#one or two rum and gingers and she's belting this one | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

absurdthirst · 4 years

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If you take request, can you do one with Whiskey? The reader is an agent that is the crush of Whiskey and he tries to ask her out, but she thinks that he is only a player so reject him every time. She end up hurt badly during a mission and he saves her and host her in his ranch for the recovery. He tries to confesshis feelings to her and so it is fluffy and smutty if u do it 🥺 i don't remember if i already asked u this 🥺. U write amazing btw 😍❣️

***You had not asked for this, but it was an awesome ask!!!

R&R

“Darlin’ when are you going to let me take you out?”

Y/N looked up to find Whiskey propped against her open office door, hip jutted out and one ankle crossed over the other. The perfect picture of a devilishly handsome cowboy.

She looked back down at the report she was typing up. Her latest notes for their upcoming mission. A lot was riding on this and she had spend hours pouring over the background of their targets, trying to find any caveats that could throw a wrench in their plan.

“When hell freezes over, Jack.” She shot back snarky enough to cover the slight breathlessness of her tone.

She wanted Jack Daniels, fuck did she. But Y/N, or Agent Rum to him, refused to be one on a long list of heartbreaks the notorious bachelor left in his wake.

If she had looked up, she would have seen the flash of hurt in his eyes. The way that he chewed at his bottom lip as his brow furrowed. But she hadn’t, she was too busy avoiding looking up at the handsome agent. Something about the way he wore a pair of blue jeans just did it for her. So she refused to look up for fear that she would stare.

Silence descended as he waited for her to say something. Give him any kind of hint that she was joking. She heard him shuffling in the doorway, trying to draw her attention. 

“Did you need anything else, Jack?” She asked, continuing to clack on the keyboard with determination.

When he didn’t answer, she looked up to find the empty space where he had been lingering before. He had silently melted away, leaving her feeling bereft without his company.

****

“Y/N!!! JESUS!” Jack’s voice roared over the communication link they each wore in their ears. “Ginger, Rum has been shot. Get the med team ready!”

His lasso and whips were stored for now on his hip, his revolvers in his hands as he shot the guard that had hit Y/N. His jaw set in fury as he raced into the firefight to cover her and drag her to safety.

It had been an ambush. The target had been expecting an intelligence team to come. They had seen right through their carefully constructed cover stories.

His focus narrowed as he took out target after target. Guns spinning in his hands as he aim and fired at the threats. He needed to get to her.

Y/N wasn’t panicking, but she was loosing a hell of a lot of blood. She didn’t have enough clotting agent, the six wounds too much for any agent to carry that much.

The ground was red and slick beneath her when Whiskey dropped to his knees beside her.

“Shit, darlin’, stay with me.” Whiskey ripped off the belt that he wore to use as a tourniquet and pulled out his own clotting kit.

Blood soaked hands grasped at his shirt. “Jack.....I-“

“Shhhh. Your gonna be fine. Tell me when you’re feeling better.” He crooned. “Ginger, where the fuck is the med team?”

The last thing she saw was bodies rushing towards her and Jack being pushed aside, his face set in terror as her world went dark.

****

“Home sweet home, darlin’” Whiskey opened the door to the ranch house and came back to the side of the Bronco, opening the door to let Y/N out.

She’d spent two days in the infirmary, critically injured. The technology they had only went so far, her body still needed time to heal. Champ had ordered her to rest for the next two weeks, no argument. And Whiskey had convinced her boss that the perfect place for her imposed R&R was his ranch house.

“Why am I here, Jack?” She asked as he ushered her through the door and settled her on the overstuffed sofa.

His jaw rocked for a second as he seemed to consider his answer. There was a small sigh before his shoulders rounded. “So I can take care of you, Y/N.”

Before she could even process the meaning behind such a loaded statement, he had turned, disappearing back out the front door to gather her bags from the bronco.

True to his word, Y/N found Whiskey doting on her. It was obvious he was still working from the comfort of the ranch, but he was never too far from her side. Anything she could possibly want for was provided, most times before she could even voice her desire for it.

She was seeing a different side to the egotistical, overconfident cowboy. Taking the brash charm and honeyed words away leaving just the caring man in the agent’s place. It made her crave him even more.

He was different here. His habit of calling her darlin’ didn’t seem so condescending when he was asking if she wanted another cup of coffee or if she was up for a light walk down to the stables. He didn’t seem like a womanizer when his hand was respectfully settled on the small of her back guiding her, or opening the door for her with such a genuine smile on his face.

She however was going crazy. She hadn’t been able to wash her hair in days. The pain from her wounds preventing her from even lifting her arms up halfway. As a result, she felt grimy and dirty, unable to properly shower since her mission.

He sensed her discomfort, setting down her breakfast plate in front of her. The steaming omelette’s delicious scent wafting to her nostrils and making her mouth water. The man could cook.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, leaning back to observe her.

Y/N gestured to her hair, a frown pulling at her lips to cover the wince of pain she wanted to keep from him. “I feel gross.” She muttered.

An eyebrow arched at her comment. “That’s the furthest thing from the truth. You look...good.”

“I haven’t showered properly in days. My hair feels like it crawling.”

He was quiet for a moment, dark eyes raking over her in contemplation. When he spoke her eyes widened at his suggestion. “I’ll wash your hair for you.”

****

“Jack, this is stupid.” She whined as she went to walk past him.

He caught her arm easily and stopped her from leaving. “Just leave your panties and bra on if you would prefer some modesty. But let me help you, Y/N.” He offered. “Please.”

The last words was soft, pleading. As if he were the one asking for a favor.

They were standing in his master suite. The large soaker tub invitingly filled with hot bubbly water. Jack had already prepared everything. Towels and soaps, shampoos and conditioners lining the edge of the tub. She hadn’t missed the fact that they were her brands, even though she hadn’t had any in her bag.

“Why are you doing this?” She whispered the words, feeling his hand tighten around her arm. The gently tug brought her back to face him.

Something shined in his eyes. Softer than she had ever seen them, a vulnerability that was not there before. A fear.

His voice was low, pained. “I-I watched you bleed out....It-it felt like before. When I lost...”

Her heart sank to her knees. She knew about his wife, how he had lost her all those years ago. “Oh, Jack.” She couldn’t reach his face, so she settled for putting her hand on his chest.

His body jolted at the contact, words spilling from his mouth as if the touch had opened the floodgates. “I love you, Y/N. I know you don’t, can’t feel the same way about me. I’m just a lecherous cowboy, but I need to keep you close right now...need to make sure you are alright. Just let me take care of you. Please.”

The earnestness in his voice was enough to bring tears to her eyes. The humility in his eyes told her he would beg if he needed to. Her heart clenched at the idea of causing this damaged cowboy one more second of prolonged pain.

“Only if you join me.” She whispered, looking up into his intense gaze.

“Wh-what?” He stammered, confusion warring with hope on his face.

“You can take care of me, only if you join me in that tub.” She answered, nodding at the stunned expression that clouded his face.

She’d never seen Jack so stupefied. She laughed lightly as rocked up on her toes to press her lips against his cheek. His head turned and caught her lips, his mustache brushing over her top lip as he gave her a chaste and sweet kiss. So very different from the ones she had imagined before. But even that simple contact made her body hum with need.

“Darlin’ as much as I would love nothing more than to join you in that water, I don’t want to push back your recovery. And if I get you naked, I’m not going to be able to..”

“I don’t want you to.” She cut him off with a grin.

He groaned as his head dropped against her shoulder, back quaking as he fought for self control. She marveled at the way this man was seemingly bought to his knees at the mere idea of being with her.

She hiss a bit as she tried to lift her hand to the buttons of her shirt. A much as it had irked her, she could only go up about halfway. Having to rely on Whiskey to finish the tasks for her. Now she wanted nothing more than for him to strip her down.

At her hiss of pain, Jack’s head shot up and he pushed her hands away gently. His normally sturdy fingers fumbled with the buttons, betraying his nerves. He got her stripped down to her underwear before looking up at her from his kneeling position on the floor. The question in his eyes answered with a slight node and she heard his breath catch as he reached for her hips.

The material slid down her thighs gently, the only sound in the room was Whiskey’s ragged breathing. Her could feel his trembling when she placed her hands on his shoulders to step out of the garment.

He still hadn’t touched her the way she craved him. Leading her to the tub, he settled her before stripping himself. She watched as he bit his lip before lowering the hip hugging denim, exposing the insistent arousal still contained behind the boxer briefs he wore.

When he stepped towards the tub, material still adorning his body, she shook her head, licking her lips as she motioned for him to take off the rest. Primal lust flashed in his eyes as his grin rode across that handsome face. Cocky in his confidence in this particularly area.

She leaned forward in the water, letting him slip in behind her. His legs framing her body as he pulled her gently back again against his chest.

Hands rough from years as an agent and being a cowboy were delightful as they explored her curves. He was thorough, mapping out her body and listening to every sigh and gasp she made, making note of it.

His hardness pressed against her lower back, throbbing as he cupped her breast, bubbles making them slippery as he fondled her nipples. Plucking them until they were aching from his attention.

They trailed lower as his mustache brushed her shoulders, showering her with tiny kisses. Fingers sliding between her thighs to find a slickness that had nothing to do with the water.

“Fuck, Y/N.” Jack groaned against her neck, his teeth scraping over the sensitive nerves, sending a shiver down her spine. The rough calloused pad of his finger teasing her clit.

She moaned, reaching around her back, needing to feel him in her hand. Water sloshed as his hips jerked, his cock pulsing her in hand.

They moved together, no words necessary as they both gave in to their desires. The angle was awkward, by Y/N could care less. His grunts and panting breathes in her ear as she stroked his cock worth the ache in her arm.

She barely noticed it, too concerned with the two fingers that were knuckle deep in her pussy, pumping languidly as his thumb rubbed her clit in time with her hand’s movements.

His other hand sliding up to tease her nipple again. Pinching lightly every few passes as he huskily groaned out his pleasure.

“Dreamed about touching you, darlin’. Better than I could every imagine” He rasped, his hips eagerly seeking out her hand as she dragged it up and down his cock.

She leaned her head back as the fires burning in her belly licked higher. “Jack.”

He bit off a groan as he increased the pressure of his thumb. “Say it again.” He pleaded.

“Jack.” He pumper his fingers into harder, spurned on by her gasping out his name. “Jack...please...please make me cum.”

He grunted as he curled the deeper, fingertips shredding against raw heaven as her own hand tightened around his cock. His arm moved to anchor her against him, below her breasts as he worked his wrist furiously.

Her leg jerked, splashing up out of the water as she cried out, her head turning to seek his mouth as she came around his fingers. Spasms pulling at his thick digits, sucking them deeper into her as he licked into her mouth, growling into her throat.

She swallowed his sounds, trading them with her own. She felt his cock twitching in her hand, his body tightening as she continued to pump, twisting her wrist around as she put a bit more pressure on the tip as she worked him.

His hips shoved up against her back, rocking against her as she felt a pulsing heat splash up her back, hotter than the surrounding water. His gasps sucking the air from her lungs as he jerked in her hand.

His arm loosened around her slightly as they rode out the aftershocks of their orgasms. The steam still curling lazily around them as they caught their breath, pleasure still strumming through their bodies.

Y/N closed her eyes as she left him press sweet kisses along the side of her throat. She couldn’t complain about how her R&R was turning out.

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carewyncromwell · 4 years

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[POTC AU] Captain Orion Amari of the pirate ship Artemis and Captain “Carey Weasley” (Carewyn Cromwell) of the HMS Robin Moodboard

x~x~x~x

“Captain,” said Skye rather sharply, “are you sure about this?”

Orion didn’t answer. He was keeping an eye on the incapacitated HMS Robin through his naval telescope as his own white-and-gray painted ship, the Artemis, sailed away from it.

“Their crew won’t be able to come after us, while they’re stuck on that sandbar,” pointed out the first mate, McNully. “And even if they were able to lighten the load enough to get off of it, there’s only a 12% chance they’d decide to fire on us, while we have their Captain aboard.”

“It’s their Captain I don’t trust,” Skye said irritably.

“Captain Weasley surrendered himself to us honorably,” said Orion calmly. He lowered the telescope, tucking it away in the inside of his long olive suede jacket, and strolled past the helm. “We can afford to show him a bit of courtesy in return, considering how much easier he’s made things for all of us...”

“But tying him up and throwing him in your cabin?” demanded Skye, as she pursued Orion down the stairs to the main deck. “He should be locked in irons in the brig -- he’s our prisoner -- ”

“‘Prisoner?’” Orion repeated airily, raising an eyebrow. "I believe I called him a guest, when I first ordered you to take him aboard.”

“Most guests don’t require being tied up, Orion,” McNully pointed out amusedly. Given that he was missing both legs, he transported himself down from the helm by lifting himself up into some loose ropes in the rigging and then swinging and climbing down to his rolling chair left at the base of the stairs.

Skye, however, still persisted. “Captain, I’m serious about this. Something’s off about this Captain Weasley, I can feel it. He’s not acting like the other officers we’ve taken. He was way too calm, way too...nice.”

“I don’t know if I’d say ‘nice’ is the right word, considering he initially cut off one of my wooden legs, when I first arrived on the deck of his ship,” said McNully. “But he has been very civil since he surrendered to us, I have to admit.”

“Of course,” said Orion. “He cares about the safety of his crew, and the terms of our accord were that we take him and spare his crew and ship, was it not? It’s in his best interest to submit to our authority, at least in the interim.”

“There is a 64% chance he’ll fight back as soon as the HMS Robin is out of range of our cannons, though,” McNully warned him. “Perhaps we should break out some manacles, just in case...”

Orion seemed perfectly disinterested in the suggestion. He’d turned his focus to the sailors in the rigging.

“Set a course southwest, helmsman!” he called. “Heave to and full sail! We’ll make a quick stop in Tortuga for supplies on our way to drop off our cargo...”

Skye barreled in front of Orion to stop him from walking any further.

“Tortuga?! Captain, are you mad!?”

“Thanks to Captain Weasley trying and failing to lighten the load of his ship and escape the sand bar, our plunder was underwhelming,” Orion said patiently. “We still need soap and rum before we travel much longer.”

“But if we make port, then that Weasley could escape!”

McNully couldn’t bite back a laugh. “Escape? A Captain of the British Navy, escaping onto an island full of pirates? There’s not even a one percent chance of that happening.”

“Don’t underestimate him,” growled Skye. She snatched something out from the inside of her shirt. “I found this ‘round his neck, when I tied him up -- ”

She held out a gold chain -- dangling on the end was a round gold medallion engraved with a sinister-looking skull.

Orion’s shoulders stiffened noticeably. He held out his hand so that Skye could give the necklace to him.

“Dunno where it’s from, but it’s definitely a pirate medallion,” Skye said under her breath suspiciously. “That ‘Carey Weasley’ may be a Navy stooge, but he’s got links to piracy too, mark my words.”

McNully rolled himself around to get a better look at the medallion too.

“It looks to be solid gold,” he murmured. “Whichever pirate he got that from -- or stole it from, there’s about a 45 percent chance of that -- was likely one of the wealthier ones...”

Orion’s thumb ran over the medallion absently as he stared at it, his dark eyes rippling with a bizarre, indecipherable emotion. Then, after a long moment, he pocketed the medallion inside his olive coat and turned on his heel.

“Stay on course for Tortuga, McNully,” he said quietly. “I should have a private word with our ‘guest.’”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

Orion swept toward his cabin door at the back of the ship, just under the helm. His dark eyes lingered on the doorknob for a short, palpable moment, before he twisted it and pushed the door open.

Sitting in the center of the room was a short young man dressed in a navy blue and white Navy uniform bound to a chair with thick ropes. His ponytail was a shocking ginger red and his blue almond-shaped eyes were focused on the floor in front of his tall black boots rather than on Orion as he entered.

The pirate captain considered the Naval captain carefully for a moment as he slid the door closed behind him with a soft snap. After a moment, he spoke very levelly.

“...Greetings, Captain.”

The red-haired officer smiled in dark amusement.

“Good of you to remember to speak first,” he said coolly. “It’s bad enough luck to have a ginger on board your ship at all, isn’t it?”

His voice was a bit high, which like his perfectly clean face could hint to a very young man, but that voice still echoed with experience and intelligence.

Orion raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t take you for a superstitious sort.”

“I’m not. But I’m Captain of a ship, and I’m more than used to that particular wives tale. Every sailor with red hair becomes very used to letting everyone else initiate any conversations.”

“Must be difficult when there are two of you,” said Orion amusedly. “Like your Lieutenant. Percy, was it?”

Captain Weasley’s eyes narrowed upon the floor without looking up.

“Yes,” he said very coldly.

Orion’s eyes swept around the room, narrowing on a spot on the far wall. He’d had a pair of decorative swords hung up there...

Turning his gaze back to Weasley, he took a few slow, leisurely steps forward, his hand running along the scabbard attached to his belt.

“...How do you like the accommodations?”

“I don’t much care for being tied up,” said the Captain dryly.

“I suppose anyone else would feel similarly...” said Orion very solemnly, “...if they were tied up.”

CLANG!

In an instant, Orion had to bring up his sword to block a blow from another cutlass. The ropes had fallen completely lax and cut open to the floor, and Weasley had leapt to her feet, holding both of the ornate decorative swords that had been on Orion’s wall in his bleeding hands. He must’ve been able to move his chair enough to knock them off the wall and use them to cut his bindings, but catching the blades with his bare hands made him also cut open his palms.

Orion blocked again as the Naval Captain slashed and parried with both swords, beating him backward.

“You used my swords to cut yourself free, then?” asked Orion. “I’m surprised you were able to move enough to reach them, with how tightly Skye must have bound you...”

“I was captured by the Spanish five times, during the War,” the Captain shot back coldly. “I’ve had more than enough experience being tied up -- ”

Once he’d beaten Orion back into a corner, Weasley made a break for the door, but Orion quickly bent down and yanked the rug out from under him.

“AH!”

Weasley felt flat on his face. Orion lunged forward, and Weasley rolled over, blocking his cutlass with both swords.

“Five times?” said Orion, his eyebrows raised in interest. “And you presumably escaped every time? Impressive. I know full well how difficult it can be, to evade the Spanish.”

“Ha!” Weasley gave a very cool laugh. “I’m sure you do!”

Orion and Weasley crossed swords, slashing at the air and slamming their blades against each other in dangerous shings. Weasley kept trying to break for the door, but Orion stubbornly tried to force him back -- he was not going to let him get away.

“You’re very talented with a sword, Captain,” said Orion.

“I don’t need your flattery,” Weasley shot back sardonically.

“And I don’t need you running out onto the deck and causing a scene,” Orion said very gravely, his dark eyes narrowing upon the other Captain’s face. “You’d be surrounded within minutes, once you left my cabin -- ”

Weasley shot her leg out, kicking Orion right in the shin. Orion fell back with a grunt of pain -- within seconds, Weasley had crossed both of his swords against the pirate captain’s neck.

“Not if I have a hostage of my own,” said Weasley softly.

Orion’s dark eyes were wide for only a moment before his face relaxed again.

“A Naval officer resorting to blackmail? And after my crew and I showed you hospitality...I thought you were an honorable sort, Captain.”

Weasley’s eyes flashed dangerously. “You’re in no place to question my honor, Captain -- I know full well that all of the ‘hospitality’ you’ve shown me is only skin-deep.”

Orion raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?” he said, and his level voice betrayed a bit of edge despite himself.

“The Artemis has been capturing and marooning Naval officers up and down British shipping routes for months now,” said Weasley. “It’s terrified the British Navy and the common man alike. People don’t think it’s safe to travel, because they’re afraid that pirates will pillage and plunder any ship they might board -- and the Navy is finding fewer and fewer officers willing to sail those routes, for fear they might be next.”

“As intended,” said Orion placidly. “Less Navy officers on the route means less pirates hunted down like wild beasts.”

“And less people to protect civilians and merchants from those pirates who act like wild beasts.”

Weasley urged Orion up onto his feet, his blue eyes very cold upon the pirate’s face as he walked behind him, ushering him across the cabin toward the door. Blood dripped from his still bleeding palms down the blades of his two swords.

“I don’t intend to be another statistic that can be used to strike fear into the hearts of others,” he murmured coldly. “I don’t care how gentlemanly you seem -- I don’t abide bullies, no matter who they are.”

“A shame you work alongside an entire Navy of them, then,” said Orion very softly.

He abruptly slammed his head backward right into the Naval Captain’s forehead.

“Augh!”

Weasley was stunned just enough for Orion to duck out from under his swords. Dashing back just enough to grab his sword back up off the floor, he prevented Weasley from again reaching the door by slamming his blade against both of the other Captain’s and pushing him back.

“Since when do you defend the Navy so passionately?” Orion challenged him.

Weasley’s blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. “‘Since when -- ?’ All of the Weasleys -- all of us, who are of age, were seamen, if we’re not still!”

Orion’s lips spread into a bizarre, detached sort of smile. “...Then ‘Weasley’ isn’t just a name you’ve borrowed: it’s a family you’ve found...”

Weasley looked oddly stricken. “What...?”

His eyes then narrowed as he slammed his right sword against Orion’s to push him back and then slashed at his shoulder with his left. Orion just barely avoided the blow, which swept through his long dark hair.

“I seem to recall you weren’t always so cold toward pirates,” said Orion lightly. “May have even harbored one or two, right under the Navy’s nose...”

Weasley’s face had gone very white, but he refused to show any fear.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he spat.

CLANG. SHING. Orion and Weasley leapt and spiraled around each other as if they were in a highly choreographed sword dance.

“Your sentiment was very much the same, back then, if memory serves me,” Orion plowed on, his voice remaining rather detached but going lower in his throat. “‘I don’t like bullies, no matter who they are.’ Except back then, that sentiment was directed toward the Navy -- ”

“Don’t patronize me!”

Weasley threw his left sword against Orion’s with another CLANG -- Orion managed to grab the Naval Captain’s right arm and twist his wrist.

“ACK!”

The blood-stained right sword fell to the floor with a clatter. Orion looped Weasley’s right arm behind his back, trying to restrain him.

“What changed you?” Orion whispered in the Captain’s ear. “What’s filled you with such hatred?”

Weasley tried to wrench out of Orion’s grip. Upon not being able to, he stomped on Orion’s foot and used the distraction to pull away and put some distance between them again. The Naval Captain was breathing hard, his blue eyes boring into Orion’s face critically, analyzing him.

“I don’t hate pirates,” said Weasley very softly. “But most pirates aren’t as gentlemanly as you, Captain Amari. Most, when they capture innocent people, don’t just let them go unharmed. Even you don’t drop them off anywhere inhabited -- even you follow the Pirate Code and leave them on deserted islands -- ”

“Along rum-runner routes,” Orion said softly. “They’re always found alive.”

“Even if that were true, you don’t give them back to their families!” Weasley shot back, and his voice for the first time sounded righteously angry. “You still rip them away from their lives, terrify them and their crews, and make them wait around, not knowing if they’ll ever see home again!”

“Those officers were not our enemy, nor are you. We don’t harm anyone who hasn’t given us a reason to.”

“You clearly do, by roping innocent people into this! You don’t think I know this is all to get back at the East India Trading Company, for pressuring the British Navy into hunting down pirates?”

“You don’t think I have reason, to want to protect my crew from people who have sold their souls to the Devil purely out of blind loyalty?” said Orion, and his voice and dark eyes rippled with a faintly icy edge for the first time.

“‘Blind loyalty!’” spat Weasley. “‘Blind’ -- I may be an officer, but my loyalty is not blind. The Company may think that they can buy our service, but they cannot buy any part of me. My loyalty is mine to bestow, upon the deserving.”

The Naval Captain’s blue eyes seared with a vengeful, painful kind of fire.

“The British Navy may be flawed, but it’s where I’ve made a life for myself -- and I don’t care how much you hate the Company, you have no right to separate good men from their families!”

Orion’s dark eyes widened slightly upon the Captain’s face. Then they softened, gaining a darker, almost sadder glint.

“Your brother,” he whispered.

Weasley stiffened sharply. He took a step to the side, which Orion mirrored -- soon they were circling each other, their swords at their sides as they considered each other.

“I have many brothers,” he said coldly.

“Only one blood one, if I’m not mistaken,” said Orion softly. “An older one -- a smart and talented man, who raised you after you both lost your parents...”

Weasley’s blue eyes darted over his face, narrowing almost to slits.

“...Who are you?” he whispered at last.

“You already know who I am. I’m Captain Orion Amari.”

“And yet I don’t recall colliding with an ‘Orion Amari’ previously, however many stories I’ve heard about him.”

Orion smiled slightly, but the expression didn’t quite touch his eyes. He sheathed his cutlass, holding his hands out with the fingers slightly spread, to showcase he wasn’t armed.

“I wouldn’t expect you to. It was a very long time ago -- it took me a while to recognize you, as well, after ten years. But this...”

He reached into the interior pocket of his olive coat and withdrew the gold medallion, dangling it in front of him by its chain. Weasley made a subconscious move as if thinking to grab it back, but he resisted.

“...I remember it very well,” murmured Orion.

His dark eyes drifted down to the medallion as it bobbed back and forth in mid-air.

“You showed it to me, to reassure me that you meant me no harm. Said your brother stole it from your grandfather’s cabin, before he stowed away with you in a jollyboat and you both escaped. Said your grandfather was a pirate too, but a much meaner one...Captain Charles Cromwell, of the ship Revenge.”

He could still see the gentleness that had been in those blue eyes -- feel the soft hand reaching out to touch his cheek, to try to comfort him when he was shaking from head to toe...

“...Soon after, the Navy caught up with me, and you hid me in a hole under a loose set of floorboards under your bed. You were able to charm the soldiers enough to persuade them you hadn’t seen me. Even your own brother believed you, until you came to get me, long after the soldiers were gone -- and immediately after you pulled the carpet up and helped me out, you -- ”

“Insisted you stay for dinner.”

Orion looked up, startled.

Weasley’s face was very white as he stared at Orion, his almond-shaped blue eyes very wide and alight with emotion.

“You were really thin and you weren’t very clean,” he murmured, “so I refused to let you leave until I took care of you properly. You were too scared to sleep at first, so I sat up and held your hand and sang songs to you until you fell asleep. And when I asked your name, all you would tell Jacob or me was -- ”

“‘Smithy,’” finished Orion, his voice oddly hushed.

His face didn’t break into a full smile, but his dark eyes had welled up with an intense, rippling, admiring kind of softness -- the kind more appropriate to see on the face of a man in love.

The Captain called “Weasley” stared at Orion for a long moment, his blue eyes rippling in amazement and disbelief. Then he dropped the remaining sword in his left hand to the floor with a clatter and swept right up to Orion, his arms encircling the pirate in a full embrace.

“It’s you,” he whispered incredulously, a smile rippling through every word. “After all this time...you’re alive...you’re here...?”

Orion had stiffened very slightly when the Naval Captain had reached him, but within seconds he’d tentatively brought his arms around him in return. Gradually, slowly, his grip tightened, his soot-blackened fingers digging into the fabric of the officer’s blue Navy coat and his chin resting on the other’s shoulder.

“...You believed me dead?”

“Well, you refused Jacob’s and my help -- we knew you had to be a fugitive, for you to give us a fake name, and when you left that night without a word and never resurfaced again...well...we feared the worst. I reassured Jacob for ages that you seemed resourceful, and that you might’ve had a way out of Port Royal, but...Jacob and I had only managed to get away from Grandfather because we could tag team to steal the jollyboat and then take turns rowing until we finally reached land. As far as we knew...you were alone. And no sailor can sail off an island alone.”

“I was fortunate enough to be able to stowaway on a merchant ship until it reached Portobello. I then enlisted with another crew, once I reached Tortuga.”

“That was the other part of it. With the Company demanding such brutal action against pirates...if you had somehow survived...”

“Weasley” exhaled.

“...all I’d hoped was that you’d somehow been able to go straight, so you wouldn’t end up a target.”

“You know full well how hard that is,” said Orion very solemnly.

“...I know.”

The Captain’s soft voice echoed with sorrow and compassion -- just as it had, when they’d first met...

Orion closed his eyes absently, breathing in slowly. He could smell rosemary...soap, no doubt.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” murmured the Naval Captain.

Orion slowly opened his eyes. “...I’m glad that that knowledge doesn’t disappoint you, Carewyn.”

The Captain called “Carey Weasley” -- in truth Carewyn Cromwell -- finally pulled away enough to look him in the face.

“Of course it doesn’t disappoint me,” she said severely. “I may be an officer of the Navy and I might have to march lock-step with the East India Trading Company sometimes, but I’m not that terrible.”

“I suppose with your family history, I couldn’t expect you to feel no sympathy, for our plight,” said Orion, “but with your brother having been taken by pirates...I admit, I wasn’t sure.”

Carewyn’s almond-shaped blue eyes were very solemn.

“Jacob joined a ship as their navigator, so as to earn enough money to support us,” she explained. “On the way back from Africa, however, his ship was attacked by a pirate captain named Howell Davis. Most of the ship’s crew made it out alive, but the pirates took all of their cargo...and Jacob along with it.”

Orion’s eyes narrowed. “Did they know Captain Cromwell?”

“I don’t think so. Even if they did, they probably wouldn’t have made a connection, since Jacob was using the name ‘Roberts’ at the time. But after he vanished, I had to find a way on my own...so I disguised myself as a boy and joined the Navy. It was there that I met Bill Weasley, who sort of looked after me, since we were the only two gingers in the ranks at the time. Then he figured out I was really a girl, and he decided I should use his last name so as to better hide my identity, since everyone in England knows the Weasley family is full of sons. Soon Bill’s brother Charlie joined up too, and since Charlie’s the same age as me, we played it off that we were twin brothers. Percy joined right after the War was over, after Bill joined the church and Charlie took up a blacksmith’s apprenticeship in Port Royal.”

“And you became a Captain yourself.”

“I didn’t have much of a choice. I don’t have any sort of dowry or money to my name, but Navy captains at least earn a better salary. And while I’m at sea, people won’t question why I’m not married and haven’t started a family yet...for now, anyway. I’ve already had to try to dissuade Governor Farrier from trying to matchmake me with his daughter so that I’d have a reason to stay near Port Royal and help him in his anti-pirate crusade...”

“It’s good to know that you don’t kowtow completely to your new masters, at least,” said Orion.

Despite the faint wryness in his smile, his eyes and voice were incredibly sincere. He felt so...so very happy, knowing that.

He reached out and took both of her hands in his. They were still bleeding from the cuts on her palms.

“Now then,” he said softly, “we should tend to those straight away. Your hands should never be stained with blood -- even your own.”

Carewyn smiled slightly as Orion led her to sit down on his bed before bustling over to find some bandages.

“Orion...”

The pirate captain’s shoulders tensed slightly.

“Yes?” he said as levelly as he could without turning around.

Carewyn laughed quietly. “I’m sorry...I just never knew your real name before. ...It is your real name, isn’t it? Orion?”

His heart gave a light flutter at her saying his name again. Her smile seemed to echo in every syllable...

Orion swallowed back the lump in his throat.

“...Yes,” he said softly. “It is.”

“Orion Amari,” Carewyn murmured to herself, almost like she was tasting it. “...It is really a very handsome name.”

“...Mm...”

Orion suddenly felt very shaky on his feet, and for once, it wasn’t due to the back-and-forth swaying movement of the Artemis.

“...much better than ‘Smithy,’ I suppose,” he said as airily as he could.

Carewyn giggled behind her hand. “I don’t know. I reckon ‘Captain Smithy’ could still catch on, if one were to put in the effort.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #au #pirates of the caribbean #potc au #carewyn cromwell #orion amari #aesthetic #moodboard #my writing #my fanfiction #bill weasley #jacob cromwell #charlie weasley #percy weasley #jules farrier #other people's mcs #yes bill is basically a quasi-will turner even if he's in the clergy and charlie's the blacksmith #bill is smitten with the governor's daughter <3 #and he charlie and carewyn are actually all saving up so they can buy their own ship and go into business as merchants together!!#since they're all rather poor #but yeah I had bill as being in the church because I kind of love the thought of this chill gentle priest suddenly whipping out a cutlass #and kicking everyone's arse #kind of like aramis in the man in the iron mask!! 8D #and yeah once charlie and bill learn carey's been taken they'll at first be terrified because 'THEY'LL FIND OUT SHE'S A GIRL D8'#and so they and jules (who's actually carey's surrogate sister in this universe too!) would commandeer a ship to go save her #only for yeah charles cromwell and the cursed pirates to show up #looking for their last medallion #and yeah yeah yeah you get the idea #huge mess

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creativewritingpracticestudio · 5 years

Text

Soulmates, Sort Of (Axl Rose x Reader)[Smut]

@classydizzyflowerchick sorry for the wait🥺hope you enjoy!

Description: This takes place in 1987. You and Axl meet at a bar, and strike up a conversation. The two of you end up confiding in each other and bonding over your abusive childhoods, realizing how alike you are. Axl’s entranced, to say the least, and things quickly get sexual. The next morning, Axl has to decide: has he found a soulmate, or was this thing just a one-time connection?

Warnings: Smut, mentions of drugs and alcohol, cursing, talk of abusive childhoods(brief mentions of past physical and emotional abuse!)

Every night, it’s the same old thing.

The thought creeped into your head in the spare moments between knocking back glasses of vodka and shooting wary glances at the awkward bartender who’d been eyeing you all night. This was your fourth night in the bar in a row, and the workers had definitely noticed. There wasn’t much else to do when you had no family or friends to be with.

You raised the glass back up to your lips, eyes trained on the ceiling, and were about to order another drink when a rough, deep voice spoke from beside you. “Rum and coke, please.” You glanced up to see a tall red-haired man, about your age, leaning against the bar as he spoke to the bartender. The bartender nodded, never breaking eye contact, and walked away slowly.

The man plopped down in the chair beside you, watching the unnervingly creepy bartender walk away with a weirded-out look on his face. “Creepy asshole.” You smirked, and he realized you’d heard him. “Isn’t he? I had to double-check my drink for pills when he brought it to me.” The man laughed, and reached his hand out for a shake. “Axl Rose.” You raised an eyebrow.

“As in, Guns N Roses? Thought you looked familiar.” He nodded. “Yeah, that’s me. You a fan?” You smirked and shook your head. “Haven’t listened to music that much lately, only heard a couple of your songs. Not bad though. You got a gift for sure. So, what the hell is Axl Rose doing in a shitty local bar?” He shrugged, picking up his glass as the bartender set it in front of him.

“Quieter than other bars, I guess. What about you? Wanna tell me your name?” You smiled. “It’s (Y/n). And I come here every night. Not much else to do.” Axl nodded, taking another sip of his drink. “That’s for sure. You come here with anyone? Some of my band’s over there.” He pointed towards the game room of the bar, and sure enough, the curly haired guitarist named Slash was playing pinball with the bassist, Duff.

They were drunkenly yelling at each other as they played, Slash threatening to smash his empty vodka bottle over the other man’s head. You laughed. “They look lively. No, I’m not here with anyone. Not too many friends in my life, if I’m being honest.” Axl looked suprised. “Really? You’re awfully pretty not to have any friends. What’s wrong with you?” You almost choked on your drink, surprised at his bluntness, but laughed. “Too much, let’s just say.”

He smirked. “Fair enough. So, you come here often, I’m guessing?” You nodded. “This is my fourth night in a row.” Axl raised his eyebrows. “Alcoholic much?” You rolled your eyes. “Fuck off, I get water sometimes.” He smiled, and you couldn’t help but smile back. He was surprisingly easy to talk to. “So, you got family out here?” You winced. Sore question. “Yeah, negative. I haven’t seen my family in like 5 years. Got out of there as soon as I could, you know?”

“So you’re a runaway?” You nodded, and Axl grimaced. “So you’re just like me, then.” You raised an eyebrow. “You ran away from home?” He nodded. “Yeah. There was some shit with the cops, but it was also cuz my old man was an asshole.” You sighed. “Yeah, so was my mom.” Things went quiet for a second, and then he spoke again, softer this time. “Kinda dark to say, but looks like we got something in common.”

You laughed. “Yeah, that’s true.” Axl started to say something, but hesitated. “Do you..wanna talk about it? I don’t usually meet people like me. You don’t have to, obviously, I get it.” You were silent for a moment. You’d never really talked about it, especially not to a stranger. But then again, he’d been through the same shit. Ah, fuck it. You’d probably never see him again after this night, anyway. “Sure. My mom was a screechy-ass bitch. My dad hooked up with her and got her pregnant, and they had to have a shotgun wedding.”

You continued on. “She was always angry, always complaining about everything. She took it out on my dad all the time. One night, he couldn’t take it anymore. He just left. I was 10. That’s when she took it out on me. She’d beat me up and throw shit at me and scream about how ugly and useless and stupid I was. Eventually, I just couldn’t take it anymore. Ran away as soon as I was 18.”

Axl stared at you thoughtfully. “Same situation as me, then. My dad beat on me and my siblings a lot. Pretty sure he did some gross shit to me as a baby, too.” You glanced up in horror. “Dude, that’s awful.” He nodded. “Right? Fucked. Nice to have someone who can relate. Glad it’s a pretty girl, too. Two-in-one bonus.” You smiled. He was charming, you had to admit. Maybe a hookup wasn’t such a bad idea.

————————————————————

After another hour and another 3 drinks, the two of you had talked about basically everything. Your childhoods, your shitty parents, your goals in life, your issues. He was an insecure, anger-filled primadonna, you were a lonely, apathetic bar fly. It was an odd combination, but you felt a connection in a way. Things had also gotten steadily more tension-filled as the night went on. He had moved his body closer to yours, and every time you made eye contact there was a hint of lust.

When the conversation came to an awkward halt(his bandmates had come over to ask for more quarters for the pinball machine), you fidgeted with your skirt and stared off into space. When you glanced back at him, he was dead-staring at you. “What, Rose? See something you like?” You teased him. He nodded. “Yeah, I do. Just not quite sure how to get it yet.” A hint. You thought over what he was implying, wondering if you really were willing to hookup with a stranger from a bar. Well, he wasn’t really a stranger. You’d spoken for a while, and he was cute, and he seemed to understand you in a way no one else really did. So, you took a chance. You leaned forward, lips brushing against his, and whispered a soft reply. “Just ask.”

That was enough. He leaned forward, completing the kiss, smashing his lips against yours, one hand reaching up to cup your face. The other slid around your waist, and pulled you closer to him. After a second, you pulled away and stood up, grabbing his hand and leading him towards the back room that the employees had let you crash in before. Slash and Duff called out cheers and wolf-whistles as you passed, but he ignored them in his haste.

You threw open the door, turning on the dim lamp and closing the door behind you, revealing a room with a single bed, a tv, and a table. Axl quickly pulled you back in for another kiss, and this time you led him to the bed and pulled him down onto it with you, his body pressed against yours so tightly you could feel his bulge forming beneath him. You pushed your hips up against his, and he groaned loudly, grinding against you and deepening the kiss. “Fuck.” His lips were red and swollen.

“You sure you’re down for this?” You nodded quickly. “Hell yeah. Take those fucking pants off so I can suck your dick.” His eyes widened at your lust-filled statement, and he quickly undid his pants and threw the belt to the floor. “Don’t have to tell me twice.” You yanked his pants and his boxers down, tossed them aside, and pushed him into a seated position on the edge of the bed. His shaft was long and hard, the tip red and dripping with pre-cum.

You fell to your knees, hands reaching down to push his thighs further apart, and rubbed his tip teasingly. He hissed in pleasure and bucked his hips upwards. You pumped your hands over the shaft a couple of times, and then leaned down and took the head of his cock into your mouth, sucking it lightly as your hands continued to pleasure his shaft. He groaned loudly, throwing his head back, his ginger locks falling into his face sexily as he gripped your hair.

Axl pushed your head down further, begging you to take his whole shaft in, and you obliged, greedily slurping his precum up as you deepthroated his cock and licked at his balls. You glanced up to see his expression, and felt a wave of shock. His eyes were squeezed shut, lips parted open slightly, cheeks flushed, hair messily hanging in his face. He no longer looked like an arrogantly confident primadonna; he looked like the vulnerable 24 year old boy he was.

You felt a wave of affection, and pulled off of his cock to kiss his tip, taking it back into your mouth and suckling the head and rubbing his balls. He threaded his fingers through your hair, mumbling words of praise under his breath. “Fuck, baby, that’s so good..fuck, I’m gonna cum.” You pulled off abruptly, kissing his cock one more time, and stood up. He stared at you in confusion. “Can’t cum til you’re inside me.”

He grinned, and quickly pulled off his shirt, reaching out to grab you by the waist and pull you on top of him. He flipped over so you were beneath him, and hastily removed your shirt and bra, giving your breasts a bit of attention before his eyes wandered down to the skirt that concealed your pussy. He reached under and pulled your panties down to your ankles, but kept the skirt. “Pull it up enough that I can see that pretty little pussy, baby.”

You squirmed with pleasure at the compliment, and hastily yanked the skirt up to expose your pink, dripping pussy. Axl’s eyes lit up, and he moved down to press a kiss against your clit before pulling each of your legs over his shoulder and beginning to eat your pussy like a starving beggar. His tongue teased your clit, sucking at it as your legs tightened around his head. After a minute, your hips began bucking up against him, and you moaned loudly as you started to cum.

He pulled away at the last second, a grin on his face. “Payback, baby. Not til I’m inside you.” You flushed in irritation, but it was quickly forgotten as he began to tease your clit with the head of his cock. Axl settled above you, one hand resting on the bed beside you and the other holding his cock in place as he slowly began to push it down inside of you. You gasped at the sensation as his cock head stretched you out, and a groan left Axl’s lips as your tight, wet heat wrapped around him perfectly.

“Fuck, that’s good, baby. So tight and wet for me. God, your pussy feels amazing.” Your nails dug into his back, his body pressed tightly against yours as he slid his cock in and out of your soaking wet heat. The sound of your hips slapping together filled the room, as did his heavy breathing and your loud moans. He adjusted his position and began to thrust in from a different angle, his cock slamming against your g-spot at a rough pace. You were practically screaming in pleasure; it wouldn’t be surprising if the patrons of the bar could hear you.

Axl’s pace became sloppy, his hips stuttering and his breathing getting heavier and more erratic. Quiet, deep moans and soft words of praise began to spill from his lips as his orgasm neared; judging from the knot in your belly, so was yours. He thrust in one more time and then quickly pulled out, fingers automatically taking his place to rub and play with your clit until, with a shuddering gasp, you came hard all over his fingers.

Axl steadily jerked his fist over his cock, cumming as quick as you had with a loud groan, his head falling back as his cock painted white stripes of cum on your bare tummy. His breathing finally slowed, and he leaned down, kissing up and down your sweat-slicked neck and exhaustedly burying his face in your shoulder. “Holy fuck.” The only words he could seem to summon.

After a quiet moment where the two of you steadily came down from your highs, he carefully got up and grabbed a roll of paper towels from a cardboard box; he sat down on the bed next to your tired body, and lovingly began to clean you up. When he’d finished the job, he threw the roll aside and climbed in next to you burying his face back in your neck and wrapping his arms around your waist. The heat from his body was soothing.

“That was amazing.” He whispered softly to you. You smiled. “Yeah, it was.” Axl was quiet for another moment, and then spoke again, tentatively, as if he was worried he would upset you. “Is this a one time thing?” You thought it over. You didn’t want it to be. He was a lot sweeter than he seemed, and you were definitely more attached now that his cock had been inside you. “Do you want it to be?” “No.” It was quick, simple, honest. He meant it.

“I know we fucked and we barely know each other, but I kinda feel like there’s something here. A connection or whatever. I don’t know, I feel like this could go somewhere. But it’s fine if not. Let’s go to sleep here. If you wake up and don’t want this to be anything more, leave. If you do, stay.” You nodded. “Alright.” You could tell he was trying to sound more apathetic than he was. You brushed aside the heavy conversation and focused on your exhausted mind and his warm body. The two of you quickly drifted to sleep.

The next morning, Axl awoke to an empty bed and empty arms. His heart sank. He should have known this was a one-time deal. But then, his eyes landed on a folded-up piece of paper on the bedside table. He snatched it up and soaked in the loopy, slightly messy scrawl.

Axl-had to leave early, forgot I had work today. Last night was amazing. Call me tonight, we’ll go to a restaurant or something. xoxo, (Y/n).

Your number was at the bottom of the paper. Axl’s face broke out into a grin, and he flopped back down onto the bed, smiling up at the ceiling like a good, the memory of last night replaying in his mind. What a pair. The barfly and the primadonna. Soulmates, sort of. You had to be. That pussy was just too good to not be magic.

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door. “Ax? You in there? That chick you banged left like 2 hours ago.” Duff? “You and Slash are still here? It’s like 10am.” Axl could feel Duff’s grin from behind the door. “We stayed outside the door so we could hear. Chick must have some kick-ass pussy.” Slash drunkenly joined in from behind the door. “Yeah, that’s for sure. Let me have a go.” Axl groaned and pulled the covers over his head. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could go back to sleep, escaping his obnoxious bandmates and dreaming of you-and that kick-ass pussy.

#guns n roses #axl rose #axl rose x reader #guns n roses x reader #guns n roses imagine #duff mckagan #slash #slash hudson #guns n roses slash #slash guns n roses #saul hudson #guns n roses smut #axl rose smut

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snarkwriteswrasslin · 4 years

Text

sprung spring | somebody watching me; drew mcintyre [m]

PROMPTS USED:

“You won’t be able to walk after I’m done with you.” + “that feels so good.” + From Behind + choking + fingering + standing up / in front of a window + “I’m not wearing any panties.” + teasing,dirty talk + “Someone’s watching us.” “Then stop holding back your moans and let’s give them a show.” + Voyeurism - hinted at -

NOTES:

Whew.. Was this ever a bitch to pull off. And I’m going to be totally honest with everyone, I really do not feel like I executed it to the best of my ability, but.. It finally started to flow and I did not dare stop or turn back. I feel like personally, this isn’t the best thing I’ve written, but... lately, I’ve been lagging in motivation or time and I’m just lowkey relieved that I finally got this out and got it to work. It took me like... two weeks I think? I’m gonna be honest. In hindsight, I do believe that my entire problem with execution here was Voyeurism. Because I just couldn’t get myself to come up with a scenario in which either party would willingly allow someone to watch? Oh and I’m realizing now that I totally ignored the prompt “I’m not wearing any panties.” but.. It’s out and I got it written and I pushed through another personal boundary I had no clue I had (voyeurism) and I just hope at least one person enjoys it?

WARNINGS:

sexual acts, duh. oral sex, edging, light choking, sex in front of a window - with someone watching outside, swearing, unprotected sex, body fluids, and biting/marking, oops rip that one snuck it’s way in.

PAIRING:

Drew McIntyre x OFC, Rhiannon

I didn’t try to tag anyone here. Tags are notorious fail for me, so... Maybe I’ll try to tag people again soon.

They flocked to him almost the instant she and Drew entered the party. And given that he had just accomplished a pretty huge career milestone, Rhiannon totally understood why. She also understood that they were best friends and that getting jealous or upset over it was something a girlfriend would do and something she had absolutely no right to do.

But damn it, it bothered her when she looked over and saw Mandy Rose practically hanging all over Drew. Granted, Drew looked totally annoyed and when they locked eyes across the crowded party, he rolled his eyes while glancing down at Mandy and Rhiannon’s response was to give a mild shrug and giggle about it while sipping her drink… It still bothered her. Way more than she cared to admit.

This is just one of many reasons you’re trying to stop flirting with him so hardcore and get yourself some distance, her brain chose that second to both remind her and scold her for not sticking to her original plan; telling Drew she had a date again tonight.

The pathetic thing is, she thought to herself, I don’t have a date. I… literally cannot fathom being with anyone else but him, I just know I can never tell him. She sighed and dragged her fingers through her hair, trying to silence the thought but it wouldn’t be silenced. It remained, nagging and nagging at her, eating away and driving her crazy.

Just like a whopping 99 percent of the time lately. It was getting harder and harder to be around him and keep her feelings hidden. It honestly felt like at any second, she was just gonna open her mouth and the words were gonna come tumbling right out.

A flash of red had her smiling and when Heath Slater came fully into view, she ran over, hugging the man. Heath nodded in Drew’s direction, chuckling in amusement. “Got separated, huh?”

“The second we stepped in the door, everybody bum rushed him. I mean… He did just win the Universal title. I’m just kinda… giving him space.”

“That look in your eyes, lil bit. Says that’s the last thing you wanna do.” Heath chuckled and dragged his fingers through shaggy ginger hair as he eyed Rhiannon intently. She sighed and shrugged, nodding towards Mandy, who seemed to finally be catching onto the fact that Drew wasn’t overly fond of her or the way she was invading his personal space. “I mean… let’s face it. There’s no way in hell I can stack up to… That.”

Heath fixed his gaze on Mandy who was storming off, annoyed and he shook his head, looking from one woman to the other. “Girl.. I oughta smack you in th’ back of the head for that. I’m tellin ya… You’d be surprised what happened if you finally just took a chance.”

“Heath, don’t.”

“I mean.. Everybody in back already thinks ya’ll are a thing thanks to earlier at the arena, that little scene with Ziggler. Ziggler told everybody after it happened.” Heath shrugged and reached out as a server made their way past, grabbing himself a beer and twisting off the top, shotgunning half.

Rhiannon stood there, heavily considering Heath’s words and cringing over the fact that Ziggler had told everyone that she and Drew were a thing, just keeping it quiet. She groaned quietly, rubbing her forehead. “How many of ‘em laughed and thought I was delusional?”

“Nobody, actually.” Heath flashed a grin and stepped closer to let some people get past the two of them. His gaze met Drew’s gaze and he flashed a smirk, shrugging at his best friend. If Rhiannon could see the look he was getting right now, that firm warning glare that Drew had the habit of giving pretty much anyone where Rhiannon was concerned… But she didn’t.

Just like Drew never seemed to notice that Rhiannon was flirtatious with him almost constantly. And that when they were together, they acted like an actual couple.

… somebody’s gotta do somethin… Heath mused to himself as he nursed the beer in his hands. If these two didn’t get this whole thing sorted out soon, they were going to combust. He stepped away from Rhiannon slightly, giving a teasing defensive wave of his hands as if to indicate no, he was not trying to make a move.

Drew seemed to relax and Heath chuckled to himself. Right up to the point where he saw Brock Lesnar and Paul Heyman making their way into the party.

Rhiannon tensed and swallowed hard almost the instant she set sights on Brock and caught him already staring at her…. And worse, making his way over. She rolled her eyes and grabbed for a cup sitting on a table nearby, filling it with the rum laced punch in the bowl in the middle.

Just as he reached where she stood with Heath, Rhiannon took a huge sip of the punch, making Heath laugh.

“What the fuck are you doing here, huh? I heard this was invite only.”

“It is, but let’s be real, do you see anybody linin up to throw me out? Didn’t think so. Take a hike, ginger. I’ve got something to finish discussing with the little lady here.”

“Already told you, buffoon. Not.Fucking.Interested.” Rhiannon raised her hand, putting it right into Lesnar’s face as she stepped as far away from him as possible. Or tried to… she wasn’t quick enough because his hand went to her hip and he was pulling her close.

Heath cleared his throat loudly, clenching his fists. He shot a look back to where Drew stood, grumbling when he saw that apparently, Mandy was back and trying her luck again and as usual, Drew was entirely too fucking polite to tell her to fuck off already. “Just fuckin great. Awesome.”

“Didn’t I tell you to get fucked, Red? Do you wanna get F5’ed tonight?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time, shrimp dick.” Heath grumbled, tensing all over, stepping up.

Rhiannon stepped between the two, glaring almost hatefully up at Brock. “Did those steroids we all know you pop like goddamn skittles rot your brain? I told you earlier. I have absolutely no use for you. I have a real man.”

“A real man, huh? Well looks like your real man is over there… Lettin Mandy Rose fawn all over him. C’mon.. you know you want me.” a beefy finger trailed beneath her chin and Rhiannon rolled her eyes, snapping her teeth at it as if she intended to bite it off. Brock’s eyes flashed a brighter shade of milky blue momentarily.

From behind her, Zelina cleared her throat.

“Did anybody invite you?”

“Did they have to? I do what I want.” Brock’s tongue trailed lazily over his lower lip and Zelina grumbled, rolling her eyes, casting a glance at Rhiannon. “Drew’s girlfriend, right?”

Rhiannon swallowed hard. Heath eyed Rhiannon, hints of a teasing smirk playing at his lips as he shrugged and turned his attention back to Brock, squaring up.

Rhiannon eyed Zelina and nodded. “Yeah. I’m just asking myself if this fuckin idiot got one too many Claymore kicks to the head earlier. Because I swear, I’ve already told him more than once the only way I’d ever be interested is never. I could have a gun to my head and I’d still choose the gun.”

“You heard her, shoo. Get movin. Scram!” Zelina sassed, stepping up to the giant of a man. “Besides, I don’t recall my friends inviting you. And they are the ones throwing this party, if I need to remind you. As a matter of fact, I believe that Maryse specifically said if you dared to show up, she wanted the cops called.”

“You really think you scare me?” Brock snorted in derision, staring down the two smaller females intently. Rhiannon nudged Zelina and leaned in, muttered loudly enough for Brock to hear, “I’m telling you… Steroids are a helluva drug.”

Brock clenched his fist and chuckled. “Sassy… I like that.”

“I’d like it if you fucked all the way off. But honestly, I don’t recall asking you what you like at any point.” Rhiannon gave a mild shrug.

“Your man’s gonna lose that title.. Then you’re gonna come running to me. We all know that belt’s the only thing you’re after. I know your type.”

“You know nothing. Nada.” Zelina spoke up, glaring up at the taller man. Rhiannon nodded in agreement, stepping closer. “He’s about to know how it feels to catch a stiletto to the balls though if he doesn’t fuck outta here.”

“Careful… His type considers that foreplay, girl.” Zelina spoke up, grimacing at the thought of anyone willingly getting in bed with Brock.

Rhiannon bit her lip, dragging her hand through thick and dark curls, tapping her foot impatiently. Heath cleared his throat menacingly. “Do you need help getting the fuck out? Huh? Because I can go find more than a few of the guys who are more than a little sick of you showin up and fuckin shit up… Or I can just do it my damn self. Either way’s fine, son.”

“I’m not your goddamn son, Slater.” Brock stepped up. Heath stepped up too and Rhiannon cleared her throat.

“Okay, whoa.”

Across the room, Jinder nudged Drew and leaned in, whispering into his ear, “Hey… You might want to get over there to Riri. You know how she gets when she’s scared and you know how Brock is.”

Drew growled as he looked over to find Heath and Brock in a tense staredown with Rhiannon stuck between the two and Zelina raising enough hell to get the attention she needed drawn to the area. Drew clenched his fists and calmly shoved past Mandy, leaving her to pout and grumble about not getting what his thing was for the dark haired girl.

“She’s not even that pretty.”

Jinder eyed Mandy and rolled his eyes. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” Jinder shrugged as he grabbed for his own drink and took a sip. “You should leave him alone, by the way.”

“But he’s not even with that… woman.”

“Her name is Rhiannon and actually, they live together.”

“Well he sure as hell doesn’t talk about her all the time… I mean…” Mandy stammered, trying to justify the flirting she’d been doing. Jinder eyed her and laughed. “Ziggler is more your speed if you want the honest truth.” Jinder walked away, leaving Mandy to stand there, mouth agape.

Drew shoved through a crowd and stopped behind Brock.

“Aw, c’mon, princess. You know who the real man is. You know you want me.”

“I’d honestly rather fling myself into a dying star.” Rhiannon countered, bending to slip off her stiletto. She was beyond done with this, she just wanted Brock to leave already. He was causing a scene.

As most ‘nice guys’ do, of course.

“What’s so fucked in your brain that you can’t understand what I said earlier? The only man who’s getting any part of this,” Rhiannon gestured to herself with a smirk, “Is Drew McIntyre?”

Drew nearly choked when he heard her say it and he cleared his throat menacingly. Between what he’d just heard and what Jinder, Tamina and Nia were saying she’d openly admitted to earlier at the arena when they all talked… Tonight was that one shot. The one he’d been waiting on. If she really felt this way and he knew his own feelings were only growing more and more each day and getting harder to hide as a result.. Something had to give.

Heath was right. There was no perfect time. There was time, however. Picking his moment was only going to keep things tense. Stepping up… Taking what he wanted… that was clearly what he needed to at least try and do here.

Bearing that in mind, he didn’t hesitate when Brock turned to see who was standing behind him. Instead, he raised his fist and sent it smashing into Brock’s nose. Brock went to lunge and Drew stepped to the side, letting Brock wind up on the floor. “Did ah not tell ye earlier? She es mine.”

Brock was getting up, smirking and about to swing. Drew ducked and raised his leg, sending a kick to Brock’s midsection. Then he grabbed hold of his shirt and hurled him towards the door, standing over him and sneering down calmly. “Ah’m da only one whose goin ta take ‘er home. Get it through yer fookin thick ‘ead.”

The shoving match started again and Jinder and Heath as well as Paul and another or two of the guys present were quick to step in, get the two apart and Paul was dragging Brock out the door.

Drew fixed his gaze intently on Rhiannon and he flashed this amused smirk, shrugging at the way she pouted up at him. “Wot?”

“You and that temper, I swear.”

“Ef ah ‘adn’t come over, he never would’ve fucked off.” Drew was stepping closer; much closer. Rhiannon’s heart raced and she took a shaky breath, stepping closer to him before she could stop herself. She gave a nervous laugh, twisting dark curls around her fingertip as she looked up at him. “How much of that did you hear because I… I can explain?”

“Ah ‘eard enough. Was standing dere da whole time.” Drew licked his lip and couldn’t resist the gently teasing smirk that came when he saw her eyes lock on his lips intently, almost dazed.

Everything Heath and Jinder ever told him as ‘proof’ that she was flirting with him heavily and she was definitely as into him as he was her came rushing back and between that and the adrenaline from the night as a whole, Drew didn’t think, he acted instead, grabbing hold of her, pulling her up his body. Rhiannon’s legs squeezed his waist and her arms went around his neck as Drew started to make his way out of the room, wandering down a long hallway in search of somewhere, anywhere that might be just a little quieter.

“Drew?”

“Yeah, love?” Drew swore as he tried to pull on a door knob to a closed door and found it not budging, not even slightly. He stopped messing with the doorknob, gazing at her intently. “Wot’s up?”

“You’re not… saying anything… About what I said..” Rhiannon managed to get the words out, shaky voice and all.

“Dat’s because ah’m not a talker, remember? But as soon as ah can find a bloody unlocked room, ah fully intend t’ show y’ exactly how ah feel about it, love.” his lips brushed right against her mouth as he spoke and she whimpered, trailing her tongue over his bottom lip, earning her a growl from him as he pinned her between the door and his body, her back making a soft thud against the wooden door as it made contact. She dug her nails into his shoulders lightly and licked her lips, staring at his intently. Drew couldn’t help but chuckle and he muttered quietly, “If y’ want t’ do something, do it.”

“Don’t tempt me.” Rhiannon muttered, not bothering to censor herself. It was starting to click and the shock was starting to wear off, leaving this almost euphoric high in it’s place. He felt the same. He had to. Her heart felt like it was about to beat right out of her chest. The rush was almost dizzying.

“Oh, ah’m temptin y’.” Drew’s lips brushed against her mouth again and her nails dug in just a little more as she crashed her mouth against his lips. He nipped at her lower lip with his teeth, his hands digging into her ass as he shifted her in his arms slightly. His tongue trailed over the outline of her mouth, then slipping between scarlet colored lips, lazily trailing over her teeth and slipping between to tangle with her tongue. She wound up tugging his hair out of the ponytail he’d thrown it into before leaving the arena, her fingers tangling in it, tugging and using her grip to pull his mouth into the kiss even deeper. He groaned into the kiss, the noise quickly swallowed and overpowered by the soft smacks of their mouths meeting over and over.. Deeper and more desperate; almost frenzied.

“Challenge accepted.” Rhiannon breathed against his mouth; breaking the kiss to ghost her lips right down the side of his neck. She knew him well enough to know that his neck was a hot zone… Anything, even the slightest accidental touch was… Basically asking for it. She felt him tense and felt his fingers digging into her body as he shifted her in his arms. She pressed herself into him completely, rubbing herself against him just a little.

Drew shivered at the contact, sucking in a sharp breath, muttering a husky warning against her lips. “Yer askin for me t’ take y’ right here, against the door.”

“I’m not exactly going to complain.” Rhiannon was at it again, rubbing against him impatiently, whimpering when his mouth latched onto her throat, leaving a bold mark right out in plain sight as he bucked himself into her and his hands moved slowly over her body. “Tell me somethin, love?” Drew muttered as he gazed up at her, a wicked gleam in his eye. “How wet are y’ right now, hm?”

All Rhiannon could do was whimper, because they came to another stop, Drew sitting her on top of a console table between two rooms, his hands quickly disappearing beneath the hem of her dress. As his palm came to a halt over her throbbing sex, he hissed when he realized that she was well beyond soaked already, growling against her mouth as he gripped her jawline, tugging her face closer, crashing his mouth against her own. His palm settled over her core, squeezing and she slid forward on the tabletop, wrapping her legs around his waist tighter, desperate for friction, trying to settle for rocking herself against the slow and steady torture of his hand. “That… fuck that feels so good. Mmm.. Harder, Drew.” she moaned out as he began to squeeze and rub her cunt harder and faster, growling quietly into her mouth as she rocked herself against him more urgently.

“Harder?” he questioned, meeting her gaze, a chuckle forming as he flashed a mischievous gaze at her. “Gettin close are y’?”

“Just want you now.” Rhiannon begged shamelessly, not caring how it sounded. Drew scooped her off the table and stepped to the door closest to them, trying the knob. The second the door swung open, he gave a quiet and triumphant laugh, stepping inside, closing the door behind him before turning his attention back to Rhiannon.

“Ah asked y’ a question.” he was using that firm but teasing tone on her. And damned if it didn’t stir her up, just like it did every single time she’d hear him using it in his promos on tv.. Or on her whenever they were just playing around with each other at their apartment. Rhiannon gulped and nodded, pouting up at him and giving him the most pleading look she could dredge up. The one that always got him to cave and give up the remote.

Drew groaned quietly, stepping over to the bed, gently tossing her down and following suit, settling himself over her, burying his mouth in the side of her neck. He wanted her marked all over and too sore to even think about walking out of the room on her own. As long as he’d waited to finally be able to do this… He was going to make absolutely sure that everyone knew she was his.

He parted her legs with his body, centering himself over her. Rhiannon’s hands went for the hem of his tee shirt, tugging it up and throwing it to the floor nearby. Drew eyed her dress hungrily, his hands venturing down, pushing it up around her hips and then tugging it up, throwing it to the floor to settle softly next to his discarded shirt. He leaned down, a hand going beneath her to catch in the clasp of her bra and as soon as he had that free, he was tossing it to the floor too. His eyes roamed downward, settling on her panties before locking eyes with her again as he licked his lips and chuckled quietly, lowering himself.

Rhiannon’s hips rocked upward almost the second she felt his teeth sliding over her skin, catching here and there before giving the waistband of her panties a tug. As he continued to work them down her legs with his mouth, she shivered and whimpered softly, the feel of his facial hair and his tongue against her skin sending goosebumps all over her body. Her legs fell open wide and once her panties reached her ankles, she kicked them free quickly, raising to sit, her hands going for the waistband of his jeans. Drew lowered her hands, nodding to the mattress, that firm look in his eyes. “Oh no y’ don’t. Ah’m th’ one whose goin’ t’ take care ‘f you.” he licked his lips, holding her gaze. His hand lowered to the button on his jeans almost painfully slow and Rhiannon whimpered, swallowing hard, her eyes darting down, watching the movement of his hand almost intently. “It goes both ways.” she muttered quietly, raising her hand, fingers going for the zip.

Drew chuckled and allowed it, shivering as she took the chance to palm at the way he strained hard against his jeans before finally unzipping them. The second she’d gotten them unzipped, Drew was standing, earning him a pout from her. He discarded his shoes and then tugged down his pants. Drew sank down to his knees in front of her, pulling her closer to him on the bed, flashing her a hungry look before parting her legs, his hands gripping her hips as he started to work his mouth up the inside of her thighs. Rhiannon shivered and moaned quietly, propping on her elbows, biting her lip as she gazed down at him. Between the burn she felt from his beard against the inside of her thighs and the fact that he stopped to nip and suck at her skin, she felt her heels digging into his shoulders and her fingers already starting to grip at the bedcovers. “Fuck.”

Her whimpers and quiet groans had him smirking against her skin, daring to sink his teeth in a little more, leave more marks. She rocked her hips upward, trying to get closer. Her fingers were tangling in his hair, tugging, trying to guide his mouth upward. He dug his fingers into her hips to keep her still and she gave a pleading whimper.

Drew all but stopped, gazing up at her, taking in the sight of her with her face all flushed and her eyes fluttering open and shut. He could feel her tensing and he muttered lazily against her skin, “Relax.” - almost in a firm command. “Get as loud as y’ want.” he encouraged as his mouth started to roam higher. He moved his hand away from her hip, trailing it almost teasingly over her dripping core, meeting her gaze again. “Put yer legs over my shoulders.” he instructed as he pulled her closer, his tongue ghosting right up her center as he buried his fingers deep inside and dug his other hand into her hip to hold her as still as he could. “Dat’s a girl. And so fookin wet already. Good.” he muttered as his tongue circled her clit slowly, making her whimper a little louder, the sound echoing off the wall only to be muted by the music that seemed to filter through the walls from the party going on down the hall.

Rhiannon tried to rock her hips against his mouth and fingers but his grip was too tight. She whimpered a little louder, begging because he seemed to be enjoying this slow torture he was dishing out. “Drew, please… Now?” she breathed out, her fingers digging into the bedding a little more, gripping at his hair a little tighter.

Drew groaned as the taste of her hit his tongue and he stopped to gaze up at her again, biting his lip and giving her a smirk. Hearing her beg for it was… Hotter than anything he’d ever allowed himself to imagine. And it only seemed to bring out his teasing side, because he dipped his head again, trailing a straight line up her folds and then dragging his tongue outward in a curve to form the letter D.

Rhiannon’s whimpers turned to moans and she bit her lip, sucking in several sharp breaths. Drew’s fingertips dug into her hip tighter and he chuckled because he felt her starting to shake. Daring to tease just a little more, he dragged his tongue between her folds and worked his fingers even deeper inside, scissoring and massaging, his tongue plunging in, another growl at the thickening taste of her on his tongue.

“Fook.” he swore against her heat, his tongue slipping out as his fingers continued to work her open and stretch her. She tried again to buck her hips and get more friction, just a little more, but tears of frustration built when she realized that thanks to his grip on her hip, she really didn’t have much movement and that was exactly the way he wanted it. As his tongue trailed another straight line and then the two curves required to form the R in his name, Rhiannon’s heels dug into his back and she whimpered loud enough that the sound seemed to echo through the room. Drew smirked against her core and muttered calmly, “Louder, Riri. C’mon.. Ah want da whole party t’ know whose da one makin y’ feel so fookin good right now, princess.”

“Drew, fuck.. C’mon, please..” Rhiannon breathed out, gasping as she nearly choked up when his tongue plunged back deep into her cunt, swirling and competing with his finger’s scissoring and fucking into her deep and fast. “Please what?” he asked, gazing up at her as he came to a stop. He’d felt her tense up again and determined to keep her right on the edge until she was a whimpering and dripping mess beneath him had him stopping, just to let her back away from the edge. Her heels were digging lightly into his back and her hands had a white knuckle grip on his hair and the bedding beneath her body. The flush of her cheeks, that tongue dragging slowly over kiss swollen lips had him biting his lip and giving another quiet groan as he turned his attention back to what he’d been doing, muttering against her soft skin simply, “Patient, princess. Be patient. Y’ won’t be able t’ walk when ah’m done with y’, princess. Dat’s a promise.”

“But it feels so… Fuck..” Rhiannon trailed off as she felt him starting to drag his tongue over her folds all over again, tracing an E into them this time, sending a shiver through her entire body in the process. Her whimpers and moans were starting to get a little louder, and Drew gave a louder groan of his own as he felt her body tensing up, felt her really starting to drip and puddle, his tongue lowering to her thigh to chase up her juices as he glanced up at her. He could look at her and tell she was teetering right on the edge, literally all it would take was him saying it was okay, telling her she could get off.

But not yet.

His head dipped again, his nose bumping against her pelvic mound as his tongue worked it’s way back up, ghosting over her folds, circling her clit and maybe for just the briefest of seconds, allowing his teeth to gently graze against the circular bundle of nerves which only made her moan louder, try again to rock her hips urgently. And then, he started to trail the shape of a W into her cunt, burying his tongue inside deep, his tongue and his fingers massaging and scissoring as she got wetter and wetter. “Wot’s wrong, princess?” he asked the question lazily, his voice sending a jolt of pleasure through her body as her fingers tugged at his hair, trying to push his head down lower, guide his mouth back down where she needed it most as her back arched and her free hand dug into the bedding beneath her even harder, fingers going numb at the grip she had on the bedding.

“Drew, p-please. Now.” Rhiannon’s head tilted back slightly, her tongue moving slowly over her lips as she took a few deep breaths and fought back the sting of frustrated tears.

Like before, he repeated himself firmly, shaking his head as he paused to look up at her from his position between her thighs. “Not yet. But if y’ keep gettin louder for me…” his tongue trailed over his lips and she shivered, pouting, trying to squirm where he had her pinned against the mattress, to rub against him somehow, get any little bit of friction she could manage.

But Drew wasn’t having it.

Apparently, he was going to keep slowly pushing her close to the edge, only to stop and guide her away.

When she felt his tongue join his fingers buried deep inside her cunt, she arched her back and her hand went back to his hair, tugging, almost pushing his mouth down closer. She was grateful she had even that little bit of motion left between the way he held her hip in place and the fact that she was so fucking close that it literally had her shaking and blurred dots lining her vision already.

Her cries echoed off the walls of the dimly lit room; louder with each one that left her lips. Drew groaned out loud as his tongue swirled faster and his fingers dug into her hips harder, almost a bruising grip. He felt her tensing up all over again and he muttered against her dripping core, “Know what ah want t’ do after this, hmm?”

“W-what’s that?” Rhiannon gasped out, trying to catch her breath, trying to keep the orgasm threatening to rip through her at bay just a little bit longer. Almost failing at it too. She locked eyes with him, giving him her most pleading look; prepared to beg if she had to. It almost felt like she was definitely going to have to resort to that.

Drew nodded to the window and licked the taste of her off his lips, coming back up her body to pull her into a deep and slow kiss while continuing to fuck his fingers deep into her cunt, his thumb lightly circling and pressing or toying with her clit as he did so. “Ah want t’ take y’ right against dat window. Y’ want me t’ do et, princess?”

Rhiannon’s head fell back and she rocked herself upward against his fingers buried inside as she moaned out loud “Fuck, please Drew…” as the kiss broke and his fingers scissoring, thrusting movements sped up just a little. Just enough so that for a few seconds, she was getting enough friction to catch her breath and back away from that edge just a little.

And then he was lowering himself again, back between her legs, throwing one over each shoulder as he raised her hip, gripping them both with his hands. This time, his tongue buried deep in her cunt, swirling and licking greedily as he growled and the warmth of his breath and his heavy facial scruff tickled at her skin and pushed her even closer. Thrusting her hips against his mouth, Rhiannon took full advantage at the sudden freedom to move she had, rocking her hips for him and sending his tongue deeper inside.

“Fook.” he groaned out against her skin. “Faster, princess. C’mon, keep et up. Want y’ screamin m’ name.”

“Ugh, fuck.. Drew.. I’m.. I’m..” Rhiannon was dangerously close to giving in to the intense orgasm built, a breath away. Drew nipped her pelvic mound, gazing up at her, that smirk on his face. “Let go, princess.”

And she did, shaking and gripping the bedding beneath her. Drew licking her clean greedily and then raising up, dragging the back of his hand over his mouth as he lowered himself, crashing his mouth against her mouth. As the kiss broke, Rhiannon’s eyes settled on the window and then her gaze shifted down to Drew’s cock. He couldn’t stop the curious smirk he gave, not that he wanted to. “Wot do y’ wan’ t’ do? Use yer words.”

“I’d rather show you.” Rhiannon muttered in a lust-filled daze, biting her lip as she nodded towards the window again. Drew chuckled and started to walk away, standing there, beckoning her to him. Rhiannon slipped off the bed, tip toeing across the room, pulling his mouth down against her own again. Drew’s hands were all over her, gripping and squeezing and leaving his fair share of handprints behind. She was just about to sink to her knees in front of him but he bit his lip, stepping away, then stopping in front of her, staring down at her all over again as he pressed himself into her heavily. “Turn around.”

“Drew..”

“Turn around, love. Press against th’ window.” Drew muttered the words against her neck lazily. Under his firm gaze, she did as asked, turning away. Almost the second she felt his cock slip between her thighs, grazing right against tender and throbbing folds, she whimpered and a shiver ran through her body, making him chuckle against her neck just before sinking his teeth in and letting his lips latch on. “Feel good?”

“Mhm.. so good. It’s gonna feel so much better when you’re finally fucking me.. Please...C’mon.” Rhiannon begged, daring to wiggle her ass against him, making his cock graze against her all over again and Drew growled as his arm wrapped around her, his hand dipping down and disappearing between her thighs. She whimpered louder and he groaned as he felt her shake just a little. “Tender, hm?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

“Just wait til ah’m done wit’ y.. Yer not goin’ t’ be able t’ move.” Drew’s voice against her skin was husky, the warmth of his breath tickling her skin along with the coarse beard. Rhiannon gripped the edges of the window, bracing herself as Drew’s fingers continued to lazily circle her clit, applying light pressure, toying with the bundle of throbbing nerves until she was moaning his name, breathless and begging even louder.

His other hand roamed upward, squeezing her breasts, briefly lingering at the base of her throat as he grazed his cock against her all over again, teasing the tip between her folds. When she bit her lip and bucked her ass against him urgently, a series of frantic begging whimpers falling from her lips and echoing off the walls. He chuckled as it clicked and he realized that maybe she had a thing about the way his hand rested against her throat.

“Fuck. Please.. C’mon, Drew, I need you… inside me..” Rhiannon begged, a pleading moan coming next as she felt his fingers squeezing into her throat just a little bit. He growled against her ear, a dark chuckle following as he sank into her slowly, almost carefully and went still, gasping against the shell of her ear, “So fookin tight.” and nipped at it. When he felt her starting to relax, he started to slam into her hard and slow, as deep as he could get. Rhiannon met his thrusts into her with her own rocking motions, the pace between them syncing easily, even though she was dying for him to go faster, harder.. His hand squeezed at her throat a little harder and he gave another low chuckle. “Y’ like my ‘and around yer throat, do y’?”

“Mhm.. Oh.. -oh fuck… right there, baby.. C’mon, fuck me harder.” Rhiannon begged aloud before she ever realized she’d done it and Drew groaned, slamming into her harder and slower, making sure she felt every single inch of his thick length as it sank deep into her womb. The way she squeezed around him had him taking it slower, stilling to nip at her neck and leave little bite marks all over her neck, muttering against her skin how good it felt to fuck her, asking her at one point, “Do y’ like et? Knowin dat anybody who walks by th’ window can see me fucking y’? Answer me, princess.”

“Y-yes. Fuck. Right there, c’mon. Harder, baby.” Rhiannon begged, her back arching against him, his hand gripping her hip tight as he started to really slam into her from behind, pressing into her, pressing her right up against the window.

“Harder, hm?” Drew questioned, giving her throat another little squeeze. Rhiannon whimpered as the dizzying intensity of another orgasm began to sneak it’s way through her, a slow and lazy build because Drew was purposely keeping them at a slow and steady pace. Her body pressed against the cool glass of the window and she could see him behind her in the reflection of the window, her fingers gripping the edges tighter as she did her best to stay upright. The harder and deeper he slammed into her, the better it felt. The more intense it got. His hand moved down from her throat, resting against her other hip as he pulled her hips back against him, slamming into her just a little faster.

Drew could feel her walls clenching around his cock and he drove into her a little slower, muttering lazily against her neck, “Feels so fookin good. Y’ take me so well, princess.” as he stilled just to keep himself on the edge of his own rapidly building orgasm. When he bottomed out and she tensed, a long and drawn out moan leaving her lips as her head fell back, the back of it resting against his chest, he growled quietly. “Ah know y’ can get louder. Let me hear et, love.”

And as he started to speed up again, slamming into her harder and deeper, his hands gripping her hips tighter, tight enough to leave handprints behind, Rhiannon caught sight of someone lurking around nearby. “Someone’s watching.”

Drew stilled, leaning forward to glance out the window from behind her and he caught sight of her pout. “Wot’s th’ pout for?”

“You stopped. Fuck, c’mon. Need…” Rhiannon whimpered out, rocking her hips back against him, driving him deep into her womb, a satisfied and almost wanton moan leaving her mouth as she licked her lips and continued to sink herself onto his cock, over and over. Drew had to grip her hip and his other hand wandered up, resting over her hand where it gripped the edge of the window and he pressed himself into her heavily. “Y’ need what, love?”

“You.. don’t stop.. Oh fuck I’m… I’m so close.” Rhiannon managed to breathe out, earning her a chuckle as Drew muttered, “Ef we’re goin’ t’ ‘ave an audience, maybe we should give ‘em a show?” mostly in teasing, but when Rhiannon started to really buck her hips back against him and cause him to bottom out, he growled quietly, his teeth nipping at her neck as he muttered against her ear all over again, “Y’ like that, do y?”

“I like anything that involves you not stopping. Fuck… Drew, baby..” Rhiannon begged as he started to pound away at her harder and just a little faster. She gave herself over to the pleasure, the way it felt to have his body pressed firmly against her own, his hands and mouth all over her, the way it felt to be filled and stretched by his cock. “Faster, c’mon.. Please?”

“So fuckin wet. Yer drippin.” Drew growled out against her neck, nipping at it as he sped up, his hips smacking against her body joining the sounds of their labored breathing and the loud moans and begging Rhiannon was doing. “And y’ take me so well.”

Whoever had been watching was forgotten, the two of them caught up in each other, and yet, the person remained.

Rhiannon whimpered aloud, moaning his name over and over as Drew bottomed out over and over again, his cock going deeper, buried balls deep inside her. When he felt her tighten around her, he tried to slow down, but Rhiannon kept slamming her hips back against him, begging for it. “I’m so close, c’mon.. Please Drew?”

“So ah’m ah.” Drew growled against her ear as he slammed into her harder and deeper, his hips erratic smack against her backside echoing around them and competing with their combined cries and heavy breathing. “Don’t wanna stop.” he grunted as she clenched him deep inside, her release coating him, flooding and dripping and spurring him right over the edge also. He leaned against her heavily, hands gripping her hips to hold her upright, taking deep breaths as he throbbed and emptied inside her, his lips moving over her neck in a slow frenzy as he let them both come down from the high of their orgasm.

Rhiannon turned around to face him, pressing against him and Drew picked her up, carrying her back to the bed where they collapsed, spent, a tangle of arms and legs. “If y’ think dat’s somethin, love… wait til round two when ah get y’ back to our place. There are rooms dat need t’ be broken in…” Drew’s finger trailed over her lips, then down, tracing the line between her breasts. Rhiannon leaned in, teeth tugging at his lower lip as she muttered lazily against his mouth, “Challenge accepted.”

“Let’s get outta ‘ere.” Drew asked, gathering their clothes, holding hers out to her, chuckling as he helped her start to re-dress...

#drew mcintyre fanfiction #drew mcintyre fanfic #drew mcintyre oneshot #drew mcintyre fic #drew mcintyre imagine #// no one under 18+#// fourseasonsofsm*tselfchallenge #// s*xual content #// choking tw #// voyeurism #// body fluids #// unprotected s*x

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writer-rochelle · 4 years

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Statesman:Ablaze Ch.1: Rules

(a/n: i’m not sure what happened to my original post, so here it is again. i’m having to use my phone’s hotspot and it’s not the most reliable thing so i apologize for all the mixups) ft ocs by: @sunshinepascal @harrytags @pomelloe-me & myself

“Huh, what’d you say?”

“Have you seriously not heard a word I just said, Pomegranate?” Alicia King said, sighing. Stakeouts were the worst, and usually being paired up with her good friend Pom Graham, they could be a lot of fun. But it seemed that the young southern woman’s mind wasn’t in the mint green bug they had been in for the past 5 hours.

“I said I haven’t heard you talk about Whiskey lately...everything okay with y’all?” Alicia asked her friend. Pom had until very recently jabbered on and on about the older Agent Whiskey taking her under his wing. It wasn’t often that the veteran agents took much interest in the new recruits, but Pom was a family friend and as he affectionately called her, “his little pomegranate”.

“No, the stupid cunt has been too fuckin’ busy doing shit in New York to reply to my messages,” Pom said, scrolling through her phone. She didn’t want to admit the sense of abandonment she was starting to feel. She was 24 years old, for fuck's sake, not 4. She was usually one to share anything that was bothering her, and she knew Alicia would understand, but this was something that she wanted to keep reserved. Maybe she was just overthinking.

“Absinthe! Come in Agent Absinthe!”

Alicia reached up and lightly placed a finger on the left leg of her green aviators. Instantly she could see into the Statesman meeting room. A quick glance showed that Champagne was seated at the head of the table, and from where she (or rather her hologram) sat she could tell she was at the opposite end. Next to him was Agent Cognac and across from her was Agent Whiskey’s hologram. It still never ceased to amaze her how incredibly talented Ginger Ale was. Every weapon, every piece of equipment, hell even every fiber of clothing the agents were given all had Ginger's magic touch.

“Is Agent Rum still there with you?” Champagne asked, taking off his glasses and cleaning them with the cloth square in the front pocket of his jacket, before placing them back onto his face. He gestured towards Ginger, who walked forward from where she had been standing off to the side with her clipboard. As soon as the other Agent was present they could continue their debrief.

“The old man is asking for you” Alicia laughed, nudging Pom who had once again turned her attention to the view out her window. Pom rolled her eyes, pushing her tortoise framed glasses onto the bridge of her nose.

“You rang?” she said, making her voice deep and gravelly like Lurch, the Franken-butler from the Addams Family. The girls erupted into a fit of giggles, as Champagne shook his head in disappointment.

“She gets that tomfoolery from watching you!” He said, pointing an accusatory finger at Agent Whiskey’s hologram, the man in question shrugging with a smirk on his face. Champagne turned his attention back to the girls.

“ When y’all are finished, I’d like to carry on with this debrief .” Alicia silently shook with the aftermath of the giggle fit she and Pom had pitched themselves into, but quickly grew serious. If Agent Whiskey was on the call it had to be of grave importance.

“Well I’ve got some good news, and some bad news,” Champagne said, regarding the two holograms at the end of the table. Agent Cognac shifted in her seat next to her boss and grandfather, she was familiar with the temperament of her two friends and braced herself for the fit they were about to throw.

“Well, the good news is we found out where those rascals are keeping the Senator's daughter hostage. The bad news is that it's not in that warehouse y’all have been staking out all evenin’.” He pulled a fat cigar out of his jacket pocket, passing it under his nose, sucking the smell of it into his nostrils.

“What the fuck, Champ?!!! You could have told us sooner!!” Pom shouted, she was seething. The color of her face turned red from anger. Not only had she already missed the weekly update of the Mandalorian on Disney+, but she had been stuck in a cramped car with a mix of Alicia’s perfume, her own deodorant, and the leftover stench of the KFC they had eaten. She was on the verge of a headache, and more importantly on the verge of beating the old man with her bat.

“I told you she was gonna be pissed.” Whiskey muttered. Champ glared at his hologram before continuing his spiel.

“As I was sayin’, Tequila was wrong; it turns out she's being held in the basement of her own house. Ginger Ale, if you’ll please?” Champ said, watching as the resident tech wiz pulled up security footage on a screen on the wall of the conference room. The Agents watched as Molly Dubois was dragged out of her house and shoved into an unmarked car, only to be returned hours later (still bound with her head in a sack) back to the mansion.

“As it turns out, with the elections coming up soon, the Senator is looking to boost his image with the voters to ensure he’s re-elected. We were able to intercept some phone calls, I’ll be sending you all the audio recordings to listen to on your own time.” Ginger said, tapping around on her clipboard. Alicia looked over at Pom, the two agents seemingly on the same brain wave. They both knew that Senator Xavier Dubois was a ruthless, greasy, piece of crap. He would do anything to keep the state of Kentucky under his control.

“What do you need us to do, Champ?” Alicia said, revving her green bug to life and buckling her seat belt. No need for discretion when it wasn’t the right location. “Pom, I know your ass is not wearing a seatbelt, bitch,” Alicia said quietly, stepping on the brake, cackling when Pom lurched forward in her seat colliding with the dashboard.

“AAARGH! Fuck you!! You didn’t have to fucking brake check me!” Pom yelled, hitting Alicia’s arm before buckling her seatbelt and crossing her arms over her chest.

“Alright kids, that’s enough! Y’all should know better than to be acting a fool and havin' an attitude during debriefs and y’all are just goofing off, actin’ like y’all ain’t got no good sense.” Champagne said harshly, watching as their holograms faded out. “Whiskey, I want you flying out to HQ asap!”

“Sure thing boss, I’m on my way.” Whiskey said, winking at Agent Cognac before his hologram also faded out.

Other agents sitting at the table began to remove their glasses, mirroring the actions of Whiskey, their respective holograms also disappearing. Champ and Agent Cognac were the only ones remaining in the room. Ginger, having slipped out quietly to return to her lab. Cognac turned, realizing her grandpa was staring at her closely. She blushed as she slipped her glasses into the pocket of her jacket.

“What?” She said, sheepishly pouring herself a glass of water. Champagne glared knowingly at her, putting an end to any other words about to come out of her cherry-red lips. After the tragic death of her parents (both statesman alum), he made it a point to take her in and continue to raise her as his own. He'd be damned if he let his granddaughter fall off onto the wrong side of the law.

“Don’t think you can pull the wool over my eyes, young lady. I may be old, but I haven’t lost my sight yet!” The elder agent said with great discipline, shaking his finger at her like she was five again. He rose from his seat, moving to stand in front of the window with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Why are you doing this to me, Carey? You know the rules! No-“

“No fraternizing with fellow Agents! I know, Grandpa,” she said, moving to stand next to him. She felt guilty; Champ had put his neck out for her countless times, hell, he was the sole reason she was still alive. The same people who had killed her parents were set out to kill her too. If he hadn't stepped in when he had….the thought of it made her shudder.

“First of all, don’t interrupt your old man, Carey Ann. Secondly, if you know you shouldn’t, why do it?! Whiskey is a highly skilled agent; but when he’s off the clock? Jack Daniels is not the kind of man I’d want dating my granddaughter.” Champagne said. Carey sighed, knowing that he was only looking out for her. But if he knew the true extent of the relationship she had with Whiskey, he would grow even more furious.

“It’s nothing, I promise! I just assist him with things around the New York offices from time to time...” She said innocently, turning to grab her jacket and head for the door.

“Well those ‘things’,” Champagne made air quotes around the words ‘things’, following the young woman with his cold gaze, “Those things better not be in his pants, missy! I’ll tan both of your hides; I don’t give a rat’s ass if you’re 30 years old, damn it!” His words falling on deaf ears, his granddaughter having already disappeared out the door. He sighed in defeat. Wrangling these kids was starting to get harder and harder.

“Lord help me.”

a/n: i’m real upset, i have no clue what happened to the original post. I apologize for the mess. Thanks for reading <3 roach

Statesman: Ablaze is a multi-part fic that is a collaboration between myself and the ladies tagged. After throwing our ideas around late one night, this baby was born. We are very excited to share this with y’all, and hope you like reading it as much as @pomelloe-me and I do writing it.

#agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x oc #agent tequila x reader #agent tequila x oc #agent whiskey fic #oc fic #jack daniels #pedro pascal characters #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal x reader #kingsman golden circle #Statesman:Ablaze #statesman

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zen3to5 · 4 years

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J/H 7-25: That ‘70s Finale

FF.Net AO3

***

SHOW TITLE TITLE CARD CARD 1: Eric Forman’s house CARD 2: December 31, 1979 CARD 3: 8:45 p.m. INT. FORMAN KITCHEN - NIGHT It’s New Year’s Eve - the end of the ‘70s. The Forman kitchen isn’t decorated, but it is filled with trays of crackers, cheese, carrots, celery sticks, peanut butter, raisins – any number of snacks and party foods. RED and KITTY, dressed in warm but semi-formal clothes, are in the kitchen. Kitty works on the icing of a chocolate cake at the stovetop, while Red stands next to her, eyeing one of the snack trays. He reaches for a miniature sausage, but Kitty, without looking up, smacks his hand away. RED: Kitty, for God’s sake, this food’s been sitting here for almost an hour. Do you want me to just go hungry until 1980 gets here? KITTY: No, just until our guests come. She finishes icing the cake, sets down the knife, and clasps her hands together. KITTY (cont’d): Oh, I’m so excited! Everyone, together again! You know, we haven’t seen any of the kids since Eric went off to college. Donna’s with him, Steven and Jackie are so busy in Chicago, and Michael and Fez stopped coming by after you caught them trying Michael’s skeleton key on the basement door. Red nods with pride. KITTY (cont’d): And, with the snowstorm, the only one who made it home for Christmas was Laurie, who stuck around just long enough to get her cash present before running on back to - RED: College. KITTY: Red, that girl is living with a French-Canadian - RED: College. He refuses to meet Kitty’s frown; he has his story, and he’s sticking to it. Kitty shrugs it off, picks up a tray of snacks, and exits into... INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT Kitty, with Red right behind her, sets the tray down on the coffee table. KITTY: Admit, Red Forman. You’re excited to see the kids again too. RED: I was excited when they left. Their visits, I tolerate. Before Kitty can reply to that, the doorbell rings. She and Red both hurry to the door. KITTY: Oh, that must be them. She throws the door open and finds KELSO and FEZ, bundled up for the December chill. Kelso throws his arms wide while Fez readies a noisemaker. KELSO: HAPPY NEW YEAR! Fez gives the noisemaker a toot. He and Kelso grin broadly while Red rolls his eyes and Kitty manages a smile.

MAIN CREDITS BUMPER INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT The initial disappointment that they aren’t Eric having passed, Kitty warmly beckons Kelso and Fez into her home, giving each boy a hug in turn. KITTY: Oh, boys! It is so nice to see you again! KELSO: It’s great to see you, Mrs. Forman. We’ve missed you. FEZ: Yes. I am around a lot of old ladies at the salon, but none with your kindness, your way with bridge, or your foxy good looks. He gives Kitty a would-be seductive glance. She smiles uncomfortably; Red scowls. RED: And I’ll be none of them have a foot ready to go up your ass. KELSO: Ah, there’s our Red! C’mere, you! He and Fez open their arms and advance, as if to hug Red. RED: Don’t touch me. The boys back off. Instead, they shed their coats and stroll into the living room and sit down on the couch, helping themselves to the snack tray. KELSO: All right, New Year’s 1980! That’s, like, a new century! Are we the first ones here? I figured Donna at least would’ve shown up by now. KITTY: You mean Eric and Donna. FEZ: Oh, I’m not sure about that. The last time we called them, Donna answered, and when we asked to talk to Eric, she said that Eric was in his new apartment. Red and Kitty’s jaws drop; they haven’t heard a thing about this. KELSO: Then she said, “oops,” and we asked, “what’s up with you two,” and she said “nothing,” but it was the kind of “nothing” we always used to say when we broke something around here and you caught us but we tried to cover it up. FEZ: Then we offered to drive to Madison to console her – sexually. That’s when she hung up. They turn back to the snack tray as Red and Kitty share stunned looks. KITTY: Eric’s in a new apartment? RED: Don’t tell me that dumbass screwed things up with Donna again! He’s had half the damn decade to get it right! KITTY: (to Kelso, Fez) Are they broken up? Are they moving? FEZ: We don’t know. We haven’t talked to them in a while. KELSO: We’ve been pretty busy. KITTY: Oh – yes. I’m sorry, boys. Michael, is watching your daughter on weekends working out? And how are things with you boys, sharing an apartment? KELSO/FEZ: Awesome./It’s magical. They both look up with matching dopey grins. Track in on their faces, and we begin: MONTAGE. Set to “It’s a Sunshine Day” by the Brady Bunch. A) Kelso and Fez, looking straight into the camera and walking in exaggerated jaunts in time to the music in front of an obvious green screen of a town street on a bright sunny day. B) CONVIENIENCE STORE, run down and poorly stocked. A MASKED ROBBER is holding up the CLERK with a knife. Two cops burst through the door, one of them Kelso. The robber keeps his knife pointed at the clerk as he backs up. The cops draw their mace. Kelso is holding his backwards – something he only realizes when he shoots. He hurls back, his can of mace flying. Kelso crashes into the outside shelf and sets off the dominos, knocking every shelf in the building down even as he rolls over them, kicking in pain and grasping at his eyes. C) SALON. On a busy day where every stylist is taken, a long line still forms for Fez. We track along the line until we reach Fez, hard at work on an ATTRACTIVE GINGER WOMAN. Fez is on the final stage – drying and styling. He sits the woman all the way up, revealing soft waves. The ginger pats her hair in stunned ecstasy. Fez holds up a mirror so she can have a better look. The ginger stands and offers him her hand. He goes in for a kiss instead. She slaps him, sending his face crashing into the still-full sink. D) KELSO AND FEZ’S APARTMENT. It is late at night, and the place appears empty. The door swings open and Kelso enters, wrapped around a BUXOM BLONDE. The two of them make out furiously all the way to the bedroom door, which Kelso manages to open without disentangling himself. They start to make their way into the room, but what’s inside causes the blonde to shriek. Kelso, when he gets a look, averts his eyes. The blonde flees from the apartment. Kelso tries to beckon her back, but fails. He turns the lights on and charges into the bedroom. Fez emerges, his fly and his belt open, and he runs around the apartment, chased by Kelso. E) KELSO AND FEZ’S APARTMENT. The boys on the couch, a trashed apartment all around them. They each have a keg of beer and a tap. They link arms and spray into their mouths. F) KELSO AND FEZ’S APARTMENT. MUSIC CHANGE: a music box rendition of “Hush, Little Baby.” The weekend is here, and the apartment is immaculately clean. BROOKE is in the doorway with BETSY. She hands Betsy off to Kelso, and her baby carrier to Fez, then exits. Kelso rocks Betsy gently in his arms as he and Fez both lean in to make goo-goo faces at her. G) KELSO AND FEZ’S APARTMENT. Kelso, on the couch, feeds Betsy her bottle as Fez watches from behind. H) KELSO AND FEZ’S APARTMENT. Kitchen area. Fez burps Betsy while Kelso plays with a teddy bear. I) KELSO AND FEZ’S APARTMENT. Bedroom. A baby crib is set up, with Betsy inside. Kelso and Fez look in on the crib. Kelso strums a guitar as he and Fez sing Betsy a lullaby. J) KELSO AND FEZ’S APARTMENT. The weekend is over. Brooke is back in the doorway. She collects Betsy from Kelso’s arms. With a smile, she exits, and Kelso and Fez smile and wave her goodbye. Once she’s gone, and the door is shut, there is a MUSIC CHANGE back to “It’s a Sunshine Day,” and Kelso and Fez both pull out beer cans. They shake them up, crack them open, and spray the foam at each other. CUT TO: INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT Back to the present. Kelso and Fez both nod contentedly at the picture of their life. Red and Kitty seem much less pleased. RED: You two aren’t getting back in here once we’re in the ‘80s. BUMPER MUSIC NOTE: “Last Dance” by Donna Summer. INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT A short time later. The music continues, as a song over the radio. The party is properly underway, and it’s a bigger crowd than just the kids. W.B. and ANGIE stand on the stairs, chatting with Brooke. LEO sifts through a bowl of mixed nuts on the bar with his fingers while Kitty stands behind the bar, making herself a drink. CASEY KELSO walks the floor while nursing a rum and coke, and MR. AND MRS. KELSO, along with several burly boys who can only be KELSO’S OTHER BROTHERS, mingle with FEZ’S OLD HOST PARENTS and PASTOR DAVE. Red and BOB stand off by the kitchen door, drinking beer. Kelso and Fez, standing by couch, happily take in the scene. KELSO: This is so great. It’s just like old times. We’ve got Leo, we’ve got Bob, we’ve got Mrs. Forman getting drunk and flirting with my brother. Sure enough, Casey has made it to the bar, and is chatting up Kitty while she mixes her drink. CASEY: So I says to the guy, “for that kind of money, what the hell?” And now I’m dancing at the club. Kitty, breathless, leans on the bar and gazes up at Casey’s face. KITTY: (swooning) Oh, yes. Over by the kitchen door, Bob smiles as he looks over the party. Red scowls, but an unusually peaceful scowl. RED: Look at all these freeloaders. Just when I was getting used to having my house back, too. BOB: You seem pretty relaxed about it, Red. Usually by now, you’re threatening to call the cops on your own party and tell ‘em the guests are trespassing. RED: (shrugs) Yeah, well... we’re closing out a decade, after all, and it makes Kitty happy, seeing everybody again. He nods his wife’s way; Kitty and Leo are happily chatting. RED (cont’d): And I’ll admit – it’s not so bad, having a little break from all the peace and quiet. But I tell ya, Bob – having the kids out of the house is everything I dreamed it would be. He gives a small smile, sighs, and looks up. Slow zoom in on his face as we cut to: MONTAGE. Set to an orchestral arrangement of “Anchors Aweigh.” A) FORMAN LIVING ROOM. The middle of the day. A clearly unhappy Red is slumped in his chair, clicker in hand. He mindlessly clicks his way through the TV channels, while occasionally looking around the room with a deep frown. B) FORMAN AND SON. A dead day for business. Red stands at the counter, leaning on the countertop with his head in his hands; he’s bored out of his skull. He looks around his empty shop before fiddling with a wrench on the countertop. C) FORMAN BASEMENT. Some work has been done to redecorate the basement into a gentleman’s retreat, as Red once envisioned, but that work is limited and halfhearted; a few hunting trophies and Packers merchandise left scattered around the room. Red sits on the couch, punching one hand into a catcher’s mitt, as he looks around the basement. D) FORMAN KITCHEN. Red, dressed for work, reads the newspaper at the kitchen table while Kitty cleans the stovetop. An empty water glass is by Red’s elbow. As he turns the page, he knocks the glass to the floor, where it shatters. Red immediately jumps to his feet and flies into an exaggerated fit of yelling, shaking his fists, and glaring up at the ceiling. Kitty nonchalantly collects the glass pieces as Red keeps going. E) FORMAN LIVING ROOM. Red is in his chair again, this time with a bottle of beer. SCHATZI sleeps at his feet. Red takes a covert glance, makes sure Schatzi is sleeping. He tips his beer so that a small amount splashes onto the carpet by Schatzi’s rear. As soon as a spot is visible, Red jumps up, shakes his fist at a still-sleeping Schatzi, and scolds him as if he had an accident. F) FORMAN MASTER BEDROOM. Red paces back and forth, ranting at raving and shaking his finger directly into the camera. A reverse shot reveals his real target - a PHOTO OF ERIC. CUT TO: INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT Back to the present, and back to the party. Red shakes off his mental recap of the last few months and turns back to Bob. RED: You know, Bob, we haven’t seen you over here much lately. How about we keep it that way? BOB: (chuckles) Hey, I’ve got no wife, no daughter – I’m free to do whatever I want. It’s a busy time for Bob. CUT TO: INT. PINCIOTTI LIVING ROOM – DAY A day in the life of “busy time” Bob. He sits in front of the TV with a tray of lasagna. THE LOVE BOAT is on the tube. Bob shovels what’s left of the lasagna into his face with a fork and sets the tray down. He belches and opens his belt. Patting his stomach, he lets out a long sigh. A flicker of discomfort crosses his face; matters are afoot down below. Bob stands and crosses to the bathroom, disappearing inside. CUT TO: INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT Back to the present. BOB: (to Red) So, when are the kids getting here? RED: Ya got me. Say – you haven’t heard from Donna lately, have you? Because Kelso said something about Eric moving into a new apartment. BOB: New apartment? What’s going on? Kitty, walking the floor, overhears and rushes to join in on the conversation. KITTY: (to Bob) You didn’t know either? BOB: It’s the first I’m hearing about it. Did your bastard run off on my little girl again? KITTY: Well, how do you know your harlot didn’t dump my baby boy again? BOB: Don’t you call my Donna a harlot, Kitty! KITTY: Don’t you call my Eric a bastard! Bob looks ready to retort, but Red steps between them. RED: All right, let’s not spoil the new year. Let’s just agree that they’re both morons and give ‘em hell when they show up. The doorbell rings and the door opens, but it isn’t Eric or Donna. It’s JACKIE and HYDE, both snazzily dressed for the party and for the winter weather. Jackie has an enormous bag slung over her arm. JACKIE: Happy New Year! Kitty hurries over to them, Red right behind her. She immediately snatches Hyde up into a crushing hug. Jackie does the same with Red. KITTY/JACKIE: Steven! My second son! Oh, I’ve missed you./Mr. Forman! Oh! HYDE: (cringing in her hug) No, that’s all right, Mrs. Forman... no, you don’t have to... ugh, okay, I missed you too! He gives her a light hug back, which is enough to get her to release him. Red, meanwhile, cringes in Jackie’s hug. RED: (to Jackie) You couldn’t have outgrown this in Chicago? She lets him go, just in time for Kelso and Fez to come running up. She meets them in a big group hug. JACKIE: Michael! Fezzie! KELSO/FEZ: Jackie!/We missed you! JACKIE: Oh, I missed you too – (stern) Get your hands off of there. They let go, but don’t get back in time to avoid Hyde slugging them both in the arm. KELSO: (to Hyde) And we missed that too. C’mere, Hyde! The boys have a quick group hug of their own. Kelso and Fez give Hyde a once-over, Kelso fiddling with Hyde’s jacket. KELSO (cont’d): Man, look at you – new jacket, new shirt, new watch, new boots... the only thing old about you is your face. HYDE: Well, man, somethin’ told me that ringing in a new decade was a time to break out the nice duds. And that something kept telling me, hour after hour after hour, ‘til I finally said, “would you shut up, Jackie? I’ll do it already.” JACKIE: (teasing) Well, what’s the point of buying my man nice outfits if I don’t get to show ‘em off once in a while? She plays with Hyde’s collar. FEZ: Jackie, you paid for Hyde’s fancy threads? JACKIE: Fez, do you know how much money I make, working on TV? I pay for everything. I said a lot of things about those feminists growing up, and they’re still totally wrong about hair and lipstick and how men are supposed to carry you over puddles and everything – but making the most money kind of kicks ass. HYDE: Works out for me, too. She always leaves her purse lying around. I’ve never had an easier time picking someone’s pocket. He and Jackie smile at each other, she “awws.” She leans against his chest as he puts his arm around her shoulders. JACKIE: Oh! I almost forgot – She stands up straight, reaches into her bag, and pulls out a brandy bottle. JACKIE (cont’d): Mrs. Forman, we got you something for Christmas. My mom took off for Tijuana, and she left the cabinet where she keeps her good brandy unlocked. She presents Kitty with the bottle. KITTY: Ooh, honey, let’s you and me mosey on over to the bottle opener. Laughing, she leads Jackie to the bar. Hyde pulls a small envelope from his jacket, hands it to Red. HYDE: Here you go, Red. A little late Christmas present. Red takes the envelope, opens it up. He nearly drops the contents as his eyes bug out. RED: (breathless) Season Packers tickets. (looks up at Hyde) You know I don’t usually do this. He throws himself at Hyde in a tight hug. Hyde smirks, pats Red on the back, and gently eases him back. HYDE: Yeah, they’re from me and Forman. He knew he was gonna be late, so he asked me to bring ‘em. RED: (pockets tickets) Say, when was the last time you spoke to Eric? What’s going on with this new apartment he’s got? Jackie looks over from the bar as Kitty pours two glasses of brandy. JACKIE: You don’t know? We were gonna ask you. KITTY: (to Jackie) No, we don’t know anything. Have you heard from Donna at all? JACKIE: Well, we were over at their apartment for Thanksgiving, and everything seemed fine. Then, a few weeks ago, they said they were going to be gone for the weekend and asked us to housesit, and that’s when we noticed all of Eric’s stuff was gone. But when we asked them about it, all they said was, “we’re moving.” Red, Hyde, Kelso, and Fez step down to the bar, and Bob crosses the room to join them. BOB: “We?” As in both of ‘em? KITTY: But only Eric’s things were gone? JACKIE: (nods) And then, when Eric and Steven went to get the Packers tickets, Donna asked me to help her with her hair. She was taking forever to dry it out, so I started going through her mail, and it turns out she has a passport. BOB: A passport? KITTY: Oh, my God. RED: What the hell is going on with those two? Everyone shifts on their feet as worry crosses their faces. HYDE: This is an unsettling and awkward situation. It calls for beer. He crosses the room and disappears into the kitchen. The tension broken, Kelso, Fez, and Bob disperse into the party while Jackie goes behind the bar to sip her brandy. Kitty takes hers in hand, moves to Red’s side. KITTY: (pained) Oh, Red. RED: (embraces her) Look, Kitty, I know this all sounds bad. But Steven said Eric’s on his way, and I’m sure he’ll explain everything. And, if he doesn’t, I’ll make him. He knows I still can. Kitty leans into his hug, wraps her arms around his waist. Her eyes flicker over to the coffee table, where the tray of snacks is now empty. KITTY: (softly) Do you think you could get the other tray from the kitchen? RED: Sure. He kisses her forehead, lets her go. He crosses into... INT. FORMAN KITCHEN – NIGHT ... And is greeted by the sight of Hyde standing at the open fridge, SCHATZI in his arms. Hyde is feeding Schatzi an uncooked hot dog when he looks up, sees Red. HYDE: (beat) Schatzi’s upset about Forman and Donna too. Red frowns, crosses his arms. FADE TO BLACK COMMERCIAL BUMPER MUSIC NOTE: “Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In” by The 5th Dimension. INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT The party goes on. Hyde, having shed his jacket, is now talking with W.B., Angie, and Leo on the stairs while petting Schatzi. Fez, his host parents, and Brooke chat by the organ. Red and Pastor Dave stand together near the kitchen door. Bob and most of the Kelso clan have the bar. Kitty sits in Red’s chair, with Jackie (also sans jacket) and Kelso on the couch. They all have glasses of brandy, but Kitty is the farthest along on hers. KITTY: Why? Why would my son do this? Why is he keeping so many secrets? Is he worried what we’ll think of him? Because mothers don’t judge – they love. And sometimes get very, very disappointed. JACKIE: Okay, Mrs. Forman, I know all this stuff with Eric and Donna has upset you. But, on the bright side – Steven and I set a date for our wedding! She produces invitations from her bag – large scrolls with sealed ribbons. She gives one each to Kitty and Kelso, who wastes no time opening his up. KELSO: (reading) “Steven and Jaqueline Burkhart-Hyde cordially request the honor of your presence at the celebration of their union – March 21, 1980, St. James Cathedral, Chicago.” (to Jackie) Isn’t that, like, one of the biggest churches in the city? JACKIE: Yep. That was the deal we made – a big, fancy wedding for me, a “special” honeymoon in Amsterdam for Steven. KITTY: Well, honey, all honeymoons are special. She doesn’t get it, and Jackie and Kelso don’t enlighten her. KITTY (cont’d): Oh, this does sound lovely, Jackie. And of course, we’ll be there. And maybe, while we’re in Chicago, we’ll even get a chance to see you on TV again. We don’t get your show here in Wisconsin. KELSO: Yeah, how’s that going, being entertainment anchor? JACKIE: Michael, it’s me. I’m fabulous. She looks up, a proud glint in her eye. Slow zoom in as we begin: MONTAGE. Set to “Witchy Woman” by the Eagles. A) ANCHOR DESK. The entertainment desk for Chicago’s WSNS station, with all the lights down except for a background light creating a silhouette of the anchor. As the lights rise and the camera tracks in, we see Jackie, with perfect hair and stylish suit. She is just a little too aware of the camera as she delivers her segment. JACKIE: Good evening, Chicago. I’m Jackie Burkhart, and this is Jackie’s Corner. B) ANCHOR DESK. Another day, another outfit. We join Jackie in the middle of a film review. JACKIE (cont’d): Okay, so – my fiancé loves Monty Python, and their first movie is funny and all, but I have a question: what was with the coconuts? Could they not afford a horse? Newsflash, England – ladies want to see men on horseback. Even if they’re doughy, bad-teeth Englishmen. C) ANCHOR DESK. Another day, another story, another outfit. Jackie’s still playing to the camera. Michael Jackson’s album OFF THE WALL is in her hands. JACKIE (cont’d): Off the Wall: it’s hip, it’s hot, it’s flying off the shelves – but who thought a bow tie this big was a good idea? She points at the tie of Jackson’s tuxedo on the album and shakes her head. D) ANCHOR DESK. Another day, another story, another outfit. Jackie’s hair is a preview of the coming decade: the Whale Spout hairstyle, with some crimps for good measure. Jackie’s eyes roll up, as if she could see her hair that way. JACKIE (cont’d): (scoffs) Like this will ever catch on. E) ANCHOR DESK. Another day, another story, another outfit. JACKIE (cont’d): So Star Trek gets a movie but Charlie’s Angels have to stay on the small screen? She holds up two photos – an unflattering one of William Shatner, and a glam shot of Jaclyn Smith. JACKIE (cont’d): Look at these pictures and tell me who’s going to move the most tickets. F) ANCHOR DESK. Jackie is sitting on her desk this time, spread out across it. She is modelling the quintessential 1980s look – big hair, big shoulders, neon colors, and leg warmers. She looks down at those leg warmers, gives her right leg a shake, and looks into the camera. JACKIE (cont’d): Call me crazy, but I think leg warmers might be here to stay. CUT TO: INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT Back to the present, as Jackie gives a contended sigh and leans back into the couch. A clearly unhappy Brooke and an apologetic Fez march to the couch and stand over Kelso. BROOKE: Michael, Fez just let it slip that you two have been having crazy beer parties when you aren’t watching Betsy. KELSO: Uh? Oh, no. Fez is just confused, since he’s foreign. See, in his language, “beer” means... No lie comes to mind. Instead, Kelso slaps Fez hard in the hand. Fez slaps his face back. Kelso stands, and the two of them get into a rapid-fire slap fight. Over by the kitchen door, Bob joins Red and Pastor Dave as Red pulls out his gift from Hyde and Eric. BOB: (whistles) Season tickets? That’s nice. Pastor Dave, trembling, lets out a high, girlish squeal of delight, one that cuts off as soon as he sees the way Red and Bob are looking at him. RED: You know I can’t take you to a game if you do that, Dave. Dave, contrite, nods and looks down at his feet. On the stairs, Hyde shifts Schatzi under one arm so he can put the other around Leo. HYDE: Leo, man, how’s Grooves? LEO: Great, man. The Wall? Pink Floyd? It sounded awesome, man. HYDE: No, Leo, I meant Grooves, the record store. (beat) That we hired you to run when I moved to Chicago. LEO: I run a record store? Wow, I’m really moving up in the world. ANGIE: (laughing) He’s actually been doing an okay job. We’ve only had one complaint about a hippy orgy. HYDE: (nods) W.B., how’re things in Milwaukee, man? W.B.: Are you kidding? It’s great! Having Angie there in the corporate office is the best decision I ever made. (Angie beams) See, right before I gave her that promotion, I got into this snooty country club. They didn’t think I’d be there much. But now that I’ve got Angie running things, I’m there all day, every day – with friends. And there’s nothing those brothers love more than making white people uncomfortable. HYDE: Nice. W.B.: And what about you, Steven? How’s business in Chicago? HYDE: Flying. He flashes a cheeky grin. Slow zoom in as we cut to: MONTAGE. Set to the instrumental track of “Nobody’s Fault But Mine” covered by Led Zeppelin. A) GROOVES, CHICAGO. THE CIRCLE. Hyde sits behind the counter, a diffuse cloud of smoke all around him. He coughs, waves some of the smoke away, and flashes a grin at the camera. HYDE: Welcome to Grooves. B) GROOVES, CHICAGO. Another day, another Circle. An unseen customer hands Hyde his choice of record from off-camera – SPIRITS HAVING FLOWN by the Bee Gees. Hyde looks up with utter contempt. HYDE (cont’d): The Bee Gees? You know there’s a 20% tax on crap in this store, right? C) GROOVES, CHICAGO. Another day, another Circle. An unseen customer hands Hyde his choice of record from off-camera – BACKLESS by Eric Clapton. Hye looks up and nods approvingly. HYDE (cont’d): Nice. And you know there’s a 20% discount on rock n’ roll in this store, right? D) GROOVES, CHICAGO. Another day, another Circle. This time, Hyde is busy with a lighter: he very casually sets a sleeve for ABBA’s VOULEZ-VOUS on fire. E) GROOVES, CHICAGO. Another day, another Circle. Hyde leans back and tips a bag of potato chips. The entire bag showers down over his face, and some of them even make into his mouth. He happily munches down. F) GROOVES, CHICAGO. Another day, another – particularly intense – Circle. Hyde leans in to speak to an unseen customer off-camera. HYDE (cont’d): Hey, did you hear about that car that runs on water? It’s got a fiberglass, air-cooled engine, and it runs on water, man! G) GROOVES, CHICAGO. Another day, another Circle. Hyde performs air guitar to the montage music. H) JACKIE AND HYDE’S APARTMENT, clearly decorated by Jackie but currently filled with dim lighting and a smoky haze. (MUSIC NOTE: song cuts out.) Jackie and Hyde sit together, their heads leaned against each other and matching spaced-out smiles on their faces. JACKIE: Baby, I think you’re late for work. HYDE: I thought you were late for work. They both sit up slightly, puzzling the answer. JACKIE: Huh. HYDE: Maybe we’re both late for work. JACKIE: Or – is work late for us? She wiggles her eyebrows, “think about it.” Hyde gives her a short stare, then leans down for a kiss. They fall out of frame as they make out as the montage music resumes for a final sting. CUT TO: INT. FORMAN BASEMENT – NIGHT Back to the present. Jackie has joined Hyde, who has his arm around her shoulders. Leo, W.B., and Angie disperse into the party. Red and Kitty cross to Jackie and Hyde. KITTY: Steven, do you have any idea when Eric is coming? It’s almost midnight. Bob, Kelso, and Fez join them. BOB: And what about Donna? No one knows if she’s coming to this party? A lot of shaking heads answer. BOB (cont’d): Come on, I’m her dad. I deserve some answers. What’s going on with that passport? What’s going on with her and Eric? KITTY: Red, I’m getting worried. There’s no reason they shouldn’t be here by now. HYDE: You want us to go look for ‘em, Mrs. Forman? KITTY: Oh, honey, would you? KELSO: Yeah, that’s a good idea. (pulls out cop badge) Okay, everybody, line up! We’re turning this New Year’s party into a search party! He draws focus from everyone in the party, but only for a second; most of the guests turn back to their conversations. Hyde, Jackie, and Fez disperse, searching for their coats, ignoring Kelso’s hand signals to form a line. CUT TO: EXT. FORMAN DRIVEWAY – NIGHT A thick layer of snow covers the hedges and the yard, but the driveway is clear. The VISTA CRUISER, with suitcases packed and tied on top, slowly backs up into the driveway and parks. ERIC, bundled up for the cold, steps out. He gives a long look around his old home before climbing up on the hood of his car to sit back and look at the stars. DONNA, also bundled up, and with red hair and a short haircut, comes up the driveway. A knapsack is slung over her shoulder. She taps Eric on the foot to get his attention. DONNA: Hey. ERIC: (sits up) Hey. You made it. DONNA: (nods) Snuck the last of my stuff out of my dad’s house. I’m just here to say goodbye to everybody, then it’s off to the airport. ERIC: Good. (sits back) You know, I still remember the night you first kissed me on the Vista Cruiser. It was warmer then. DONNA: Yeah, well... a lot of things are different now. ERIC: (softly) Yeah. Donna climbs up next to Eric and sits back too. Overhead shot on the two of them slowly pulls out as we begin: MONTAGE. Set to “Thirteen” by Big Star. A collection of moments Eric and Donna have shared over seven seasons. Included in the montage are: A) The aforementioned first kiss. B) Eric and Donna moving to hold hands over the scented candle of Eric’s 17th birthday. C) Their dance at junior prom. D) Cuddling in the back of Kelso’s van. E) The “Fernando” dance. F) Their wrestling greatest hits. G) Shoving each other’s heads. H) Eric’s proposal, and his slipping the engagement ring on Donna’s finger. CUT TO: EXT. FORMAN DRIVEWAY – NIGHT Back to the present, and an extreme close-up on Eric and Donna’s intertwined hands. We see for the first time that Donna has a wedding band on her left ring finger. Slow zoom out as Eric and Donna turn in to face each other. ERIC: So – how pissed do you think everyone’ll be when we tell them that you’re leaving tonight to study abroad in London, I’m working on moving my pilot program there so I can follow you next semester, and – just to put a cherry on this stupid sundae – we went and eloped right before Christmas? DONNA: (laughs) Pretty pissed. I think Red might finally put his foot up your ass. ERIC: You know, he actually did that once. DONNA: Really? ERIC: (nods) Iwo Jima. He doesn’t like to talk about it. They laugh again, then scoot together and kiss. And kiss again. And keep kissing, so passionately that they fail to notice Hyde, Jackie, Kelso, and Fez standing by the patio door. Donna finally opens her eyes, sees them. She sits up, alerting Eric, who flips around and sees all his scowling friends. ERIC (cont’d): Oh – hey, guys! They keep scowling. ERIC (cont’d): So, um – how – how much of that did you hear? They keep scowling. ERIC (cont’d): Well, this is awkward. (beat) Boy, I wish there was some way to take the edge off all this. CUT TO: INT. FORMAN BASEMENT – NIGHT THE CIRCLE. Eric and Donna sit together. Eric takes a deep breath. ERIC: Edge, you are officially off. DONNA: (to the gang) I’m really glad I got to see you all before I left for London. And I’m even happier that we didn’t trust any of you bozos with the fact we’re married. Pan to Hyde, with Jackie in his lap. JACKIE: Donna, I think it’s so romantic that you and Eric eloped. Plus, this way, there’s no chance your wedding can upstage mine. And you’re my maid of honor, so you’d better be back here for it! Pan to Kelso. KELSO: (to Eric, Donna) London, huh? Hey, Eric, you know what you should do when you get over there? You should find one of those guards with the big hats, and you should see if you can make him laugh. And Donna, you should have a camera, so you can take pictures when the guard starts beating Eric up. That way, I’ll laugh. Pan to Fez. FEZ: (to Eric, Donna) And while you’re there, you can spit on the palace from me. The British hate my country. That is why the Beatles can kiss my ass! Pan to Kelso. KELSO: You know, Fez, you’ve never told us what country you’re from. How about letting us know before the year’s over? Pan to Fez. FEZ: Isn’t it obvious? (scoffs) Fine. It’s – Pan to Eric and Donna. ERIC: Hold that thought, Fez. You know, guys – this might be the last Circle we ever have together. Pan to Hyde and Jackie. JACKIE: Aww... that’s kind of sad. HYDE: It’s a time for reflection. Like on how many of our brain cells survived the ‘70s. Despite our best efforts, some of those bastards pulled through. But tonight – they’re going down. Pan to Kelso. KELSO: Way ahead of you, Hyde. He pops open a can of beer and takes a chug. Pan to Fez, who also has a beer. FEZ: Die, brain cells, die! And you’re next, liver. He takes a sip. Pan to Eric and Donna. ERIC: It’s like – we always have to remember this moment. Unnoticed by Eric or Donna, Red appears behind them. Pan to Jackie and Hyde, in stunned shock. Pan to Kelso, giggling silently. Pan to Fez, in fear for his life. Pan to Eric and Donna, confused. DONNA: What? Red bends down so that his head is over Eric’s shoulder, giving Eric and Donna a jump. RED: (to Eric) UPSTAIRS! Your mother’s pouring the champagne for the countdown, and then you’re all gonna get it! He storms off. Eric and Donna, stunned, share a look. ERIC: We’re dead. He and Donna break up laughing. The Circle is broken. Everyone is laughing now. They all stand and make for the stairs. ERIC (cont’d): Oh, hey, guys – last one upstairs has to call Red a dumbass! The dare set, everyone breaks for the stairs. The girls, Fez, and Eric make it up safely, leaving Hyde and Kelso to wrestle it out. Hyde gets a good hold on Kelso and tosses him back before racing upstairs. Kelso recovers, looks around, realizes he’s lost. KELSO: Aww, man! He grabs the stupid helmet and starts a slow, reluctant, petulant march up the stairs as everyone in the party begins the countdown. COUNTDOWN (v.o.): TEN! NINE! EIGHT! SEVEN! SIX! FIVE! FOUR! THREE! TWO! ONE! TITLE CARD The THAT ‘70S SHOW license plate, now marked with a 1980 sticker. FADE TO BLACK END CREDTIS INT. VISTA CRUISER – NIGHT The gang, driving to the airport together in the Vista Cruiser. Eric drives, with Donna next to him and Hyde in the passenger’s seat with Jackie in his lap. Behind them is Donna’s knapsack, then Kelso, then Fez. They all sing along to the radio – “In the Street” by Big Star. GANG: Past the street light Out past midnight... JACKIE: Boy, we’re good! FEZ: We’re really good! Hyde seems skeptical of that claim, but he, and the rest of the gang, continue to jam to the music. END.

***

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oforamuse · 5 years

Text

i had a dream (i got everything i wanted) chapter 3/?

mickey milkovich hasn’t seen ian gallagher in over 9 years, not since the day he broke his heart and they shipped him off to prison for a crime he didn’t technically commit.

the last place he expects to bump into him is new york fucking city.

mickey suddenly finds himself being thrown head first back into a world of people and places he's spent so many years trying to leave behind.

or, the one where two broken puzzle pieces find a way to fit themselves back together.

au from 5x12/6x01 onwards.

read and comment on ao3 / CHAPTER ONE

Mickey doesn’t know why the fuck he agreed to this. He barely slept a wink last night, most of it spent staring at the cracks in his ceiling and willing himself to get at least an hour in. He’s gonna be a crabby motherfucker today, which is exactly what he doesn’t need when dealing with the Gallaghers for the first time in almost a decade.

A decade. Jesus Christ.

He sighs as he stares at himself combing through his hair in the mirror, he doesn’t know why he’s trying to look put together, it’s not like he really fucking cares what they think of him.

Well, he cares what one of them thinks of him.

It’s been nine years and yet Ian still makes his stomach ache, he feels like he’s about to hurl, is it too late to call it off altogether and just get mind blowingly drunk by himself?

He doesn’t think he’s felt this nervous before anything in his life.

He’s borrowing a suit off one of the guys he works with the promise that he’d get it dry cleaned and returned without an issue. Not sure why the Roy was so hung up over it, it ain’t special or fancy or anything, but it fits Mickey well.

‘What are you doing?’ Mandy pops up behind him, appearing in the mirror. Her face draws in confusion when she catches his outfit. ‘The fuck you looking all fancy for?’

‘Got a thing.’ Mickey grunts, reaching for his cologne on the shelf. He sprays a little, then sprays a little more, perhaps going a little overboard.

‘Well you smell like shit.’ Mandy quips, leaning against the door frame behind him. ‘What’s the thing?’

‘None of your fuckin’ business that’s what it is.’ Mickey snaps, his fingers running along fixing his lapel. He knows that he’d never hear the end of it if he mentions Ian, or the Gallaghers in general for that matter. He never got to the bottom of what happened between his sister and Lip, he doesn’t particularly care but he knows it’s good to avoid mentioning anything or anyone involved altogether. His phone buzzes from where it’s resting on the bath side, he looks down quickly, knowing it’ll be from Ian. His fingers itch to reach for it but before he can grab it, Mandy snatches it from the side and begins to read it, painstakingly, out loud. His stomach drops.

‘Why is Ian outside?’ Mandy asks, her eyebrows raised questioningly. Mickey lurches forward and grabs the phone out of her hand. Her eyes are drawn and suspicious. ‘What you doin’ with him that’s so fancy?’

‘Fuck off.’ He spits, ignoring her protests as he stomps out of the bathroom and into the hallway. He gives himself one more check over in the mirror beside the front door before pocketing his phone and his wallet.

Fuck, he hopes there’s an open bar.

He doubles back quickly to the kitchen, pulling open the cupboard where they store their booze and grabs the closest bottle of what he hopes is a strong liquor. He twists off the cap deftly and shoots it straight from the bottle. It’s rum, dark spiced rum, which burns as it smoothly goes down and settles into his uneasy stomach. He takes one more for good measure, spluttering slightly and wipes his hand across his mouth to catch any rogue liquid.

He leaves his apartment without saying goodbye to Mandy and clambers down the four flights of stairs. He can do this, the liquid courage sitting in his stomach tells him, the memory of it’s burning sensation sitting in his throat.

He holds his breath.

Ian’s leaning against the lamppost outside when he gets to the glass front door, and fucking Lord almighty, he looks good. His ginger hair is gelled back neatly, but not too tightly so there’s a little height to it. He’s dressed in a deep dark green suit which looks almost black in this lighting, and it goes heartbreakingly well with his eyes. Mickey wouldn’t be able to look away even if someone paid him. He gulps.

‘Hey.’ Ian says casually as Mickey steps out to meet him. He doesn’t miss the way Ian’s eyes rake quickly over him, drinking him in. Mickey shoves his hands subconsciously in his pockets as a response, unsure what to do with that observation.

‘Yeah.’ He says, already itching for a smoke, his hands patting his sides to no avail. Fuck, he forgot his cigarettes. ‘We gonna get this shit over with, or what?’

Ian smiles but rolls his eyes, ‘I figured we could just catch a cab from here?’

‘Whatever man, you’re paying.’ Mickey shrugs, ‘Where the fuck is it anyway?’

‘This small place up in Washington Heights, it ain’t far.’ Ian answers, stepping out into the road and deftly whistling down a cab.

Mickey really shouldn’t find that as attractive as he does. His knees shouldn’t feel like they are about to give out and his heart shouldn’t feel like it’s about to shoot up his throat, but they do.

Fuck, this is going to be a long day.

The cab pulls up in front of Ian and he turns over his shoulder to gesture Mickey to come forward. He holds open the door for Mickey, bowing like a fucking gentleman and it takes everything in him not to bite out a snide remark to cover up how fucking nervous he’s feeling. Mickey slides into the seat and shoves his hands between his thighs. Something in Mickey’s stomach swirls nauseously as Ian comes round the side and slides in next to Mickey, rather than up by the driver like he’d had expected.

‘West 175th, please.’ Ian calls out front, before leaning back to click himself in. Mickey stares out of the window as they pull away from his apartment, willing himself not to break and look over in Ian’s direction. He never gets the privilege of seeing the city from the comfort of a cab so he relishes in it for a moment, usually residing on the subway or one of the slow shitty bus services. They drive smoothly for a few minutes, pulling onto the Harlem River Drive, cars passing quickly around them. He’s lost in watching his surroundings when the driver pulls to a sudden stop, cursing loudly in the front. The sudden movement causes both men in the back to lurch forward then straight back into their seats, with Ian’s knee suddenly touching his in this new position. Mickey sucks in a deep breath, his eyes locked on their sudden point of contact.

‘Fuck.’ Ian swears, adjusting his seat belt from where it had got twisted in the bump, shifting in his seat to turn Mickey. ‘You good?’

Mickey nods, unable to stutter out a proper response. Ian doesn’t shift his knee back to its original position, he lets it sit there, ever so pressed against Mickey’s. It’s too much and not enough all at once. They both stay there, staring out of their opposite windows, well aware of the tension settling between the two of them. Everything feels heightened, the sounds of the city’s traffic, the smell wafting in from the driver’s air freshener, Mickey’s breath catching in his throat. He rests his head against the cool glass, eyes closed and lets himself breathe.

He can feel Ian’s eyes drilling into the back of his head, and he wonders if the other man is going to be brave enough to break the silence that they’ve been sitting in. He doesn’t know if he wants him to or not.

‘You look good.’

Mickey’s head snaps left to face Ian, who’s looking at him with a sheepish expression on his face, forehead slightly creased. Mickey doesn’t know how to get his head around the information that Ian still clearly finds him attractive, it sits heavily in his stomach.

‘Shut up.’ Mickey fires back though there’s no bite to it, waving a hand in Ian’s direction dismissively. ‘You don’t.’

He’s lying, obviously, given that he just almost had a near internal meltdown seeing the other man for the first time today.

‘Yeah, yeah okay.’ Ian says quietly, a small fond smile playing on his lips. ‘I’m sure.’

It occurs to Mickey that Ian is flirting with him and is suddenly acutely aware of their legs pressed up against one another, seemingly too intimate for the back seat of a cab. He shifts uncomfortably, moving his knee and turning back to face away from him. He doesn’t miss the way a flash of unease goes across Ian’s face, though it’s gone almost as quickly as it came. It’s so easy for them to fall back into their playful teasing, both men can feel it, and it makes Mickey’s heart hurt. He wonders if Ian’s heart is hurting too.

He hopes it is.

But, fuck, he never wants Ian to be hurting.

He shoves the palms of his hands into his eyes, where the fuck was all of this when he needed it? When he was sitting in that goddamn cell hoping that the next day would be different, that Ian’s flirty smile would turn the corner and they’d both run off into the goddamn sunset together.

This is so fucked up.

He’s drawn out of his internal monologue by the cab coming to stop outside a simple looking church on their right side. It’s old but not too old cause it’s American, and nothing is ever really that old. It’s pretty, Mickey notes, there’s bright flowers hanging off the window box and short trimmed grass outside.

It’s incredibly North Side.

Didn’t think he’d ever see one of Canaryville’s own getting hitched in a place like this, but to be fair, he didn’t think he’d ever see a Gallagher ever again so times apparently are changing.

‘Thanks for the ride.’ Ian says, leaning over to the front seat to slip the guy some cash. ‘You ready?’ He asks, placing a hesitant hand on his knee. He knows it’s supposed to be a comforting gesture but it stings, and he jerks away, opening the car door. He slips out, leaving Ian still seated and leans against the door as he waits for the other man to join him, the car’s dull engine lulls. It’s a nice day, the sun is high and the sky is clear, nicer than usual for a February afternoon so he’s not going to complain about that at least. He closes his eyes and breathes for a moment as he hears Ian slam his car door shut, and come round to meet him on his side.

‘You don’t have to do this.’ Ian whispers hesitantly, and Mickey opens one eye to squint at him through the sun. His face is twisted in concern, which is so goddamn endearing that it hurts, like he knows how much of a big deal it is that Mickey is even here.

‘I know.’ He grunts a little too sharply, pushing off from the window and crossing his arms. Ian steps back hesitantly, treading carefully. Mickey softens, his shoulders dropping. ‘Sorry… I just really wish I had a smoke, ya know?’

Ian grins and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a marlboro and lighter, holding them out in his palm for Mickey to take, ‘Go for it.’ He says. Mickey raises his eyebrows, impressed.

He takes the offering and lights it quickly, using his hand to shield it from the wind. Their taxi pulls away behind them, leaving the two men standing on the sidewalk as Mickey smokes slowly, biding his time. He offers the cigarette to Ian, who takes it deftly and brings it up to his lips. He closes his eyes as he inhales, his chin arching towards the sky and Mickey lets himself look. He traces the other man’s strong shoulders, up his neck and along his strong jaw. There’s no trace of stubble across his cheeks, though it looks freshly shaven this morning. So much of Ian’s features have changed and ages over the years they’ve been apart and yet so much is still the same. There’s a couple of new scars, one in particular on his forehead by his right eyebrow, which Mickey doesn’t remember from before. He wonders how Ian got it and who nursed him through it. Who cleaned his cuts, stitched him up and kissed him better when Mickey wasn’t there to do it.

When Mickey was sitting in a cell practically rotting away for the best part of 6 years. He shudders, reality slapping him in the face.

Ian’s eyes flutter back home as he exhales, catching Mickey staring at him and he holds his gaze. He smirks knowingly before removing the cigarette from his lips and stepping it out on the ground. Fucking bastard.

‘Ay! Ian.’

Shit. Mickey knows that voice. Showtime.

Lip Gallagher walks up the street towards them and he looks exactly like the same asshole Mickey used to know except his head is shaven and his muscles have filled out slightly. There’s a pretty looking blonde woman walking behind him, pushing a young baby in front of her.

Must be the kid Ian was talking about, Mickey thinks, here we fucking go.

‘How ya doing man.’ Lip greets, slapping his brother on the shoulder like Mickey has seen him do so many times before, before stepping back and looking at him. His face is clear, expressionless. ‘I have to say, I thought you were fuckin’ joking about Mickey.’

Mickey rolls his eyes, clearly Lip’s still the same mouthy asshole then. They never really saw eye to eye when they were kids, Lip made it pretty obvious how he thought Mickey wasn’t good enough for his brother, never directly to his face but in the snide off hand comments. After he broke up with Mandy all he heard for weeks was how much of a piece of shit he was, so really, the guy doesn’t have a great rep. He knows how close Ian is to Lip, and he wonders if the two ever trash talked him the way that he has imagined so many times. Laughing at Mickey’s misfortune and thanking their lucky stars that they managed to rid themselves of their Milkovich siblings.

‘Yeah, yeah. Whatever.’ He mutters, and he’s suddenly horribly aware of how vulnerable he is. Here he is, at a fucking wedding, with people he hasn’t seen in years. People, he thought he was carving a relationship with all those years ago, but apparently didn’t care enough to even try and reach out to him once in prison.

God, what the fuck is he doing?

He doesn’t notice his hands are shaking until Ian’s fingers come to rest lightly on them down at his side. He flinches away from the contact, it’s too much to bear, even that light brushing of his finger tips. Ian nods, shifting his hand away.

His chest shouldn’t ache, but it does.

‘Good to see you too, Phillip.’ Mickey grunts, ‘Pleasure as fuckin’ always.’

‘So what, they uh, they let you out early? That good behaviour kind of thing?’ Lip says, using a tone of voice that Mickey can’t quite figure out if it’s a jab at his expense so he just scowls.

‘He’s been out for a couple years, Lip.’ Ian says matter of factly, like Mickey isn’t standing right the fuck there, and he places a firm hand on Mickey’s shoulder.

It’s too much, it’s too much, it’s too much. Yet, he doesn’t shake him off.

The blonde woman and the baby have caught up to them by now and Mickey has to suppress his feet’s itching urge to bolt. She puts her arms around Ian, pulling him into a hug and knocking his hand from Mickey’s shoulder in the process.

The loss of touch shouldn’t sting, but it does.

‘Mick, this is Tammy and baby Fred.’ Ian says, when he’s released and he steps back to open up their little circle properly. ‘Tammy, this is, uh-’ He stops hesitantly, ‘This is Mickey.’

The pause shouldn’t make Mickey’s stomach drop, but it does.

‘Nice to meet you, Mickey.’ She says, friendly enough, though she turns her attention back to the other boys almost instantly before waiting to see if Mickey responds. He doesn’t. ‘Have you guys heard from Vee? She sent me a text to say they’re running late.’

‘Yeah, Kev texted me. They’ll be here soon.’ Lip replies casually, leaning down to fix the baby’s shoe he’d kicked off onto the pavement. Mickey sways slightly at the mention of old names he used to know, his jaw clenching in a way to ground him. It doesn’t help.

‘So how do you know Fiona, Mickey?’ Tammy asks, clearly going out of her way to force conversation, and the question hangs awkwardly. Mickey can’t quite figure out if she’s just being polite and she doesn’t know, or if she does and she’s trying to do some digging.

Has Ian ever talked about him? He doesn’t know how long this Tammy chick has been in the picture, obviously more than 9 months, but does that warrant a mention? A ‘oh my ex-boyfriend is in prison because he got locked away for some bullshit after a bitch sold me out to the army. I broke up with him as soon as it happened and now I am happy as fuck.’ casual dropped into conversation? Mickey knows he’s being ridiculous, he doesn’t give a shit if they’ve talked about him or not, or so he tells himself.

He doesn’t. He doesn’t give a shit.

‘We, uh, we all go way back.’ Ian replies for him, which shouldn’t irritate him as much as it does. Lips snorts obnoxiously and God, Mickey really could lay one into him. Tammy shakes her head, visibly confused at the entire exchange between the three men, before going back behind Fred’s stroller.

‘We should go in- take our seats.’ She says, and Lip nods, following slowly behind her as she pushes the baby away into the church. He throws Mickey one more look before he disappears inside.

‘I don’t need you to speak for me, Gallagher.’ Mickey bites, rubbing his eyes self consciously and wishing he was somewhere else. Ian’s breath hitches next to him and he steps closer on the sidewalk.

‘I know, I-’ Ian breathes, ‘I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.’

‘Good fuckin’ job.’ He says, irritated and with no qualms about hiding it. He pinches the bridge of his nose and breathes. He knows Ian was trying to help, in some weird twisted way, but he doesn’t need a knight in shining armour. He isn’t made of glass, he isn’t going to just shatter and break. Even when he feels like he might.

‘Do you want to leave?’ Ian sighs, exasperation clear in his voice. Multiple people around him entering the church call out his name in greeting or wave in his general direction, Ian nods politely at them all. ‘See you in there!’ He calls after someone Mickey has never seen in his life. He’s missed observing the way Ian interacts with other people, sometimes so gentle yet sometimes so horribly snarky and blunt. It always used to keep loudmouth teenage Mickey on his toes, wondering whether or not Ian was going to slap back his snide remark with a self deprecating joke or throwing back something just as hard hitting. He’s missed just being around him in casual situations, seeing him laugh and smile and joke around, all of that was so rare in those last few days they were together. It aches to think about.

Fuck no, Mickey doesn’t want to leave.

‘No.’ He says, shaking his head and quickly before he can back track, he heads directly for the church’s open front door. ‘Missed out on nine years of pissin’ your family off, might as well take the opportunity. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth and all that crap.’ He rambles before stopping and turning back to Ian, ‘You coming?’

Ian rolls his eyes but jogs over to Mickey, ‘Asshole.’ He quips when he reaches him, playfully flicking Mickey on the ear.

‘Oh, is it gonna be like that then?’ Mickey challenges, eyebrows raised. ‘Cause you know I’ve got your ass beat.’ His momentary anger dissipating.

‘No talking about beating in the Lord’s house.’ Ian responds, mimicking holding his hands together for prayer as they walk through the threshold.

‘Oh yeah, cause you’re so fuckin’ Godly.’ Mickey fires back, ‘I wonder if our Lord knows how you like to give it up the ass.’ The joke falls out so naturally that Mickey doesn’t have time to register he’s made a crack about their previous sex life until it’s already been said.

Fuck, they used to go at it like rabbits sometimes. Especially in those few months they lived together at Mickey’s house, where they didn’t have to share a room with two other siblings. He knows some of it was down to the hyper-sexualisation Ian was going through due his manic episode but that doesn’t mean he didn’t have a great fucking time, all hours of the day and night. Even when they were younger and working together at the Kash and Grab, stealing every possible moment to head back into the freezer and rub one out. Blood shoots down to Mickey’s crotch at the memory and he stops, stomach nauseous. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt both like he’s about to hurl and incredibly turned on at once before.

Jesus, he needs to get laid.

‘Or how you like to take it.’ Ian laughs, throwing back the wit Mickey had offered, taking him a second to realise Mickey isn’t still walking next to him, Mickey’s entire internal breakdown breezing right past him. He looks back at him, his forehead creased with concern. ‘You good?’

‘Yeah.’ He gulps, but he doesn’t move an inch. Ian moves quickly to him, placing a firm hand on his upper arm. The touch sends something electric through him and he squashes the habit of shaking it off. ‘Just, you know-’ He stops, and rubs a palm into his eyes.

Something changes on Ian’s face as it dawns on him, and Mickey watches his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. ‘Yeah, I know.’ Ian looks up at him uncharacteristically shyly and sweeps his hand down to catch Mickey’s. They’re close, they’re so close.

Their hands stay connected for a moment, it’s foreign and weird and full of history but Mickey isn’t able to bring himself to let go.

‘You good to find our seats?’ Ian asks, and Mickey nods, pulling his hand back and stuffing it into his pocket. He catches a moment of disappointment flash across Ian’s face at the action, but he chooses not dwell on it, time and place, and all that.

They walk slowly into the hall and Mickey hears some cheesy classical violin shit playing as they approach, there’s flowers everywhere and everything feels a little too put together for him. He remembers his own wedding, the fucking sham of it all, thrown together quickly by his dad so he literally had no choice but to go with it. He fucking hates that he let it happen, hates himself every single day for the pain he caused everyone, but especially Ian, by being to fucking scared of himself. He wishes he could go back and shake that scared teenage kid by the shoulders and tell him to man the fuck up and save everyone a lot of grief.

Though he also knows that eighteen year old Mickey would’ve probably stabbed him for that.

The main hall is full of chatter and people hugging each other when they enter, it’s grossly intimate and Mickey is immediately uncomfortable. He feels eyes on him as they walk slowly down the aisle to an empty pew a few rows from the front. He swallows deeply as he sees Kevin and Vee sitting in the row opposite, wrestling two young girls into their seats who seem to be fighting over something held in one’s hand. Kevin catches his eye.

‘Mickey Milkovich as I live and breathe!’ Kev booms, his arms flailing out to his sides. ‘How you doin’ you convict?!’ Vee’s head shoots up in his direction, her jaw dropping as she registers Mickey’s presence and he suddenly wishes the ground would swallow him whole.

‘Mickey!?’

Fuck, that’s Debbie Gallagher’s voice. The one Gallagher sibling you can always count on hearing before you see her. As he predicted, she pops up at the end of their row with a young looking blonde kid hanging onto her hip. She doesn’t look a huge amount different from when Mickey last saw her, which is saying something cause the kid always insisted on growing up so much faster than she should’ve.

‘I mean, Ian mentioned you were coming but I didn’t believe him!’ She says with her old childlike excitement, ‘This is Franny, say hello to Mickey Franny.’ She instructs the shy looking girl, shaking her on the shoulder in encouragement.

‘Hi.’ Franny peeps, who looks as if she can’t be older than 8 or so.

‘Hi.’ Mickey huffs unenthusiastically, too caught up with getting his head around seeing all these people who know him, who have expectations and opinions about him, for the first time in almost a decade.

‘You excited, Franny?’ Ian asks, leaning over Mickey to reach her at the end of the pew. He’s so close he might as well be sitting in his lap with the way their legs are pressed against each other. Mickey shivers. ‘You look so pretty!’

The small girl nods and giggles, beaming at her Uncle Ian with fond admiration, reminding Mickey so much of Debbie when she was younger. Watching them interact, Mickey realises he’d forgotten how well Ian got on with kids, he was an instant caretaker when it came to those younger than him and always held them in his hands so gently. Even in the middle of the episode when he’d stolen Yevgeny and driven him out of the state, he knew that Ian had meant well and would’ve never actually let any harm come to him. He was good with kids, really good with them.

A lot better than Mickey ever was, or would ever be.

‘I can’t wait for you all to see Fiona’s dress!’ Debbie says, clapping her hands together with glee. Her expression changes, ‘Shit, gotta get into position! Being a bridesmaid and all that is hard work, Franny why don’t you squeeze in next to Uncle Ian? Go on, good girl!’ She ushers her daughter into their row and Ian shifts to make space, leaning even further into Mickey’s personal space. Not that he minds.

‘Vee, we gotta go!’ Debbie calls, grabbing Veronica and dragging her back down the aisle to where Mickey assumes the bridesmaids have to hang out.

People continue to pour into the church, taking their seats all around them. He clocks Carl Gallagher sliding into the seat in front of him with a younger looking black boy.

Jesus, is that Liam?

There’s not a stronger indication of how much time has passed than a kid who must’ve been 4 or 5 at the time of his arrest looking like an actual human being. Carl turns, looking at Mickey for a second before holding out a fist to bump.

‘Hey.’ He says simply, and Mickey snorts, the kid never was one for formalities. He appreciates the lack of fuss and meets Carl’s fist with his. ‘How was prison?’. Liam’s eyes widen with surprise at the casual yet personal question and Mickey hears Ian make a noise of protest before he interrupts him.

‘It was prison, man.’ Mickey answers curtly, ‘It ain’t rainbows and sunshine, lotsa homemade shivs.’ He adds.

‘Cool.’ Carl grins, nodding slowly with what Mickey can only assume is admiration. Ian’s younger brother always had a weird habit of looking up to Mickey and his criminal activities, clearly that hasn’t changed with time.

‘Oh, er, Liam...this is Mickey.’ Ian says, his voice low and cautious. ‘He knew you when you were a baby.’

Liam’s eyes narrow at Mickey suspiciously, ‘He knew me?’ He asks.

‘Well, he kinda lived with us for a while.’ Ian says, running a hand through his hair awkwardly.

‘Why?’ Liam asks with youthful curiosity, and it makes Mickey wince but he gets it, it’s weird when you see someone you supposedly knew as a kid for the first time in years. He’s kinda feeling it the other way too, staring at a teenage Liam who has no clue the history sitting between them. The weight of the question hangs there heavily, Ian’s mouth shaping a few words in a search for a response but nothing successfully comes out.

‘They used to fuck.’ Carl cuts in, breaking the tension with a knowing grin. Liam looks suddenly taken aback and he hears Franny gasp beside them. His hands clench, his nails digging into his palm.

‘Carl.’ Ian says firmly, glaring at his younger brother. Both men may be adults now, but it’s still so juvenile.

‘What?’ He says, holding his hands up in innocence. ‘Oh sorry, they were boyfriends.’ He corrects himself, dragging out the end of the word ‘boyfriends’ for emphasis. Mickey’s cheeks flush uncharacteristically with unwarranted embarrassment, the heat rising.

Jesus Christ, could this get any worse?

‘Fuck off.’ Mickey snaps uncomfortably, despite the fact what Carl said was the truth. He lulls his head back, exhausted by his discomfort, and lets himself take a moment to stare at the church’s ceiling. If he was a religious person, he’d be praying right now for something to come crashing into the building and wiping everyone, himself included, out.

‘Carl.’ Ian reprimands, hitting his brother in the back of the head, ‘Shut the fuck up.’

He looks over at Mickey sheepishly, as if to say sorry for his brother’s unhelpful-ness, which makes Mickey feel all kinds of weird. It hurts to think about who they used to be but there’s some comfort to be found in not having to explain himself. They haven’t exactly spoken much about their old days together, and Mickey swallows at the realisation that the subject is probably going to come up a lot in the next few hours.

There’s a sudden shift in the music and everyone excitedly sits down in their seats, turning to the front of the hall. This guy steps out to the altar, he’s tall and brunette, looking very much like a typical North Side business guy from somewhere like Edison Park or Beverly. He rolls his eyes because of course Fiona would nab someone with a lot of money to spare, she always had that sort of knack when it came to guys. He’s joined by the priest and this goofy looking guy Mickey assumes is the best man.

The classic wedding procession music begins and everyone else turns to look behind them, Mickey moving a second behind everyone to catch up. Veronica enters first, obviously head bridesmaid, with Debbie following close behind. They smile and throw handfuls of petals in the air, it’s all very cute and kitsch. Fiona enters, wearing this floor length white wedding dress that looks like something she never would’ve dreamt of being able to afford all those years ago. Mickey’s willing to bet that she probably can’t even afford it now. He groans as he joins everyone else standing as she walks down the aisle, her eyes glossing over him as she smiles and waves to everyone. She joins everyone at the front and the priest instructs them all to take a seat, thank God.

The ceremony continues relatively uneventfully, Mickey zones out for most of it, trying to focus on something that isn’t Ian pressed up right next to him during a day that is supposed to be dedicated to love. His focus is pulled back in during the vows.

‘Do you Fiona Gallagher, take Gregory Smith, to be your lawfully wedded husband?’

‘You gonna marry me?’ Ian has asked on that fucking awful day, eyes dull and his voice broken. Mickey swallows at the painful memory, shifting his head slightly so Ian’s side profile comes into view beside him. On that day Mickey had told Ian to fuck off at the thought of marriage, but now, nine years later, he can’t help but think what if.

What if Mickey had just said, fuck it, let’s get married, where would they be?

‘In sickness and in health.’

His head pounds and with every thump against his skull he sees the image of Ian’s sunken face as they sat in that goddamn doctor’s surgery and his heart breaking whilst being told he had to live with his disorder for at least 40 years. There was no quick fix, nothing really to fix, because he wasn’t broken, he was just...Ian. Chemically unbalanced and all kinds of fucked up but heart achingly perfect, Ian. 40 years of having to deal with the highs and lows of Ian Gallagher but Mickey had been ready to do it, he’d already dropped practically everything for the kid. He was in it for the long hall, he thought they both were.

He’s thought back on that period of their lives so many times in the last few years, hours spent recounting at the pale walls in his prison cell. Wondering where he went so wrong with the balance of being Ian’s boyfriend and his caretaker, a role he hadn’t meant to fall in to but did. Would anything be different had he not taken such a full on responsibility, and apparently, suffocated Ian? He knows he was doing the right thing, he knows deep down he was, he’s always known that. He can’t help but wonder if all the shit between them that happened was his fault, as always, and could’ve been avoided somehow.

It’s his fault that Ian’s bipolar was triggered so severely, he’s not stupid, he knows this. It’s never been spoken out loud but it didn’t take him long after being locked up to figure out the correlation between his wedding with Svetlana and Ian’s sudden shift in mental health.

He hates himself, he hates himself every day for it.

His fists ball in his lap, he has to draw his eyes away from Fiona at the front and down to his feet because he feels like he might vomit.

Ian shifts next to him, his eyes catching his. ‘You okay?’ He mouths, picking up on Mickey’s obvious discomfort.

‘To love and to cherish you.’ He hears Fiona say, and it hurts. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

He’d told Ian that he loved him and Ian taken that love and thrown it back in his face, letting him get locked up for six fucking years without a single word. A love that had taken Mickey years of painstakingly cautious building, a love he held so dearly close to his chest that even saying the words out loud felt like a victory. A few moments of victory, that ultimately ended in a loss.

A hand touches his knee.

And yet, here Ian was.

They both know what’s racing through Mickey’s brain, he’s got a suspicion it’s going through Ian’s too. They don’t need to acknowledge it with words. Not right now, at least.

He feels like he’s being dunked underwater as he watches Fiona’s almost husband recount the vows back to her. He can’t hear anything, he barely registers what he’s seeing. They kiss, he thinks. People are clapping and hollering at the married couple and he can’t think clearly.

Two hands grip his upper arms. ‘I got you.’ Ian says softly, as all but pulls Mickey out of his pew. He nudges him lightly and Mickey has to remind himself how to fucking walk.

When did he get so fucking weak?

He gulps and shakes Ian’s grip off, though the sensation remains.

‘I need a fuckin’ beer.’ He mutters, falling into the crowd of people all wandering out of the church, Ian silently at his side. ‘Where’s the booze?’

‘We’ve got to get another taxi, the reception is back downtown.’ Ian explains, sighing at Mickey’s scowl in response.

‘They couldn’t fuckin’ coordinate that shit?’ Mickey growls, irritated. ‘Same place and same time that shit.’ He just wanted to be black out drunk, and fast. They get herded out onto the sidewalk again, there’s confetti everywhere and people won’t stop cheering.

Why the fuck did he agree to this again? Because right now, all he’s gotten out of it is a stomach ache.

Well, he knows why he agreed to it. He’s standing right next to him.

‘It won’t take too long, Mick.’ Ian replies and Debbie comes bounding up to them, her kid trailing behind.

‘I can’t believe Fiona’s married! Like, married married! And this time she told us about it!’ She crows, her hands coming up excitedly to her cheeks.

Ian smiles softly, his gaze still fixed directly on Mickey, ‘Yeah, it’s real great.’

‘Okay you two, together!’ She instructs, pulling out a camera from a bag Mickey hadn’t even noticed she was carrying.

‘Debs-’ Ian says, stepping forward with a hand in protest, she shoves him lightly back in place at Mickey’s side.

‘Smile!’

It must be the ugliest fucking photo ever because Mickey can feel himself scowling like a motherfucker.

‘Easy, little miss sunshine.’ Mickey barks through his clenched teeth, his vision reeling from the flash.

‘She fuckin’ did it!’ Lip says, he walks up to them on the sidewalk and throws an arm around Ian’s shoulders, without sparing Mickey much of a glance. ‘We sharing a cab downtown?’

Mickey groans, as if the day couldn’t get infinitely worse, he’s about to get stuck in a small moving vehicle with Lip fucking Gallagher. Sensing his agitation, Ian throws him a look which Mickey reads as: play nice.

‘Yeah, I figure we could save on the fare then.’ Ian says, and Lip nods.

‘I’m not fuckin’ paying.’ Mickey snaps, raising his eyebrows at Lip as if to say challenge me motherfucker.

‘You don’t have to pay, Mick.’ Ian tells him, slipping out from under Lip’s arm and stepping out into the road to call another cab. ‘We’re meeting Fiona down there right?’ Lip nods and Ian successfully hails another cab, which pulls up to the sidewalk next to them.

‘SHOT GUN MOTHERFUCKERS!’ Carl calls from out of nowhere, bounding over to them, pulling the front seat’s door open and jumping in. He presses up his middle fingers against the window in success.

‘You guys get this one, we’ll get the next.’ Debbie instructs, her hand resting motherly on Franny’s head. ‘I left a few things in the dressing room anyway.’ The boys nod in agreement.

Mickey pulls open the door and slides in to the opposite window, it’s a momentary relief from the Gallagher family bonding he stupidly fucking agreed to. He gets so distracted by counting his breathing that he doesn’t notice Lip sliding in awkwardly next to him until he’s already there and clicked in.

He was wrong before, this is it, this is how his day can get infinitely worse.

‘Jesus fucking Christ. ’ He swears, taking a deep breath in and shifting himself to make as much distance between himself and the other Gallagher brother as he possibly can.

‘You got a problem?’ Lip asks, disinterested but clearly trying to get a rise out of him.

‘Fuck off.’ Mickey bites, turning to Lip with a forced fake smile and flipping him off.

‘Knock it off, guys.’ Ian sighs, as if the asshole couldn’t have just sat next to him and they could’ve avoided this whole issue. His stomach churns slightly at the thought of Ian actively choosing not to sit next to Mickey, especially after he had dragged him out here in the first place. Was it on purpose? Or just a coincidence that he ended up with the wrong Gallagher brother way too close in his personal space.

Fuck, he’s being ridiculous. He presses his palms into his eyes as the car revs up and pulls away, and he lets himself get lost in the black spotty vision. He’s been doing that a lot recently, needing moments of pause just to collect himself. It’s unchartered territory and Mickey doesn’t like it one bit.

The rest of the ride goes by relatively smoothly, it’s awkward and tense but no one (Mickey) ends up punching someone (Lip) so they could all probably call it a success. Carl rattles off in the front seat telling the driver about some gang he was part of back in Chicago. It’s hard to forget Carl’s in his mid 20s when he’s practically the same kid Mickey shared a beer with all those years ago, it’s comforting not to be constantly reminded of the time that has passed. They pull up outside this bougie looking place and Mickey registers that they’re now downtown in the financial district.

‘Jesus, how much money does this guy have?’ He whistles, impressed.

‘A lot.’ All three of the Gallagher brothers chime at the same time, it’s weird and seems rehearsed even though it can’t possibly be. They grin at each other and Mickey raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. Ian hands the driver a couple of bills and they all pile out onto the sidewalk. Mickey hangs back whilst the rest of them walk towards the entrance and Ian turns to him questioningly.

‘You good?’ Ian asks, and it feels like he’s just repeating that phrase to him all day.

‘Yeah, whatever. I’ll just…’ Mickey mutters, looking down at his feet to avoid the questioning gaze. Truthfully he feels like he’s going to vomit, even despite the fact he’s been gasping for a beer all day, he doesn’t know if he can convince himself to go into that party, free bar and all. Is free booze enough to handle a room full of Gallaghers and the constant stream of ‘you’re out of prison?’, or even worse, the possibility of ‘what the fuck are you doing here?’

A room full of people that know exactly what he was to Ian, what they were to each other, and who he was back then. It’s daunting and messy and Mickey just wants a fucking smoke.

‘Hey.’ Ian comforts, stepping in closely. It’s an echo of the moment they had before the ceremony and Mickey can’t quite understand why this keeps happening, why he keeps needing to be reassured and held up by Ian.

‘Fuck’ Mickey swears, and Ian’s there, staring at him with understanding eyes. He doesn’t need to explain himself and in that moment, like in so many before with Ian, he doesn’t need to be the hard edged guy he’s played his entire life.

‘Let’s get fucking drunk.’ Ian says, smiling softly. It’s all Mickey needs to hear.

‘I’ll drink you under the damn table and you know it.’ Mickey mumbles and laughs quietly. ‘Only takes you one fuckin’ beer on those meds.’ and Ian winks, the fucker winks, as if to say: let’s go, and it takes everything in Mickey for his knees not to buckle there and then. He blinks, allowing his brain to catch up before jogging to catch up with Ian who’s already halfway to the door.

He’s an asshole.

The party room is set up with round tables and fancy place settings, there’s a long table at the end where Mickey assumes Fiona and the Greg guy will be sitting. A string band plays on a small stage and people are milling about before the food arrives, it’s probably the bougiest party set up Mickey has ever been to. Ian spots Lip, waving from the other side at the room seated at the closest table to the main one. Tammy’s there too, as is Carl and Kev.

‘Mickey, my man.’ Kev greets, leaning over the table and clapping Mickey on the shoulder, ‘I’m not going to lie to you dude, I thought I was hallucinating when I saw you in that church.’

‘In the flesh.’ Mickey replies shortly, shifting slightly under Kevin’s friendly gaze. Back in the day he and Kev somewhat got on well, it got a little blurry when they were dealing with the rub and tug business at the Alibi but he always figured he was an alright guy. Even if there was that brief period Mickey wanted to kill him.

‘Didn’t know they let your ass out of the clink!’ He says, which catches Tammy’s attention, again adding to the theory that no one has really mentioned him in the last few years, ‘How’s things?’

Mickey swallows uncomfortably, ‘You know, they’re whatever.’ He says dismissively, looking around the room to find the bar he was promised. ‘Better than fuckin’ prison that’s for sure.’

‘You know Gemma and Amy- you remember my girls right? They’re so old now you wouldn’t even recognise them.’ Kevin continues, and Mickey hums as if he spent any time with them other than the days they happened to be at The Alibi. ‘Those little tykes around here somewhere.’

Ian places his hands on Mickey’s shoulders suddenly, making him jump. He gives him an apologetic shoulder squeeze.

‘I’ll go find us some drinks?’ Ian says and Mickey shoots him a please do not leave me alone with these people look, which Ian pointedly ignores. He leaves him, the bastard, to fend for himself.

‘Fuck.’ Mickey swears, attempting to keep it under his breath but he’s pretty sure he didn’t actually succeed.

‘It’s been what, five years?’ Kev asks as Mickey slips unenthusiastically into the chair in front of him.

‘Nine.’ Mickey grunts, tapping his fingers on the table linen. It’s a good colour, a nice choice.

‘Nine goddamn years!’ Kev exclaims, ‘Woo, how time does fly!’ and he shakes his head at Mickey in disbelief, as if those years weren’t the longest of Mickey’s fucking life.

‘Not when you’re locked up.’ Mickey replies curtly, his fingers curling, ‘because of some bitch-’, he stops himself, incredibly aware of everyone’s attention on him, it’s suffocating and too much.

Only 2 minutes in and he already needs a breather.

‘I’m gonna go piss.’ He mutters, jumping back up and out of there as quickly as he can. He spots an arrow on the other side of the hall reading ‘toilets’ so he follows it out into the hallway.

He’s halfway towards the bathroom when he hears it.

‘Mickey!?’

There’s his fucking name again, and honestly, after today he’s going to consider changing it. He’s getting real fucking sick of hearing it. He whips around to see who called but there’s no one else in the hallway.

‘Mickey!?’ He hears his name again, so he stops, noticing a door to his left. There’s ‘KITCHEN’ written on the front in big lettering and there’s a small window where he can see Fiona leaning against a counter, wedding dress and all. He steps forward, wondering whether he should open the door and respond but their voices start again.

‘You said you were bringing someone, you didn’t say it was Mickey fuckin’ Milkovich!’ Fiona cries, it’s muffled by the glass but it still comes through clearly. She throws her arms out dramatically, ‘Did everyone else know?’

He ducks to the side, making sure she can’t see him through the window but so he still has clear access to what's going on inside. Mickey’s confused, Ian said that he would tell Fiona beforehand so this exact situation didn’t happen, did he lie?

‘Fiona…’ The man in question steps into view, leaning against the door on the other side. He’s blocking Mickey’s view of Fiona through the window but he can’t say he minds, considering he’d rather look at the back of Ian’s head than Fiona any day. A giant lump forms in Mickey’s throat. He places his hands flat against the door beside his head.

‘How long have you been seeing him? Jesus, why- why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Fiona, it’s not like that.’ Ian protests, and Mickey’s stomach drops to the floor. It’s like a bucket of ice cold water and he feels like he could keel over and pass out because everything suddenly fucking hurts. He knew that this was all too good to be true, hell, he’d even been kidding himself into halfway forgiving Ian. He should’ve known that this was all momentary, it was just pleasantries between two people who used to know each other whole lifetimes ago. He doesn't know what he expected, fuck, how could he be so careless? His hands shake but he can’t pull himself away from the door.

‘We’re just…’ Ian says, ‘It’s been nine years Fiona. I was going to say something, but I forgot…’

‘Yeah, nine fucking years because he was sitting in prison for attempted murder. ’ She bites, and Mickey physically winces at his prison sentence being thrown out there so casually.

‘He never- Fiona, you know that’s not true.’ Ian says, his voice firm and clear. ‘I just bumped into him a few days ago, I promise.’

‘Do you really wanna get messed up in his shit again!? You’re doing so well.’ She yells, hands gesturing towards him. ‘Ian, it’s been nine years.’

‘Fiona-’

‘He fucked you up so badly back in the day. Ian, I can’t see that happen again-’ She interrupts.

‘Stop it.’ Ian says, and Mickey can hear the anger in his voice. ‘You don’t know shit about what we went through as kids. I’ve always, I-’ He stops himself and Mickey edges closer, despite knowing he should’ve left 30 seconds ago.

‘What, Ian? Is he worth throwing all your progress away?’ She looks at him helplessly and Mickey can feel his blood boil.

Fuck you. Fuck you, I cared about him more than any of you fuckers.

That’s it, he’s heard enough. He’s about to spin to leave, to hop on a subway and get the fuck out of there and this mess, when Ian’s voice stops him.

‘Listen to me, I’m in a good place now. I fucked him over so badly- yes, Fiona I did. I fucked it up, it wasn’t him. I was a shitty kid and I ruined it and now, since seeing him again I haven’t been able to get him out of my head.’ Ian rambles and Mickey’s knees shake. His head feels like it’s about to explode and he doesn’t know what the fuck to do. ‘I, I want...this isn’t some, teenage thing and you know that.’

‘Ian.’

‘What?’ Ian says, and Mickey watches the back of his head shake back and forth.

‘Have you taken your meds today?’ Fiona asks.

‘What? Of course I’ve taken my meds, that was a-’

‘Are you on them? Right now? Because this-’

‘Fuck you. I’ve taken them.’ Ian bites, Mickey can see his anger shift.

‘Ian…’

‘I just want to make it right by him if anything, make up for the six years he spent locked up for my ungrateful ass.’ Ian says exasperated, Mickey can tell he’s exhausted. He wonders how many times he’s had this conversation in the last few hours, with other people or himself.

‘Be careful. Please.’ Fiona presses, moving forward to wrap her arms around Ian. They move quickly, catching Mickey off guard when the door swings open and he stands there like a deer in the headlights.

‘Hey.’ He says innocently and he can see Ian doesn’t buy his ignorance one bit.

‘Mickey.’ Fiona says, voice cracking. Her cheeks are flushed with embarrassment. It’s pretty obvious that he heard every word of their last conversation, ‘How are you?’

‘Great.’ He replies curtly, and they stand there awkwardly, Ian’s mouth gaping slightly.

‘I didn’t mean, if you heard all that- .’ She starts, pulling out the old innocent I wasn’t just shit talking your ass Fiona act.

‘Congrats.’ He says simply, and he can see them both surprised at the fact he isn’t characteristically blowing up at them, no matter how much he wants to. He can reign it in, prove her thoughts wrong, even if he does want to yell her down.

His heart is stuck in his throat, and he can’t bring himself to look at Ian, so he resigns to looking at Fiona.

‘I’m gonna go.’ He nods, before spinning on his heel and turning to leave. He hears Ian calling out his name but he ignores it as he pushes an emergency exit door open and he falls out into an alleyway. He knows Ian isn’t going to let him get away so easily so he takes a breather to prepare himself in the few seconds before the doors inevitably open and Ian comes crashing out.

His feet itch, his heart thumping, he wants to leave. He wants to slip away, back to his apartment and lock himself in his room. He wants to stay. He wants to run. He wants to stop running. He wants to get so fucking drunk he can’t see straight and end up passed out on the floor. He wants to pull Ian into his arms and tell him he forgives him, kiss him, fuck him. He wants to push Ian away, once and for all, tell him fuck off back to Chicago and leave him alone. He wants to go back home, back to Chicago and the South Side. He never wants to leave the safety of the East Coast again. He wants Ian to hurt, to feel what he’s felt for the last 9 years. He never wants Ian to hurt, he wants to protect him from the world’s harm. He wants to scream and kick and punch, but he also wants to love and love and love. He wants Ian. He doesn’t want to want Ian. He wants, he wants, he wants.

He presses his palms into his eyes.

Mickey Milkovich never gets what he wants.

#gallavich fic #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #shameless #shameless fic #gallavich

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