroom opens and he doesn't even have to turn to know whose standing in the doorway. He’s waiting for one of Ian’s typical opening remarks or maybe a stupid quip about how he’s already ready for bed but he just hears him toeing off his shoes and rounding the bed. When Ian comes into view his cheeks are flushed against that beautiful freckled skin and his eyes glossy.
“What the hell did you do to your hand Mick?”
Ian crouches in front of him and takes Mickey’s knuckles into his irritatingly large hands, caressing the skin softly. Maybe it’s the fact that Ian still looks absolutely fucking gorgeous or the way he’s kneeling before him or the level of concern in his voice, but it goes right to Mickey’s dick. He’s trying to shake off the way Ian gets under his skin, the way Ian knows he gets under Mickey’s skin, but when Ian’s other hand goes to rest on Mickey’s thigh... he knows he’s fucked.
“Wall.”
Mickey grunts, he’s trying to keep his answers clipped and short because while his body is definitely betraying him, his mind can’t stop seeing the image of that guy’s hand wrapped around Ian’s waist.
“Mickey what’s-”
But then he’s pulling his hand out of Ian’s gentle touch and moving to the other side of the room, “Maybe it’s better if we don’t do this.”
Ian’s face goes from surprise to hurt in a matter of seconds and Mickey’s chest aches. It’s like the two of them are idiot kids all over again where he can’t say what he means and Ian can’t pull his head out of his ass long enough to notice that. He curses them both as he crushes the rest of the smoke against his dresser and then wonders how he could have possibly let a Gallagher get this far into his head.
“What the hell happened tonight Mick?”
Ian’s got this pleading look on his face, his arms slightly out at his sides and his palms turned up in utter confusion. He’s staring at him no matter how many time Mickey fidgets or knocks a beer can off his dresser to the ground like he’s searching Mickey’s nervous movements from some kind of answer. They had been together on-and-off for so long now it almost pisses him off that Ian hadn’t come in the way he expected. A few years ago, Ian would have been practically up the wall knocking his fist off Mickey’s jaw and pinning him to the bed just to fuck the life out of him, just to make Mickey look him in the eye. But they do feelings and communicating now. Ian had gone on about healthy relationships or some shit.
“You enjoy it?”
Ian’s face scrunches up even more confused and Mickey wants to knock his teeth out even more for not noticing.
“The men, Ian. The ones who eye fuck you down the street. The ones who look like they want you to bend them over the bar or the table or the counter or wherever the fuck we are. Practically fucking begging like dogs to get your cock in their mouths.”
And then Ian does something that riles Mickey up even more than he thought he possibly could, he smiles.
“What the actual fuck are you smiling at you ginger cocksuc--”
And then Ian’s on him before he can finish. He’s pulling his shirt off as he crosses the room and pretty much collides with Mickey to thrust him up against the wall beside the bedroom door.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Before Mickey can register Ian’s words, he’s got his hands around Mickey’s neck pulling his mouth to him and holy fucking shit he can’t recall the last time Ian kissed him so dirty. It’s hot and wet and open-mouthed with his tongue fucking into Mickey’s mouth like he needs him to breath. Mickey’s hands go right to Ian’s waist and grip him for dear life. His head practically bounces off the wall and Ian’s grinding against him almost painfully, but fuck its good and hard and Mickey’s dick is rock solid at the feeling of Ian and of the jeans that Ian’s still wearing.
Ian pulls back for a brief second, barely giving Mickey a moment to breathe or collect himself. His head is practically spinning from the force of Ian and the feel of him everywhere. Ian pops the button of his jeans and drops them, moving one hand back to grip Mickey’s neck while the other reaches into his briefs and wraps around his cock. Mickey’s eyes go wide staring into Ians and he feels his throat tighten.
“I don’t want anyone but you.”
Then Ian’s on him again. He’s all limbs and strong hands and god that fucking mouth that just won’t relent. Ian’s working his way down Mickey’s neck with swollen red lips and his wet tongue. It’s making the pit of Mickey’s stomach practically burn with need and want as he trails down his chest. He’s stunned from the feeling. He wants to tell Ian to hurry the fuck up, stick his dick in him for gods sake, but it feels like one of those nights where Ian wants to take his time. Where Ian wants to make Mickey come undone.
He pulls back slightly and takes Mickey’s hand into his. He puts it between them and drags Mickey’s palm up the length of Ian’s cock. It feels so thick and hard in Mickey’s hand that he’s pulled right out of his head only to stare straight into those heady, burning hazel eyes.
“Goddammit Mick, don’t you know how much I want you? Only you?”
Ian’s voice is like silk and Mickey is breathless from the kissing and the heat and Ian’s words. Ian is all-consuming, single minded to the point of recklessness and Mickey has never been able to get enough. He can't tear his eyes away as Ian removes his hand and drops to his knees. Mickey looks down into those big hazel eyes just as Ian drags his briefs to his ankles and licks up the length of his cock. Mickey’s open palms hit the wall to hold himself up as his eyes roll and his head lulls backwards. Ian takes his time licking and sucking and hollowing out his cheeks. He’s moaning around Mickey’s dick as one hand rubbing his thigh moves backwards to grip Mickey’s ass while the other bruises his hip lifting Mickey off the wall so he’s fucking into Ian’s mouth. Jesus Gallagher. Mickey’s breathless and so fucking turned on. He lifts his hands from the wall to run through Ian’s hair, gripping the back of his head and thrusting into the wet heat of his mouth. Ian’s cheeks are still flushed, his hair mused, and the way he’s looking up at Mickey could bring him to his knees.
“Fuck- gunna cum-”
The words are so soft through the moaning that Mickey’s surprised Ian even heard him but in the next second he wishes he had never said anything because Ian pops his mouth off and Mickey’s eyes fly open. Ian flips him around quickly as he rises to full height again that Mickey’s heart starts racing. He’s not pressing Mickey too harshly into the wall this time, but Mickey can feel his deep breathing against his neck.
“You look so fucking gorgeous like this Mick.”
Mickey can’t tell if time stops or his heart stops but the words are like a jolt of lighting up his back every time. He barely has time to relish in it before Ian’s hands are painfully gripping his hips and shoving him face first into the bed. Before Mickey can turn around and look Ian’s got his hands gripping Mickey’s ass and his face buried. His tongue is already wet and hot and Mickey can feel the saliva. He wants to wonder how Ian’s tongue can make him feel so much in so many different ways but he can barely function with the way he’s writing against the mattress. He’s sweating and rutting against the bed practically begging Ian to get the fuck inside him, mumbling something about how much he needs him when he feels two of Ian’s thick fingers breach him.
“Holy mother of god-”
It burns but damn does Ian ever know what he needs when he needs it. He’s thrusting back into Ian’s fingers as Ian stretches him, relishing in the way Ian makes him feel.
“Look at you. So fucking hot. Everything I want.”
“Would you just--”
Ian already knew Mickey was getting impatient the longer it was just his tongue and his fingers inside him so the moment Mickey get’s enough brain function to mouth off, Ian wraps his fingers around his cock and thrusts. He takes Mickey slow and deep, letting his hands lift Mickey’s hips as his breath comes out shallow, as his words turn to dust and moans. The moment he’s got his hips up enough Ian flips him onto his back and thrusts until he’s fully inside Mickey. He takes both wrists in one hand above Mickey’s head who looks up at him with those beautiful, blown up blue eyes.
“You’re it for me Mick. You’re it.”
He pounds into Mickey at a relentless pace just the way Mickey likes it. He’s writhing beneath him on the bed and the noises are going straight to Ian’s cock. He wants nothing more than to make Mickey come untouched but it’s clear when he releases Mickey’s wrists to raise his hips just a little higher Mickey has other plans. He uses the raised hips to gain some footing and flip Ian onto his back so he’s riding him. His whole body coming down in time to meet Ian’s hips. They’re both a sweaty, heated mess and Mickey can’t help but lean down to kiss him exactly the way Ian had before, nothing but tongues and bitten lips. He delves his tongue into Ian’s mouth just as Ian wraps his hand around Mickey’s dick and before he knows it his orgasm hits him full force. When he breathlessly says Ians name he feels Ian come undone inside of him.
Mickey collapses onto Ian briefly, feeling the heaving of Ian’s sweaty chest and the pounding of their heartbeats. Their legs are intertwined and Ian’s running his fingers along the small of Mickey’s back. Mickey is sure his neck is littered with bruises and he had totally forgotten about the now-dull throbbing in his hand. He’s listening to Ian’s contented breathing, smelling the cologne on his skin. He feels Ian’s other hand slip into his and Mickey can’t help the smile or the warmth that spreads to his toes.
“I love you Mickey.”
Mickey always takes a moment when he hears the words leave Ian’s lips. There had been a time he had thought he would never hear them, when he would never say them, but this time, this time he barely has a moment to breath them in before everything flips.
“Marry me.”
His heart practically stops as his head lifts off Ian’s chest so fast he may have given himself whiplash. But Ian’s looking at him like everything in the world is so good and so right and so perfect. Like the outside world has vanished and there’s nothing in the universe but the two of them in this room. His eyes are just as blown out as Mickey’s and he’s got these beautiful red marks on his chest from where Mickey gripped him while he rode him. He’s smiling, its soft and sweet and almost too blindingly lovesick for Mickey to look at but he can’t tear his eyes away.
“Say yes.”
He tilts his side to the side as Ian does and lifts the hand not clasped in Ian’s to run through his hair and down the side of his face. He almost can’t remember a world outside of this moment. Can’t remember why he ever gave a goddamn about idiots checking out at Ian because here Ian was, taking his breath away, looking absolutely stunning and asking him to spend their lives together. How could anything else matter?
“Yes.”
You know ... a ring will definitely keep those fuckers off.
“He had always been able to hear her across their lifetimes; they were bound to find each other after all. He could feel every ounce of her when she was in pain, when she was hurting, when she wanted nothing more than to be soothed by his embrace. At first it had been a calming reassurance. But it had become a curse. The demons knew he had this sense, knew that by taking her and filling her with dread he would be driven to the brink of madness.”
Warning: Explicit, Sexual Content and Violent (blood, torture, pain etc.).
Enjoy.
Instead of sorrow, it is her that thunders through his veins with an unshakeable fury. Lips press deeply against his and then move to latch onto his throat in slow, languid kisses with her tongue catching his skin every so often. His breath is caught somewhere in his chest and he can do nothing but inhale her scent as her words entice every fabric of his being.
‘I have loved you’
Her lips graze his neck where it meets his shoulder and an unbelievable heat prickles him. Her breath softly dances across his face and his hands itch to slide up her arms. He wants to grip her hips and pull her to him as she looms over him like so many times before. He wants to feel the swell of her breasts and curve of her waist beneath him the longer her lips mark his throat. It isn’t until her fingers dance at the edge of his pants that he feels all breath in his lungs disappear.
‘I will always love you’
Then his hands hesitantly reach out for her, running along her arms and reaching her shoulders. He feels his hesitancy breech his mind once more, but then she is running her hands back up to grasp his throat and yanking their lips together. Her mouth overwhelms him as her tongue licks its way inside and he feels how hot her skin is as she moans into him.
‘Please’
He knows what she is asking for.
How could he ever deny her?
When has he ever?
He lets his hands pull off the familiar nightgown that hides her from him and at the sight of her bare before him, at her rosy cheeks and heaving chest, he feels unworthy. But then she is pushing back his vest and pulling at the belt that hides him from her. The glow that emanates from her skin growing stronger, warmer underneath his palms. A steady quiver works through her and the space between them is electric. She wants him pressed flush against her, he can see it in her eyes, but she seems determined to make them both wait.
Her hands smooth over his stomach and she pulls back from his lips once more. She leaves a trail of hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses down his chest and along his stomach. Each touch of her lips leaves a soft glow that settles into him, softening his hard edges and filling the core of him with blinding white light. He can feel his back arching into her, following her lips without question.
Meliodas doesn't dare tear his eyes away from her the lower she moves; her hands are tightly gripping his hips, her tongue flicking out over his hot skin and her mouth trailing along the inside of his thighs. He reaches forward to run his fingers through her hair but is left gasping for air when she grips him, and then swallows him with one movement. She gives a gasp of surprise when the tip of him hits the back of her throat, and he jerks backwards, collapsing further into the bed.
The room is filled with his heavy breathing and sharp curses as she slides her tongue up the length of him, responding to the groaning breaking out from deep inside his chest. Her hand squeezes lightly where she grips the base, holding the length still as she swallows him over and over. She pulls her mouth away from him with a lewd noise, stroking him. Knowing him as she does, she wraps her lips around the opening and sucks gently. His hips lift right off the bed.
‘Oh fuck,’ he rasps, one of his hands reaching down to grip her arm, the other entangled in their bed sheets.
He tugs her hand away and pulls her up his body, leading her to wrap her thighs around his waist as he’s rolling her onto her back. His kiss is hot, firm, and needy as soon as he has her trapped beneath his arms.
‘It’s always been you’
He can’t help himself anymore. He has never been able to hold back. Not with Elizabeth.
His lips suck at the exposed skin and his hands grasp firmly until she’s dizzy with the feel of him. She’s floating at the sensation only he gives her. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, and he pulls her to him. His fingers are quick down her sides, smoothing across her stomach until they settle heavily gripping her backside. He grips tight, grinding against her and she can’t help the breathy moans. It’s intoxicating. Their kisses are messy the longer he delves his tongue into her mouth. Then he breaks away only to mark a path down her jaw and neck with heated, passionate kisses.
Her knees become unsteady and every feel of his skin against hers, every move of his tongue, sends her reeling. His arms wrap around her waist, her hips rock into him while he kisses from one breast to the other. The air stiffens with their heat as his gaze pulls her in. His lips move to suck marks into her ribs, her stomach, and his hands grope her flesh like he can’t ever get close enough.
She twists and moans as his tongue leaves a wet trail lower and lower on her body.
Meliodas looks up at her from under tousled locks and every feeling hangs in the air around her, “I need you.”
She can’t take her eyes away when he places his tongue on her clit and the rising heat coiling inside her pulls from deep within. She can’t take it as her back arches and her head leans up towards the sky like she’s praying. Meliodas holds her in place as his mouth works desperately; wet and lustful noises fill the air. He groans against her at the unbelievable noises breeching her lips and the feeling of his voice makes her ache. Her feet press against the bed as she rocks forcefully against his mouth keening for relief. Pleasure curls inside her as her back arches and she's almost ready to fall apart crying his name.
But Meliodas’ weight blankets her immediately; one hand intertwining with hers, lazy and breathless kisses trailing back up her chest. She opens her eyes as he slants his lips over hers, tasting herself against his mouth. He presses his hips down and she can feel him, hot and straining against her.
Her breathing turns ragged as he grinds downwards, sliding between her wet thighs. Her palms splay across his back. It’s like the room is filled with an effervescent glow and lightning can’t help but shoot between them. She catches the sound he makes when she pulls his lower lip between hers and urges him desperately to quell the raging inside her. Everything is desperate and needy. She wants him to want her and is willing to give him everything for it.
Her eyelids lower and her fingers tighten around his. Meliodas sinks into her slowly. Everything is too sensitive and nothing but hot, she can barely contain the rapid thrumming of her pulse. His girth pulses inside her and she sinks under an unbearable wave of lust and love. Her legs curl around his waist, her thighs tightening on his hips and from every jerk of his hips, every grip of his hands on the back of her thighs, she wants to stay here forever. He groans at the press of her chest against his, breathless as they move together. Her nails drag along his back as she bites down on his neck.
‘You are worthy’
Her shaky words are almost unbearable as he bends over her, palms flat against the mattress as he slams into her bringing them both to the brink. She is hardly able to breathe as everything inside her bursts and tightens around him. The pleasure is all consuming. Meliodas begins to gyrate his hips as he buries himself to the hilt while kissing her and murmuring something breathlessly that she can’t hear. She breathes deeply as she unexpectedly flips him beneath her. His dark gaze is stunned as her thighs brace him. She watches his eyes grow wide when she sinks onto him rocking her hips against him as his hands crawl along her thighs.
Then she’s twisting her hips, and he’s gasping for air as his hands pull at her. Her silver hair frames her face like a halo, her skin pulsating a glow he wasn’t sure could get any brighter and she begs him, ‘Touch me, please’
Instantly his hands roam everywhere, and his mouth is hot over hers as she rides him. She can’t hold back from shuddering around him as she cries out his name again. Almost as loudly as he calls out hers. The pleasure comes fast and leaves them exhausted. She leans over him until her chest rests against his, his hips still tentatively jerking as his cock pulses inside her. His eyes are so utterly focused on her and with a breathy whisper against her skin he smiles, ‘I am yours’
She holds him close as he slips from her, their skin cooling, gentle smiles filling the space between them.
He knows he is not worthy, but one day he will be.
“He had always been able to hear her across their lifetimes; they were bound to find each other after all. He could feel every ounce of her when she was in pain, when she was hurting, when she wanted nothing more than to be soothed by his embrace. At first it had been a calming reassurance. But it had become a curse. The demons knew he had this sense, knew that by taking her and filling her with dread he would be driven to the brink of madness.”
Warning: Explicit, Sexual Content and Violent (blood, torture, pain etc.).
Enjoy.
She is moon soaked, and dawn flavoured. It has how he has always thought of her. She was kissed by the heavens and adorned in white light. In the years he spent wandering the earth after his curse had been named and sewn deeply within him, he was constantly reminded of her as the humans led festivals and built honours in the name of the goddesses. This her was most like the goddess he had first met with flowy silver hair and doe-like blue eyes.
But this Elizabeth reminds him more so of the sun as it rises in the moment that it kisses the dawn and he is always left wanting to bask in her glow.
And knowing he couldn’t, knowing that she was in pain for even a moment left him in agony.
He had always been able to hear her across their lifetimes; they were bound to find each other after all. He could feel every ounce of her when she was in pain, when she was hurting, when she wanted nothing more than to be soothed by his embrace. At first it had been a calming reassurance. If she ever needed him all she had to do was reach out, and he would protect her. He would come from any corner of their world, from any lifetime, for any thousands of reasons to quell her sorrow.
But it had become a curse.
The demons knew he had this sense, knew that by taking her and filling her with dread he would be driven to the brink of madness.
He had been searching for her for days and no matter how many sleeping draughts or how much he drove himself to the point of exhaustion all he could see behind the darkness of his closed eyes; all he could feel inside himself was her ache. She needed him, now more than ever, and his brother made sure he was left helpless. Every time he got close; she was gone without him taking a second breath. He could feel the magical signature she was leaving behind; it was so faint it was barely there but, it warmed him. Reminded him he still had time; she was still alive.
But it wasn’t until Elaine had appeared with the two other princesses in tow and her cheeks spotted with tears that he felt a twinge of hope. He wanted to grip her and drain her of information, but he knew, he knew his brother had inflicted something unimaginable and she would come to him as soon as she could. He watched as his friends as they collected their loved ones and let himself weigh down his wrath with the sounds of joy. As she would want him too.
He was reminded of how deeply he wanted to hold her as Gilthunder quickly raced forward to the sight of long indigo locks. He immediately took Margaret into his arms, holding her frail, weak body against his chest. Meliodas could almost feel the emotion welling up behind the stony face of the great Holy Knight. His lips pressed gently to her forehead, his hands grasping her frame.
He was reminded of how deeply he wanted to protect her as Griamore rushed forward with a blazing, guilt-ridden look across his features. The bright violet hair of the woman he had been sworn to protect for over a decade sending shockwaves of both relief and sorrow through him. He threaded his fingers softly over the smoothness of her hair and let apologies fall out in droves into her lap.
Both Margaret and Veronica’s bodies were encased in a soft glowing light, and he knew, he could simply feel that it was the remnants of whatever Elizabeth could send them with. Protecting them even in her own despair.
However, it wasn’t until Meliodas’ eyes waved over the scene that he felt himself overwhelmed. It was the softness of Ban that reminded him that he needed to focus on controlling his rage, on finding her. Ban’s face had been a shattered, broken, wreck these past weeks. He had been nearly ready to murder every living thing that crossed their path in the days since they had been taken. Meliodas had never related more. But now, as Ban wrapped Elaine in his arms within seconds of his eyes grazing her worn down frame, he thought of Elizabeth. As Ban gripped Elaine, as he held her tightly against him, as she shouted painfully, angrily into his chest. Her sobs about Elizabeth’s place, about her sacrifice, piercing Melidoas’ every nerve.
That was until the screaming in his ears began.
He thought he was going insane at the sound of the first ringing in his ears but then ...
‘Elizabeth’
They had begun moving immediately, Meliodas not even considering stopping to wait for the rest of them or explain how he knew in his bones it was a sound for him as he chased her soul crushing screams. The second time it rang out through his ears he could feel his skin prickling, feel the loss of control that threatened to drain him of every emotion outside of his wrath reaching its brink.
Her presence was stronger with every second he drew closer, with every intake of breath that drove him to run harder, move quicker, get to her sooner.
I’m coming
It was the final blow that had him swearing on his life and the life of every being the crawled out from the vile pits of the underworld to end this war for good. The moment he blasted through the space where she sat chained, he thought nothing could contain him. Thought nothing could bring him from the edge of levelling this space where his brother had tortured the woman he loved. He was brought back the images, the 106 moments that filled his every waking day. The lifeless corpses and eyes that no longer saw him; his power too ready to wreck havoc. To sink them into hell and tear apart his father’s soul.
But then he heard it.
Meek and soft, his eyes refocused from the image of her body shackled and bleeding and broken. The deep blue pool of a single eye through the slight part of her bangs bringing him to the center of his body.
‘Please’
He raced forward to pull the shackles from her body, to pull the knife from the way it twisted inside her. He let his fingers dance along the coldness of her skin as the chains dropped one by one. He slipped his fingers through her hair to turn the collar that bound her neck to dust. He let the glass blade slip from his fingers and turn to sand as it hit the stone floor. Her face was soon cradled in his neck, her hands piled into her lap as he curled her into his arms. He was holding her against him willing her to take whatever she needed from him, willing her to take the pieces of his life force that would strengthen her. But she didn’t. She simply smiled that soft warm smile that he had seen so many hundreds of times.
‘I knew’
That voice.
His heart, all his hearts, couldn’t bear that he had let her endure this. He knew the tears uncontrollably falling down his cheeks were dripping on her hair and catching on her skin. But the gentle touch of her fingers against the center of his chest left him speechless. Even in a time of utter wrath and pure, unadulterated hatred she thought of nothing but to give herself to him completely.
He had never felt more unworthy.
She awoke to warmth sheathing every fabric of her being.
She felt plush pillows beneath her head, gentle sheets wrapping around her body, a heavy blanket lovingly draped across her skin. The room smelled of lilac and sunshine. She felt a jostle beside her as she took a deep breath. She felt her eyes flutter open and turned to the welcome site of blonde locks leaning against the bed.
She opened her mouth to speak but she could feel a tingling coming from him. Deep in her skin she could feel the hatred spewing from every part of him. Hatred of his father, hatred of his brother, but most of all, hatred of himself. She wondered as she left her fingers curl in the soft locks of his hair, as she ached to reach inside him and caress the dark parts of his soul that dare threatened to take the goodness inside him from her, what she could do.
How do you remind a demon that he is not the worse parts of himself?
How can she remind him?
She leaned forward as he stirred once more, her legs curling next to her, her eyes focused only on him. His knees were on the floor, his head resting against the softness of the bed, his fingertips inches from her open palm. It was as though he dare not touch her, dare not infect her with the darkness within himself. But still she let her hands continue to curl through his hair, let them dance along the planes of his cheek and the curve of his neck. He let her thumb swipe the curve of his rosy lip and the sharp line of his jaw until he was opening his deep emerald eyes to peer at her.
‘Elizabeth’
She smiled softly as he rose from the ground, a look of sorrow written behind the joy in his eyes. She opened her hand for him and relished in the way his strong calloused palms ran against the smoothness of her own. She knew that right now there were no words she could express that would change his mind, that would dissipate the deep disgust he held for himself. So, she pulled him down next to her, his brief moment of hesitancy noted and his fear evident in the crease of his brow, but she needed him to know.
She led him to lie next to her, turning onto her side to face him as he did the same. She pushed the blankets back wanting nothing between them as she brought her fingers to run under the collar of his shirt. She was pushing her magic through her skin as she continued to move along his face, then his neck. As she undid the buttons of his shirt and softly trailed them along the hard planes of his chest. She was staring into his eyes as she did so, willing him to feel every ounce of the love she had been holding within herself for him for 3000 years.
‘You’re glowing’
He looked at her with wonder as she ran her fingers back up to his face and let them rest against his neck with her thumbs brushing along the high bones of his cheeks.
‘Goddesses have been compared to stars for many centuries. Our powers are ethereal, celestial, we have this divine light within us that used to dance on our skin.’
She lets her grip become firmer as she pulls herself closer, hoping his hands will find their way to run along her waist or brace her hips. But he keeps them hidden from her, keeps them bound to himself as if he is afraid to darken her even for a mere moment.
‘Now it only dances on our skin when we feel incandescent. When we tether ourselves to another wholly and completely.’
His eyes widen at her admission, his mouth opening slightly. She could feel the swell of his hearts beneath her fingers, the deep thrumming of his pulses. She knows that for a goddess to tether herself to an earthly being is a promise of pure commitment; of pure faith; of an unbound trust. She can see it in his eyes he knows it too.
‘No matter the pain of this life, our past lives, or the next, I will always be anchored to you. I have always been.'
“He had always been able to hear her across their lifetimes; they were bound to find each other after all. He could feel every ounce of her when she was in pain, when she was hurting, when she wanted nothing more than to be soothed by his embrace. At first it had been a calming reassurance. But it had become a curse. The demons knew he had this sense, knew that by taking her and filling her with dread he would be driven to the brink of madness.”
Warning: Explicit and Violent (blood, torture, pain etc.).
Enjoy.
She doesn’t remember ever feeling so entirely empty, but she knows there was a time before this when she was. She couldn’t quite recall when or how or who had trapped her then, but it was in the creases of her memory. Like a deep, hollow, pitiful feeling that brought her shoulders to shake and her resolve to splinter. She wanted to be stronger for her sisters lying beside her now.
Their skin was grimy, their clothing torn, their bodies weakened by the torturous infliction of no food and water on their human frames. She wished she could tear the chains from the walls of the dungeons that kept her and hold them close. She didn’t want to feel the cold stone under her bare legs or the harsh magical steel tightening every time she felt a surge of her own power flowing through her. She was bleeding enough already from the wounds they had torn into her flesh, and she knew if she pulled on her bindings any harder the markings would only deepen. She had to bide her time now, she would be no use to anyone if she passed out from loss of blood.
At first, she had tried to keep track of the time they had been encased. She had tried to back track in her mind, remember the days before but everything felt the same in the cold, wet room. Margaret had even tried notching the ground with the cracked remnants of her nails, but for some reason the room kept shifting. It was as if they were being transported, Elizabeth could sense the magical energy moving them, but it was fuzzy and displaced. She wasn’t sure who was doing this and whoever it was as keeping themselves well hidden from her. It was probably one of the many reasons they kept moving. Another was whoever had them probably knew he could sense her; knew he would come for her; knew he wanted to find her as badly as she wanted to be found.
She tried to leave her magical signature trailing behind her but the steel that bound her would singe her skin leaving a raw burn bleeding under the tightening of the bindings. Still she tried to let her energy flow to her sisters, let her warmth caress their skin just to stop the chattering of their teeth and rattling of their fingers if only for a few moments. She knew Elaine was trying to do so as well but from inside the tightly wound vessel that contained her, she could barely send anything through the powerful walls at all. She too was being constrained by a great force.
By now, it seemed like a life time ago that they had been taken, she knew it had only been days at most but in a darkened pit with no life and no air, time was almost a figment of your imagination. She was left with nothing but dark days and her sister’s shallow breathing. She wanted to think about softer, warmer things. His hands, his smile, their freedom. But it always disappeared with the scraping of cuffs on stone and the painful gurgle of a hungry body.
So instead she tried to find her memories of how this happened at all. It had slowly been flooding her as she spoke with the young women pressed closed to her side. They had been in a garden Margaret believed. A garden with purple and blue hues all around them Veronica had reminded her. She could see his face almost clearly in her mind, but the green backdrop was obscured. Grass maybe? She wasn’t entirely sure. All she knew was that she had to get her sisters out of here before they completely withered. Her and Elaine could survive much longer in the depths of these walls, but they could not.
So, she plotted.
Eying Elaine every so often willing her to understand her plan, hoping she was able to hear her muddled thoughts through the thick prison that encased her. They watched the comings and goings of the guards; remembered the routines of ill-smelling scraps slipping through a rusted metal slot; heard the jingling of iron keys once every fourth shift change. Elizabeth played with the angling of her cuffs wondering if she pressed the raw skin into the steel just far enough if she would have enough time to let her ability overwhelm Elaine’s confinement before they crushed her bones.
She knew it was risky; knew it would leave her alone, paralyzed, in more pain than she could possibly withstand. She would be left to succumb to the anger and will of the monster that chained them. It left her filled to the brim with fear. But then, the empath inside her screamed out for her loved ones. She needed to help, needed to save, needed to protect. It was her solemn duty as an Apostle of the Goddesses. Her duty as their sister, their friend.
When the third shift change came around whatever day, she opened her mind as widely as she could to Elaine, and it was then that Elaine affirmed her. With a soft nod and curt scurrying to the farthest corner the plan was set. And it was to the bright, wide eyes of the Maiden of the Fairy King’s Forest she smiled softly, a message she hoped shined clear as day.
I will be okay. You will come back for me.
She didn’t know if she believed her own words, but she knew if neither her nor Elaine did, he would. He would always come. He always had.
On the fourth round with the jingling of keys and the shuffling of feet Elizabeth pulled her wrists back tightly enough and let the beams of ark light blast through her body. She willed her white light to wrap around the structure trapping Elaine and despite the thick purple smoke that began to fight her she shattered Elaine’s cage. The next few seconds were vital but the blinding crushing of the bones in her wrist’s left her falling into a void. As she slumped against the wall with the darkness invading her sight and the sounds of scuffling filling her ears, she wondered if they had escaped.
And then hoped, for everyone’s sake, they had.
The lifelessness of her body and the shooting pains in her wrists told her that although she had been healing, although her body had been reaching outwards to keep her alive someone had surely been reinjuring her for their own gain. She wanted to raise her slumped head, but the tired ache was so deep in her bones. All she could seem to register was that she was standing now. There were shackles wound around her ankles, more shackles tightening her shattered wrists, and even one clipped around her neck. The steel felt like it was burning her skin at a low rate, just enough to make her uncomfortable, just enough to keep her awake and keep her power at bay.
‘This form is the most similar to the first time we met'
The deathly, cold that seared her skin made her wonder how she hadn’t realized before who had captured her. Surely, it must have taken an incredible mystical force that had been keeping his intense presence and powerful magic hidden from her. She forced her eyes to narrow in on the voice across the room despite the raging of her body that willed her to rest, to heal. His presence was overwhelming although he sat less than a few feet away. They were in a place that mimicked her father’s throne room with high ceilings and golden decorum. However, it was the sigils surrounding them that caught her eyes, they were that of the Pendergast name.
Camelot.
‘He will not be happy with me when he sees you. You shouldn’t have forced my hand.’
It was a startling reminder of how similar he was to the man she loved. The curl of his hair, the soft slant of his features. It made thinking of him all the more apparent in her mind. So, Elizabeth closed her eyes to focus on her body. She could already feel the wounds that brought her the most ache closing again. There was a cut the length of her thigh that was closing, blood drying on its outer edges. There was bruising lining her ribs and arms that slowly faded from a deep purple to a soft yellow. The jagged ridges of torn skin across her sternum and right shoulder. Her wrists were mending once more, her head regaining focus, her bottom lip sewing shut. She was stretched wide, her arms pulled up, her legs pulled apart, her head yanked back. Almost like a target. His target.
‘That won’t do.’
With speed that should have terrified her but simply left her paralyzed and reeling, he had gripped the shackle that bound her neck and let his hand crush a single wrist once more. She wanted to hold her pain inside herself, not let him know how deeply he was causing her to fear for her life, but the shout that ripped from her throat reverberated around the room almost as loudly as the cracking of her bones. He pushed her head back until she was staring in his unyielding eyes with his hand callously gripping the metal shackling her throat. The burning sensation on her skin all the more painful.
‘Now, now. We can do better than that.’
She could feel his hot breath against her skin and the cold feel of his other hand moving to grasp her healed wrist. She could practically smell the stench of hellfire and utter hatred seeping from every facet of him. His body was alarmingly tall, dangerously fearsome and the black, barely blue of his eyes a harsh reminder of why she was here. She knew they had been together before, but it was not like this. Maybe a festival of some sort? She was sure she had seen him laugh and yet that memory faded to black at the harrowing sound of his voice.
‘We want my brother to find you love.’
He grasped her wrist tightly as the bones began to crack underneath the weight. She couldn’t help the blood curdling yell that tore apart her throat as he willed his pain to radiate within her. The breaking of her wrist made to feel like her body had been filled with a level of dark magic specifically quelled up inside him for her. A taste of coal in her mouth, a flash of the darkness he dared place within her crossing her vision.
‘That’s better. I think one more and he should crash right into our little space.’
Elizabeth watched him as he raised a glass blade from the sheath at his hip. It was beautifully crafted with a simple thin blade and a golden hilt. His fingers gripped the handle with a gentle familiarity and his other hand sought to graze her skin and pull her chin to level their eyes once more. She couldn’t help but notice how dark the purple hue that tattooed his skin had become, how black the symbol of the Demon King singed his soul.
‘He'll know it was me.’
He gripped her chin harshly and all Elizabeth could do was whimper as the steel shackles kept her magic tightly bound; marked her skin with fiery scars to remember them by. To remember him by.
‘You’ll tell him that when I am Demon King, he will keep his promise forever.’
The sneer that marked Estarossa’s face imprinted in Elizabeth’s mind. She had never felt something so tremendous; a statement he truly intended with every ounce of his dark magical spirit to keep.
‘Tell my brother I said hello’
As she stared into the eyes that should have reminded her of his brother, a man who would never dare bring her harm, she was left with a chill. That was until the glass blade tightly gripped in his hand was piercing into her stomach. Elizabeth could not control the anguish and rage that flowed from within her. The pain was unbelievable, unfathomable, unbearable. She could feel it in ever fibre that held her together, a never-ending wave of utter devastation worse than the reality of losing everyone she held dear. It was like she was reliving the worst pains her mind could imagine. Figments of her worst nightmare swirled in her eyes as a dark fog and she was suddenly surrounded by the bodies of those curled deeply within her heart. Their lifeless frames covered in their blood and her, stuck standing in place with nothing to do but stare, and scream.
The Sins surrounded her on demon spikes. Their bodies run clear through with a potent dark magical energy. He was there, his beautiful blonde hair matted to the grimy, sullen skin of his forehead. His eyes faded, each of his hearts pierced threw. He was strewn over rocks in pools of his own blood. She was left quaking as she screamed in horror, as tears flowed down her face.
She knew somewhere outside of herself that her blood was pooling below her and staining the tattered shards of her silk gown. It would nearly kill him to see. She knew because it was nearly killing her to have this imagine flooding her mind. She tried to break the fog that overwhelmed her with nothing but death, she willed herself to break that chains, to save herself from this trauma.
But all she could feel was the black hole swallowing her entirely.
I wrote something along these lines for another fandom and the idea kind of worked well here so I thought I would give it a go.
Another Sweet Pea x Reader. Explicit sexual content.
Enjoy.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before
It was just that this time, well this time it hurt more
And she knew exactly why
This was just fooling around
And that was all Sweet Pea would ever say
He would walk into her trailer after a long day
His hair messy from his inability to keep his hands from fidgeting
The bags under his eyes thick from sleepless nights, nights full of missions she wasn’t yet privy to knowing about
His knuckles still bruised from knocking in whoever’s jaw it was that spit vile words at another member
And her fingers would start to tingle, the hairs on her neck would stand up as the room filled with his cologne
She would keep her eyes on the notebooks spread out across the coffee table in front of her waiting patiently for him to make the first move
She didn’t want to seem so eager, so ready for him
She was trying so hard to keep the beating in her chest under control
Trying to remind her body what her mind already knew
This was just fooling around
But then Sweet Pea would yank her to her feet from the nest of books
His hand quickly leaving her arm and winding up through the thick dark curls making her head spin
And he would lean their faces towards one another, deep breaths escaping her parted lips
The thoughts racing through her mind made the urge to pin Sweet Pea up against the wall and drag her tongue down his throat uncontrollable
But she would remain in his grasp just waiting
Praying to anything and anyone that the loud thrashing sound of her heart against her chest was something only she could hear
And then he would snake his other hand up her shirt
His cool fingers shocking against the fire that had become her skin
And he would lean forward ever so slightly, curve his head ever so slightly just to run his tongue along his own bottom lip
She could feel the goosebumps all over as the words rang out in her mind to calm the wave of desire coursing over her, to keep the heat between her thighs at bay
This was just fooling around
Suddenly his large hands were gripping the backs of her thighs, her ankles twisting to lock behind him, her back roughly pressed against the wall of the trailer
Her hands would run up along his scalp and twirl his soft locks of hair between her fingers
His groaning at the way her core ground against him was a sound she wasn’t ready to give up
It was reverberating in her ears as he pulled her flush against him
His lips moving up the column of her throat to press against her own
It was hot, dirty and fast
How he liked it, how she needed it
And then her back was on her bed before she had time to stop for air and the temperature of her skin kept rising
They were a tangle of sweat and limbs and his guttural moans made her writhe beneath his weight
Shirts were torn open, pants were thrown across the room
Sweet Pea’s hot open mouth trailing down, down, down
Sucking and biting and oh god his tongue
And oh god those hands
They just kept grabbing and gripping and pulling her closer
She was arching her back just to feel him against her
And then she was on her knees, digging her elbows into the mattress, trying so hard not to come undone as he moved deep inside her
She wanted to keep feeling this, wanted to remember it
She didn’t know when it would happen again because, like Sweet Pea always said
This was just fooling around
And then it was over
And he was breathing heavily on top of her
His chest pressed against her own, his lips along the back of her neck, one of his hands still between her thighs
Moving together to lay on the bed
Heavy breathing, heaving chests, coming down from a high they had become so familiar with the last few months
His eyes closed as she trailed her fingers along the side of his face brushing stray curls to the side
And then that was over too
Those few fleeting moments where she was just staring at him and feeling her heart swell
Moments where she wanted to tell Sweet Pea what she was thinking, feeling
What she had been feeling for weeks longer than she cared to admit
What she thought for a brief second Sweet Pea could feel too
But then he was flying up from her bed, grabbing his shirt and pants and moving to her bathroom without a second word to wash it away
To wash her away
And that hollow pit in her stomach would return as it always did while she was lying on her sheets with the smell of him all around her
And she would hate herself a little more because of course this wasn’t just fooling around, of course it was more
But she knew she couldn’t tell him that
She could never tell him
Especially not now
Or later that week when some Vixen with blonde curls and red lips was trailing her fingers along his thigh and whispering into his ear
They were pressed so close together in the booth at Pop’s she would have sworn just one person was occupying it
It made her heart ache and her shoulders tense and her stomach drop
She always wondered how he could he look into her eyes as he was inside her, as their skin touched, as his hands ran along the curve of her in ways only he knew how, and still walk away?
Still want another?
Not feel what she felt?
That together they were enough .. that she should be enough
And she was kicking herself because she knew in all those moments of him flirting
Knew all those weeks ago when he had leaned against her with his breath smelling of whiskey at another one of Cheryl’s gatherings that he was going to break her heart
But how do you stop yourself?
How was she supposed to pull back when the person she wanted was suddenly pulling her into the next room, pulling her on top of him to straddle his hips?
She couldn’t stop the fire inside her that he lit just by grasping her neck and pressing his lips into hers that night
‘Baby, this is just fooling around’
How could she say no?
She couldn’t, she still hadn’t figured it out
Still hadn’t stopped the drunken phone calls when she was opening the door to find his mouth slick with liquor but his kisses so fierce
Or the afternoons when he would run his tongue on the inside of her thighs behind the school when they were supposed to be running track
But seeing Sweet Pea now
Pretending that the blonde with the short cheerleader skirt was what he wanted and waving it in front of her face
It made her blood boil and her head pound
They hadn’t even grabbed a table yet when she realized she couldn’t sit there and watch that
Couldn’t sit with her friends and pretend he wasn’t telling her with every smile and every wink that she would never be what he wanted
They knew by the look on her face she was sick at the sight
Fangs had offered to walk her back
Toni had offered to help her with whatever she needed
But she merely nodded at their knowing eyes and waved them off
She trudged through the snow back her trailer trying to shake the anger off on the long walk
She knew she had done this to herself, she thought with the cold biting at her ears and her nose
She had let them get too intimate knowing all the time what she felt for the man who had become one of her best friends
But denying it all the same
She had let him use her body and accidentally given him her heart along the way
By the time she was back with her snow covered boats and leather jacket and hat littering the floor around her living room the anger had almost gone
She left a trail of clothing behind her as she turned the faucet on
A hot shower helped get the warm feeling back into her fingers and toes, maybe it could do something for her heart
And it almost did
But she was thinking about moments she didn’t understand
The few moments that had made her think he was looking at her like she was more than someone to fuck
Nights when he had blamed his exhaustion and stayed in bed next to her, his arms curling around her frame and pulling her close
Nights when she had bandaged his knuckles and stitched his wounds and watched over him
Nights when he tore through every last swear word he could think of, screaming at the sky, until she had pulled him back to earth with her
There had to be something more?
But then the image of the booth flooded her mind
That’s when she heard the bathroom door click and a shuffling pair of feet
‘I hope its you because this will be really awkward if it isn’t’
Her jaw clenched at the easy sound of his voice
‘Not now’
She had had the speech planned in her head
Had recited the soft and logical words on the tip of her tongue that would end this without completely shattering her until suddenly she was completely overpowered by the sheer sound of Sweet Pea’s voice
‘What’s wrong? Saw you leave almost as soon as you got there. They said you were sick?’
She placed her hand against the shower wall
Stay calm, stay cool, stay collected
‘Hello?’
The words that slipped through her teeth harsh and angry and raw, ‘Surprised you even noticed me.’
Sweet Pea had gripped the shower curtain now and yanked it, ‘What?’
She shut her eyes tightly
The last thing she needed was to see those eyes and that striking jaw
She would crumble
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Forget it,’ she whispered
‘Forget what? I don’t even know what we’re talking about!’
She lifted her head, her muscles so tensed and strained, ‘Don’t Sweet Pea, don’t.’
The pretence faded from his face
So he did know, she sighed
‘I-I …’
She let out a huff of irritated laughter
‘Like I said. Forget it.’
The words made Sweet Pea flinch
He was just standing there, his eyes locked on hers, an array of confusion and surprise on his speechless face
‘It wasn’t just fooling around’
She cocked her head to the side at the barely audible words that left Sweet Pea’s lips
A full wave of surprise and confusion unable to register the words coming out of his mouth
‘What?’
Sweet Pea lifted his shirt over his head as she spoke
‘It still isn’t’
And then her back was against the shower wall
Sweet Pea’s lips decorating her skin as she rolled her head back, her eyes fluttering closed
She learns about him more and more everyday. This is what she knows.
This is my first tryst into the Riverdale fic world. I’ve got a slight obsession with the Sweet Pea x Reader trope so let’s see how this goes.
TW: some violence w/ Ghoulies
Enjoy.
I.
She’s been learning things about him since the moment they met with his hair swept back and his frame towering over her. His eyebrow had kinked ever so slightly at the sight of her before she could feel the false bravado slipping over his face like a mask. The smirking and the crossed arms and the effortless way he rolled his eyes at her sarcastic tone.
‘You better watch it before that tongue gets you into trouble’
‘No need to concern yourself with my tongue Sweet Pea’
She could see him swaying in and out of who he was, who he was trying to be and who he wanted to be. There was a softness in his laugh when Toni made a joke. There was a harshness in his eyes when his friends pulled him away from the comments of the Northsiders who belittled him. There was a strange twirling in the pit of her stomach when she turned back to watch him walk away only to find him already watching her back.
She wanted to know him.
II.
She learns about his quiet nature whenever the whole group is around. She’s somehow part of the whole group now. They’re sitting at the bar and he’s always finding his way to the pool tables with no partner, just him and the cue and utter silence. But he’s listening to them, always listening.
Then they’re sitting in a booth in Pop’s and he’s found his way to the record player with a few dimes and a somber look in his eyes. He flips through the catalogue of songs as Fangs steals another fry off her plate and Toni’s eyes drift off the the redheaded bombshell twirling her legs on the stools.
She wonders what’s going on in his head. What he’s thinking about when he sinks another ball or when he selects another record. Where did he learn to play pool so well? Is this song his mother played in the morning when she made him pancakes before school? Was there ever a time when someone made him pancakes before school?
She finds her eyes drift towards him more often than not until she’s finally pushing herself to go with him. To play a game or pick a song. It’s easy when she’s standing next her him and their arms brush ever so lightly but a fire ignites in her stomach at that effortless grin.
‘If you play that song again they may kill you’
‘Let them try, it’s my favourite’
III.
She first learns about the real pent up anger boiling under his skin when they make comments about the way her legs would look wrapped around them. The moment the words leave the mouth of the man standing before him in the blue and gold jacket she can practically feel the steam. Like he had been caged for too long, been alone for too long, and needs to run his first through a wall. She didn’t know until that very moment that he was a “swing first, ask later” kind of guy. Then his fist connects with his jaw and she’s screaming.
She could feel it in her throat as they continued to swing and kick and hit each other. She doesn’t know what to do but then Fangs was pulling him backwards, throwing him in the passenger seat of his truck and speeding away before anymore Bulldogs could find their way there.
The guy was dazed and bleeding. His shiny yellow and blue jacked covered in dust from hitting the ground.
She had jumped on the back of her bike without a second thought and sped after them all the way to the Wyrm. Pulling into the bar with her heart racing and her eyes on the specks of red she could see dripping down his cheek.
‘You’re out of your fucking mind’
She's holding the ice to his knuckles and pulls out the first aid kit they keep under the bar to bandage up the open cut above his eye. His eyes are watching her, always watching her. His eyes steely and beautiful and leaving so much left unsaid. She feels them on her when she sits back in front of him. Her legs pressed up against his, her fingers grazing the side of his face to get a better look at the wound.
‘No one ever gets to talk to you like that.’
The way his voice pierces her made her feel like she had no air left in her lungs and all her blood had rushed from her body.
IV.
She first learns about the softness beneath the hard lines and edges of his face when they start spending time alone.
First it had been helping him with English, then trips to the drive-in and walking the railroad tracks after school just to stay out of the house a few hours more.
The first time she sees his room she feels like he’s finally letting her peer into the pieces of himself no one else gets to see. A fragment of his soul he keeps hidden. There are pictures of his little sister on his dresser in a light blue dress and flowers in her arms. She wonders if it’s from a birthday, if it’s a party, if it’s the last time he got a picture of her smiling. There’s a ragged copy of “In Cold Blood” she had lent him weeks ago with the pages dog eared beside his bed. She wonders if he had read it deep into the night like she had, unable to stop turning the pages until his eyes grew heavy and forced him to sleep. There are scattered camera lenses and straps and film littering the side tables in his room. She wonders where he got them all; gifts or bargains or paid for, she doesn’t know.
They had laid on his bed that night and talked for hours. Barely touching. The few light grazes of their fingers and shoulders were enough to make her think maybe there is something more.
‘You really miss them huh?’
‘I have a family now. I have you guys.’
V.
She first learns about the way jealousy feels when it coils up inside you and slithers across the back of your neck the night Cheryl throws a party. That woman loves nothing more than to bring together the Southside and the Northside for the drama of it all. Or maybe for the Toni of it all, she thinks, but that’s yet to be determined.
They’ve been there for a while and the way the leather skirt keeps riding up her thighs when she moves makes her want to disappear into a never ending black hole. It’s pinching her waist and no matter how many times she shifts the black lace top tucked into it, it doesn’t help.
She’s leaning against the kitchen counter when she catches her eyes on him as she’s scanning the room. She had lost everyone in the shuffling of bodies and the blaring of music but there he was. Tall enough to catch the soft slope of his nose and fine cut of his jaw. Almost as fast as the butterflies in her stomach flutter, they’re crushed to dust.
He’s leaning over someone, hand bracing the wall. She can just barely see the soft blonde curls of some girl his face is way too close too and it feels like someones stabbed her in the side. Hard breathing, tight chest. She hadn’t thought her feelings had gone this far. Hadn’t noticed when they had jumped into the deep end far from where she could reach them and pull them back to shallow ground, to stable ground.
She catches Fangs as she's slipping her way out the back door.
‘Everything okay?’
She smiles and nods. Afraid of what might jumble out of her throat if she opens her mouth. She needs to go home, needs to get away from here. Fresh air and a cool summer night sound like a good distraction from the sad realization settling across her shoulders that she had fallen for a boy who would never fall for her back.
VI.
She first learns about the unrelenting waves of fear that come from living this life when she’s about halfway to her destination that same night. Her mind had led her down a dark tunnel of how to handle this feeling but her feet had led her subconsciously to the bar. There’s a few lights still on, maybe someones still around to distract her, she thinks. But then she freezes.
‘What’s a pretty little snake doing out this time of night? And all alone?’
They hadn’t done anymore than run their switchblades across her skin, slicing up her skin with thinly veiled threats and warnings. But then one painful flick of his wrist made a deep gash under her eye when she just couldn’t hold her tongue back anymore.
‘Fuck you.’
The drops of blood hitting her chest as they dripped in a curtain down her face.
‘Run along.’
She had kept her tongue between her teeth as they slipped back into the forest and she found herself practically running. She had nodded along to what messages the man had to say from his leader. When she slams into the bar she throws her back against the hard surface of the door and lets out all the air still trapped inside her.
‘What happened?’
FP’s voice is like a saving grace. She looks up and he’s pulling her forward with alcohol wipes and sad eyes. She doesn’t let the tears spill over, just softly recounts the messages like poison on her tongue. His forehead creases and his brows furrow.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll handle this’
He had been the only father she’d ever known. She’s grateful that it’s him here to wipe the blood and bandage the wound. She isn’t sure she could have held back the tears if it had been anyone else.
VII.
She first learns about how deep cares about whatever this is between the when she makes it home. A thick bandage across her cheek as she walks through the door, as she slips out of her clothes, leaving her blood stained shirt to soak in the sink. She finds her way into his t-shirt. He had left it here all that time ago and she found she needed it now more than ever.
She’s barely closed her eyes, barely let the tension in her back sink into the mattress when there’s a heavy banging on her door. She stands slowly, listening as the banging gets louder and then swings open the door.
Sweet Pea. Wild eyed and angry and pushing through the doorframe to take her in his arms before she can even understand what’s happening. He’s got his arms around her shoulders and her forehead is resting against his chest. He’s touching her softy but his arms are tense like she’s glass about to break.
‘You shouldn’t have left’
His voice cracks as she runs her hands under his jacket and lets her fingers smooth out the creases of his shirt. She’s overwhelmed by the feeling of him, the softness of him, the way he’s holding her. She can’t help that tears are coming and she isn’t sure if it’s left over from the jealousy that had tightened around her heart earlier that night or the remnants of fear from being inches away from being sliced up or worse.
But she pushes back from him and even though her eyes are spotted with tears and everything that’s about to come out of her mouth is a complete and utter lie, she speaks.
‘I’m fine’
VIII.
He first learns about the way he feels about her, the way he's been denying he feels about her, when he finds her home that night. He had been looking for her for twenty minutes at the party when Fangs had suddenly remembered her sliding out the back door. He felt panic rise in his stomach, she had left?
When he gets to the bar and FP’s anger simmers down just enough to tell him what’s happened he feels like he could kill someone. He wants to break skulls and smash bottles. He wants to yell at Fangs from not making sure to take her home, he wants to yell at Toni for letting her be alone at the party. But mostly, he wants to yell at himself.
He barely says a word when he’s slamming the door to get out of the bar and all he can feel is knots in his stomach as he practically runs to get to her. His fist is pounding on the door before he can eve register that he's arrived. He needs to see her, he just needs to see her face, he just needs to know everything’s okay and she’s okay and it’s all okay.
He’s surging forward at the sight of her and pulling her against him just to make sure this is real and she’s here and she’s fine. She’s wearing his shirt and his heart tightens at the sight. It’s practically a dress swallowing her but it feels like she’s his for this brief second. Just like he’s wanted for months. Just like he’s told himself should never and could never happen.
But he holds her anyway and grinds his teeth, ‘You shouldn’t have left’
Her hands are warm against his shirt and his skin feels like its on fire at the way there’s only a single, thin barrier between her and him. Then she’s pushing back from him, looking up at him and batting away the tears in her eyes.
‘I’m fine’
He brings his thumb to run across the thick white bandage FP has secured and feels that anger on his skin start to dissipate. Just for this moment, just for her. He lets the anger slide deep inside himself so that he can make her feel safe.
He wraps an arm around her shoulder and guides her back to her room without a word. She lets him. She looks tired and worn and he doesn’t want to yell at her from leaving or yell at them for doing this to her. He just wants to hold her.
She sits down on her bed as he toes off his boots and slips off his jacket. They’re lying face to face and he’s swiping his fingers under her eyes to stop the tears. He reaches out for her hand under the covers and lets their fingers interlock.
Because I don’t have one, here’s the masterlist of the pieces for this blog.
Avatar the Last Airbender
Healing kataang (NSFW)
Republic City I and II kataang
Earth Kingdom I II and III kataang (implied NSFW)
Lotus I II III and IV pemzin
Soul kataang
Legend of Korra
Storm I and II kainora (NSFW)
Gala I and II kainora (getting together)
Attack on Titan / Shingeki no Kyogin
Hook rivetra (blood-swearing-violence)
Relax rivetra (swearing-NSFW)
Levi I and II rivetra (swearing-NSFW-harassment)
Need mikaeren (swearing-blood)
KA International I II III IV V rivetra (NSFW-swearing-explicit) unfinished.
Seven Deadly Sins / Nanatsu no Taizai
Keep Living meliobeth and balaine
Gone (meliobeth break-up/NSFW)
He spends moments with her, moments he wants to last forever. And inside his mind they do but out here, out here his duty is what has to come first.
Find the aftermath of this here.
Warning: implied sexual content
Enjoy.
Elizabeth was standing on the balcony that extended from her bedroom in the castle. From that high up she could see the kingdom extend far into distance along with the never ending sky. She enjoyed the view because she could watch the efforts of her people as they worked to rebuild their lives.
Lives much more pleasant than the battles that had unwillingly fallen before them.
She enjoyed it more so, however, because she could distinctly see the Boar Hat and every so often catch the familiar sight of her friends.
Since the war had ended life was quiet, peaceful, dream-like. But she knew the Sins would be heading off soon and that image would shatter at her feet. She desperately wished to leave with them but she didn’t want to be a burden and she was torn further by the thought of leaving her family. They had been separated for so long but they were finally together and all she could think of was leaving.
The guilt overwhelmed her sometimes.
She pushed that thought from her mind and looked downwards towards the garden. The bright colours the vibrantly bloomed below where stunning but it was the familiar glinting of a Holy Knight’s armor that caught her eye. She focused her eyes to see Gilthunder standing there restlessly shifting his weight revealing the lavender hair of her older sister Margaret blowing in the wind behind him. His arms were bent at the elbow suggesting that he was holding both her hands in his and as Elizabeth watched their faces grew closer.
Elizabeth felt a blush rise to her cheeks at the thought of not only invading her sister’s attempt at privacy but at the thought of herself in her sister’s place with a beloved friend.
She knew there was no chance of them ever stealing private conversations in the castle garden or sneaking kisses when they thought no one was watching. But still, Elizabeth longed to have what her sister had.
The thought made her sad because even if they tried to be together, even if that was what he wanted, she knew her father would never approve. It was pointless to think about thought since she was so unsure of his feelings for her.
For now, it was nothing more than a dream.
She turned away from the private scene below and walked back into her room to finish getting ready for the day. She looked at herself in the mirror; she was wearing a lavender coloured silk gown. She left her silver hair flowing down her back and smiled to herself, ‘I hope he likes it.’
This evening the festival to celebrate the end of the war would begin and although her father had asked Meliodus to accompany her as protection, she had already planned on asking him. Whether he felt something for her or not she just couldn’t herself from the feeling of wanting to be close.
She left her room and walked to the grand staircase, he would be here any time and she didn’t want to keep him waiting.
Meliodus was wearing a new dark green overcoat with gold trimming over his usual attire as he entered the castle. He had found it in a package on his bed after he had closed the bar last night with a small note inside, “For the festival.”
He knew immediately it had been a gift from Elizabeth and he couldn’t wait to show her.
He was standing at the bottom of the stairs when he heard her voice call out his name. He spun around to see her and was not at all anticipating what he saw before him.
Usually he would make a sly comment about her body or a witty joke but his thoughts were jumbled. The dress she had on accentuated her features, brought light to her eyes and shimmered in the light as she moved.
He was in a daze staring at her but he was brought out of it by the sound of her worried voice. She was descending the stairs now with her eyebrows creased and her mouth in a slight frown. He wanted to reassure her but as she moved his eyes stayed glued to her.
Before he knew it she was standing before him and he finally snapped himself back to reality, “Elizabeth! You ready to go to the festival?”
He reached his arm out for her to take it and although her brow was still furrowed at his strange behavior, his smile brought a smile to her face, “Of course Lord Meliodus!”
As the sky turned black, as the night moved farther and farther away from the end of the festival, Meliodus felt his heart grow heavier
It had been a long time since he left the kingdom to do some soul searching. The years of battle had finally taken their toll on him again just as they had when he lost Liz.
He ran away then and never turned back. But this time, this time, he knew he couldn’t stay away forever.
Leaving her had been one of the hardest things he had ever had to do and still it was necessary.
It always made him feel more guilt for leaving to remember the night they had just spent together. He knew he would be leaving soon because of his conversation earlier with her father and he had taken every chance since to memorize her.
He pictured her across from him on the dance floor and imagined the light that shone in her eyes when he spun her into his arms. He thought about the way the colours from the fireworks flashed across face and how stunning her smile was as she looked intently into the sky. He imagined the smell of lavender that drifted towards him as he jumped with her asleep in his arms up to the balcony of her room.
He had planned to lay her in bed and leave the note he had stashed in his jacket pocket rather than waking her up for a tearful goodbye. However, as he laid her down his face was inches from hers and her eyes fluttered open. He froze above her hoping she would fall back asleep but instead she ran her fingers threw his hair. He was taken aback by the sweet gesture and then even more so when her hand laced itself in the hair that rested at the back of his neck.
“Don’t go.”
Before he could answer she raised her lips to meet his and a fire erupted in the pit of his stomach. The feeling of her lips was something he hadn’t felt before and suddenly he craved it.
He removed his hands from underneath her body to one underneath her neck and the other on her waist. Before he knew it he was hovering over her on her bed and she had opened her mouth wide enough for him to slid his tongue in. The deeper their kiss the more he felt himself losing control, unable to stop himself from what he was doing.
His hand was grasping her breast and the other was sliding up her thigh through the slit in her dress.
He was urged to continue by the feel of her hands unbuttoning his dress shirt and her leg wrapping itself around his hip. Once she had undone his shirt she placed her hand on his chest and pulled back from him. He opened his eyes at the loss of her lips, “I love you.”
The sound of her voice made him forget that he should leave and forget his promise to the King.
He leaned his face in closer to hers and before closing the gap he whispered, “I love you Elizabeth.”
Once his lips were back on hers it was not long before their clothes were on the floor and their bodies were entwined under the sheets.
When Elizabeth awoke the next day he imagined her reaching her arm out for him but he had woken hours earlier and slipped away into the night.
He pictured her opening her beautiful eyes and seeing the letter he had left her.
He couldn’t think of it any further, the thought of her tears would have driven him back to the kingdom.
The beginning of a little something I wrote way back in the days of Twilight.
I wrote this because I despise the way Meyer brushed off Leah Clearwater. Here was this incredibly complex female poc, determined to be a pack member, determined to not let men out due her and she was left as this sad, unloved, lackey.
So I created Kya. My OC Alpha girl.
Warning: violence and nudity
Enjoy.
The sand feels smooth between her toes as she pushes off from the ground. It is hardened by the ebb and flow of the waves and retains the indent of her feet as she moves. The breeze is blowing through the holes in her sweater but she needs it, her body is unbelievably warm, it has been since she woke up that morning. She feels the dizziness oncoming but she pushes forward until she has reached the edge of the beach, the beginning of the forest.
Her mind says turn back you should be in bed, but the trees and mountain side are calling her name. Without hesitation her body pushes her forward into the forest, the twigs and leaves crunching under her bare feet. The air in here is much thicker than the air that swarmed her lungs along the beach. She can smell the oak, the pine, the sweet lavender that sprouts between roots.
The forest is older than any she has been in before and although she has never been she feels at home.
At peace.
Before she realizes it shes picking up pace and her face is growing warmer and sweat is dripping down her body. She tears her sweater from her arms and leaves it behind her, it can warm the trees, she thinks .
The sweat is soaking through her sports bra and causing her shorts to stick to her thighs. The pounding in her head starts up again, it has been there all morning but with the overexertion of every muscle in her she realizes it has become almost too much to bear.
Yet she continues.
It’s as if running from the pain is possible.
She runs and runs, her hair is clinging to her neck and blowing behind her like a sail in the wind. She can hear the slapping of the waves against the rocks on the cliffs edge and she feels it pulling her.
She changes course; she can see the wide open space beyond the trees and she wants to jump. She wants to land in the water below her and be swallowed by a cold that might finally make her feel anything but the heat burning in her veins.
So she does.
She picks up her speed and before she knows it her toes leave the cliffs edge and she’s soaring. The wind is salty against her skin and she closes her eyes. Being in the natural world is almost enough to make her feel alive.
She starts to forget why her mother had moved her to the city all that time ago and why, when she had become too much to bear, she had shipped her to the coast. But she feels grateful. Being in the bustling streets with the dirty sidewalks and skyscrapers so unnaturally high that it made her queasy was unsettling.
She felt much more herself being here, being free.
She feels her body lowering back through the clouds, the sunrise dancing off her skin as she descends. She slides under the water and exhales all the breath she can as she feels herself break the surface. The water is like a jolt of electricity up her spine and her muscles are screaming now from the sudden change. She lets herself drift lower and lower so that her mind can go blank. Its nice for a moment. But that’s what it is, only a moment.
She tries to forget that she has only been here two days; running through those trees makes her feel like an ancient being that sprouted from the soil on the forest floor and dances through the night with them.
She tries to eliminate the feeling she got when she was pushed onto that train and watched her mother turn back before she had even departed. She told herself over and over and over that she was better on her own, independence gave her security, it always had.
But the tears that fell down her cheeks that day betrayed her.
She bobbed back to the surface as her mind came back to reality, as her lungs burned to be relieved and sucked in the glorious summer morning air. Her lungs filled to the brim with pine and salt and blood. She pushed herself through the water, breaking its beautiful waves apart to bring herself to the sand of the beach. She twisted underneath as she dipped again below the water and let it soak her up, take me away, she smiled to herself.
Once she could feel the wetness of the sand and slick seaweed between her toes she looked at the beach. There he was, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. His brows her furrowed, the lines of face that barely knew smiles boring into her. There was a pack of boys behind him with lopsided grins and tussled black hair. The familiar tattoo of her tribe dark like charcoal against their smooth skin.
She rolled her eyes, I’m in for it now.
When the water came to just about her ankles the wind began nipping at her overheated skin and, of course, he started yelling. She tried to drown out the things he was saying about how she was insane, how she should be in bed, how dangerous it was to cliff dive alone by studying his company. There are familiar eyes and cheeky grins masked by the bodies of grown men. Embry is tall and lean, Paul is short and volatile, Jared is nothing but laughter and Seth is the quiet one.
She has yet to run into thia mysterious Black character they avoid conversing about.
She steps at the edge of the water, letting it wash over her feet and return to its home. She watches Sam and feels her lip twitch upward as he rolls his eyes and throws a towel in her direction. His jaw is clenched and he looks like he’s going to yell but she speaks softly, “Sam do I look hurt to you?”
He narrows his eyes at her, the boys behind him holding back their laughter and giving her meek grins.
Sam raises his hand, “Get your ass in the truck, I’m taking you back to Emily.”
She wipes the salty water from her eyes and throw some of it at the back of his head as he turns towards the truck.
He whips his head around at her and she can’t help but laugh, “Race you.”
Then she takes off; she’s back in the direction of the forest and her muscles are still made of fire. She’s a blur of dark skin and dark hair before he knows it and the the thrill of the chase just keeps pushing her farther from him. She could hear him cursing her name loudly followed by an even louder swear word but then the truck jump started.
She smirks, meet you there.
The path to the house wasn’t far and the thought of sitting in that stingy truck with Sam’s eyes burning holes in her skin was less than pleasant. She couldn't recall the last time she had seen him, usually he came to visit her when she was little but as she grew older she disappeared into the darkness of the city. It’s one of the reasons her mom choose this place, it will heal you, she had said, let it heal you.
All she felt was anger when she ran away to the undergrounds that night. She had returned home in the wee hours of the morning with some perspective and a nasty new scar.
Fine mom, she had breath out through her clenched jaw, I’ll go.
With that last thought she broke through the trees to see the clearing where her cousin lived, where she would be staying. It was a small wood cottage hidden beneath the canopy of the forest that he shared with his fiance, a kind soul. She inched forward through the trees to see Emily hanging laundry on the line beside the house. Their heads both perked up at the hum of the truck as it pulled into the small area and she smiled at the look of annoyance of Sam’s face.
The boys jumped out of the truck bed, watching her intently as she strode toward them.
“Took your time did you?”
Sam rolled his eyes and headed towards Emily as he spoke, “Had to grab a straggler.”
She turned her eyes to the truck to realize another body had joined them. He was taller than the others and looked much stronger. His hair was dark, just like his eyes and he kinked his eyebrow at seeing her. She grinned softly and held out her hand, “Kya, pleasure.” He grasped her hand in his and she felt her whole body tingle at the feel of his skin, “Jacob Black.”
She dropped his hand, her palm still tingling, and smiled, “Ah, you’re infamous.”
She opened her mouth to speak but her breath hitched at the sudden weight in her chest. Her whole body lurched forward and she closed her eyes as the pain shot up through her back and across her shoulders. The wood chips of the driveway were digging into her shins but all she could focus on was that her head felt like it was going to split in two.
She dug her fingers into the ground, the faint sounds of yelling coming to her ears drowned out by the pounding of her pulse. She arched her back up and screamed as the pain moved down her arms and legs, her skin felt like it was splitting.
She tried to open her eyes, she wanted to assure them it was okay but suddenly she felt weightless. Her insides calmed, her muscles retracted and as she fluttered her eyelids back the pain slowly left her. It felt like it was melting through her palms and the soles of her feet into the forest floor. She stretched her back, rolled her shoulders and began blinking rapidly to see what had happened.
She opened her mouth to tell them she was okay but heard a soft growl. She jumped back and looked around her, so that’s what the transformation feels like.
She flexed her hands, or paws, into the ground and scratched at the dirt with her claws. She could see the men standing around her, their eyes wide, and she moved forward as they parted.
She could see her reflection in the side of the truck and her mind was racing. She had been waiting for this day for years, her mother had told her stories as a little girl of the Quileute legends and she hoped that she could feel that kind of freedom. That kind of family. So as she stared into her dark black eyes and trailed down her wolf form, she felt elated.
Her fur, unlike her skin, was whiter than the falling of fresh snow at the coming of winter. Her muscles felt unimaginably strong, her claws sharp and her bite fearsome.
In this form she wanted to run, wanted to break through the forest and travel to the farthest reaches of the continent. She wanted to dive into oceans, swim rivers and race against the many beasts of the forest. This was everything she ever dreamed.
Until she realized it was also a curse.
Her ears perked up at the slight bend of a branch behind the group of men in front of her and she let her instincts take over. Before she realized what was happening she had lunged over them and came into contact with an ice cold, incredibly hard body. She could smell the deep iron of blood, the sensation filled her nostrils as she bit down on whatever was tearing into her skin and she yelped.
She slammed into them in the air and tumbled to the right to ensure no damage came to those behind her. She caught sight of fiery red hair and lunged again at the being that had rolled away from her. The woman swung in the direction of her; her eyes were a deep red and her teeth exposed in a bright smile.
She narrowed her eyes at her target and again, they lunged. It wasn’t until she heard the howling behind her that the woman began to run but she wasn’t going to let them go.
The heavy howling in her ears become calming voices in her head. They were telling her to turn back and she felt compelled to stop, her urge to chase the female dying away.
The voices continued softly, find Emily, transform.
She felt her body shrinking back to its normal form as she wandered to the forests edge, a pile of clothes and Emily’s sweet scent lingering. She rolled her shoulder back as she came to her normal form and as the adrenaline fell away she cringed.
Her should felt incredibly sore, she reached up to touch it and was met again with the coppery smell of blood. She had several lines down her shoulder, they looked like claw marks and had yet to stop bleeding. She cursed at herself as she slipped the shorts onto her body and the large black tank-top over her frame. She broke through the woods to see the men standing before her in nothing more than shorts and suddenly Sam was on her.
“She fucking got you. Get inside, this needs to be cleaned before it closes.”
@carpetheotherfandoms :
I don’t know if I’m ever going to continue this.
I don’t anticipate being hit with a renewed interest in vampires and werewolves anytime soon lovelies.
But I absolutely had to get it out of my head and my drafts.
The Republic City Gala is coming up and Jinora is hoping that he’ll finally realize what he’s been unable to see all along.
Part one here.
Warning violence
Enjoy.
In the last few weeks Kai and Jinora had been so swept up in helping Tenzin and Korra prep for the Gala they had barely anytime to breathe. They had finally gotten the afternoon off today and they were going to go down to the beach but, of course, Pema snatched Jinora up right after breakfast to get her to try her new dress on.
“It’ll take like 20 minutes’ tops, how about I meet you on the steps in an hour?” Jinora stood up from the table and Kai nodded at her with his mouth full of food.
Jinora followed her mother through the temple to her bedroom and saw the dress hanging in a plastic bag from her closet door. As her mom unzipped the packaging she saw the beautiful reds and oranges and yellows the ran all over the dress. Her face must have shown her admiration because her mother chuckled, “And to think you didn’t even want a new dress.”
As Jinora slid into the dress she felt a lot older and much more beautiful than she had ever felt before. She looked at herself in the mirror she suddenly couldn’t wait for the Gala to come and for a certain someone to see her. When she turned to her mom she smiled brightly, “I love it.” Her mom grinned back, “You look stunning Jinora, it fits you perfectly.”
Jinora slipped out of the dress and got into her bathing suit to go down to the beach. She tried not to let her mind drift to the Gala but having finally put on that dress she felt elated. She had been having dreams about it for a while and although she was definitely not excited to have her father parade her around the room to visiting dignitaries and spiritual leaders but the dreams were never about that. She always imagined some fairy tale moment where Kai might ask her to dance and as they spun around the room she would finally be able to say the things she had always wanted to say.
They had been friends forever and she thought many times that something would happen but whenever it got to the brink of something, one of them backed down. They hadn’t spoken about that night in the temple when she had been giving Kai his tattoos. They had just rubbed it off like it was nothing more than because of the seclusion and meditation but she knew it wasn’t. It wasn’t nothing to her anyway, she didn’t exactly know how Kai felt.
He got very closed off when she got too close or too personal and although when she was younger she didn’t mind; she was getting older now. Bolder even, and she could feel herself gaining the confidence to tell him that he meant so much more to her than as just her best friend. Unfortunately, she had never found the time or opportunity to say what she was thinking about this to him and she always felt this overwhelming fear it would just push him away. She felt like she was just stuck in an endless loop of this.
Hopefully it would break soon.
Once she had finished getting ready she threw her beach items into a bag and ran down to the steps. As she walked through the temple doors in her halter style bikini and sheer cover-up that wrapped around her hips she saw Kai. He turned as her heard her, he was wearing a pair of swim trunks and had nothing else with him. Good thing she had been in charge of packing.
They were laying in the sand and watching the sun set towards the west over the city. They had worn themselves ragged taking the day to just be liked the kids they once were. It was a nice break from being their usual twenty-year-old selves who had lots of duties and responsibilities. Apparently they came with the territory once you had mastered an element that had almost gone extinct.
Jinora spoke without turning her head towards Kai, “You know, I don’t tell you this a lot but I’m really glad I have you around.” Kai turned to look at Jinora, her eyes were closed but she had a slight grin on her face. He moved his hand over and squeezed her hand that was laying on the sand next to him, “Me too Jin.” When he touched her hand her big brown eyes fluttered open and she turned to look at him, he could see the faint blush that rose on her cheeks.
“Are you two coming to eat?!” Both were startled off the sand and looked behind them to see Meelo standing on the steps up to the temple. Kai realized he was still gripping Jinora’s hand and let go swiftly, “Yeah Meelo, coming now.” His hand felt cold where hers had been, he missed the warmth.
It was the day of the Gala and unfortunately Tenzin had swept Kai up early to go help him set things up in the city. He hadn’t even gotten a chance to eat breakfast let alone see Jinora before they flew off on Tenzin’s sky bison. When he went to bed after the beach that night he started to get a nervous feeling in his stomach and his mind was going a mile a minute. Maybe there was something in Jinora for him. Something more than friendship. T
hose thoughts made him start picturing her at the Gala; he had overheard Asami and Pema talking about Jinora’s dress and how much it made her look like a grown woman. He had obviously noticed both of them were changing and he could kind of ignore it up to now but the thought of Jinora in this dress was driving him crazy. Definitely a restless night.
When Jinora woke up that morning her mother informed her that she would be helping around the temple preparing some items that would be taken to the conference hall before the Gala. Her mom saw her looking around and notified her that her father had already taken Kai into the city for the day and that they would meet them downtown.
She spent the whole day and night thinking about their moment at the beach. Her heart froze when she felt him grip her hand because he had never done that before. She thought that might have been her moment but of course Meelo interrupted them before she could say anything and Kai had nearly jumped into the air at the sound of Meelo’s voice. It was confusing being in love with your best friend; what was him loving her and what was him falling in love with her?
Asami was helping her with her hair for the evening and could see the gears in her head grinding a thousand miles a minute. “You know Jinora, the first time I really acknowledged I had fallen for Korra was the day of Varrick and Zhu Li’s wedding.” Jinora popped out of her head and looked into the mirror at Asami.
“When we all went to get ready, usually I knew exactly what I would wear but when I opened my closet I felt worried. I wanted to wear something that was going to make her think I was the most beautiful woman there, that would make her see only me.”
Jinora laughed, “Asami, Korra would love you no matter what you wore.”
Asami chuckled too, “That’s what I finally realized after I had tried on my entire closet. Korra and I had built a really solid friendship and that’s how I knew, no matter what I wore or what I said, she would always care about me. That’s what best friends do.” Jinora looked down into her lap when she realized that Asami was trying to help her with her feelings for Kai.
Korra walked through the bathroom door in her outfit for the evening and leaned against the doorframe, “Don’t overthink it like I did Jin, trust your feelings. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”
Asami placed both her hands on Jinora’s shoulders, “Your all done, go put that dress on and meet us downstairs.” She wrapped up her hairstyling tools and grabbed Korra’s hand as they left her room. Before they closed the door Jinora could hear Korra faintly, “You’re always the most beautiful woman in the room you know.” She smiled at the compliment.
Once she had slid into her dress she looked at herself in the mirror, time to go.
When they were walking up the street from the dock to the grand conference hall Jinora looked up to see all the big flashing lights. The hotel was lit up in gold, there were photographers everywhere with their camera flashing blinding white lights and people came in droves.
She was walking with her mother, Asami and Korra towards the building when she could her the crowds of people behind the barricades yelling their names. She turned to see little kids holding signs with Korra’s name on it and some even had hers. She waved to them and they all started smiling brightly and cheering her name.
Kai was standing with Tenzin in the large hall. The whole place was marble, there were hundreds of round tables everywhere for the dinner portion of the evening and a massive floor laid out for dancing. There were decorations, floral arrangements and a very large band playing soft music as people came.
Bolin and Mako had arrived pretty early to help them set up and it wasn’t too long after that that all the Beinfong’s arrived. Of course, Lin was in charge of the security so she was busy running around most of the day but Suyin and Baatar spent their time with Tenzin.
Although he liked had some people his own age around as the time grew later he found he kept his eyes more and more fixated on the grand staircase. More and more people came in wearing all different sorts of regalia from each of the nations just not the one he wanted to see. Suddenly, however, Tenzin put his hand on his shoulder suddenly and when Kai turned to look at him, “They’re here.”
He turned back to see where Tenzin was looking and he saw Pema descending the stairs with Korra and Asami, arm-in-arm behind her. Once they had descended most of the staircase that’s when he saw her following behind Korra and Asami.
Her hair was a lot longer now than when they were younger but she was wearing part of it pulled up away from her face and the rest in waves cascading down her back. The dress was a deep red and fitted tight against her body; it was sleeveless to expose her blue tattoos with an orange band that wrapped around her waist and tied into the back.
The ends of the band draped behind her with the train of the dress as she walked. As she walked down the stairs Kai watched the dress sway with the movement of her hips and slide smoothly over the marble of the steps as she walked towards him.
Once she had gotten to the bottom, her eyes still fixed on Kai, she moved around everyone to stand with him. He was wearing a sleeveless yellow tunic with a high collar and a slit from his chin to his chest over tan pants and brown boots. The tunic was wrapped with an orange sash across his body and tied along the waist with a red band.
He had a traditional air nomad beaded wooden necklace on with the air element symbol pendant handing just as she did. He looked much older with the soft stubble on his sharp jawline and his freshly shaved undercut.
She smiled at him as she walked up to him, “You look great Kai, like a true Master.” She could see his face get red, “Thanks Jin, you-you look incredible.” She blushed and did a small twirl in the dress, “What this old thing?” They both started laughing. It felt normal, more comfortable, not they were at a Gala with a million photographers and people around them.
The night moved forward with a lot of pictures being taken, people being talked to and foot being eaten. Her father had moved her and Kai around the room more times than they could remember. He wanted everyone to meet the youngest Masters in a generation and it seemed, a lot of them wanted the opportunity to meet them.
They asked them a lot of questions and Jinora hadn’t realized how many people knew of her spiritual powers. Many of the spiritual leaders gave her helpful advice and discussed their own experiences in the spirit world.
When it was finally time to sit for dinner Kai had thought he could finally get a moment to talk to Jinora but people were still mingling around the room and she seemed to be a hot spot. Once dinner had finished there were a few speeches and dessert was served.
As the speeches finished and announcer came forward and welcomed everyone onto the dance floor. Jinora turned to Kai when they announced dancing and before he could open his mouth someone beat him to the punch.
“Master Jinora.” They both turned to see a young man wearing the military uniform of the Fire Nation, “I was wondering if you would like to dance?” Jinora looked up at him and then looked towards Kai, she was hoping he would but in and tell the man he was taking her dancing but Kai said nothing.
“Uhm, sure.”
She placed her hand out for the gentleman to take and he led her to the floor. Kai watched her walk away but had to tear his eyes away when the man grabbed her hand in his and placed his other hand on her back.
Asami nudged Bolin who was sitting beside her and motioned towards Kai with her head. Bolin jumped out of his chair and walked over the sit in Jinora’s previously occupied seat, “Hey buddy. How’s your night going?” Kai looked past Bolin at the dance floor and could see that Jinora was laughing as the man spun her around the floor then he looked back at Bolin. “It’s good.” Bolin turned around the see what Kai had been looking at and realized what Asami was referencing.
“You know; I remember when I tried to get Opal to notice me for the first time. Mako gave me some horrible advice about being a sly smooth talker but what she really wanted was for me to just be myself. She told me that that’s what she liked most, that she felt we were going to be really good friends, even before she knew I had feelings for her. So I just stopped trying to be something I wasn’t and just went for it.”
Kai smacked his hand on Bolin’s bicep, “You’re right.” Kai got up from the table and walked towards to the dance floor just as the song was coming to an end. He walked towards Jinora and with eyes locked on hers reached out his hand, “Mind if I have the next dance?” Jinora bowed her head to the gentleman in front of her and placed her hand in Kai’s as the music started up again.
This time it was much softer so Kai pulled her close to him and placed his other hand on the small of her back. He felt her other hand gently rest on his chest and he looked down at her, “Enjoy your dance?” She laughed, “Oh yeah, if you enjoy talking to someone who wont stop talking about great battle strategies they’ve carried out. I don’t think I got a word in!”
Kai felt a wave of relief settle over his chest and the muscles in his shoulders began to unwind. His eyes were still locked with hers and he couldn’t help himself. He leaned down towards her and he could feel them both stop dancing. He kept inching towards her face and he could tell that she was moving her face towards him too.
Their lips finally interlocked and he closed his eyes as this rush ran through his body. He released her hand and placed it on the side of her face and she moved her newly freed hand onto the other side of this chest. With his other hand still on her back he pulled her closer, deepening the kiss. When they both pulled back he opened his eyes to see her own flutter open.
Their faces were still very close together and before he could speak, she did, “God I’ve been waiting for you to do that.”
Kai smirked and leaned forward again. He whispered, “Me too,” before intertwining his lips with hers once more.
The Republic City Gala is coming up and Jinora is hoping that he’ll finally realize what he’s been unable to see all along.
Part two here.
Warning violence
Enjoy.
Jinora shot herself backwards into the air, she had forced enough air underneath her when she flew upwards to land about 10 feet back and avoid the blazing fire underneath her. As she landed, one knee on the ground, she flipped her eyes up towards her target and blew her hair, as well as the residual smoke, out of her face.
Her eyes narrowed on the masked man in front of her, his black outfit was clear through the grey but she could see his eyes watering and she decided to use his power to her advantage.
She whirled stayed in her position but began swirling the smoky air all around him. She could hear him intensely cough and he began randomly blasting out waves of fire. He had nearly hit her with a blast when she again flew upwards into the air and this time flipped her body forward towards him. Below her she could see him looking around for her on the ground, you’d think by know he would remember where air benders like to be best.
She dropped down in front of him and rather than bend. she kicked her leg out to knock him to the ground and flipped him onto his stomach. She ripped her already singed shirt to tie up his arms and feet. When she flipped him he must have hit his head off the ground because he was bleeding through his mask and his eyes were closed.
Once she had him tied up she looked around to see if anymore were around. She had chased this one away from the battle, she knew her family could handle the rest of them and she didn’t want one to get away. She looked around to the damage he had caused to the island with his uncontrolled fire bending. That’s when she heard someone calling her name and she turned to the noise to see Kai running down the steps toward her. Before she could say anything his body slammed into hers and he wrapped his arms under hers so he could pick her up.
“When I didn’t see you after we wrapped all those guys up I thought something had happened, you sacred the crap out of me Jin.” Kai was still holding her tightly against him as he spoke and placed her down to let her respond.
“I just didn’t want one of them to get away,” she looked over at the still unconscious masked figure on the ground beside them. When she looked back she realized Kai was still staring intently at her and his brow was furrowed. “What’s wrong Kai?”
“You’re hurt Jinora,” he moved his hand towards her torn up shirt and tugged it upwards slightly to show her what he was referencing. She looked down and realized that the fire he had shot at her had actually hit her. The left side of her stomach was bright red and bleeding and once she noticed it she started to feel it, “Oh, I didn’t even notice. All that adrenaline was keeping the pain away.”
Kai pulled her towards him instinctively once the masked man on the ground started to gain consciousness and move around. He turned to Jinora, “Why don’t you go let Kya help you with those burns and I’ll bring this one to Beifong.”
Jinora nodded, she could see the anger and fierceness in his eyes. Kai had always been very protective of her ever since those air bison poachers had try to take her away. That’s probably why he had been the first to find her after the fight, he was always keeping her in his eye line because he didn’t want to almost lose her again.
It had been weeks since the attack on the Temple and since Beifong still had no leads Tenzin had upped security at the Temple. Kai and Jinora often took a guard duty together, they could spend the whole night together exploring the island and making sure everyone was safe. They liked getting the time together, time they never really got anymore.
The burns from the attack had been mostly healed thanks to a few weekly sessions with her Aunt and although Jinora was still kind of sore she didn’t let it stop her from training. She was a Master of air bending and she was required to be in shape, both physically and mentally, at all times.
She mostly trained with Kai, he had been taking it easy on her due to her injuries and really appreciated it. However, the thing that had been occupying her time most recently was the upcoming Mayor’s Gala. Her mother had been chasing her for weeks to get her measurements for the new dress she had to wear and she had finally caught her.
“Jinora stand still for crying out loud,” Pema huffed at her while wrapped the measuring tape around her daughter’s waist. Jinora made a funny face, “Mom this is completely unnecessary, I can just wear one of the outfits I already have.” Jinora was staring at herself in the mirror watching her mother chuckle and shake her head while continuing to measure her hips, bust and her legs.
She had grown to be quite tall in the past few years since the end of the revolution in the Earth Kingdom. She continued to look at herself in the mirror and blushed, despite being twenty-one years old she still got self-conscious about her “womanly growth” as her mom called it. She definitely filled out her wingsuit now.
“Okay sweetie, I think I’m all done.” Pema stood up, smiled at her daughter and began wrapping the measuring tape. “When do you think the dress will be ready mom?” Jinora turned around from the mirror to speak with her mother. “Oh you can try it on in a week or twp probably, they’ll want to make sure everything fits before the gala.”
Jinora smiled as her mother packed up the measuring tools and left her bedroom. Over the past few days her mother had been incessantly bothering her to get this done and she had finally caved. She kept telling her how important it was that she wear something more special than her usual air bending uniforms because it was big Gala after all.
Every five years or so the Mayor would hold an international celebration that brought leaders from all across the world to strengthen nation to nation bonds and personal friendships. This was the first time Jinora was allowed to attend because, firstly, now she was old enough and secondly, she was one of three Master air benders in the entire world.
One of three. The thought brought her straight to Kai. She remembers how warm and happy she felt when her father told her Kai would also be welcome to come with them because he was the third master air bender in nearly two centuries.
She remembered immediately running to their spot to find him and tell him. He had this big goofy smile on his face because she was completely lit up when she mentioned it and he always stared at her so intently when she got that way. Even the thought of that look he got in his eyes made her blush.
She had been wearing her wingsuit all morning because she taught a class to some of the advanced benders about defensive acts that can be manoeuvered while flying. She decided it would be best to change into something a little more comfortable for her training session this afternoon with Kai, he was the only one on the island who could keep up with her and he was helping her get her game back ever since her little burn incident.
She opened her dresser drawers to pull out her usual workout outfit. She had come accustomed to wearing a loose yellow tank top, sports bra and maroon coloured pants with her knee high boots. She wanted to be in something practical because she often used her bending in unexpected situations. Also, she always found herself heavily panting and sweating by the end of her workouts with Kai so wearing the loose tank-top was good for when she got overheated.
She jogged her way down the steps in the west wing and kept following the halls until she was outside the temple and standing on the training grounds. Kai was no where to be found yet so she decided she would warm up without him.
Kai had woken up later than usual and when he rolled over to see the sun almost at the highest point in the sky he panicked. Jinora was going to kill him if he was late again. He jumped out of bed and slid into his usual training outfit, a pair of shorts and a tank-top. He enjoyed not having to wear the baggy air bender outfit all the time, it was easily soaked through in this kind of heat.
He decided instead of running to find her he would just hop on his glider and sly down to the grounds from his room, it would be much faster. As he dove out the window and sailed towards the training area he could see the faint shape of Jinora. The closer he got the more mesmerized he was by her. She had immense power behind her abilities and she landed so gracefully out of a technique you could barely hear her touch the ground. If anyone deserved their air bending tattoos, it was her.
He remembered the day he got them, it was only a year or two ago and Jinora was the one who got to do his tattoos. They had spent three whole days in a secluded area of the temple where they were meant to meditate and pray together during the process.
It was incredibly painful but Jinora knew him so well, she would ease up instinctively when his muscles tensed and even when he was trying his hardest to pretend it was okay she could tell. He loved that time with her because it just made their bond grow stronger. It didn’t help his feelings though; he could feel himself falling harder for her each day they spent alone.
The way she smoothed her palms over his back to begin tattooing a new area, how he could feel her steady breath on his skin as she worked and the sound of her chest rising and falling as they slept next to each other. Sometimes when she had fallen asleep beside him he would keep himself awake just to watch her serene face in the moonlight.
When they were kids she became his best friend almost over night. He had never had anyone in his life who he had connected with so quickly. She was kind to him, opened her family to him. He hadn’t realized over the years that what he was feeling for her was more than just what you would feel for a friend. Not until that night.
He was startled out of his thoughts as an air blast threw his glider rolling backwards. He manoeuvered himself so that he was flying backwards out of the chaos and looked down to see Jinora with a smirk on her face. He closed his glider in the air and plummeted to the ground; he spun himself upside down in the air to force an air blast from his feet right in her direction. As he landed on the ground, he looked up to see Jinora also landing on the ground slightly to his left and about 5 feet farther back than she was before he sent his attack.
He watched her stand and start laughing, “You deserved that you know. Slept in again huh?” He stood up and smirked at her, “Accidents happen. I’m here now though.”
After they had finished their training Jinora grabbed the water bottles she had brought for them and threw one at Kai. She could feel the sweat beads rolling off her body and the sun burning on her back. She pulled her tank top off and tried to wipe her face off as much as she could then began chugging her water. Kai had nearly finished his water bottle and when he placed it down he turn his head towards Jinora to speak but his throat clenched. She was no longer wearing her shirt.
This wasn’t helping his cause in the slightest. But his staring at her got interrupted when his eye caught the now faded pink scar that sat on her rib cage. The sight made his insides flare up, he didn’t like the thought of any guy around her and liked it even less when that guy was trying to hurt her. He wished he had noticed her disappear from the battle sooner, maybe she wouldn’t have been injured.
Once she placed her bottle down she turned to him and said, “Have you been fitted for your new robes yet?” She noticed Kai had already been staring at her and she could feel the blood rush to her cheeks. Kai smirked, “Oh yeah, your mom did that a couple days ago. I’m supposed to go find her when we’re done and try them on. She finally got your measurements huh?”
Kai chuckled at the look on Jinora’s face, furrowed brow and crossed arms, “I managed to evade her this whole week and she finally trapped me in my room this morning. The Gala is still a few weeks away so unfortunately the designers will have enough time.”
“It’s going to be fun, everyone is going to be there. If you hate it, we can always sneak out after dinner.” Jinora looked over at Kai and laughed, “Promise?” she stuck her pinky finger out at him, “Promise.”
