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arrowflier · 3 years ago

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Arrow write the mickey spotting ian and kev fic challenge!

Had to do this while it was still topical lol, so here goes.

The first time was an accident. Well, sort of.

"Ian can help with that," Mickey offered, watching Kev struggle to shift kegs and pour drinks at the same time.

"Thanks man," Kev grunted, hoisting another keg. He waddled with it along the length of the bar, body hidden behind the counter, and set it down with a heavy thunk.

"Not easy though," he added as he straightened. "Don't wanna make him strain somethin' before your wedding."

He waggled his eyebrows at Mickey, tongue stuck out, and Mickey rolled his eyes.

He knew exactly what would come next.

"You think I can't lift a keg?" Ian asked from the stool next him. His voice almost broke on the last word with sheer disbelief. "I'm not some skinny kid anymore, Kev, I just got out of prison for fuck's sake!"

"Cause there were plenty of kegs there to lift," Mickey muttered into his beer, and almost sent it splashing over the old stained countertop when Ian shoved his shoulder too hard.

"Just point me where you need me," Ian told Kev, puffing out his chest.

Kev eyed Ian, then Mickey, then Ian again. But ultimately, he shrugged, and tapped the top of the keg he had just put down.

"Uh, this guy here needs to go out back," he said. "Brought in the wrong one."

"On it," Ian said, and made his way to it. He bent over at the waist, his hands reaching for the handles, ass stuck out in his too-tight jeans.

Mickey tilted his head, and sipped his drink, admiring the view.

"Whoa, whoa, not like that!" Kev said from behind the bar, arms out. "You're gonna hurt yourself, man."

"Then how," Ian forced out between gritted teeth, still leaning over, "would you suggest I do this?"

Kev came around, whacked Ian in the back until he let go and straightened with a huff. Then he took up position at another keg alongside the first.

"Lift with your legs, kid," he said, and dropped into a half squat right in front of Mickey's face.

Oh.

"Like this?" Ian relented, assuming position next to Kev, broad back stretched and straight over bent legs and strong thighs.

Oh.

Kev and Ian each hoisted their kegs, beginning their awkward walk away toward the back, and Mickey leaned so far back on his stool he almost fell off.

Well, he thought as he downed the last of his drink, eyes following two ridiculously built sets of shoulders strain their way across the room.

He could get used to seeing that.

---

The second time, it was definitely on purpose. He had talked Ian into trying out KevFit after his own misadventure--he was not eager to keep working out on his own, but Ian kept wanting to do new shit together.

They were only one round in at the keg lift station, Ian already grunting and heaving and sweaty next to him, when Kev came by.

"Good form, Ian," he congratulated, clapping a hand on his shoulder hard enough to make him drop the half-filled keg with a clatter. "Way better than last time."

"Gee, thanks," Ian answered dryly, wiping his forehead with the hem of his thin workout tank, and Mickey had an epiphany.

"Hey, Kev," he said slowly, like the idea was just occurring to him, "You got all this equipment rigged up, but how are you on basics?"

Kev's brow furrowed, his muscled arms going slack at his sides.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean like, pushups and jogging and shit," Mickey answered. "You know, the kind of stuff they do in the military."

He let his eyes widen, and turned them on Ian.

"Oh wait," he said, "that's kinda your thing, ain't it?"

Ian shrugged, looking confused.

"Uh, I guess?"

"Why don't you show Kev one of your old workouts?" Mickey suggested innocently. "He could add some things to the whole KevFit routine, maybe bring in more clients."

Kev perked up at that.

"Yeah, why not?" he said. "C'mon Ian, show me what you've got."

Five minutes later, Mickey was leaning against the "spring water" station, sipping from the flask he had snuck in from next door, watching two ridiculously tall, ridiculously strong fuckers take up half the open floor space doing increasingly impressive pushups. Right then, Ian had one arm behind his sweat-slicked back, Kev mirroring his form, and Mickey's eyes followed the rise and fall of their bodies with total focus.

"Excuse me," a wimpy, hipster-sounding dude said hesitantly from behind him, " but do you know when they're bringing out more waters?"

Mickey didn't even bother to look.

"Get lost," he answered, waving a hand in the guy's general direction. "Go drink outa the bathroom sink like a normal fucking person and let me watch my show."

---

The third time, he was pretty sure Ian was catching on.

Not that he cared, honestly--the view was fucking worth it.

"You call that a bench press?" He goaded his husband from behind the bench. "Kev's kickin' your ass, man, that's just embarassing."

Ian glowered, breath hissing out between his teeth as he pushed up again.

"I'm pretty much pressing you right now," he gritted out, "so I'm feeling pretty good about it, actually."

Mickey hid his grin behind a hand, feigning disinterest even as his eyes followed Ian's bulging arms up and down, lingering on the tight plane of his chest.

"Well he's pressing like two of me," Mickey countered, letting his eyes wander, "so you might wanna step it up, tough guy."

Sure enough, Kev's current weights were at least half again what Ian had, and he was doing an admirable job of lifting them considering that his gigantic self was too big for the bench. Mickey hadn't considered that when he invited Kev to check out the gym at their new place; it was designed for recreational exercise, not fucking seven foot tall body builders. The man's legs stretched out awkwardly off the bottom of the bench, knees bent but stuck up far too high for proper form. His broad shoulders dwarfed the other end, making it look like his upper body was just suspended there.

Mickey licked his lips, watching the shift of muscles under Kev's tanned skin--thank the lord the man shared his aversion to sleeves--and almost got chinned when he leaned too far over Ian's station.

The bar slotted into place without his help, Ian sitting up and wiping his face with a hand.

"Why don't you spot him for a while, then," Ian said. "While I go hit the shower."

He stood, making his way to the door, and Mickey paused, torn.

"Or I could give you a practical demonstration of my ability to lift you," Ian added over his shoulder, and Mickey was making his excuses to their guest and chasing after him before Kev could even finish another rep.

---

Ian never brought it up, after that, but Mickey still decided to cool it, just a little. Ian had seemed a little jealous, at the gym, although you'd never have known it by the things he said later--bet you like it when people look like they can throw you around, Mick--and Mickey did not need to throw a wrench into their marriage just for a little extra eye candy.

But then they were all at the pool together, the Gallaghers plus Mickey, plus Tami, plus Kev and Vee, and he really couldn't help it.

"Damn our men are hot," Tami had commented, sitting in a white plastic chair next to Mickey.

Mickey leaned back with a grin, taking a swig of lukewarm beer, and said, "You think that's hot?" nodding to where Ian and Lip were splashing each other over Franny's head in the shallow end.

"Watch this," he finished, and cupped a hand over his mouth to help his voice carry.

"Hey Ian," he shouted. "Bet Kev could beat you in a race."

"Hell yeah!" Kev called back from where he was manning the grill. "Name the time, man!"

Mickey could see Ian roll his eyes, and worried for the briefest of moments that his husband was done humoring him. But after a brief, hushed word with his brother, Ian was swimming to the side of the pool nearest Kev, saying "right now, backstroke, three laps," and Mickey was falling in love all over again.

"You do this a lot?" Tami asked, amused, as Kev stripped off his shirt and jumped in to take his place at the wall of the pool.

Mickey waited until they were off, arms wheeling wildly through the water and sending the sparkling spray onto sculpted, heaving chests, to answer.

"Define a lot," he said, not looking away from the spectacle as Ian and Kev hit the wall and turned, their swimsuits flashing through the water.

Tami snickered.

"Got it," she said, then, "thanks for sharing the wealth."

The race finished, Ian and Kev lifting themselves out of the pool, water running down their bodies as they clasped hands and went in for a shoulder-slapping bro hug. Ian looked back to where Mickey sat, and smirked.

"No problem," Mickey murmured, watching closely.

Ian leaned up to say something into Kev's ear, and Mickey squinted, like that would somehow help him hear it.

"Ogling the competition, Milkovich?" Lip's voice came from behind, and Mickey nearly fell out of his chair.

"The fuck are you talkin about?" he demanded, twisting around in his chair to look at Lip's knowing smirk.

"Nothing," Lip answered innocently. "Just noticed you've been watching Kev a lot lately."

Mickey scowled.

"And what's it to you?" he challenged. "Nothing at all," Lip said. "Just an observation." His grin widened. "And a distraction."

Mickey's eyes narrowed.

"A distraction from wha--argh!"

He cut off as he was lifted by two pairs of string arms, familiar ones wrapped under his own and different, strong hands holding his feet. He flailed, barely registering the flash of green eyes and a mostly bald head, before he hit the water with a splash.

By the time he surfaced, snorting chlorinated pool water out of his nose, it was to see two grinning faces looking down at him.

"Thought you might need to cool off after watching us," Ian said with a grin, laughing when Mickey tried to splash water into his face.

"Next time you want a show," Kev added, "just ask, man." He waggled his eyebrows. "I learned a few things when I worked that gay club."

Ian laughed again at Mickey's shocked expression.

"You need to work on your poker face, Mick," he said. "But it's okay, we don't mind."

He winked, then turned to walk away, leaving Mickey floating in the pool. Kev left with him, hips swaying slightly, and Mickey bit his lip and watched them go.

"Really?" Lip asked from the side of the pool, sounding disgusted, and Mickey just shrugged without looking back.

After all, if they didn't mind...

#daily speedwrite #gallavich #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #fanfic #kev ball #silly and random

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themilky-way · 4 years ago

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like water {din djarin}

gif credit: no-droids

pairing: the mandalorian/din djarin x fem!reader

summary: when the one person he cares about is threatened, he lets himself indulge in the aftermath of defending them.

warnings: some violence in the beginning, choking (not in the fun way), depictions of scratches, punches, and minor abrasions; the reader is hurt basically. oh and mando’s gun bc yeah❤️umm that’s it i think? nothing too horrible tho but if this thing triggers you, please don’t read !!

author’s note: not to be conceited or anything (is that even the right word for it lol?) but im super proud of how this turned out! requests are open btw for anyone who wishes to submit anything (if unsure, just ask which fandoms)!

----------

cyar’ika-> darling, sweetheart

nothing in that exact moment had made much sense. one minute the most precious thing to ever exist to him was snatched away, and the next his hands were gripping the treasure beneath his holster. his knuckles were lily-white at this point, holding the gun as hard as his body would allow him to without crushing underneath him, and the urge to cock it made him visibly shake. he’d been given a command, and out of all the merciless men in the filthy galaxy, he needed to follow it, so his weapon of preference stayed where it needed to.

the meager specks of emotion that still lived within him betrayed his prominent composure, the view in front of him blocked by the sudden glaze of his eyes. the small drops of saltwater puddled together in his now hazy orbs, holding on until it was nearly impossible to stay put and then rivered down his cheeks. the cause? well, you.

you were filling up the mandalorian’s line of vision, his eyes darting between you and the bounty that had gone wrong. an alienated hand was wrapped around your innocent throat, your feeble hands wrapped around its wrist in a dumb attempt to break free. the ground you were roaming on before appeared to be never ending, and in the same way, the darkened sky absorbed you whole. vertigo was now in full effect; any quick movement caused you to shut your eyes tightly and hope to the maker you’d get through it. it took a few seconds for you to regain your balance, a sharp pain pinging around your neck forcing you to find it. you half expected to be back on the mud again, to have the man you had spent the past year flying around with pulling you to safety. instead, you found din frozen in place, an instinctive action rooted in the steel handle of his pistol. he wasn’t moving, too scared to blink as if you’d disappear if he did.

perhaps you were; someone like you seemed too good to be true. in all actuality, it may be that you were a fever dream, a celestial that had come down from the sanctity of your home to finally rescue him from his burdens. amidst his frantic glances, he reminisced every second he’d spent with you since your unforeseen arrival, and that somehow worked for him. the gears in his brain started to turn again, and with every ounce of his strength, he pounced on the quarry and did what he should’ve done the instant you were taken from him. anger took over his worry, the effects illustrating themselves in a collage of mitted fists and blood. the pistol residing on din’s waist was useless compared to his hits; the softened position of his jawbone was locked firmly as a result of his gritted teeth and he was going to need more than your delicate hand on his shoulders to ground his senses.

the mandalorian never expected to succumb to anyone, nor to feel remotely joyful upon hearing someone’s laugh. the idea of kindling a relationship was ludicrous, utterly impossible if only he weren’t bound to the chains of his creed. oftentimes, he wondered if someone would one day traverse his path and make him question every moral he’d been taught. din had dismissed the thought, as any other member of his intricate society would have, but the wondrous insight depicting a different lifestyle always lingered faintly in his mind.

today, the very same visions behind his recurrent insomnia framed themselves in a frail art piece. din’s focus laid directly ahead, the fingers navigating the center controls as tight as they’d been on his gun. his eyes deserved to rest, perhaps take in the splashes of color nature was offering him, but he landed them on the same lovely sculpture adorning his cockpit.

you were seated in the chair adjacent from the pilot’s, with your knees closely tucked to your chest. one large scrape designed itself on your leg-a dull reminder of the ordeal you were involved in hours earlier-with flakes of arid blood protecting the wound. bouncing off the skin of your throat were shades of red and purple, now properly mixing into a deeper complexion that’d require you to hide it for some time. besides the scattered nicks living on your face, and the other couple dozen on your arms and legs, the outcome wasn’t as terrible as the one your attacker received. it was a rule of thumb to not mess with a mandalorian, much less with the pretty little lady clutching his arm as if it were second nature. the foolest of fools wouldn’t even have done such a foul thing, and this particular creature came to know the punishment for harming what wasn’t rightfully his.

it truly amazed him; the way you seemed to be so unphased by a traumatic circumstance. the woman beside him-the same one who couldn’t sleep unless a window was open-had endured pain, and the marks on her skin proved themselves in jagged indications of it. through the darkened screen of his visor, din could make out your hands neatly intertwined around your folded knees, your chin simultaneously resting on top. you’d been as observant as you always were, hardly missing his actions as he navigated his newfound family to a safe stop. sure, you were unaware of the loving term he considered of you and the baby, but it didn’t hurt to keep it a secret, right?

“hey.” it came out more hoarse than he intended it to, but the emotion behind it flowed out nonetheless. “you okay?”

not really. i don’t feel good. it was easy to say exactly that, to speak the truth, but it was even easier to lie. for the sake of his own worry, at most. your eyes were still glued to his armor, taking in the rough outline of where you imagined his skin would be underneath, or moreso the abstract idea of feeling it with your hands. reflections of your yearning came and went like the mandalorian’s missions, almost impulsively at times, and the curious, teasing tilts his helmet would bid you only encouraged that craving. much like now; the black “T” of his expressionless face leaned to the side, asking you to earnestly respond. “mm, yeah. ‘m kinda tired, though,” you mumbled.

you threw him a lie and he caught it. “don’t lie to me.” din swiveled his chair to accordingly match the peripheral of yours, his elbows coming to rest on top of his beskar-clad legs. “can you look at me?” he inquired softly. then, his intent fell on the slow shift of your head and how it turned to face him, your cheek settling on your unscathed knee. a breath fell from his lips at the doting admiration swimming in your stare. “there she is,” he confirmed with an upward curl of his lips. “is there anything i can do?” it was sincere; a genuine concern to accompany his question. you hummed in response, fearful to accidentally voice the confessions you hid from him. you blinked once, twice, until his question became a plea. “please, cyar’ika.”

reasonably, you were too busy exploring the shape of his helmet, permitting your creative imagination to paint images of the man next to you; so when your ears perceived his sudden name of endearment, there was nothing amongst the stars that you could’ve possibly denied him from. “you’ve never called me that before,” you smiled, all big and brilliant.

“i’ve wanted to,” the man replied. what resembled ages of pent up stress released with a few curated words. his muscles relaxed, something he never believed to be attainable given his vigorous profession. “god, i’ve wanted to.”

he followed it with a humble laugh. a sound so familiar and warm, so genuine that it empowered your grin to spread higher. “by all means, keep saying it.” now it was your turn to nervously giggle, and him who embraced the noise with everything he could. a mutual infatuation, so wonderfully obvious, yet it was refused acknowledgment. “i think there is something you can do, though.” silence advised you to continue, “can i sleep with you tonight?”

the misguided pieces of your minds’, maybe even your souls’, reattached themselves that very same night. as the both of you slept, hands, calloused and smooth, intimately merged against the cushions of the warrior’s bed. tender kisses planted to your forehead left electricity in their wake, and the dark ambiance of his dwelling favored the entanglement of your tired bodies.

“i wish i could see you, din,” you sighed. the manner in which it was expressed, full of sleep and everything akin, urged him to lift your weightless wrist to his lips.

“you’ll get to one day, cyar’ika. for now just let me hold you, yeah?”

#not me writing fanfiction better than ap literature essays #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x y/n #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin #star wars #pedro pascal #my writing!

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yg-got7scenarios · 7 years ago

Text

Destiny Chapter 1 – Cliché

Preview

Mini Masterlist

Characters: Kim Jinhwan (iKON), You (Reader/OC), mentions of the other iKON members and Blackpink members

Genre/s: Fluff, Soulmate!AU

Length: 2,803 words

Warning/s: Hmm not much? Teeth-gritting fluff I guess hahaha (I mean, I tried to make it like one lol)

Plot: A busy Monday morning in the city, a cup of coffee in hand, and a beautiful boy with a mole that has a shape of a heart on his cheekbone – you are positive that your life is full of weird, but good kind of weird clichés.

A/N: OOOOKAAAAY so here’s the first chapter! Comments are always welcome :)

“Your usual?”

The native-Thai female barista that goes by the name Lisa smiles at you as soon as you approach the counter. You’ve been coming to this café since your early college years and now that you had graduated and found your first job, you still drop by to get your daily dose of caffeine at the same place. Lisa is one of the crew members who have been part-timing for the longest time, so it is not shock that she had already recognized what you order often.

“If you can add a packet of creamer and replace one sugar please?” You smiled and Lisa nodded, punching on her POS before handing you your receipt, gesturing for you to wait for your drink at the other side of the counter so that she can entertain other guests.

You stood in front of the claim counter, waiting for your drink as you stare at your watch – you are still early for work, where you had started about a month ago, and you are pressured, but it’s a good pressure since your boss had always been good to you, as well as your co-workers, so you enjoy every moment with them, inside or outside work.

Your eyes unconsciously roam around the café and your eyes automatically fell on some couples sitting either next to each other or across each other, the love and affection almost bursting out of your eyes. You find these people lucky to have found their significant other already, and they seem to be a little younger than you because some of them are still in their school uniforms.

Even though you always tell your friends that you are totally fine with not finding your soulmate when you are nearing the quarter-life, you are a little lonely, and, deep inside, you wanted to meet them. Also, more than half of your friends had already met their soulmates, like Jennie, who happened to be soulmates with her worst enemy back in high school, Mino, and they just realized it when they found themselves in the same company to do their internship.

“I just… felt it. I don’t know how to explain it, but you’ll know, you know?” You remember Jennie’s answer when you and your other friend Jisoo had asked her how it happened and how did she find out. You thought that it was a little stupid, really, isn’t there a reason why things are happening or why you feel something?

You were snapped out of our reverie when the barista called out your name for your coffee and you quickly took it, making your way out of the café to venture the busy streets of Seoul on the way to the bus station.

Running in heels with a half-full coffee in hand? Great. What a way to start the week.

The bus that you’re riding had met a minor accident on the road, which caused a heavy delay in basically everything. Now, you only have 5 minutes to not be late for work, which is quite impossible, because the bus station is about 10 minutes away from your office building. Running can be an option, just like what you are attempting to do, but with the heels that you are wearing, you’re not sure if running can even make a difference in reaching the office in, now, just four minutes.

You cursed under your breath when you stepped on the side walk just when the light turned red. Great. Now you need to wait a minute and a half to be able to cross the intersection. Just your luck.

You stomped your feet and fiddled with the carton wrapper of your coffee cup as you stare at the timer overhead.

120 seconds.

Damn. You really are gonna be late for work.

When the sidewalk traffic lights finally turned green, you immediately cross the road, walking on the pedestrian lane of the intersection that leads you to the right side of the other side of the street, where your office building is just a few blocks away. You grabbed your phone quickly to call Chaeyoung, your friend and co-worker, to let her know that you will be a few minutes late because she might worry and your manager might be looking for you.

Since you are busy fiddling with your phone, you didn’t notice another person from the other side of the street walking towards the opposite direction.

“His soulmate was Jennie?” Jinhwan asks his roommate Seungyoon as he fixes his work clothes – it was his first day at work and it was still early to prepare, but he wanted to make sure that he won’t be late so that he can make a good impression on his boss.

“Yeah, can you believe that? Those two have been bickering since forever – Mino cannot even explain how he felt that day.” Seungyoon rearranges himself on his bed while his eyes are glued to his phone.

“What did he say when you asked him?”

“He said that he just felt it, nothing else.” Jinhwan laughs at Seungyoon’s statement. He never believed that soulmates would meet and just feel that they are soulmates. He had heard stories of symbols or permanent tattoos would show up on your bodies when it’s about time to meet your other half, which is even weirder than just feeling it.

“I really don’t understand how it works either, so it’s makes the two of us.” Seungyoon yawns out loud before stretching his arms above his head – groaning that he needs to shower since he still have classes and Jinhwan already waved goodbye, walking his way out of their apartment towards the bus station.

Jinhwan still has about an hour before work when he gets off of the bus at the designated bus stop. He walked leisurely towards the intersection so that he can cross the road, thinking if he should grab some coffee and pastry from the nearby coffee shop. He is feeling a little giddy and excited about going to work – finally having the opportunity to showcase his knowledge and what he had learned for the last 4 years that he was in school.

The traffic lights turn red so he can now cross the road, looking straight ahead as the pool of people from the other side started to walk as well, so it is going to get a little crowded and he wanted to avoid bumping into someone uncomfortably and cause any trouble.

The young boy just didn’t know what is ahead of him.

“Why is this girl not picking up!!” You muttered under your breath when you heard Chaeyoung’s phone ringing until it was routed to her voicemail box. You continued walking as you typed in a message for Chaeyoung using one hand, since your other is occupied with the coffee that you bought from the coffee shop near the bus stop – it is not that hot anymore, but it will be a bitch to clean if ever you spill it.

You are completely immersed in the thought of what to say to Chaeyoung, since it is already one minute past 9, so you are obviously already late for work.

You didn’t know what exactly happened in the next minute. You felt your body colliding against someone else’s, you coffee and mobile phone slipping out of your hands due to the impact of your collision.

And you were hit by an overwhelming, yet beautiful feeling blooming on your chest.

What is this?

You felt your knees growing weak at the weird warmth that is slowly spreading from the center of your chest towards your limbs, and to your face when you felt an arm around your waist, and your gaze shifted to the right when you saw your phone slowly falling to the ground, and a hand suddenly appeared and caught it before it hit the solid, white painted asphalt road.

When you looked up, you felt like air totally left your lungs.

When Jinhwan looked around to find a café nearby to buy coffee, he didn’t expect that he would totally lose focus and actually stop walking in the middle of the intersection. His eyes turned into slits when he noticed a coffee shop at the ground floor at the building next to his office, when, suddenly, a body knocked against his, almost making him trip backwards, good thing his reflexes are fast and before he can recognize what he’s doing, he had reached out to them, wrapping his arm around their waist and the other extended to grab the falling mobile device.

Then it struck him.

Affection bubbled at the pit of his stomach and there is this suspicious, yet tender emotion that suddenly exploded in his center, warming his whole body, especially the arm that keeps them close to his.

He looked up from the phone that he just saved to the face of the person whom he had bumped into.

He thought that the world stopped tilting at that moment.

Your mouth is agape as you stare at the boy in front of you, he is a little too close for your liking, normally, but you didn’t seem to care at that point.

He is the most beautiful boy you’ve ever seen, ever.

His small lips, tall nose, sparkling eyes, cute cheeks, and the heart-shaped mole on his right cheekbone.

Damn.

You noticed that his beautiful lips are moving, but you can faintly hear what he was saying.

“…you okay?” You managed to hear the last part and you are suddenly snapped out of your dreamy stupor, blinking your eyes a couple of times before closing your mouth.

“I –I’m –“ You cleared your throat as you stare at the ground, your hands comically stretched on either side of you.

“…okay.” You peered at the boy whose worried gaze still focused on you and you felt your cheeks and neck started to heat up.

“C-Can you stand?” The stranger murmurs softly and you felt like you’re melting at how sweet and soft his voice is. Is it possible to blush even more than you already are? Also, that’s when you realized that you are still cradled against his arm, your hands are now on top of his shoulders, how did it even get there when they were just at your sides a few minutes ago?

Shit.

“Y-yes, I – I’m okay…” You muttered softly before removing your hands from his shoulders, straightening your back and keeping yourself balanced at your feet.

“Are you sure?” His soft gaze never left yours and you were forced to look at the ground again before nodding. He then releases he tight hold that he has on your shoulders and you suddenly felt cold without his touch. Did you actually enjoy having a stranger’s arm wrapped around you?

Your eyes suddenly drifted to his hand that is outstretched in front of you. Your phone… right!

“Here…” He gestured for you to take it which you gladly did. “I’m sorry for almost bawling you over, I – I stopped walking unconsciously because I was looking at something els –“

“Oh no –“ You waved your hands frantically in front of him. “It was my fault, I wasn’t looking where I was going because I was texting while walking, so… there, I’m sorry.” You ranted and the boy let out a soft smile.

“I-It’s okay…” He rubs the back of his neck nervously; not knowing exactly what he wanted to say or do next. The heavy thumping of his chest is becoming persistent as he spends more time with you, and he doesn’t understand it, but he knows for sure that he doesn’t want this particular moment to end.

You look to the side as you tuck a strand of unruly hair behind your hair, keeping it in place as you try to comprehend what you are feeling. You feel incredibly warm, happy, and confused at the same time. Something deep within your brain is whispering something, but you cannot seem to catch it, but it’s there, tickling your insides until you are forced to look at the man in front of you.

Jinhwan, on the other hand, had remembered the story that Seungyoon had shared with him that morning, about Mino, who had found his soulmate a few days ago and he just said that he felt it.

Is this the feeling that they are talking about?

“D-do you –“ He was surprised when you asked the same.

“Feel it?” You two said at the same time and your eyes went wider than before, as well as your previously small and shy smiles.

Jinhwan is just about to end his questions or maybe say something else when he felt a gush of wind hitting his back, and he sees your hair flying away, then it dawned to both of you that you are actually in the middle of the road, the pedestrian intersection, and cars of different shapes and sizes started to move from behind and from your sides. Jinhwan saw a huge truck coming from your left side approaching your direction and though he knows that there is enough space in the middle to not be hit by the cars coming from any direction, he was still worried as hell, not wanting you to be hurt or be terrified.

So he did what he thinks is right.

You gasped and you clutch the boy’s arms when he pulled you flushed against his chest, his arms protectively secured around your middle and his head lifted to check the vehicle that drove past behind you. You can feel his ragged breaths against the top of your head and you bit your lip, your heart threatening to jump out of your throbbing chest.

“Shit.” He curses accidentally when he realized what he did and he pulls away, but not too far, since you two are still stuck in the middle of a busy, traffic intersection, and he removes his hands from around you, but kept them awkwardly hanging at your sides, just in case.

“Thank you.” You pursed your lips together and Jinhwan is sure that he hasn’t seen anything as beautiful as that pout before.

“So…” He tries again.

“Yeah…” You cut him off. “I… feel something… weird… but not the bad kind of weird, you know? It’s the good kind of weird…” You rambled and the boy smiled at you with fondness that made your heart do some flips.

“I… feel that too… It is unknown… for now, but I think I have an idea…” He meets your eyes and you saw the slight hope dancing on his brown orbs, and you smiled at the thought of him thinking of the same thing.

When you attempted to respond, you noticed that people are starting to pool around the two of you again, and reality hits hard.

“Okay, maybe we can talk about… this weird feeling once we get off to a much safer place?” You giggled and Jinhwan smiles. Without hesitation, he followed your footsteps, turning his heels back from he was walking at earlier. You are surprised when the familiar stranger stepped beside you, grabbing your hand and intertwining it with his.

“My name is Jinhwan, what’s yours?” He smiled without looking at you and you cannot help but smile back after saying your name. You were about to reach the sidewalk when your phone dinged, Chaeyoung’s name flashing on the screen.

“Boss will be on half day today, he said that you can come in later if you want to J” Her text message says and you stopped walking when the man beside you halted his steps, you looked around and you already reached the other side of the road.

“______?” He says and you looked at him with a smile on your face.

“Yes, JInhwan?” The name slipped out of your lips like you’ve been saying that name for a long time, it was amazing. The blush on the boy’s cheeks made you reach out for his face, pinching the puffing cheek with your fingers that is still clutching your phone.

“You’re so cute.” You said and the boy bit his lower lip while gripping your hand tighter. He is truly amazed at how easy everything had been. He asked you to grab a coffee or some snacks before the two of you go to work, since yours was accidentally dumped on the ground because of your collision a few minutes back.

All of the suspicions and doubts of how it feels to finally meet your soulmate was thrown away without even a second thought – it was a little doubtful at first, but deep inside your hearts, you know, and will always know.

And that is something that you could never question.

Cliché ending and happenings? I guess?? Don’t look at me hahahahaha

117 notes · View notes

stompsite · 7 years ago

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Can Violence Be Okay?

As some of you know, I’m basically gonna die real soon unless I can get heart surgery, but that’s expensive. I make money by writing essays about games. If you like my work, please share it around, because personally, I’d like to keep on living. If you wanna support me, I’ve got patreon, ko-fi, and a critically acclaimed game out. I’m also looking for work as a designer or writer, so if you know of anything, let me know, please? I’ve worked on well over a dozen AAA and indie games doing everything from emergency script rewrites to helping devs improve their investment loops. I’ve put a lot of time into the 29 years of my life so far, and I’d like it to pay off, lol. But seriously, my mortality is distressing, so if you know how I can get my heart fixed and put a roof over my head, I want to hear from you!

Dishonored 2 is one of my favorite games. I’ve written about it at length before. I’ve talked about some of my problems with the game (doing the right thing in D2 feels like an easy choice compared to D1), but I mean, man, I still love it. When it first dropped, though? Man. I had A Problem with it.

Dishonored 2 was so good until I got to the end and got an ending that didn’t match up with my feeling of where I was at when playing the game. There I was, being the best Corvo I could be, running around trying to save my daughter Emily, realizing how bad things had got in Karnaca while I’d been away, and wanting to do my best to keep everyone safe and improve the empire.

At the end, the game told me that Corvo ruled the islands with an iron fist. What had happened? Why was it doing this to me? I didn’t ghost every level, but I certainly approached things non-lethally where I could.

Turns out that the game doesn’t like it when you kill monsters.

I mean, sure, if you kill, like, a rat, the game doesn’t seem to care, but if you kill a witch, the game gets mad. Apparently, the game considers witches to be people. I did not--I felt the game had led me to believe that witches weren’t actually people. So when I made the choice to kill them, the game saw it as Corvo choosing the path of violence… but that’s not the decision I made.

Let’s rewind a bit.

One of my favorite story archetypes is about people without power who, through cleverness, ingenuity, and grit, overcome those with power. It’s not just about being an underdog, it’s about being underestimated, devalued, even downright abused. It’s about the defiance that comes with that, and overcoming the expectations someone has.

I don’t know exactly why, but I’ve always liked these kinds of stories. It frustrated me to watch my wealthier peers pick on the poorer ones. It insulted me when I was essentially told “wow, it’s remarkable that you’re so intelligent for someone so poor” after I won a scholarship. I had to protect two disabled students from one of the richer students in school because he wanted something they had and they didn’t want to give it to him. I have watched people with power hurt and abuse those without. Heck, I’ve been at the mercy of people more powerful than me before. I don’t like that. When I can tell someone’s struggling with the power dynamics of a group, I do my best to help them feel more comfortable in that space.

One thing I liked about the first Dishonored game is that the Empress, Jessamine, is portrayed as a good person who wanted to do right by her people, but she was actively sabotaged, and eventually murdered, by the nobles whose power she threatened. That kind of story is alluring to me; getting justice for Jessamine and delivering Dunwall from the powerful, punching up like that… that’s awesome as heck.

It was kinda weird when Dishonored 2 shows up and indicates that maybe Dunwall didn’t actually improve that much after the nobility was killed off/not killed off (I was mostly nonlethal the first time). D2 never really confronts this head on, at least that I can recall. Instead, it feels like two different stories. There’s the personal story of “someone hurt your family and took your home and you should take it back,” and then there’s the idea of “you’re fighting for justice for people who are downtrodden by the people who took your home.”

These are both great, but after the fact, it did seem kinda strange that Corvo, literally the dad of the Emperor, as upper-class as you can get, is playing the part of the underdog (or Emily herself, who I haven’t played because I wanted to hear Stephen Russell’s voice again). Like, there’s this implication that he and Emily haven’t really fixed anything at all and maybe kinda betrayed Jessamine’s legacy with that? I dunno. It’s really the only criticism I have of Dishonored 2 anymore, and I mean, the game’s still a 10/10 for me. It’s one of the only games that can grab hold of my attention and actually distract me from the pain I’m in.

Arkane has done such an amazing job with their games; I get to be someone else for a while. I can block out the health problems for a while and just fall into another space and experience relief from my awful life. I will never be able to thank everyone there for making such pure and wonderful games.

So Dishonored 2 has this kinda odd relationship with privilege and power and how it contextualizes its protagonists, but then along came Death of the Outsider, which solved this problem by letting you play as Billie Lurk, who, for my money, is the best protagonist in Dishonored history. I love playing as Billie. I love that she’s not an upper class person, just a normal person with cool tools and powers.

Anywho, back to the violence.

So, one thing I love about Arkane games is that they have amazing gamefeel. It’s like saying a drink is smooth, right? Like, it just feels right. I’ve never played an Arkane game that felt bad (maybe Arx Fatalis does, but I’ve never played it!), and I feel like, with every successive release, they only get better at making great gamefeel. Buuuuuuttt… it feels like since Dishonored, every Arkane game is a test. You can’t just do what feels good; you’re taking a test.

When the witches came along, I’m not gonna lie, it felt good to let loose. They’re just as powerful as I am, so it’s not like it’s an uneven playing field.

But… that wasn’t my first reaction. I’d encountered the witches before in The Knife of Dunwall and The Witches of Brigmore, and they’re portrayed in those games as unequivocally bad. Still, for Dishonored 2, I was trying to play stealthy and nonlethally, so I decided to knock them out at first. When I found out I could take their powers in one mission, I decided to try that, and then figured that when Corvo stopped Delilah, he’d probably arrest them or something.

Then, an unfortunate bug occurred (kudos to Arkane for fixing it really quickly! I think they had it solved in a couple days or something amazing like that) where some of the witches were dying when I was trying to render them unconscious. I couldn’t get the nonlethal option to work.

But I wasn’t that concerned, because I felt the witches needed to be killed.

Why?

Because they’re horrible, and I think they seem closer to Vampires--supernatural monsters--than people.

I mean, listen to their dialogue. Look at what they do to the people they kill. They even backstab each other--one of their idle dialogues is about stealing from another. Another is about brushing her sister’s hair so she can gain trust and then stab her sister in the throat. The witches are hostile too--it’s not possible to approach them peacefully. They react to you like you’ve just invaded their vampiric crypt.

The mechanics don’t really leave room for interacting with them sympathetically; there’s no chance to talk to them, work with them, or anything. You can knock them unconscious, but it feels weird, even unconscionable to do that to people who are talking about stabbing each other in the throat.

I’m okay with knocking someone out when the heart says something like “He wasn't always like this. One of his works still hangs in a museum,” or “If he looks sad, it is because he mourns the child he lost,” but I had to look up a list of the heart’s lines about the witches because I couldn’t think of a time when the heart ever said anything good about a single one of the witches.

So, they have magical powers, want to do nothing but kill us, and they’re even happy to kill each other too. Read some of the notes--it’s indicated that they’re sadists. They take delight in killing anyone and everyone. The environmental storytelling seems to indicate the same thing; nothing good comes of a witch’s presence.

When I first did my quick gut-reaction post about Dishonored 2, I fumbled to articulate why Delilah bugged me. I felt like the game tried to excuse her at every turn. She had a bad life. She was a bastard child and treated poorly. Given my propensity for liking underdogs who were underestimated and mistreated, you might think I’d like her too. But I saw what she did. I saw what she’d chosen to become.

Many of the witches are contextualized in this way. I think the actual target of the museum mission--sorry, I’ve forgotten her name, it was 18 months ago--has this whole long backstory about being a rich lady who was going to get married off to a man she didn’t love who was kind of a shitty person anyways.

In reading all of the lines in the game that the heart has for witches, most of them are about enjoying drinking blood, murdering families, and abusing children. One woman struggles to remember the person she was before, but that reminds me more of a vampire’s thrall than anything else, and the game never does anything with that. No “please, I don’t want to do this,” or anything.

They became witches, and are now visiting a far greater violence upon the Empire. As one of my friends pointed out--and I’m inclined to agree--the Empire kind of deserves it, at least in Dishonored 2. It’s not a good society. I mean, it’s weirdly forward thinking in some ways, right? Like literally all of the romantic fiction I’ve encountered in the universe is LGBT stuff. But then in other ways it’s a mirror of the 19th Century British Empire, abusing people and nature in equal measure. Like I said, Jessamine seemed to be trying to fix those things, but she died, and Dishonored 2 indicates that Emily shirked her responsibilities to be a better Empress.

But.

I mean.

Literally all of the heart dialogue we have for them paints them as bad people. The nicest person we have is one who despairs because it’s easier to hurt people with each passing month.

One of my friends has argued that these were all women who were mistreated or whatever, but the heart doesn’t tell us about that. It isn’t saying “her husband used to beat her, so she relishes the power she has” or anything. None of these lines speak to a culture of misogynistic violence. Instead, we have a woman who “spent a month killing those who had slighted her.”

Slighted.

Not abused, beat, hurt. Slighted.

There is, as far as I’ve seen, precisely one person who was a victim: “Beaten and abused, she was barely sane when she heard the coven's call. Now she does the same to others, wielding her power like a barbed whip.”

I’ve been abused. It’s not something I like to talk about at length, but I was molested by an adult male (thankfully not my parents!) at the age of 11. I was abused by an ex who wanted to destroy me the way her mother had destroyed her, and those actions included gaslighting, emotional blackmail, and a ton of other things I don’t really want to talk about. I’ve been physically and emotionally abused for my genetic shortcomings.

I learned, a very long time ago, that almost all abuse comes from people who were abused. I’ve met people who are very angry, and I’ve heard people say “ah, well, it’s okay for them to lash out, because they were abused, so it’s only natural.” Heck, I’ve been one of the people who lashed out. It was only an emotional outburst, but it remains one of the worst things I’ve ever done. I will never stop regretting it.

I understand wanting justice. I understand wanting someone to hurt for what they did to you. I still have nightmares I don’t talk about. I’ve sat with friends who’ve had it so much worse than me and done everything in my power to give them what comfort I can.

But the witches are different. They chose power. And they chose vengeance. Should we justify that? Would I be justified if I started murdering everyone who looked or seemed like the people who had wronged me? Does anything excuse the murder of a bunch of academics in a Karnacan museum? The witches speak with sadistic dialogue. One of the notes left behind by someone trying to hide in the game’s final level makes it abundantly clear that their behaviors are monstrous.

So. Uh.

Look at Gary Oldman’s Dracula.

Dracula’s whole thing is actually super sad, right? Like, the love of his life died while he was out fighting bad dudes. She was tricked into committing suicide, so he renounces God and gets cursed into becoming a monster. His origins are tragic. It’s unfair what happened to him. But I mean, he still murders people and stuff. Dude’s gotta get stabbed in the heart. Sure, it’s cool that his wife got reincarnated as Mina Harker and all, but his whole kidnapping her and trying to turn her into one of his thralls is still bad.

The reason that killing Dracula is good is because Dracula has power and he is a monster. These witches have power and they are monsters. They hurt people--not just the ones who deserve it, but the ones who don’t. In the Brigmore witches, it sure as heck appears to be that they’re preying on the poor. It’s not like they’re out there fighting a revolutionary war against the nobility, and that their magical powers tip the scale. No, they’re killing everyone, even like… public works dudes. It’s an indiscriminate process. They’re killing people they don’t even know.

What makes them not monsters? They have power, and they use that power with cruelty. Dishonored’s world is not a good one to live in, but there is nothing the heart has for us that says that these women were victims. In many cases, they were perpetrators before they got their powers.

Corvo may be kind of a shitty ruler, by seeing a ton of problems during the time of Dishonored 1 and not addressing them leading up to Dishonored 2, but he’s one of the only people who can actually fight a witch; I think the only people actually capable of fighting them are the creepy religious zealots who enjoy torturing people for fun (why didn’t Corvo shut that down?).

So I was thinking about all of this when I killed the witches. They weren’t human anymore. They were indiscriminately murdering anyone who stopped them. Their leader, Delilah, had been portrayed in two stories already as a monster, and while her backstory was tragic, she took that tragedy and used it to excuse being a murderous monster, who ruined the lives of everyone she met, regardless of who they were.

I would have had a much harder time squaring off against a witch who was using her powers to put a stop to her abuser. Like, I, personally, would probably not hunt down the man who hurt me as a kid and put a sledgehammer through his brains, but I mean, in a game, if a witch went to murder a man who molested her, I definitely would be treating her like a person.

These witches, I felt, after listening to them talk, listening to the heart, and watching them act so casually around the bodies of the people they murdered, weren’t out for justice. They weren’t trying to fight back against an oppressive and cruel society. They were monsters. When a witch is wandering around talking about going for a swim later or wondering how the new girl’s doing, it might seem fine, but to be so casual as she walks past a pile of bodies… that’s monstrous. Murder is not a casual act.

Corvo (or Emily, if you played as her) is the only person who can stop the witches, even if you reject the Outsider’s gifts and play without any powers at all. They outclass everyone else, and they kill for the thrill. Someone has to stop them. It’s urgent.

A friend of mine got really upset with me for killing the witches. He said that these were women who’d been mistreated and society deserved to burn. But I mean… if you’re a random guy in a library, are you gonna be able to stop a squad of guards who throw innocent people in prison, kill people’s dogs for meat to sell, or murder innocent people? What about a groundskeeper? What can he do?

The game does not, as far as I can tell, back up the assertion that the witches were victims given power. There is no justice--they’re psychopaths who tortured children and animals, who murdered families, who relish in the carnage. The few women seen as good are losing those memories. Their existence as witches is a tragic one at best, and they’re so reminiscent of horror characters who lose themselves through possession or vampirism that I don’t know how to justify refusing to stop them.

A cop once told me about how he fought a man on PCP. The man had beaten his partner unconscious and was trying to choke him to death. Apparently this huge guy didn’t even feel their tazers and they weren’t supposed to shoot him. This cop ended up in a knock-down, drag out brawl with a man who wasn’t feeling any pain. He ended up bashing a pyrex bowl over the guy’s head so hard it shattered before backup arrived. He told me “if I could have shot him, I think I would have.”

To me, this brings up the question: is it possible to be violent in a game for a constructive purpose? There’s that old quote, misattributed to Orwell, that says something like “we sleep soundly in our beds at night because there are men who visit violence upon those who would do us harm.”

I must admit, I’d love future Dishonored games that involved dismantling the monarchy and trying to find a better, fairer government. I’d love to visit Pandyssia and dismantle traditional colonialist tropes. I’d like to grapple with questions about the ethics of violence, because that’s a subject that interests me on a personal level.

But I must admit, I was surprised when Dishonored 2 did everything to portray its witches as these inhuman, incredibly powerful beings, and then punished me for trying to protect the weak from their unbridled power. To me, my actions were heroic, because I was fighting a corrupted and almost unstoppable power in order protect the innocent. This is a game that let me save Aramis Stilton, a man who had fought for workers rights and was destroyed by the Duke for it.

(as an aside, I love Stilton; he grew up poor and earned his wealth honestly. He earned everything he had, so of course the nobility didn’t think he deserved it, because rich people think the only honest way to have money is to receive it from one’s parents. He never forgot where he came from and tried to do right by his workers, so the nobility destroyed him for it. Restoring his mind through time shenanigans is one of the most… most right things I have ever done in a game. I felt fortunate to be given that option)

I think, if the witches were human, if they were victims who deserved better, then the game should have supported that through its mechanics and narrative. But the heart--which, last I knew, told the truth--told me that they were monsters, and those that weren’t had lost their humanity and were on their way to becoming monsters.

I would love other ways to solve problems. When the heart tells me that this man beats his son so hard his bruises last a month, I want to put a stop to it. But what can I do? My only verbs are “knock out” or “murder.” Should I knock out a monster that rejoices in slaughter? Or should I put it down so that it won’t kill again?

Dishonored 2 is one of my favorite games of all time, but I felt that the ending only considered whether I had performed violence, not whether that violence needed to be performed. In my own life, I went through hell and chose not to come out of it a monster. I don’t know how to justify these women performing child abuse, animal abuse, and murder. Like vampires, they are monsters. No matter how tragic their origins, they prey on the weak and defenseless. I don’t like violence, but I think maybe there are times when it’s an unfortunate requirement. They might have been powerless at one point, but in the game, their actions showed they did nothing but punch down. Personally, I think we should punch up or not at all.

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artistic-writer · 7 years ago

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Tabula Rasa :: A Prison Break Fic : Chapter 3

Authors: @artistic-writer / itrustyoutokillme and eternalcaptainswan

Notes: This has and continues to be one of the best, and sexiest, writing experiences of my entire life! It has helped me meet @eternalcaptainswan, a fantastic person, friend, and co-author, who I absolutely love with all my heart. At this point, we are basically in a relationship lol <3 you! You are the pineapple atop my pizza, the marmite on my toast and i have never had so much fun brainstorming and writing a fic!

Overall Summary: An AU fic that is canon until Season 1 end when Michael and Lincoln are exonerated of all crimes. The only divergence from the entire canon is that Sara was never at Fox River, because that was the time in her life when she was high all of the time. This fic is set 4 years after season 1 ends.

Chapter Summary: Michael tells Sara his biggest secret. And she doesn’t care ;)

Rating: E

Word Count: 5677

AO3 - [chapter 1] - [2] - [3]

Prisonbreakfic.net - [chapter 1] - [2] - [3]

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The Chinese food had arrived and Michael was half dressed in some sweat pants, his bare chest still on show, the blue lines of ink rippling as he moved to unpack the cartons. He plucked a pair of chopsticks from the bag and handed them to Sara, still sitting cross-legged on the couch beside him in his white shirt. She had rolled up the sleeves awkwardly so they rested just on her elbows, but it was way too big for her tiny frame. Michael loved it. “I'm sorry this isn't more...fancy,” he looked over to apologetically and a little more gentlemanly than twenty minutes ago when he was unable to control himself. “I'll make it up to you,” he shrugged, taking one of the cartons and pulling it open.

Sara opened her own food and looked at Michael through her eyelashes. "This works for me. Now tell me, Scofield, what do you do? You seem to have an advantage on me." She nudged him cheekily and moved closer to him slightly, enjoying his company in every way possible.

Michael laughed and bowed his head, stabbing at the chow mein but not actually eating any. “I'm a structural engineer,” he told her proudly. “I design big buildings,” he mocked gently, giving her a roguish smile.

"So you've got the brains and the beauty? I won the lottery here." Sara chewed at her own chicken but started to regret her comment. What if Michael thought she was too forward?

Michael blushed a little, suddenly feeling very exposed. Sara was confident, and he liked it a little bit too much. Michael hadn't actually had a serious relationship with anyone for such a long time he had forgotten how nice it was to actually have company. He declined to react to her comment, instead scooping some noodles into his mouth and chewing with a smirk. “So a doctor,” he swallowed his noodles and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “You enjoy it?”

Sara rolled her eyes and passed him a tissue, already settling into the domesticity being with him. "I love it. I've only ever wanted to help people. I had a few.. bumps in the road. But who hasn't, hey?" Not quite ready to fully share her past with him, she skipped over one of the most prominent parts of her life. She felt comfortable around him and knew it wouldn't be long until she had shared everything.

Michael didn't push. He had his own demons but now was not to time to share them. “So what else do you do in your free time?” he winked, taking another mouthful of food and wiping his lips with the napkin she had handed him.

"I go to the gym, I take an art class once a week and just see friends. I haven't seen them for while, for obvious reasons, but they're all so supportive. Oh, and binge watch horror films." Sara wiggled her eyes at him, intent on surprising him with every comment. "What about you?" She finished her food and curled her legs under herself, settling on the sofa to face him.

Michael smiled again. He couldn't help himself. Sitting here with Sara felt so natural he had no idea how he had ever done it alone before. “Firstly you should know I am a massive coward,” he giggled. “So you'll have to hold my hand during scary movies,” he grinned, noticing his carton was empty and discarding it to the low coffee table in front of them. “I'm also deathly allergic to gyms,” he shook his head with mock sadness and pressed his hand to his chest. “So if I accompany you, I'll just have to watch.”

"Holding your hand, I can do. And you just want to watch me work out in Lycra. I know your game." Sara took hold of his now free hands and started absent-mindedly playing with his fingers. She had never had such an easy conversation with someone, never felt so comfortable so quickly.

Michael watched her hand in his and felt a sense of belonging he hadn't before. “This is so surreal,” he smiled at her. “I feel like we have known each other forever.”

"I feel the same, Michael." She followed his gaze to their joint fingers and felt herself blush slightly. Despite their previous encounters, this was a completely new level of intimacy. "I want you to know, I don't usually do this. It takes so much for me to trust someone. But with you, it feels so right. Yeah, like I've known you for so long. It's comfortable. It's nice. Really nice." She looked up and caught him looking at her, not bothering to fight the urge and plant her lips on his.

Michael kissed her back slowly. Sara tasted like soy and sesame but he didn't care. He lifted his hand to grab at the lapel of his shirt she was wearing and held her in place so she could not pull away. Michael licked at her lips, begging them to part so he could pursue her tongue back into her mouth. Pulling at the shirt, Michael fell backwards so that Sara was laying on top of him along the couch and his hands roamed her sides, cupping her behind when he reached it and giving it a playful slap. Finally he had to come up for air, and he hummed contently against her mouth. “This is a first for me too,” he revealed, trailing his hands in circles over her bare thighs. “I haven't had sex for a long time,” he admitted shyly.

"I haven't enjoyed sex for a long time," Sara admitted, rolling her hips against his slightly. She didn't want their entire night to be about sex; but couldn't seem to keep her hands, or lips, off of him. He fisted the shirt she was wearing in his hand and she grinned down at him. "Don't you like me in your shirt? You seem hellbent on getting it off me." She trailed kisses down his face and across his jaw, stopping at his pulse point to suck another mark into his skin.

“No...I mean yes...” Michael stammered, gulping hard when she ground against him. “I love you in my shirt,” he clarified, his eyes pressed closed. “I love you out of my shirt,” he grinned wickedly, opening his dark blue orbs to stare at her. “You enjoyed the sex?” his lips twitched into a sideways smile. Michael felt a sense of manly pride at the fact he still had it, whatever it was.

"I mean, I hope you don't like your neighbours. And I'm usually NEVER loud." She didn't even care if she was boosting his ego, she wanted to pay him compliments. "I mean, do you want me to prove how much I enjoyed it?" She moved her legs until Michael was cradled in the crook of her hips. She ran her hand down his back, scratching lightly and feeling the previous welts left there by her.

Arching his back off the couch, Michael enjoyed the feel of Sara's hand over his skin. She felt good and set his skin on fire, bringing it to life each and every time she tapped her fingertips to his tattoo. Michael gritted his teeth again, cursing himself for what he was about to say. “Sara, can we...” he gently pushed her from him and sat himself back up on the couch, his erection peaking in his lounge pants. “...It was nice, but I want to do this properly form now on,” he looked at her, frustration glazing his expression and the little man controlling his libido slapping him across the face. “I don't want to ruin this.”

"I'm right here with you Michael. I want this, I really want this. No matter which way we take it. I'm not here just for sex. I want this to be real." She trailed her hand down the side of his face, smiling softly at him while getting lost in his eyes.

Michael smiled cheekily. “The sex is good though,” he said, remembering the way Sara writhed beneath him with a bite of his lip. “But for real, Sara, I want to date you. Take you out. Show you things you've never seen before and never will again,” Michael took her hand in his once more, gripping at her fingers lightly. “And I want to be right there with you.”

"That sounds like a plan to me Mr. Scofield. But this is my perfect date. Just you and me, on the sofa. We can put on a film. I just like being with you, Michael." She laced their fingers together, his huge hands drowning her own. "I don't need fancy dinners or grand gestures. Just you." She lay back against his chest and traced patterns against his skin.

Michael snuggled down in the cushions of the couch and wrapped his arm around Sara, pulling her to his body harder. He rested his cheek on the top of her head and felt like he belonged. Finally. After everything he had been through, he felt safe, and as Sara traced the patterns of his tattoo Michael couldn't help but feel like he owed her an explanation. After all, it was a very large, intricate tattoo and its story was so infamous Michael was surprised Sara hadn't realized. “Do you like the tattoo?” he asked quietly, quickly flicking on the TV.

Sara stopped her ministrations and looked up at his tone. "I love your tattoos. They're so intricate and unique. Not to mention, fucking sexy." Despite their previous conversation, Sara couldn't help teasing him as she purred her last comment in his ear, licking the shell as she pulled away.

Michael exhaled hard and let his eyes flutter closed. “I designed the building they represent,” he admitted. It wasn't a lie.

Sara looked at him, her eyes shooting up to show she was impressed. "Looks like you'll be overtaking me on the clever scale over there." She leaned down to kiss at his shoulder blade, biting down lightly on the skin. She moved even closer to him as she studied his face, feeling like he was preparing himself to say something.

As much as it pained him, Michael pulled himself from her kisses and pushed himself to his feet. This was normally the point at which a girl would go running for the hills, telling all of her friends and family how she almost died at the hands of a criminal. Dramatic flare was something Michael could inspire in almost any woman, but he hoped in his rapid beating heart that Sara was the one to break the trend. He took a breath and palmed his scalp nervously, letting his hands rest on his face, hiding Sara's expectant look. “Sara, I have to tell you something.”

Sara moved to remove his hands from his face. She felt scared, but she had also never felt safer. She was usually a good judge of character, bar Colin, and therefore felt ready for whatever Michael was going to say. "I'm here with you Michael, I'm right here." She sounded as confident as she felt, and hoped he knew that. She took his hands in hers and kissed their joint fingers, smiling at him softly.

Michael didn't know how to say what he wanted. It raced around in his mind but either way you phrased it, it still sounded awful to most people. “Sara, I was one of the Fox River Eight,” he sadly declared, looking down at their hands entwined together between their bodies. “This tattoo,” he pushed his fingertips into his skin roughly. “This is Fox River,” he licked his lips nervously and finally looked up to meet her gaze. “I escaped. Four years ago.”

Sara racked her brain, the name sounding familiar. While the situation was escalating, it was at her worst time with her drug problems. She remembered reading about how it was done to save an innocent man. The look of pure regret on Michael's face filled her stomach with butterflies. What had he been through? "Why don't you tell me everything? I don't know what happened when you told people before, but I'm going nowhere Michael. Come and sit back, let me in." Sara scooted back against the pillows and patted the space next to her, hoping Michael would join her.

Michael let out a long held breath, rubbing his clammy palms on the surface on his thighs before joining her on the couch. He rubbed his hands together nervously and rested his elbows to his knees, watching his fingers as he spoke. “My brother is Lincoln Burrows,” he began. “And he was framed for a crime he didn't commit. When I knew he was innocent and in Fox River, I got this tattoo,” Michael turned to her and grabbed one of her hands, pressing it to his skin and tracing the lines hidden beneath the scene. “It's a hidden map. A way out.” Michael still lived with the guilt of everything that had happened, everybody who had died trying to help them, every single day. It was his cross to bare. His penance. “Everything I did, I did for family.”

Sara felt her heart break at the sight of Michael looking so broken. She took a few moments to process the information and then lifted his chin until he was looking at her. "I don't know what you went through, but you're not alone anymore. I want you to tell me everything. Not right now, but another time. I don't judge people Michael, and I'm not going to leave. I have things I need to tell you too. But why don't we head to bed? Put on a film and make out like teenagers." Sara moved until their foreheads were touching, their eyes locked as she waited for him to make the next move.

Michael relaxed a little and a smile crept across his lips. Sara wasn't running, and that was a good start. Michael pushed himself from the couch and turned, offering Sara his hand at the end of an extended arm. “Come on,” he motioned with a sideways nod of his head. “You have nothing to sleep in,” he quipped walking down the hall to his bedroom smiling to himself at the thought.

Sara swung their entwined fingers slightly. She desperately wanted Michael to know that she wasn't running, that she was different from the rest. "I'm sure we can come to a conclusion." Sara grinned cheekily, slowly unbuttoning the shirt of Michael's that she was wearing. She laughed when his eyes practically bulged from their sockets. "Throw me something then Scofield. Something that smells of you." She looked around his room, eyeing the minimalist taste that ran through the entire place. Only a few frames made the place feel more personal, and she moved to examine them closer.

Michael reluctantly untangled their hands and moved to his huge walk in wardrobe. Most of his clothes were dark, shades of blue and black with the odd red shirt scattered between. For more casual, Michael kept an obscene amount of t shirts that could only have been described as geeky. He smiled nervously and plucked a recently worn one from a pile, holding it out in front of him and imagining Sara in it. With a smirk, he bunched the material between his huge hands, hiding the Star Wars movie poster decal, and walked back to Sara. Michael tossed the shirt at her. “Here,” he said playfully. “I want to see you in this.”

"Anything for you baby." Sara shot him a wink and shamelessly unbuttoned the shirt, not breaking their eye contact. She slowly slipped the material off her shoulders and opened the shirt out, rolling her eyes slightly. In only her panties, Sara moved closer to Michael and looked up at him through her lashes. "Now, are you sure you want me to put this on?" She looked down at her near naked body before laughing loudly, throwing the shirt over her head and diving onto the bed before he could reply. "Care to join me?"

Michael stalked towards the bed, resting his knee to the softness of the comforter as he hesitated slightly, then reached forward and pulled down her scant underwear, discarding it behind him. He watched Sara writhe in front of him, unashamed and naked. Michael sucked in a breath, his open mouth smiles giving away his excitement when his lips twitched a little. “God, you're beautiful,” he exhaled hard, staying where he was and toying with the delicately soft skin on Sara's ankle with his thumb.

Sara rested up on her elbows, looking directly at him. She knew she should feel nervous; especially with how new this was to both of them. But even with her bruises on display, she felt like the only girl in the world to him. "Come a bit closer and say that." She cocked her finger at him and motioned him towards her, wanting to feel his strong body covering her own. She wanted to make him feel appreciated, wanted to prove how much she wanted to stay.

Michael's eyes darkened and he crawled onto the bed, trailing his fingers over the outside of Sara's thighs with feather-light touches. As he shuffled up the bed between Sara's legs, he pulled them open gently, coaxing himself in between her thighs. Michael fell forward, his huge hands resting on either side of Sara's shoulders where she lay on the bed, and his muscular back rippling under his own weight. Michael lifted a hand and brushed a stray strand of Sara's ruddy hair from her face, his eyes searching hers and he closed the gap between their bodies, resting his entire bulk onto hers and supporting his weight on his elbows. Michael could feel Sara's heart beat through her breast pressed against his chest and a wry smile played across his lips at what he was doing to her. “You're beautiful,” he whispered against her face, their lips millimetres apart but not touching. Michael licked his lips and flicked his eyes to her lips. “Exquisite,” his husky voice was barely audible in the otherwise silent room.

Sara lifted a leg to wrap around his waist, wanting to be as close to him as possible. She felt completely caged in by him, and loved every minute of it. She lifted a hand and trailed her fingers over his face, memorising every part of him. She started at his forehead and moved down, outlining his eyebrows and moving down to his eyes. They closed under her touch and she took the opportunity to quickly cup his face in her hands, pulling her head up slightly to crash their lips together. Her tongue traced his bottom lip, and was granted access immediately. She sucked his tongue into her mouth, and was rewarded by a groan from the god above her. "This is what I meant by making out as teenagers." She panted against his lips, their mouths touching every time she spoke.

Michael held her in place, pinning her to the bed and enjoying the power of doing so. Michael let a hand drift down the side of Sara's body, tickling the skin as he did so and being careful not to agitate the purpling bruises on her arm. He tried to ignore them but they felt hot and angry beneath his touch and Michael kissed her back with an urgency and love she deserved. “I'll never hurt you,” he whispered between kisses, his hand finding her curve of her behind and wedging itself between the flesh and the comforter. Michael's fingers gripped lightly at the skin there and he ground his hips into hers gently. “You deserve to be worshipped,” he rasped.

Sara gasped as she arched off the bed, moving her hips with Michael's to gain friction. His words had brought tears to her eyes and she wanted him to know that she believed him. Quickly, she used all her strength to flip them over so he was underneath her. Moving her body, she straddled his hips; grinding down on his erection slightly. "I know you won't. I believe you Michael. Just like I hope you believe me when I say I'm not running out on you. I meant it before, we can talk about everything through when we both feel ready. But I'm here. What we have Michael, it's real. Doesn't this feel real?" She snaked a hand down his chest and grasped his heavy length, pumping it slowly to looking for his reaction.

Michael pinched his eyes closed and relaxed his entire body beneath hers. “My god, yes. So real,” he hissed, gulping hard. Michael loved that Sara was so small and yet had such a power over him. It excited his every fibre and unable to contain himself any longer, Michael sat up, pressing their bodies together and pulling Sara's hips to his once more. Michael's lips crashed into Sara and he gobbled up her excited squeal hungrily as her naked sex skimmed over his solid erection. Michael smirked against her lips, nibbling at them and flattening his hands over her back, pulling her to him even harder, crushing her breasts against his tattoo. “You want to have a bit of fun?” He panted between kisses, shuffling them to the end of the bed and holding Sara when she threatened to fall backwards.

Sara looped her arms around his neck and placed soft kisses against his lips every time he spoke. Her cheeks hurt due to how much she had been smiling. "With you Scofield? Always." She smoother her hands down his back and trailed her lips along his jaw, stopping to nibble on his earlobe. She was already learning what he loved and how to drive him insane, and it made her feel beyond powerful.

Michael's jaw tensed when her lips met his skin, searing hot and branding him with invisible marks on every touch. Before he totally lost himself, Michael ran his hands down the outside of Sara's legs, cupping her behind with his powerful hands and lifted them both from the bed in one swift movement. He pressed his forehead to hers, staring deep into her gaze as he walked them toward the closed door of the room, only stopping when Sara let out a gasp at the contact with the cold, wooden object. Michael felt Sara's grip tighten on his waist and let her go for the split second it took for him to shed his lounge pants and gently lowered her so she was just touching the tip of his throbbing member. “So wet for me, Dr. Tancredi,” he teased, trailing his hands up the side of her body, kneading at her breasts and lifting her hands above her head. With one hand Michael held her delicate wrists together, pressing them against the door, fixing his eyes on hers the whole time. With the other he held her hips in place, stopping her from sinking down onto him. “Beg,” Michael growled, lifting his hips and stretching her opening with his tip before pulling away.

Sara hated being teased. Hated it with a passion. But nothing had ever felt so good. She threw her head back against the door and jumped slightly against his touch. Moving her head to lock eyes with him, she bit her lip at how absolutely destroyed Michael looked already. "I need you in me Michael. I need you to stretch me. I want to feel full, and nobody fills me like you. Make me come, make me scream." Sara's voice rose with every word, until it was almost unrecognisable. She writhed against him. She'd never begged for anyone before. But her desperation for Michael to take her was something she had never felt before.

Michael saw the frustration in Sara's eyes. He saw the tiny ripple of muscle on her precious jawline and the small pulse of the artery in her neck. Michael gripped harder at her wrists, loving how her skin came alive with his touch as he gently pushed her hips down and sank into her half way. Michael felt the pulse of blood rushing through Sara's insides and stilled, digging his fingernails into the soft skin of her behind and feeling his own legs shaking a little. With a sigh, Michael pulled himself free once again and let his hand slide from her wrist, down her arms and grip gently at Sara's jaw. Holding her gaze, Michael pressed his lips to hers with a teasing, chaste kiss. “Bad girls scream,” Michael said darkly, kissing her again quickly and pulling away so she couldn't reciprocate. Michael grew harder, his torture on Sara even worse for him but worth it to see the pure pleasure on Sara's features. “Are you a bad girl?”

Sara snaked her free hands around his neck, and raked them down his back, swallowing his hiss with her tongue. She bounced in his arms and clenched around him. "You make me bad. I need to be punished. Make me scream Michael. I want everyone to know what you're doing to me, how you make me feel. I want everyone to know that you're not alone." She would have said anything at this point, desperate for his torturous teasing to end. She wanted this more than she had ever wanted anything, and she always got her own way.

Michael let a small chuckle escape his throat. He was sure turning Sara into a bad girl was not his doing, but he was also sure he absolutely wanted her to scream his name again. And again. “What will you scream?” Michael rasped, biting his bottom lip and watching Sara's face contort with lust and wanton desire as he let her fall onto half his length again.

Sara felt her eyes roll at the sensation, but she knew what Michael was doing. With a mischievous glint in her eye, she grinned down at Michael. He was struggling as much as she was. "You can either stop torturing me and fuck me like you promised or so help me god I will finish myself off. And you can watch. Without touching." She moved her head back to see his reaction, wanting to know if she could wind him up as much as he could her.

“Oh so frustrated,” Michael winked at her, easing himself into her a tiny bit more and watching Sara's already hard nipples grow more solid. Unable to contain himself any longer, Michael leaned forward and captured one in his mouth, humming contently against Sara's slightly salty skin as he rolled her nipple around with his tongue and sucked on it eagerly. When he was satisfied he had tasted Sara's body enough, for now, Michael pulled his lips from her skin and locked eyes with her heavy lidded stare once more. “How do I end this frustration?” he teased, pulling out of her and only leaving his tip inside of her aching core.

Sara felt sweat gather on her forehead, her eyes squeezing shut as her head hit the door once more. Wanting to get her own way, she used her strength and pulled herself up to sit straighter around his waist. She reached between their bodies and grasped hold of his cock, so she was the one in control. She locked eyes with Michael and cocked her eyebrow. "I promise, I will scream bloody murder. I will scream your name so loud that it'll wake patients as the hospital. Just fuck me hard and fuck me fast, Scofield." She rasped his name, her voice husky and seductive. She slid herself down on his length and slammed the entire way down. She cried out at the sensation, feeling so full that it knocked the wind out of her.

Michael's hands grabbed at Sara's skin harder, leaving crescent moon shaped indents in her hips. His jaw clenched tightly shut and he felt his vision blur from the sudden sensation of Sara around his entire length. She was burning hot, wet and her muscles were pulling him deeper, already teased to the edge of their tether. Michael rolled his head forward and pressed his forehead to hers, his breathed ragged against her face as he began to move inside her, slamming Sara's frame into the door with a thud each time. Michael's hand found her thin neck and he closed a powerful hand around it, enjoying the feel of Sara's quickened pulse underneath his fingertips. His lips found hers once more and he swallowed up her squeals as he pounded up into her and pulled her onto his length at the same time, Michael's body smashing into Sara's already sensitive bundle of nerves between their bodies. “Sara...” Michael whimpered her name against the corner of her mouth, the one word revealing everything he was feeling in a single syllable; love, passion, want, desire. Michael had never felt so intense and Sara's screams only made him thrust into her harder and faster.

Sara was torn. She wanted to fall over the edge but she wanted this feeling to never end. She felt the relief wash over her at being so full. Her back hit the door with each hard thrust from Michael. It was bordering on painful but she welcomed the sensation with open arms. She gripped onto Michael's shoulders, lowering her head to bite into his shoulder. She knew he wanted her to scream, but she wanted him to work for it even more. She was so close to the edge, determined to make him come first by clenching and unclenching around him. "Michael," She whimpered, needing to say something as she lapped at the mark she had made on his shoulder.

“I want to come...” Michael whispered on a shaky breath, his eyes pinched tightly closed and his stomach beginning to fall away from him. Michael pressed his bulk into Sara's, stilling her body against the panel of the door as he pounding into her relentlessly. Michael rested his arms beside Sara's head, brushing the hair from her face with a quivering hand and capturing her lips for another searing kiss. There was no space between them, Michael's huge, slightly damp bulk holding Sara up against the door. Michael's voice changed from his sultry commanding tone to a softer plea as he stared directly into Sara's soul with his blue orbs. “...Come with me,” he begged.

Sara caught his eye contact and sucked his bottom lip into her mouth. She felt herself fall apart and decided to give Michael what he desired as she began to see stars. "Michael. Oh my god. I'm going to come. Nobody has ever made me feel like this. I'm so full, you're so big. I want this to never end. Shit, Scofield. I'm coming. Michael. Michael!" She screamed his name, slamming her head back against the door as she finally gave in to her orgasm. Her eyes were shut so tight that she saw white dots, her body still cooperating as she clenched around him.

Hearing Sara scream his name as she came was enough for Michael and he couldn't hold back his orgasm anymore. Sara's muscles gripped harder at his erection and she became even tighter, the sensation pushing Michael over the edge. “Fuck...” he rasped, his words as shaky as his legs as he came, spilling his essence into her and losing himself in the process. Michael rested his head on Sara's bare, heaving chest as he stilled, leaving himself inside of her and panting quickly against her dewy skin. “Fuck...” he chuckled, pressing his lips to the valley of her breasts and relaxing the grip he had on her behind.

Sara felt him soften inside her, not quite ready to let go. Michael's legs gave out and they fell to the floor, still joined together as they landed in a heap. She stroked her hands over his head as she held him to her chest, kissing any patch of his skin she could reach. "I don't need sleep. A power nap and I'll be ready to go again." Sara added cheekily, wincing when Michael finally pulled out of her. She moved to rest more comfortably against his chest, nuzzling into his neck and basking in the smell that was so masculine and so Michael.

“Insatiable,” Michael laughed, knowing full well they were both just that. “Let's get you more comfortable,” he said. With his last reserves of energy, Michael scooped Sara up into his powerful arms and walked them back over to the bed. He laid Sara down gently, planting a kiss to the tip of her nose before climbing into the dark blue sheets beside her. Michael propped himself up against the pillows, half sitting, and threw a tattooed arm around Sara's frame, pulling her closer to his chest. “I didn't hurt you did I?” he prodded gently, tracing lines up and down her arm lazily.

Sara grabbed onto Michael's hand and laced their fingers together, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles. She lifted so they were eye level and smiled at him softly. "You could never hurt me. I know that. I trust you, Michael. I know it's crazy and this is moving so fast, but you made me feel safe. I feel so safe in your arms, it's never been like that before." She nuzzled into his neck and kissed his pulse point there.

Michael smiled and pulled her to him tighter, enjoying the feel of her lips on his skin. Whirlwind didn't even begin to describe the last day. Never in a million years would Michael think he would have found someone who accepted him and his past. So far, Sara looked like she would be that person, and Michael never wanted to let her go. “You are safe with me,” Michael turned his face to look down at her head resting on his chest. “I promise.”

#itrustyoutokillme #eternalcaptainswan #tabula rasa #ff #prison break #prison break fic #misa #smut #michael/sara #au #pbf.net

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