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yeah-all-of-it · 3 years

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I’ve had this headcanon for awhile now about Ian and Mickey starting a family and since I’m becoming more comfortable with writing, I thought I’d turn it into a fic. Enjoy!

A Life Changing Gift

“Debs, are you sure you understand what you’re offering right now?,” Ian questions, feeling a bit skeptical.

It is Debbie after all. Sometimes she’s perfectly pleasant and reasonable, other times she can be a raging bitch. But, she is his sister and he can’t imagine her offering something this monumental only to renege after they’ve gotten their hopes up. And she’s definitely mellowed out since they didn’t end up selling the house and she didn’t have to find a new place to live.

Ian and Debbie are sitting at the kitchen table in the Gallagher house. She had called him over to look at a cut Franny had gotten playing in the backyard. Wasn’t sure if it needed stitches and thought Ian could use his past medical training to check it out. In reality, it was barely a scratch. Ian should have known at that point Debbie was up to something, especially when she invited him to stay for coffee.

“Ian, I’ve been thinking a long time about this. Came up with the idea months ago but wanted to be completely sure before I said anything,” Debbie explains.

“Yeah, but, Debbie. This is fuckin’ huge. Think about how hard it’ll be on you-“

“I’ve already thought about all that shit, Ian. I’ve been through it before, you know. It’s really not that bad,” Debbie assures him.

Debbie seems sincere. Like she’s really considered every angle, every downside, upside, and in-between. He’s trying to keep his excitement reined in because he still has to convince Mickey that this is a good idea, which could be easier said than done.

“Listen,” Debbie says. “You don’t have to say anything now. Go home, talk it over with Mickey. You can even bring him over here and we can all talk about it if you want. No pressure.”

They both stand from the table and Ian goes to give her a hug.

“Wait, what the fuck are you doing?” Debbie jokes. “Thought you hated me and that we don’t do hugs anymore.” She laughs, and Ian knows she’s remembering how tense things were a year ago when she thought she’d be homeless and alone and she lashed out at all her siblings.

“Would you just fuckin’ come here?” Ian smiles warmly and holds his arms out.

She steps into his embrace and he just holds his little sister. Sometimes he still likes to imagine her as that sweet little girl that was always helping people. Always loving people, sometimes so much she would get hurt. It would kill him to see the tears in her eyes.

Sometimes, he sees glimpses of that caring little girl in the jaded woman she’s become. Like when she pretended to be the bride at his wedding; staying in the kitchen, missing the whole ceremony, just so he and Mickey could get married without any problems from the homophobes at the venue. And now, when she’s offering this selfless and life changing gift to them.

Ian whispers into her hair, hair that’s the same vibrant shade of red as his own, “I don’t even know what to say, Debs. Just… thank you.”

Debbie gives him one more big squeeze before pulling away. “You’re welcome. Now, go home and convince your husband to let me have his baby.”

———

“No fuckin’ way, NO fuckin’ way!” Mickey exclaims. “No way am I bangin’ your little sister.”

Mickey hops up on the counter, takes a long chug of the Old Style in his hand.

“Mick,” Ian sighs, leaning up against the opposite counter. “That’s not how it works. You would basically jerk off in a cup and she’d use a turkey baster, in the privacy of her own room,” he emphasizes,” to… place the sperm where they need to go.”

“Don’t you need like, a doctor or some shit to do that?” Mickey asks incredulously.

“Well, you can use a doctor but it’s expensive. This way is free,” Ian clarifies.

Mickey is clearly churning the idea around in his brain. Finally speaks.

“I thought we were just gonna like, find a fuckin’ kid that didn’t have parents or somethin’.”

“We can do that too, one day. Ya know, if we like the first one enough to do it again,” Ian says lightheartedly, slight grin, trying to calm Mickey.

Ian steps toward Mickey, placing his hips between Mickey’s knees, resting his hands on his thighs, rubbing softly.

Ian continues. “Think about it though, Mick. This baby would be us, you and me. It’s the closest we can get since we don’t exactly have the right stuff to do it on our own. He or she would have your DNA and, through Debbie, a little of mine too.”

Mickey beams at this, wraps his arms around his husband’s shoulders. “It would be kinda fun to have a little version of us runnin’ around,” Mickey admits. “You know a kid that’s part Milkovich and part Gallagher is bound to be a little shit though, right?” Mickey jokes, smiling at the thought.

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Ian quips, leaning in and planting a sweet kiss on his smiling husband’s lips.

Ian pulls back from the kiss and asks seriously, “So. Do you wanna do this?”

“Yeah. Yeah I do. What about you?” Mickey questions.

“Fuck yeah, I do. Let’s call Debs right now.”

———

“I’ve done a lot of research about this. You guys know it might not work on the first try right? Don’t want you to be frustrated or disappointed if it doesn’t work this month. Doesn’t mean it won’t ever work, but it can take a little time,” Debbie explains.

They are sitting in the Gallagher living room the day they are making their first attempt at insemination.

“Yeah, we know, Debs. Don’t worry,” Ian replies. “We’re not in a hurry.”

“Okay, good. Keeping your expectations reasonable is good,” she says. “I’ve also been tracking my basal body temperature and took an ovulation test, so today is my most fertile da-“

Mickey interrupts, “Thanks, Dr. Gallagher, but we don’t need all the gory details. Now where do I jerk off? Hey Ian, you gonna gimme a hand, man?” Mickey clicks his tongue and bounces his eyebrows playfully.

“Ugh, no gory details, right? Let’s just keep all the personal shit to ourselves okay?” Debbie requests.

“Yeah, this is already awkward enough. Don’t need to make it weirder,” Ian agrees and eyes Mickey scoldingly.

Ian and Mickey are forced to go into the bathroom because Lip and Tami live there now and their old bedroom is now Fred and the baby’s room. They’re not home but it would be uncomfortable seeing Fred’s little toddler bed, his stuffed animal collection staring at them while Mickey gets off. So, bathroom it is.

“Listen, Mickey,” Ian explains. “I’ll help, but we are keeping this clinical. Short and sweet. We can fuck at home later for fun; this needs to be done with a purpose, a goal. Debbie’s waiting.”

“Ugh, Jesus, man, why you gotta bring up Debbie? Doesn’t exactly make this process easier to think of her waiting in her room to squir-“

“Okaaayy, focus Mick,” Ian interrupts before that sentence goes any further.

Ian yanks down Mickey’s pants and gets to work. He knows exactly how Mickey likes it to make him come quickly. It works and Mickey finishes into the bulb of the turkey baster in record time.

Ian wipes off the edges and walks it to Debbie’s room, knocking on the door. She opens it just enough to stick her arm out and Ian places the bulb in her hand. Ian hears her say, “Uh, you guys can go home. I’ll text you later,” and shuts the door.

On their way back to the Westside, Ian’s phone dings. He picks it up and reads the text from Debbie out loud. “Transfer is complete.”

“What now?” Mickey asks.

“We wait,” Ian answers.

———

“It should have worked by now, right?” Mickey asks, an edge of concern in his voice. “I mean, it’s been almost 4 months. What if like, my fuckin’ swimmers don’t work or somethin’?”

Ian tries to calm Mickey down, rubbing his arm that’s slung across Ian’s belly. It’s midnight and they really should be asleep but Mickey’s spiraling over the whole surrogacy thing.

“Mick, this is normal. We knew it could take awhile. There’s no need to freak out yet,” Ian assures. “What’s all this about, anyway? All the worry.”

“Just… I know it took a long time for me to even wanna have kids. Then you had to convince me to do this shit, to be okay with Debbie carrying my baby. Fuck, that still sounds creepy as hell. But anyway, I know I wasn’t on board with everything at first, but now? Ian, I’m so fuckin’ excited to have a baby with you. To be a dad with you. It’s just hard to wait, that’s all. And then I think… what if it doesn’t happen? What if this whole plan just fuckin’ fails? Then what?”

“Then, we come up with another plan,” Ian assures. “I wanna raise kids with you too, Mickey, so fuckin’ much. I wanna give them the childhood we never got to have. I wanna take them to the beach with you, I want us to play blocks on the living room floor, and read bedtime stories together. All that shit. It’ll happen, Mickey. One way or another, we’ll make it happen.”

Ian snuggles Mickey closer, kisses him on the top of the head, and they fall asleep in each other’s arms.

They are woken up by Ian’s obnoxious ringtone at 6:00 am, well before they have to be up for work.

“Who the fuck is calling this goddamn early? Better be fuckin’ important,” Mickey grumbles while rubbing his eyes.

It’s Debbie.

“Hey, Debs!” Ian says with fake cheerfulness, still half asleep. “What’s up?”

“There’s two lines!” she screams on the other end of the phone.

“Okay?” Ian replies.

“There’s TWO lines!” she repeats, emphasizing the word two.

“I don’t know what the fuck that means, Debs. Two lines where?” Ian questions.

“On the pregnancy test, dipshit! It’s positive! I’m pregnant!” she yells.

Ian bolts upright in bed. Mickey grumbles “what the fuck” under his breath, eyes still half closed.

“Holy fuck! It’s positive?” Ian exclaims. “It worked?

Mickey’s up now too. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“Debs! Thank you! I love you! I’ll call you back later!” Ian says, unable to hold in his excitement.

He hangs up the phone. Turns and looks at Mickey. “It worked. She’s pregnant,” Ian practically whispers, unable to believe it. Ian sees tears well up in Mickey’s eyes and, for only the second time Ian has ever witnessed, they spill out onto his cheeks.

———

“Damn, you look like a beached whale, Debbie,” Mickey observes.

Debbie gives him a dirty look but chooses to keep her mouth shut.

She’s a week past her due date so they are at the clinic today to make sure everything is good. Debbie is up on the table and Ian and Mickey are sitting in the two available chairs when the doctor comes in.

“Hi, Debbie! Hi, Dads!” she says cheerfully. “So we are going to measure your belly and do a quick ultrasound just to make sure your amniotic fluid looks good.” Mickey grimaces at the term “amniotic fluid”. “I’ll have her back in a jiffy, guys!” the doctor says as she whisks Debbie out of the room.

They spent the last 6 months getting everything they needed for their new baby. Tami even threw them a shower where they got clothes, bottles, a swing, a carseat, and about a billion diapers. They decorated the nursery in light gray bedding with tiny white stars. Gender neutral because they want to be surprised. They have everything ready, all they need is the baby who is taking its sweet time.

Around 20 minutes has passed when the doctor pokes her head in the door.

“Sooo, I have some news. Debbie’s water broke while we were doing her ultrasound and her contractions started coming really fast. From what I’ve been told, her first delivery was pretty quick so we’re transporting her to the hospital just down the road, just to be safe. You are welcome to head over there now. I will be delivering so I’ll see you guys there!” and her head pops out as quickly as it appeared.

Ian and Mickey just look at each other, stunned. Finally Mickey regains his senses and breaks the silence. “Well, let’s fuckin’ go!”

They finally make it to the OB floor after a couple wrong turns inside the hospital. A nurse points them to Debbie’s room and they walk in when she’s in the middle of a pretty intense contraction. Once it subsides, she greets them and informs the epidural is on its way.

Once it’s been administered and Debbie is blissfully pain free, she asks, “Do you guys want to be in the delivery room?”

They both look at each other. “I hadn’t really thought about it,” Ian replies.

“Fuck, no,” Mickey says. “I don’t wanna see that shit.”

“Mick, you don’t have to watch. We can stand up by her head. Hold her hand. Be supportive since she’s bringing our baby into this world.” Ian turns to Debbie. “Are you sure you don’t mind? We understand if you want to keep things private.”

“Ian. I gave birth to Franny on our kitchen table in front of… like, everyone. Kev saw my vagina. V saw my vagina. Fuckin’ Sean saw my vagina. Trust me, I don’t care if you two are in the room.”

Ian looks at Mickey. “Fuck… fine. We can be in there,” Mickey relents.

A nurse comes in to check Debbie and informs her she’s 100% effaced and 10cm dilated. It’s go time. Things move at a quick pace after that. More nurses come in, turning on extra lights, bringing in supplies, wheeling in the heated bassinet.

Ian and Mickey stand side by side to Debbie’s left, Ian holding her hand, while she pushes. It’s fast. She only pushes for ten minutes before they hear cries and the doctor’s holding the baby in her hands, declaring, “it’s a girl!”

The next thing they know, a nurse is throwing a clean blanket over Mickey’s chest, and another nurse walks over and places the baby, his daughter, in his arms, blood, vernix, and all. Ian expects him to be grossed out but Mickey just stares in awe at this beautiful baby. This baby that looks like him in the face, but has a head of red hair.

Ian steps up to Mickey and wraps an arm around his shoulders, placing his other under Mickey’s arms that are holding their daughter. There is not a dry eye in the room. Ian and Mickey are crying, Debbie is crying, even the doctor and nurses are crying.

The next hour or so is spent getting the baby, and Debbie, cleaned up and dressed. They take the baby and run the normal tests and give her a vitamin k shot.

Once Debbie is in a room, the nurse brings the baby in to her dads. Ian sits in the rocking chair snuggling her while she sleeps and Mickey is right next to them.

Debbie just gazes at this new little family from her spot in bed. “So,” she finally says. “What are you naming her?”

Ian and Mickey just smile at each other before Ian responds, “Debbie, meet Margaret Laura Gallagher-Milkovich. Maggie for short.”

Debbie’s eyes tear up. “You guys gave her my middle name?”

Mickey surprisingly fields this question. “We wanted her to be named after the person that’s responsible for her bein’ here. For helping’ create her for us. I know I give you a lotta shit, but I love ya, and I appreciate the fuck outta you, Debbie.”

“Aww, Mickey, I love yo-“ she begins before being interrupted.

“Don’t get fuckin’ used to it. I’m emotional today,” he snaps with feigned grumpiness. Then smiles at her.

They let Debbie snuggle her for a bit before being released by the pediatrician to take her home. Thankfully they had already installed the infant seat in their car so they were prepared.

They walk through the door of their apartment 30 minutes later. Ian sets the carrier down and picks the baby up out of it, snuggling her tiny body to his chest before passing her off to Mickey.

“I’m not sure what you were so worried about, you’re a natural, Mickey,” Ian says as he gazes at his handsome husband tenderly cradling their beautiful baby girl.

They walk over to the sofa and sit down, thinking about the whirlwind of a day. Not knowing when they got up this morning to take Debbie to the clinic that by evening, they’d be holding their daughter in their arms.

Ian wraps Mickey’s shoulders with his arm, places his hand on their swaddled baby and says, “Welcome home, Maggie Gallagher-Milkovich. Your dads love you so much.”

#gallavich fic #ian and mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #debbie gallagher #post season 11

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bellafarella · 3 years

Note

angst 17 and/or fluff 13 and/or misc 1

choices 😉

Thanks for sending me these!! I wrote for all 3; the angst one is a fic on it’s own, and the fluff & misc are in a fic together.

The sentences came from this post

You can also read both of these here: angst & fluff/misc

**********************************************

Put your arms around me

Angst #17: “If you don’t hug me right now I think I might fall apart.”

Ian and Mickey have been taking care of Franny for the past three months. Debbie took off with her loser, new girlfriend and she promises she’ll be back in another two months. She was going to take Franny with her but Mickey offered to let them watch her. Franny got all excited, begging her mom to let her stay with her favorite uncles. Debbie relented and took off the next day. Ian and Mickey have a second bedroom in their new apartment that they were going to convert into a guest room anyway so this became Franny’s room until Debbie comes back for her child.

Ian picks Franny up from school, meeting her in front. She rips her mask off as she runs over to him, hugging his legs. “Hey Fran,” he greets her, tapping her back.

“Hi,” she says in her tiny voice. “No uncle Mickey?” she asks when she lets go, looking up at him and shrugging her shoulders.

“Not today, he had something to do,” Ian tells her. “We’ll meet him back at home later.”

“Okay,” she says simply. She takes his hand when he offers it to her and the two walk off school grounds. He asks her how school was as they make their way to the ambulance parked down the street. Ian has Franny ride in the back, strapped in so that she stays safe as he drives them back home.

They get inside the apartment, Ian locking the door behind them as Franny runs in. “Go wash your hands, Fran,” he yells after her.

“I know!” she yells back in her little voice.

Ian walks to the kitchen sink to wash his own hands. As he dries them off, he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket. It’s from a private number so he picks up just in case, “Hello?”

“Hello, is this Ian Gallagher?” the person on the other end asks.

“Um, yes, who is this?” he asks, making his way back to the living room where Franny is now dumping her stuff from her school bag on the coffee table.

“I’m calling from South Shore Hospital. We have a Mikhailo Milkovich that was brought in today and -”

“What happened? Is Mickey okay? I’m his husband,” he says in a panic, realizing they must know he’s his husband since they called him.

“Yes, sir. Mikhailo was in an accident, he’s okay, but he’s asked us to call you,” the person tells him.

“I’m on my way now,” he tells him before the person tells him where exactly he is and then he hangs up. “C’mon Franny, we gotta go get uncle Mickey.”

“Can I bring a toy?” Franny asks.

“Just one,” Ian tells her.

Franny grabs one of her toys quickly from her room before the two are back out the door and in the ambulance. Ian doesn’t park too close, seeing as this is still a stolen ambulance, and the two walk the rest of the way to the hospital.

Ian finds the nurse’s station of who he spoke to on the phone before she leads him to Mickey’s room. Franny’s holding Ian’s hand as they make their way inside and see Mickey laying on the hospital bed with his leg in a cast.

“Oh my God, Mick,” Ian says, tears threatening to fall already.

Franny lets go of Ian’s hand to run to Mickey’s side, she looks at him and he says, “Hey, kid.”

“Are you okay, uncle Mickey?” she asks so softly he barely hears it.

“I’m okay,” he tells her but he looks up at Ian, nodding his head softly, reassuringly.

Ian joins them closer to Mickey and leans down, kissing him softly on the lips. He pulls back and asks, “What the hell happened?”

“Some jackass wasn’t looking and hit me with his fuckin’ car,” Mickey tells him. “Fractured my leg. They said I’ll be in this cast for like six to eight weeks.”

Ian looks down at his leg in the cast and how this could have been so much worse. A fractured leg is nothing but had this car hit him harder or at a different angle and -

Ian starts tearing up and Mickey says, “Hey, Ian, I’m okay,” his hand grabbing his where it’s resting on the bed beside him.

“If you don’t hug me right now I think I might fall apart,” Ian tells him, letting the tears slip down his cheeks.

“Come here,” Mickey mumbles, pulling him closer. Ian leans down and Mickey wraps his arms around Ian awkwardly seeing as he’s sitting up in bed and Ian’s crouching down.

Ian shoves his face in the crook of Mickey’s neck and lets the tears fall, breathing in his scent, and praying to whatever God there is that his husband is okay and here in his arms.

Ian feels Franny hugging his legs so he pulls back and lifts her up. Mickey pats the bed next to him, away from his broken leg, and Ian puts her down next to him. Ian sits in the chair, pulling it right up beside the bed and waits. The doctor comes in not much longer to explain to them both what Mickey can and cannot do for the first couple of weeks and how recovery will go, before they are free to go.

Ian wheels Mickey out of the hospital in a wheelchair with Franny walking closely beside him. He brings Mickey all the way to their stolen ambulance in the wheelchair, helps him into the vehicle and tells them both to wait there before rushing back to return the wheelchair and running back to get them all home.

That night while they’re lying in bed, Ian sleeping on the other side of his fractured leg, he snuggles close, resting his head on his chest. “I felt like my heart was going to drop out of my ass when I got a call from the hospital saying you were in an accident,” Ian whispers.

Mickey’s arm is wrapped around him and he’s soothingly running his fingers up and down Ian’s arm. “I’m okay,” he says softly.

“It could have been so much worse though, Mick…”

“It wasn’t though. I’m right here,” Mickey reassures him.

“Uncle Mickey?” they hear from the open doorway.

“C’mon in, Fran,” Mickey tells her.

“Be careful of uncle Mickey’s leg,” Ian reminds her.

Franny slowly climbs onto the bed, Ian moving over so she can get in the middle. She snuggles right up against Mickey like Ian just was and says, “I’m happy you’re okay.”

“Me too,” Mickey tells her, kissing her forehead.

Ian snuggles up behind her, reaching his arm over so he can hold Mickey’s hand. Mickey squeezes his hand and the three of them fall asleep together, thankful that Mickey’s okay.

/////////////

A teenage crush

Misc #1: “All I do is drink coffee and say bad words.” & Fluff #13: “Are you flirting with me?” “You finally noticed?”

Ian hates his warehouse job. Well, he doesn’t hate one part about it, which is his very grumpy but very hot supervisor, who on his first day meeting him was told, “All I do is drink coffee and say bad words.” It immediately made Ian like him.

Ian hasn’t had a legal job since he worked at the Kash’n’Grab when he was like fourteen. So much has happened in the last ten years. Most of it bad but also some good. He was able to finally get stable after being diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder like his mother and he found himself this job. It’s been about six months that he’s working for Amazon and the only good part about coming to work every day is seeing his supervisor.

Usually people don’t develop massive crushes on their superiors but not Ian. The first day he started and he met Mickey Milkovich, Ian thought his heart would jump out of his chest. He’s never felt this way before. He’s been with plenty of men in his short lifetime but there’s something about Mickey that - mmph. He makes Ian act like a teenager with a crush again.

Mickey is abrasive. He has crude knuckle tattoos. He has the most fowl, dirty mouth Ian’s ever heard. He has piercing blue eyes and black hair. He’s been at the center of Ian’s dreams for the past six months.

He has no idea what Mickey’s sexuality is. They don’t hang out. Mickey’s the warehouse supervisor, he’s his boss. They chat here and there but it’s never anything more than pleasantries. Mickey doesn’t do small talk and has told him multiple times to ‘shut the fuck up and get back to work, Gallagher’. But Ian has his suspicions. He’s noticed Mickey’s eyes wandering his body when he comes into work in tight shirts or if his jeans are a little more snug than he normally wears.

Ian tries to get Mickey to notice him more than just his employee. He wants to spend time with him outside of work. He wants to bend him over and fuck him, give him the best dick he’s ever had.

Ian snaps out of it, trying to get back to work. He continues going through the box, making sure the products aren’t expired. It’s not the most thrilling job Ian’s ever had but it’s a stable job, a stable paycheck - even if it’s minimum wage - so it’s giving him the security and stability he needs in his life right now.

“Gallagher,” he hears and knows immediately it’s Mickey. He smiles to himself before turning around to see the shorter man making his way over with his trusty clipboard. He looks so good today. He looks good everyday but today he has on some dark blue jeans and a burgundy crewneck sweater that’s rolled up his forearms.

“Hey, Mick, what’s up?” Ian says, going for nonchalant and not like he was just checking his boss out.

Mickey rolls his eyes slightly like he always does when Ian says Mick. No one else calls him that but he doesn’t tell Ian to stop so he doesn’t, he likes the tiny smile he sometimes gets from him when he calls him that. “When you’re done with those, come see me in my office,” he tells him.

Ian gets a sudden wave of nausea and panic. Mickey must notice because he clicks his tongue and says, “Man, calm down, you’re fine. Just - come see me after, yeah?”

Ian nods, mutters out a, “Yeah,” before Mickey walks away.

Ian works quickly, wanting this over with so he could see what Mickey wants. He said you’re fine so this can’t be a bad thing, he can’t be getting fired… right?!

Less than an hour later, Ian knocks on Mickey’s open door. He has a tiny office in the corner of the warehouse. It’s not much but it’s his own private space so that must be nice. “Hi,” he says softly when Mickey looks up.

“Come in, shut the door,” Mickey tells him.

Ian nervously steps inside, closing the door behind him before walking over to the chair on the other side of Mickey’s desk and sits down. Mickey says, “So I have a job opportunity for you.”

“What?” Ian asks a little louder than he expected.

Mickey smiles softly before it disappears. “Yeah, man, what did you think I was gonna fire your ass?”

“Kind of,” Ian tells him honestly, making Mickey laugh.

Mickey clicks his tongue, “I told you you were fine, man.”

“How fine?” Ian tries to flirt.

It fails because Mickey’s eyebrows shoot up and he asks, “What?”

“Nothing, so a job opportunity?”

“Uh, yeah, so I’m leaving and they need a new warehouse supervisor and figured you should do it,” Mickey tells him.

“Wait - what? Where are you going?”

“Another job opportunity elsewhere for more pay. So, you interested or not? You get a higher salary and benefits.”

“Why me? I’ve only been here six months,” Ian asks confused.

“It won’t be for another couple months or so but - look, you’re a hard worker, you don’t take any shit, you work quickly and efficiently and you’re always on time and never call in sick. I was told to choose a replacement and I chose you,” Mickey explains, shrugging a little right at the end, looking a little nervous.

Ian smiles softly. Hearing Mickey say these things about him - things he’s noticed about him, it makes him feel really good. “Fuck yeah - I - sorry, yes, I’m definitely interested in the job,” Ian stammers.

Mickey smiles at him and nods. “Good so there’s like paperwork and shit you’re gonna need to fill out. Do you have anywhere to be right after your shift or can we do that then?”

“That works,” Ian grins.

Mickey nods again before saying, “Cool, now get the fuck out of my office and get back to work, Gallagher.”

Ian can’t get rid of his grin as he stands and leaves his office. He’s getting a promotion and Mickey won’t be his boss soon so he needs to try and seal the deal soon. Spending some time together after work is exactly what Ian had been hoping for since he started this job.

Ian’s working late tonight, doing some overtime since a few people called out today so by the end of his shift it just seems to be him and Mickey left in the warehouse. He quickly uses the washroom, making sure he doesn’t look too much like shit before heading to Mickey’s office. Just like earlier, the door is open so he knocks on the side lightly and says, “Hey,” before walking in and going to sit across from him.

“Hey, did everyone else fuck off yet?” Mickey asks him.

Ian can’t help but chuckle lightly. “Yeah, just us.”

Mickey hums, eyeing Ian. Ian sees this look, appreciates it, and definitely wants to jump on it but before he can, Mickey looks down at his desk and grabs a stack of papers. “So, this is what you gotta fill out. Mostly stupid information shit we already know and just some other forms mostly for you to keep that shows proof of your increase in salary and the benefits you’ll get. Just need to make sure you sign the copies for us and the rest you keep,” he explains.

Ian takes it from Mickey’s offering and quickly glances through it. “Do you need this back right away?” he looks up to see Mickey watching him.

“Nah, just bring our copies back whenever,” Mickey tells him. He thumbs at his bottom lip gently and Ian just wants to bite it. “Don’t wanna keep you if you got somewhere to be or whatever.”

Ian smirks, “Are you flirting with me?”

Mickey smirks right back and says, “You finally noticed?”

This shocks Ian. “Sorry what?! When did you ever flirt with me before?” he asks.

Mickey rolls his eyes, “Maybe it ain’t obvious or whatever but I’m your boss, man… can’t just straight up tell you I want you to fuck me in my office.”

Ian’s heartbeat speeds up and blood rushes straight to his cock, it twitching in his jeans. “You - I -”

“Just get the fuck on me already,” Mickey says, putting him out of his misery.

Ian stands, pushing his chair back. He walks around the desk in time for Mickey to stand before he’s grabbing his face in his hands and kissing him hard on the lips. Mickey moans into the kiss, his hands grabbing onto Ian’s waist and pulling him hard against him. Ian brings his right hand down Mickey’s side and to his thigh, lifting it slightly and pushing Mickey up against his desk before he hops up and sits on it, Ian getting in between his legs.

“Wanted this for so long,” Ian tells him as he kisses his way down his jaw and to his neck.

“Mmm, me too,” Mickey says, running his fingers through Ian’s hair and keeping his head where it is, sucking on his neck.

Ian pulls back slightly, looking into those piercing blue eyes that he’s fantasized about looking back at him just this way. They hear a noise from outside of his office so Ian steps back. Mickey jumps off the desk and makes his way to the door. He looks out and turns back to Ian, “Just the cleaning crew. We should probably -”

“You wanna come over? Um, if you want to like pick up where we left off?” Ian asks hopefully, a small smile on his face.

“You live alone?” Mickey asks, eyebrow cocked.

“Um… no,” Ian says, sadness creeping in that his one shot with Mickey got ruined.

“I do. Grab your shit and let’s go back to my place, Red,” Mickey flirts.

Ian grins, doing exactly what he’s told before the two of them rush out of there and Ian gets exactly what he’s wanted for the past six months, Mickey Milkovich, more than just his boss.

Send me some sentence prompts

#southside-forever #reply #my fic #sentence prompt fics #ian x mickey #gallavich #gallavich fanfic #gallavich fan fic #gallavich fan fiction #read on ao3 #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #franny gallagher #shameless us #shameless au #fic stuff #coworkers au #hurt and comfort #uncle mickey and franny r bffs

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unbridgeabledistances · 3 years

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soft prompt ideas: comforting each other, cuddling, waking up together/going to sleep, going on a date, idk just being in each other’s company? i’m terrible at being specific but i hope these help!

hi bby<3 thank you so much to u (and everyone else!!!) for sending in prompts, they brought me so much joy and now i have SO many little soft things in the works:’)

yesterday ended up turning into a long day and i didn’t get to finish most of the things i started, but i wrote this while i was freshly showered and in bed and wanted to quickly whip up some bedtime softness to end the day right!! so here is the softest, quickest pre-11x07 bedtime one-shot and ode to the gallagher house, i hope u enjoy<3

Ian turned the creaky handle to shut off the shower, stilling the scalding water that had been beating a steady stream onto his body, soothing his aching muscles and weary bones. Ian was tired—after he and Mickey had gotten back from their various security stops around the outskirts of the city, he’d promised to help Lip track down and deliver parts to the people who’d bought the odds and ends of the stolen bikes, and then he’d somehow ended up in Lip and Tami’s living room that was half-packed into boxes for hours, silently sipping a beer and listening to them tag-team their attempts at persuading Ian to convince Debbie into wanting to sell the house— an effort that was a lost cause, and they all knew it.

It was kind of funny— they’d all gotten so close to losing the house so many times before, from being pulled out by DCFS officers to being kicked to the curb by fucking Patrick, to feeling desperate ripples of fear as they watched the house be put up for auction for a bunch of Northsiders and boujee fucking families who picked through the bare skeleton of the rooms as they pleased— so it was funny that after all of that, after their front door being plastered with more bright orange eviction notices than they could count, that the eventual thing driving them out of the house in the end would be a Gallagher himself, just because Lip wanted some extra cash. Ian got it— they were older now, and Lip had a kid to worry about— but he couldn’t help but feel a soft pang in his gut, something muted and dull but still there, every time Lip nonchalantly mentioned “fixing the house up” and “making gentrification our friend” and “getting on with our lives”—even though he and Mickey had readily agreed, at the family meeting that Mickey now had a right to be a part of, that it made the most sense to sell the house and for the two of them to find a place of their own.

And honestly, that prospect was a little terrifying; it sounded silly, but this crumbling house, with its paint stripping away and its roof nearly caving in, had pretty much been the only constant in Ian’s life for as long as he could remember. He had memories, ones that were soft around the edges, of him and Lip and Fiona sleeping curled in the backseats of cars and, on a few of the worst nights, on playgrounds or stoops or streetcorners when Frank and Monica were too far gone— and then inevitably one day, one sunny afternoon, they would come home to this sturdy gray house, and even then Ian understood that this was a place he could always return to. He didn’t really know what a world without the Gallagher house looked like; he always found his feet leading him back to these four walls, even those months when he was living with Mickey and he’d walk the silent moonlit city blocks back home to splash in the pool with everyone on those muggy, late summer nights. Thinking about the comforting sag of the Gallagher house was one of the few things that kept Ian going in the colorless cinderblock walls of his prison cell; the concave mattress of his single bed at home wasn’t much better than the inch-think foam pad he scrunched onto each night in his cell, but it was still familiar, it was still home, it had still held him through all of these years.

Lip wanting to sell the house was just another bitter reminder, along with the changing storefronts of the Southside neighborhood stores, the people walking by with baby strollers and shopping bags of organic groceries, the notches on the closet door that showed how much Franny had already grown, and the tinny sound of Fiona’s voice wafting through a Facetime call, a voice too small and too quiet to fill the absence she’d left behind—that things were always changing, that life wasn’t going to stop for any of them.

Ian clambered out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, scrubbing his face with his hands to try to clear his head. The hallway outside the bathroom was still, the only sound the soft hissing of the radiator—when the fuck did this house get so quiet? There was no boisterous laughter wafting up from downstairs, no clanging in the kitchen, no WWE blasting from the TV at full volume; Lip and Tami had moved out, Liam was grown up and preferred steady conversation to the classic Gallagher screeching, and Carl was either off at the station for the night or doing god-knows-what in the basement— when did silence start to sink into these walls, without anyone really noticing? Even Frank was getting quieter, somehow, giving more blank stares than quick replies when they talked back and forth in the kitchen.

Ian stepped out of the bathroom and crept down the hallway, walking carefully in case Franny was sleeping; there was a comfort in the melody of the creaking floorboards, reminding him of all the nights when he’d lay awake staring at the ceiling, sometimes gripped by the swirling black thoughts he thought he’d never be able to shake off, and he would hear Fiona tiptoeing around in the hallway, checking in on everyone while she tried not to wake them. Ian gripped the handle of the flimsy accordion bedroom door and slid it open as quietly as he could muster, ready to crawl into bed and hopefully snap out of all this wallowing.

And… oh.

The lamp on the bedside table was still on, shining a soft glow into the cramped room— but Mickey was curled up and fast asleep on Ian’s side of the bed, his mouth half-open and his head tucked to his chin, his hair slightly mussed and ruffled by on the pillow he was gripping onto. Ian smirked—he knew it was getting late, and Mickey might be asleep when he got home—but there was something so soft and innocent about the way Mickey was laying, like he was breathing in the scent of Ian’s pillow, that made him stop for a moment before mindlessly crawling into bed next to him. Ian let himself linger in the doorway for a moment, just listening to the steady waves of Mickey’s breathing, taking in the sight of his flushed cheeks and the innocence in his sleeping face that was so bare and open that it almost hurt to look at.

Instantly, Ian felt something bloom in his chest from the pit of uncertainty that had been planted there. The Gallagher house had always been his home—but he realized in a sweeping moment that his best days here, ones where he felt solid and settled and himself rather than someone he was pretending to be, were the days when Mickey was nearby, the days when Mickey was just down the road.

Mickey made up the only other home he’d had, the only other place he’d felt this safe; they’d built a cocoon around themselves in the equally-as-shitty Milkovich house, smoking and laughing and whispering into each other’s skin in the darkness. Even as Ian’s grip on reality felt like it was slipping through his fingers, Mickey’s warm body next to his kept him rooted, in the same ways Mickey’s thrumming presence beside him kept him safe in all the blaring uncertainty of federal prison and imposing cell walls and the press of too many strange bodies in orange jumpsuits. Ian had always felt safe in the Gallagher house—but so much of that, since he was a scrawny fifteen year old, was because of the nights he spent awake in bed thinking up pipe dreams of a future with the loudmouthed kid he worked with at the convenience store, or when he could crawl into bed after a late night EMT shift and feel the solid, grounding weight in his chest as he remembered his road trip with Mickey to the border, and thought about Mickey having some kind of a better life in Mexico. So much of that feeling of home, especially through all of the epic highs and colossal lows, was just knowing that someone out there, by some miracle, loved Ian as deeply as Mickey Milkovich could— knowing he had a doorstep to run to when his own house was infiltrated by Monica and some stranger threatening to take Liam, or a bed to crash in for months when everything else in his life felt like shifting, unstable ground. So much of home was right here, and it always had been.

Ian quietly slid shut the squeaky folds of the door, discarding his towel and throwing a threadbare t-shirt over his head—and then he gingerly stretched out onto the opposite side of the bed beside a sleep-soft Mickey, his body radiating heat and the ends of his hair still damp from his own shower, smelling of the fresh scent of cheap shampoo and very slightly of toothpaste, mingling with the earthy smell of cigarette smoke and the other scent that Ian could only just describe as Mickey. Ian let himself lay there for a moment, listening to Mickey breathing— just breathing.

He reached over Mickey’s torso and shut off the bedside lamp, enveloping the room in a heavy cloak of darkness—but this time the silence didn’t seem so bad with Mickey’s steady breaths punctuating the quiet. He slid a hand over Mickey’s waist, resting his chin on the crook of Mickey’s shoulder and breathing in deep—he could feel Mickey’s heartbeat vibrating into his own chest, feeling the rise and fall of his ribcage as he held him close. Ian felt all the latent tension, the lungful of air he didn’t even know he had been holding, drain out of him—and it started to make him feel weirdly light and giddy to imagine sometime in the near future when he and Mickey would actually have a place of their own, a place where they could ride out the silence together just like this— a place with clutter and creaking floorboards and slanted moonlight of their own.

If the Gallaghers were “getting on with their lives,” like Lip had said—then this right here was the only thing that Ian was moving towards, just like he always had been.

#lol this was very contemplative and not very narrative heavy #but i hope u enjoyed??#i wrote 90% of this in my phone notes lol #also the fiona hall of shame got me feeling weirdly emotional about how much ian must miss fiona!!!!#anyways ty so much for the prompt<333 #gallavich #gallavich fanfiction #gallavich fic #ian and mickey #shameless #shameless fic #ian x mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich

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liusaidh-writing · 3 years

Text

Call it True - Chapter 3

[Prefer AO3?]

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2]

Here is Chapter 3! I am sorry it’s so late. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy. Chapter Four is on its way soon, too!

*****************************

Claire and Jamie exchanged texts and phone calls in the following days and nights. Unable to connect in person, they did what they could to remain close. Claire's night shifts ended after a week, and she was relieved to be back in the world of daylight once again. She also hoped this meant she and Jamie could get together again. And soon.

I'm free! Well, until my time rolls around again, anyway. Next two days off, and not a single thing planned!

She hit send with a grin and imagined what she and Jamie might do on her time off. Go to dinner? Watch a movie, preferably curled up on a couch. What movies did he like? She started compiling a list of possible options while she rode along in Lesley's car after her final night shift had ended in the early morning hours. They’d picked up a grumbly Harry at the sitters before heading to Claire’s flat.

Lesley, in the driver's seat, reached back to grab Harry's snack cup before it was flung to the floor by a frustrated toddler. The car swerved slightly as she turned back in her seat, causing Claire to gasp before Lesley set it right again.

Lesley thrust the snack cup at Claire, snapping, "Did you not hear me? I was asking you to grab it from him! Where's your mind been these last few days, anyway?"

Claire grasped the cup in her hands, dropping the phone in her lap. "Sorry! I just...didn't hear you! I’d rather the snack cup take the hit next time instead of us!"

"You're sitting right next to me, and unless you've gone deaf in the last ten minutes, you're just not paying attention," Lesley said in a sing-songy voice, ignoring Claire’s comment regarding her driving, but making an obvious effort to keep her tone light. She sighed, flipping the wipers on to clear the windshield of mist. It was annoyingly rainy, only a mere drizzle, but oddly cold for a spring morning. "Feels like winter outside, does it not," she remarked, attempting to change the subject.

"Yep...pretty cold."

Claire's mind wandered back to Jamie in the sweater he'd worn on their date. It had looked so cozy, and Claire wondered how it would feel on her. She blinked rapidly, forcing herself back to the present.

"So, you had been telling me earlier about...custody?"

Lesley sighed, grudgingly answering Claire's question.

"Yes...I told you everything, but you were off in lala land half the time. Not surprised you don't remember. If you're here with me now, I'll tell you again."

"Yes, please, I'm really listening." Claire shoved her phone between her leg and the seat, hoping that having it out of sight would help her stay focused on what her friend was saying.

"Well, Frank has decided he wants full custody of Harry. Make me some kind of weekend Mum." Lesley gritted her teeth thinking about the very idea of it. "Like he's capable of taking him on full time," she said, gesturing at Harry in the back, who'd fallen asleep. “He wouldn’t last an hour before he was calling me, begging for help.”

"He doesn't have grounds, surely! He can't just...make stuff up!" Claire was indignant, knowing how great of a mother Lesley was, and how perfectly lousy Frank was at everything from keeping Harry fed when he had him to keeping promises to Lesley about drop off times.

Lesley shook her head and rested her left elbow on the car door as they sat at a stoplight. "It's absolutely insane. He thinks because he makes more money that he should have Harry. That my schedule at the hospital isn't 'suitable for a toddler.’ He's just making sure I waste my money on legal fees fighting him instead of spending it on taking care of Harry so I'll look bad," she finished, glancing at Claire with an incredulous expression.

"Well, you know I'll do anything to help, Lesley!"

They had reached Claire's building, and as Claire got out she reached back and lightly ruffled Harry's hair, giving Lesley a smile and thanked her for the ride. She grabbed her things and headed to her door, feeling her phone signal that she had a text message as she walked. She quickly unlocked her door, slung them to the floor and hungrily unlocked her phone to see a message from Jamie waiting to be read.

Good to hear, Sassenach. I suppose you’ll need to go home and sleep. How about I come by later this evening?

Claire quickly sent a reply and beamed at...well, no-one. She locked her door and dreamily waltzed to the shower, eager to strip off her scrubs and wash the night away.

“Jamie and I are hanging out tonight!” she squealed, raising her arms in victory over her head. She gave a little twirl as she moved past her bedroom. Taking off her top, she flung it on her bed. Claire felt like a teenager - she was sure her cheeks were pink and her mind raced with all the possibilities of the evening. She nearly replied to Jamie that she didn’t need to sleep, but...that wasn’t true. She was dead on her feet and her shift last night had been especially brutal with several stressful patients. She sighed, realizing she deeply regretted not having made the effort to really meet Jamie earlier. Why had she wasted so much time? Now that they were friendly, she couldn’t seem to get him out of her mind. Lesley hadn’t been wrong when she’d said Claire had been in la-la land. She reminded herself to thank Lesley for saving her ass more than once at work in the past week. If it wasn’t Jamie’s calls or texts, it was her own imagination getting her in trouble. Over the phone, Jamie had told her all about his family, his nieces and nephews and sister. He had a best friend named Ian, who happened to be his brother-in-law. And a father he clearly cared a lot about. Claire had never known that sort of reality, growing up as she had. She revelled in Jamie’s stories of his boyhood, clinging to bits of him that he unknowingly exposed.

For instance, Claire was sure that Jamie was secretly in love with his father’s farm, though he had claimed he didn’t care to run things when the time came, that he’d gotten his flat in the city to escape that reality. He talked of it with such pride, and Claire wondered why he didn’t live there full time, as much as he was there. It held fond memories of his mother, and it was his connection to his extended family, and she knew family meant a lot to him.

She couldn’t exactly relate - though she had loved her uncle a great deal - but it was almost surreal hearing about hectic holidays or birthday celebrations Jamie got to experience growing up. Claire was rather envious at times. Her holidays usually involved Uncle Lamb flat-out forgetting them, and though he always remembered her birthday, he wasn’t the greatest at remembering to mark the date in any meaningful way other than a sweet ‘Happy Birthday, darling,’ and a pat on the cheek. She quickly made a mental note to ask Jamie about his birthday sometime.

Pulling back the shower curtain, she sighed as the steamy hot water washed away the night at the hospital; it succeeded in making her drowsy enough to fall quickly asleep.

---

Claire woke to a rather loud knock at her door. She rolled out of bed, hair all akimbo, eyes squinting as she opened her room darkening curtains. Padding towards the door, she quickly wrapped herself in the throw from the couch before turning the knob. There stood Jamie, a slight smile on his face that immediately fell when he caught sight of her.

"Oh God--"

"I'm sorry--"

They both spoke at the same time, Claire wrapping the blanket more securely around her shoulders. She had shorts and a small tee-shirt on, but no bra. She began to speak again, wondering if she looked as horrible as she feared. Jamie grimaced and took a breath.

"I am so sorry, I didn't wake you did I?"

"Oh, no. It's fine, really! I must look frightening..." Claire carefully took one arm out of her wrap and tried to smooth her hair in an attempt to calm her curls.

"NO! You look...stunning!" His eyes were wide, as though he’d seen a ghost.

"Oh, God no. Would you like to...?"

She gestured him inside, and quickly caught that he was holding a few things in his hands. A wad of blankets and a small thermal lunch bag were clutched in his arms as he shuffled inside.

"Let me just...go change. Have a seat, will you?" She moved towards her bedroom as she watched Jamie sit on her sofa, placing his things on the cushion beside him.

She closed her bedroom door, tossed the throw on her bed and leaned heavily against the door, her head making a distinct thumping sound as it hit. "Ow..." she muttered. "Hope he didn't hear that..."

She was jittery and her mouth was dry. He had that effect on her - one she couldn't put into words. Her stomach was consumed by a swarm of butterflies as she got dressed, brushing her teeth and washing her face. She raised her arms over her head checking her armpits for odor, and swiped on some deodorant, finishing with a quick spray of her favorite perfume with a flourish. She didn’t dare go back out there smelling like a hospital. She wasn’t entirely trusting of the shower she’d taken.

Taking a few deep, but not-so-calming breaths, she went back out to her living room, where Jamie waited patiently, thumbing through a magazine on her coffee table.

“I’m all for color in a room, but this shade of green makes me think of vomit.” Jamie was pointing at a photo of a painted room in some home decor article, curling his lip up in disgust at said shade of green.

He smiled at Claire, dropping the magazine and taking her in slowly, his eyes large and bright.

Claire looked down at her outfit - Jeans and a warm, deep red top. She’d been told it ‘brought out her eyes’, whatever the hell that meant, so she figured it was a good choice. She smoothed her shirt down and gestured at the magazine.

“Well, we don’t have to worry about that - I asked if I could paint when I moved in and was told no. Can’t wait to be able to live somewhere without blank white walls.” She waved haphazardly around the room, devoid of artwork, save for several of her own photos from various trips, and a few of Uncle Lamb, of course.

“It’s good to see you again, Claire.” Jamie stood up, moving towards her with his hand out. She wasn’t sure what he was going for, so she moved with him, meeting him in the middle. He clasped her hand in his, and they both paused for a moment, Claire watching his eyes dance as he gazed at her. He gave a small smile with one corner of his mouth, and quickly kissed her cheek.

“It’s good to see you again, too,” Claire sighed, her breath coming out in spurts. She felt him relinquish her hand, and she glanced at it, half expecting it to be bright red the way it radiated his lingering warmth. He stepped back just a bit, and gestured to the items he’d brought with him.

“It’s a little wet outside, but there’s a free concert at the park. Would you like to come? If you don’t want to sit on the ground, I have chairs.” He raked a hand through his hair and tapped the fingers of his right hand against his thigh. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her.

Jamie’s voice was shaky with nerves, and Claire quickly tried to put him at ease.

“I don’t mind the ground!” She figured Jamie could offer her spikes to sit on and she’d accept them if that meant he’d be there, too. “Let’s go, it’ll be fun!”

Jamie nodded, picking up the blanket and lunch bag. “Brought some goodies for us to snack on, too.”

“Oh, good. I’m starving! Haven’t eaten all day!”

Claire grabbed her purse as they walked to the door together, slinging it over her shoulder and grabbing her keys from the counter. She didn’t know what kind of music would be playing at this concert, but she didn’t care in the slightest. She was also rather eager to find out what was in that lunch bag. Her stomach gurgled, and she made a face as Jamie hid a smile.

He took her hand again, pulling her toward the door and out into the damp night. It was about 7 in the evening, and though the days were getting longer, the rain clouds obscured any remaining sunlight.

-----

Having picked the driest bit of ground he could, Jamie spread out one warm wool blanket, gesturing for Claire to take a seat while he unfolded the other one. It was as large as the one they sat on, and doubly thick. Claire shivered slightly as she watched him swirl the blanket around her shoulders. He sat down next to her - quite closely, so she could feel the heat coming off him, and he wrapped the other half of the blanket around his own shoulders, meeting the two ends in the middle between them. It was cozy, and the band had just started. She looked around, wishing they weren’t surrounded by other people at the moment. Claire looked at Jamie - who had been casually checking out the band. He glanced at her, then reached for the lunch bag.

“What do you have for us?” Claire’s stomach growled again, and Jamie chuckled as he unzipped the bag while Claire held the blanket in place.

“Erm...not much. Some crackers, cheese, grapes. A small bag of chips, if you’re in the mood for junk food?” He held the chips out to her and she hungrily ripped it open, popping one in her mouth with a satisfied grin.

“Mmmm...so good. I’ve not had anything to eat since about 6 this morning. I forgot to eat when I got home from work.” Because you texted me, she added in her head, and I wanted nothing more than to go to sleep quickly so I could see you.

Jamie went for a few grapes, munching them as he watched her devour the chips. She offered him one, holding it up to his mouth.

“Have one!” she exclaimed, wiggling it in front of him.

He went for it, and she quickly pulled it away. She laughed as he pursed his lips in mock irritation. “Give me that,” he said, pulling her hand towards his mouth again, taking the chip between his teeth. His lips slightly brushed Claire’s finger tips, and a shiver traveled through her body as they laughed together.

Their bodies were touching entirely now, from shoulder to toes, and Claire didn’t want to be anywhere else. She leaned against him, and he let her put her weight against his chest as he held the blanket with his left hand. His right arm wrapped around her waist. Claire felt flush, slightly feverish, silently basking in his glow. The rain was cold, the ground was colder, but she wouldn’t have known it with Jamie securely keeping them both comfortably warm.

The band played on, the bass pulsing through her. She didn’t know the songs, but nodded her head with the beat periodically. For all the sound, though, her mind was somewhere else entirely. She wanted nothing more than to turn around, place her lips on his, and fall into him. She glanced at the people around her again, most of them chit-chatting, drinking, or eating. She felt him squirm slightly, and glanced back at him as best she could in her position. She felt his arm leave her side, make its way up her arm to her shoulder, and then into her hair. He played with her curls as he stretched one long leg out in front of them, where his boot got wet with rain. Claire’s hands were in her lap - she was entirely unsure what she should do with them, so she clutched her middle as the swarm of butterflies (more like angry hornets, if she was honest with herself) engulfed her middle. Her eyes fluttered closed as Jamie continued twirling her curls around his finger.

“Hey, Sassenach, are you thirsty? I could go get us some drinks at the food cart?” Jamie gestured with his head, back behind them where beer and soda was sold at an exorbitant price.

Claire turned slightly and looked at him, his brows raised in question.

She took a breath, swallowing all her fear and uncertainty. The hornets in her stomach faded to a dull ache as she turned some more, raising her hands to his face. She’d caught him off guard, and as her lips enveloped his own, he was still for a split second before deepening the kiss with his hand still in her hair, clutching her curls now, tugging slightly. Claire breathed in deeply, the noises of the band and people around them fading into oblivion, a fuzzy mirage at the corner of her vision as she closed her eyes, unwilling to break their connection. His tongue danced with hers briefly before he pulled away. Claire, with her eyes still closed, felt him rubbing her cheek with his thumb.

“Oi, if we wanted to see that, we’d have gone to see a movie!”

Claire’s eyes snapped open, her head whirling around to her right searching for the person that matched the voice. A young teenage boy smirked in their direction, sniggering a bit as she eyed him. He held a full pint of beer in one hand, and cocked his head, daring her to say something in return.

“He’ll break up with ya tomorrow,” the boy said, laughing with his mates, one of them slapping him on the shoulder in congratulations for his stupendous observation. Claire’s brow knit in confusion.

“Why don’t you-” she was cut off by Jamie, who stood up quickly, pulling the blanket that was around them up into a ball. He put it down, and stretched his arms over his head, making himself appear even larger. The kid with the beer blanched, spilling a bit in his lap as he involuntarily jerked away at Jamie’s stone cold glare.

“Come on, Sassenach. Let’s go…” He gathered up the lunch bag, and offered her his hand. She took it, letting him pull her up. She was shivering now, his warmth having left her. She moved so he could pick up the other blanket, and they slowly picked their way through the crowd.

Claire was surprised to feel her chin trembling a bit. Was she going to...cry? God, not now, she thought. How silly. It had just been a kid trying to stir up trouble for a laugh. It wasn’t funny, though, Claire thought angrily. It made her feel ashamed, but for what? She’d simply kissed Jamie. She held her breath for a moment, as she wondered if Jamie had minded that she’d done that - in the middle of the park, surrounded by people. She let her breath out again as she felt him grab her elbow and tug her closer. Perhaps he hadn’t minded afterall. He wasn’t making excuses to leave, anyway, she thought with some relief.

She felt Jamie put her hand through the crook of his elbow as he guided her back towards their building. She still shivered, and Jamie pulled her in, their shoes meeting the pavement in unison.

“Don’t worry about him, Sassenach.”

Claire looked up when he spoke, gave a small smile, and leaned her head against his shoulder.

“It’s ok…” she mumbled, wondering what the rest of the night would hold. She’d be up all night now, and didn’t particularly want her time with Jamie to come to an end.

“How about we get that full meal in you? You must still be hungry,” Jamie offered. “Let me drop these things by my flat and we’ll go, yeah?”

Claire nodded. “Sounds good, Jamie.”

#Outlander #Outlander Fanfic #Fanfiction #Call it True #i have come to realize that this is horrible #and i am sorry #but i will keep trying #i am so rusty at this writing thing...#please forgive me #i'm not as good as most of you #but i try...#ugh

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tirednerd2012 · 3 years

Note

As far as the safe house idea goes, Barley even leaves Guinevere behind because of how much she stands out, opting to take a more ordinary-looking vehicle instead so they don't draw attention. Either that or he makes Ian remove the paint job so the van looks normal. For Ian, this is a really big sign of how seriously Barley is taking everything now. As the film showed, while Barley loves his van, he loves his brother more.

Ian woke up as Barley pulled into a cabin in the middle of nowhere. It was dark, probably 8 at night. He had trouble remembering where he was because of the new car, but then he realized. Barley left Guinevere because of how noticable she was. This was their first time without her since they started going on quests and it just didn't feel right, but Ian knew what this meant to Barley.

He truthfully couldn't stop thinking about Kirk's plans for him. The idea of him wanting to control Ian made the young Lightfoot's blood cold with fear.

Barley was taking it just as seriously. Ian knew that this escape was not just for his sanity, but his brother's. Barley had been tearing himself apart with guilt and it broke his heart.

Kirk is going to catch up with them eventually, but right now, both of them were safe. Ian felt the relief of not having a stranger's eyes on him. Something he never had to think about before.

"Corey said this place should be safe for awhile. Come on," Barley said. Both of them grabbed their bags and went to the cabin. It was pretty large, two floors and a few bedrooms, but Ian didn't want one of his own.

"Barley?"

"Yeah?" his older brother answered as he locked the door. He went through and made sure all the windows were locked and closed, which they had been.

"Um, can we share a room still?"

"Of course, little brother," Barley responded and then threw his arm around Ian and pulled him into a hug. Affection wasn't uncommon among the brothers, but lately, they both felt the need to be by each other, to make sure the other was safe.

Ian remembered how Kirk said he would hurt Barley and break him before he took Ian away, and the thought just made Ian hold on tighter, like normal.

"It's okay, we're going to be safe here. Corey already made sure there was plenty of food and Kirk doesn't know about Corey. I never told him about her," Barley said. They walked around for a bit and explored the rooms, before finding one Barley insisted was the safest option. No windows in this room, still fairly large, with a lock.

Ian hated seeing his brother tearing away with worry and stress. Even if there was a lunatic after them, Ian was determined to get his brother to at least smile. Besides, being around just Barley did sound nice. His brother was really the only one he felt totally safe around, no questions asked.

Corey was nice enough to make sure there was a TV with some movies, some board games and a Quests of Yore set for Barley.

"Hey, Barley," he said, "do you want to watch a movie, or make a quick campaign?"

"You want to play Quests of Yore?" Barley said, with a raised eyebrow.

"I want to spend time with my favorite person without worrying about anything," Ian responded and Barley paused for a moment and then nodded.

"I need some time to think of a campaign, but let me get some popcorn, you pick out the movie, and we'll have a movie night," Barley said and Ian smiled widely. His brother immediately returned it. Barley went into the kitchen and Ian picked up a random movie. He never heard of any of these before, but maybe Barley did.

His brother came back a few minutes later with popcorn. He looked around the room and Ian realized this was one of the first times Barley left him alone, but he still seemed on edge.

The two piled up on the couch with blankets and pillows and started the movie night. Barley was dozing off and on, but he would still look over and make sure Ian was there. Ian looked around. He was in the middle of nowhere, but Barley was right there. His staff was near and so was Barley's sword, but there was peace.

Barley pulled Ian into a hug halfway through the movie. Ian always felt safe when his brother was around and truthfully, the hugs helped. He felt like a child again with the belief that nothing could harm him with Barley right there.

"Quests of Yore tomorrow morning when I have more than three brain cells thinking?" Barley offered and Ian nodded. He kept close to Barley and they watched the movie, Barley made a couple of jokes that helped and Ian curled beside his brother and closed his eyes.

He held on to Barley tightly, not because he feared Barley would go anywhere, but because he missed hugging him and being around his brother. Both of them had gotten so busy and then their words turned upside down.

"Barley?"

"Yeah, bud?"

"You know, I feel like I don't thank you enough for everything you've done for me. You're always there, no matter what happens. You're always by my side and you're the greatest magic mentor ever. I just... I don't thank you enough for it."

"It's okay, you don't need to," Barley responded and Ian felt him running his hand in his curly hair. He's done that as long as Ian could remember. It was the best way to get him to fall asleep. "I'd do it any day of the week. You're the best little brother I could ever ask for."

Ian didn't remember falling asleep, but he did remember someone carrying him. He opened his eyes, just barely as Barley laid him on his bed and then pulled the covers over him, before placing the staff by his bedside and then his sword over on his own, then going to bed himself.

Ian then had one of the worst dreams of his life.

His brother was alone in a dark room. Nothing was around them and while nothing seemed to be in their way of each other, Barley looked right passed him.

"Barley?" he called, but his brother didn't answer. He walked towards the older one, and saw his tear-stained cheeks. "Barley?"

"I failed," Barley said, but still didn't make eye contact. "I failed him."

"Barley, what are you talking about?"

He followed him, trying to see where he went. But there was still nothing around them and eventually Barley just collapsed to the ground and sobbed.

"I'm so sorry, Ian," he apologized over and over again. Ian desperately tried to get his brother's attention, to show him that he was there, but Barley didn't respond.

"No, no!" Barley woke up to Ian crying and everything in him became alert as he reached for his sword, but found Ian fighting himself in his sleep. He was scratching at his arms and making them almost bleed and the older brother had to physically grab both of his wrists to make him stop.

"Ian, Ian, you're dreaming, it's okay. It's just a nightmare," Barley said and Ian's eyes darted open and he looked at his brother and then hugged him tightly. Ian clung to him and Barley returned the hug gently.

"Barley, you know I love you, right?" he asked, refusing to let go. Barley put a hand in his hair and tried to calm his brother's nerves.

"What? Of course I do, bud."

"You're my best friend, Barley. And the strongest person I know and-."

"Bud, what's going on?"

"I hate seeing you so hurt," Ian said. "And I had a nightmare and you were... you were so done with everything and I never want to see you like that. I love you and we're going to get through this and you're the best big brother I could ever ask for."

"Ian."

"And you're always there for me and you're the person I can count on and-."

"Ian, I know. I know, bud," Barley said. "Take a deep breath."

Ian did.

"Good, keep doing that," Barley instructed gently and his brother listened. "You're right, we are going to get through this. And I'm so thankful to have you as my little brother, but you don't have to worry about me right now. I'm okay. You're right here, you're safe and we're going to figure out a plan. But I'm okay because I have you right here and no matter what, I'm not going to give up on you. I love you, too. So, so much, little brother."

Barley continued to rock Ian back and forth until his brother fell asleep in his arms.

A smile crept up on his lips as he hung on to the younger one. His little brother. The person he loved most in the world. Right here. He could feel Ian's heartbeat. He was safe.

"I love you so much," he whispered as the sleep took over him, too and he didn't remember exactly when, but when he woke up, Ian was still there, and looked at peace.

#iwlg #barley #ian #ian lightfoot #barley lightfoot #onward #onward au

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vampiregirl1797 · 4 years

Text

Remedies for Intense Headaches

Spencer Reid x Reader

GIF Not Mine.

Word Count: 2,726

Warnings: Mentions of headaches, but otherwise FLUFFFFFFF.

Click Here For Masterlist.

Summary: Spencer confides in Y/N and tells her about his headaches. She insists on him spending the night at her apartment so that she can share some remedies with him.

I frowned as I noticed Spencer wince when Emily put her bag onto her desk with more force than usual. I could tell I wasn’t the only one who noticed the odd behaviour, as the concern on the female agents face wasn’t hard to decipher. They chatted for a few minutes before she excused herself and headed for the bathrooms. I walked over, careful not to make any sudden or loud movements that would startle the unusually jumpy agent.

‘Hey Spence,’ I kept my voice soft, as to not be over heard.

‘Hey,’ he offered a weak smile before looking back down to the file in front of him.

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked, not seeing any point in beating around the bush; he could probably already tell what I was going to ask him anyway, and that was why he was avoiding my gaze.

‘Nothing.’ He said, attempting to sound dismissive, ‘I’m fine.’

‘You jumped when Emily put her bag down.’ I sighed, crouching down and resting my hand on his forearm in a comforting gesture, ‘I’ve literally never seen you react like that in the eight years I’ve known you.’

He looked down at where my hand rested on him, turning his arm and gripping my hand in his. His shoulders seemed to sag in both defeat and exhaustion as he replied in a low voice, ‘I’ve been getting these really intense headaches lately.’

‘Have you seen a doctor?’ My thumb moved in soothing circles on the back of his hand.

‘A few, none have been able to figure out what’s wrong.’ The fear in his voice made my heart hurt.

‘And you’re worried it’s a sign you’re developing schizophrenia.’ I voiced what he was trying not to say and he squeezed my hand gratefully.

‘I don’t know what to do.’ He sounded so vulnerable and lost that I couldn’t help but lean up and wrap my arms around his neck.

‘You’re putting too much energy into worrying about what may never be,’ I murmured into his neck, knowing he could hear me, ‘I can’t imagine what you’re going through, Reid but if that is what it is, there’s nothing you can do to prevent it. Either way, we’ll figure it out, you won’t be alone at any point. You know that, right?’

I heard the smile in his voice when he said, ‘I do.’

‘Good. Now, you’re staying over at my place tonight.’ I told him after we’d pulled apart, though my hand seemed to entwine with his by its own violation.

‘I am?’ He asked, amused.

‘You are.’ I confirmed, pleased he didn’t argue, ‘I’ve had issues with headaches in the past and because I love you, I’m willing to share my trade secrets in making them disappear.’

‘I don’t want to be any trouble.’ He ducked his head, preventing me from seeing the crimson that formed on his cheeks from hearing me say I loved him.

‘You’re not any trouble, Spence.’ I assured him, squeezing his hand until he looked up into my eyes, allowing him to see the sincerity in my eyes.

He opened his mouth to say something, but we were inevitably bought back to the reality of the situation when Hotch called for our presence in the conference room. He squeezed my hand once before he dropped it and offered me a quiet ‘thank you.’ I simply smiled in response, pleased he was taking my offer of help— as much as I loved him, the man had a stubborn streak a mile long when it came to “troubling” his friends. I hoped that some of my remedies would be able to help him, the dark circles under his eyes indicated that he was more exhausted than he let on, and I hated seeing him so run down. But I shook those thoughts from my mind and bought myself to focus on the current case— finding and locating Ian Doyles future victims.

It had been a long day, for us both, but I was determined to help Spencer with the intense headache he was clearly still suffering from. He was wearing his sunglasses as we made our way out of the building, the artificial lighting not helping his current situation, and he winced when a pair of particularly loud agents joined us in the elevator as we descended to the garage. When we reached the car, I turned the heat up and the radio off, internally grateful that my car windows were tinted, minimising the glare from the headlights of other cars and the streetlights lighting up nighttime in Quantico.

As we walked into my apartment I fixed some left over pasta for Spencer to eat while I went to the bathroom to run him a bath in my clawfoot tub. Honestly, warm baths were my primary go to whenever I had a headache, the warm water, the silence and the smell of my favourite bath oils were kryptonite for migraines. Once the water was a comfortable temperature and I was sure I’d mixed in enough lavender oils, I added a vanilla and lavender bath bomb and lit some candles. I knew candlelight would be easier on his eyes rather than the iridescent light the bulbs in my bathroom provided. Once I’d lit a sufficient amount, I went to find my favourite agent. I shook my head with a smile when I found him drying the dishes he’d used for his dinner.

‘Spence, you didn’t have to do that.’ I told him, careful to keep my voice soft.

‘I don’t mind, and besides it’s the least I could do.’ He smiled, placing the now dry bowl into the cupboard where it lived.

‘You’re sweet.’ I told him, noticing the blush on his cheeks, despite the fact he ducked his head to hide it, ‘now come on and get yourself naked, Doctor. I have a nice relaxing bath waiting for you.’

His cheeks turned a deeper crimson, but he followed me to the bathroom and looking at the spa-like scene in amazement.

‘Did you know that a warm bath or warm shower is a popular headache remedy because the heat has the power to stop pain signals from travelling to the brain? The heat also increases blood flow, which is also helpful in soothing muscles.’ Spencer reeled off, unable to help himself from sharing the random bit of trivia.

‘Well, I didn’t know exactly how it worked, but relaxing baths have been in my arson for curing headaches for a long time.’ I smiled, happy to see him feeling well enough to share some information, ‘now you take as long as you need in here. When you’re ready to come out give me a shout and I’ll get the next stage ready.’

‘The next stage?’ He tried to ask, but I’d already quietly closed the bathroom door and moved to the living room. With a tired sigh, he started to undress, hoping Y/N’s remedy helped him at least a little.

An hour and a half had passed when Spence yelled to tell me he was ready to get out. I sprung up from the sofa, pulling my oversized hoodie over the shorts I’d changed into.

‘Okay Spence, you dry off with one of the towels under the sink and give me five minutes!’ I replied, tossing his t-shirt, sweatpants and socks into the dryer.

He’d actually left them here a few weeks ago when he’d spent the night for a Dr Who marathon. While I was waiting for them to warm up, I turned on the kettle and pulled out two mugs, adding a chamomile tea bag to each and adding the boiling water and a little honey when it boiled. I placed the mugs onto my bedside table and collected his now pleasantly warm night wear on my way back to the bathroom. I folded them up and opened the door just enough to pass him the clothes, once he took them I closed the door again and told him to come to my bedroom when he was dressed.

It took him a few more minutes but he eventually shuffled into the room, looking more relaxed but I could tell from how he was still squinting a little that his headache hadn’t completely dissipated. I moved to the centre of my bed, placed a pillow on my lap and tossed the covers back.

‘Come and lie down, place your head in my lap.’ I murmured, being sure to keep my tone light and neutral, so he’d know I wasn’t ordering him and he had the freedom to refuse if he wasn’t comfortable.

‘What are you going to do?’ He asked, already moving into the position I’d requested before I could answer. I couldn’t help but smile a little, touched by his trust.

‘I’m going to give you a massage, hopefully ease your headache and the tension you’re carrying around with you.’ I told him, placing some moisturiser on my hands but pausing over his cheekbones, ‘if you want to stop, or you feel uncomfortable at any point, just let me know and I’ll stop immediately.’

‘Okay.’ He sighed, seeming to be relaxed already as his eyes fluttered shut.

I smiled softy, placing my thumbs on his cheekbones and moving back towards his ears, and then up to his temples. The pressure started soft as I moved over the same trail again and again, but as the tension started to ease from him, I started to increase the pressure, happy as he continued to melt into my touch.

‘Okay?’ I checked when I paused to add some more lotion to my hands.

‘Mhmm.’ He murmured back, his voice laced with sleep.

I bought my fingertips back to his face, moving over the same trail one more time before dipping to the back of his neck and starting to rub soothing circles with the same pressure I’d started out with on his face. When I added a little more force, he moaned quietly, his cheeks darkening in embarrassment, but when I didn’t comment and just continued, he didn’t say anything either. He didn’t moan again, but I could feel that was more out of him slipping into sleep, rather than him holding himself back. His breathing evened out and his body completely melted into the mattress, and my lap. I hadn’t planned on him falling asleep like this, but I wasn’t going to complain, either. He needed the sleep, and so I continued rubbing his neck for a few more minutes until I was sure he was really out, then I settled back into my headboard. One of my hands moved soothingly through Spencer’s soft hair, while the other picked up one of the mugs of tea up from my nightstand and sipped at the lukewarm beverage.

When I was finished I felt a little tired, so I placed the empty mug back where I’d gotten it, and slid the neck pillow I kept attached to my headboard around my neck. I turned off my bedside lamp and allowed my eyes to flutter closed— the last thing I remembered thinking before I fell into unconsciousness was that I hoped Spencer woke feeling well rested and headache free.

When I woke up the next morning it took me a minute to remember why I was sleeping in the sitting up position, but when I did, my eyes fell into my lap where Spencer was still unconscious, looking more peaceful than I’d ever seen him. I was surprised he’d slept through the sound of my phone ringing, but I wasn’t going to complain if it meant he got a few more moments of rest.

‘Hello?’ I murmured, my fingers seeming to move through Spence’s hair with their own violation.

‘Y/N, we need you in, we found a new lead.’ Garcia yawned, and I found myself responding in kind.

‘Okay, no problem.’ I sighed, noticing it was a little after eight in the morning. That meant we’d gotten almost nine hours sleep.

‘Before you go, do you know where boy genius is? I called but I can’t seem to reach him.’ She said, sounding worried and I didn’t blame her— last time someone from the team didn't answer a call, it’d been when Hotch got attacked by Foyet.

‘Yeah, he’s here with me, he slept at my place last night. I’ll wake him up and we’ll be in soon.’ I assured her.

‘Thanks girl wonder.’ She said, hanging up the phone. I smiled and placed my phone back onto the nightstand, moving my hands to either side of Reid’s face.

‘Spence? It’s time to wake up Sweetie.’ I murmured, continuing when he started to stir, ‘come on, we have to head in, the team found a lead on Doyle.’

He rubbed his eyes and blinked up at me sleepily. He seemed to be confused for a moment before the morning fog cleared and I couldn’t help but think about how adorable he looked in that moment.

‘What time is it?’ He asked, his voice husky from sleep.

I tried to ignore the shiver that slithered down my spine in response to that voice as I answered him, ‘a little after eight.’

‘I don’t want to get up. This is the first time in months that I haven’t woken up with a headache, and I’ve had a good, uninterrupted nights sleep in so long. I’m afraid facing reality will bring it all back.’ He told me, his eyes glittering with concern.

‘If it does, I’m more than happy to help you like I did last night.’ I assured him, my fingertips following the same path they had multiple times last night.

‘Thank you, Y/N.’ His hand came up to grasp my wrist, halting my movements and giving him the leverage to bring my hand to his mouth. He kissed my palm, his eyes not once straying from mine as he did. I felt my breath catch in my throat, at the gesture and the intensity in his cinnamon eyes.

‘I’m always here for you, Spence.’ I tried to sound confident and unaffected, but my voice came out as a whisper.

I felt him smile against my palm before he kissed me again, his hand then releasing mine to reach up and caress the side of my face. My eyes fluttered closed at his touch, a response I was powerless to stop. I didn’t know it, but my reaction paired with my actions the previous night, gave him the courage to ask me the one question he’d been trying to ask me for almost a year at that point.

‘Y/N, would you like to go on a date with me?’ His voice was soft and full of insecurity and uncertainty, and when my eyes opened I could see the same emotions mirrored in his beautiful eyes.

He seemed to hold his breath, to steel himself for the rejection he was seventy percent sure he would get.

‘I’d love to.’ I answered, my own smile matching his for brightness and relief that this was finally happening.

I leaned forward, his hand slid to the back of my skull to aid me in bringing my lips to his. The kiss was everything I’d ever dreamed of and more. His lips were soft as we moved together, tentative at first as we discovered each other in this new and intimate way. But then it deepened as the lust and passion took over, and when we reluctantly parted at the sound of Garcia texting for our ETA, we were both breathless, with matching swollen lips and dilated pupils. We shared a smile before we started to get ready to face the day, both of us practically walking on air as we basked in the feeling of our new blossoming love.

As we entered the federal building and waited for the elevator that would bring us to the BAU, I couldn’t help but take a moment to appreciate how wonderful my life was in that moment. I had a job I loved, co-workers I saw as family, and now I had a blossoming romantic relationship with the mad I’d fallen for almost a year ago. I was so unbelievably lucky, and there wasn’t a moment that went by that I would let myself forget that.

A/N: This wasn’t a request, but I this came to me after watching Season 6, Episode 17, when Spencer tells Emily about his headaches. I wanted so badly to be able to help him and lo and behold, this imagine was born. I promise I’ll respond to more requests soon, but in the meantime I hope ya’ll enjoy this!

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #Criminal Minds

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corolune · 3 years

Text

Breathing Underwater Chapter Three: Lightning

AO3 / Tumblr Alex had always known he wasn’t like other children. They didn't hear the song of the ocean in their ears, or feel the thrumming rhythm of the waves in their hearts like he did. Then he finds a silvery coat made of seal fur, glistening and calling him to slip it on — and everything he thought he knew about himself washes away like foam on the sea. Alex Rider is a selkie, and this is the story of how a seal becomes a spy. Prologue 〰 Chapter 1: Zephyr 〰 Chapter 2: Nimbus 〰 Chapter 3: Lightning

light·ning — ➀ the flashing of light produced by a discharge of atmospheric electricity; ➁ a sudden stroke of fortune

Only weeks after his fourteenth birthday, Alex woke to a dark sky pierced by a red and blue glow. Everything was still and silent, in that part of the night when everything was asleep. As he blinked his eyes open, he peeked through the soft curtains near his bed, and saw that the flashing lights came from a police car sat in their driveway. As he heard the doorbell ring downstairs, he could feel a sense of unease, the same way he felt when clouds started gathering and he was stuck outside. A sure sign of a storm to come.

Now fully awake, he could hear the soft sound of Jack’s slippers padding down the stairs to the door. Letting the curtain fall back over the window panes, his eyes fell on his fur coat, still on his desk chair from where he’d left it to dry after school. He wasn’t sure what was going on yet, but he didn’t want to leave it lying there if anyone happened to come inside. Shoving aside his sweatshirts and trousers, he pushed it into a hanger in the very back of his closet and slid the door shut.

He heard Jack open the front door with a rattle of the chain, and tiptoed down the stairs to peek into the foyer.

There was a policeman at the door, and Jack’s quiet words floated down the corridor.

“A car accident? But Ian was always so careful…”

Sitting down heavily on the bottom step, the words washed over him, and he felt the first thunders of the storm to come. Just like his parents, his uncle had died in an accident while traveling. Distantly, he found himself wondering if that was what would happen to him, too, dying on his way to somewhere else, a victim of someone else’s carelessness.

As sunlight bled into the sky, he couldn’t help but wonder what exactly happened to his uncle. Where had Ian been going so late at night? And how would he, the same man that drove like an eighty year old, forget to put on his seatbelt? The more he thought about it, the more he found things that didn’t add up.

Tom and Jack put it down to shock, but he knew there was something wrong. And like always, he was too curious to let it go.

A few days later, seated in a drab, grey office opposite an equally grey Alan Blunt, Alex was regretting that he’d indulged his curiosity.

“There’s something we’d like you to do for us,” Blunt said.

“My uncle died because of you. What makes you think I’m going to help you?” Alex crossed his arms and glared at him and Mrs. Jones.

Ever since he had woken to that bleak policeman’s doorbell, he had been adrift in the choppy waves of a stormy sea. At first, it had seemed like the storm would soon be over, but now he saw it was only the beginning of many, like the rains of the monsoons.

“You’ve already proven yourself to be quick, resourceful, and most importantly, curious.”

Curiosity killed the cat, Alex thought to himself as they went on to explain about some billionaire called Herod Sayle, and his plan to give away thousands of Stormbreaker computers.

“All you’d need to do is look around and report back to us,” Mrs. Jones said.

“I’m not doing it.”

All of a sudden, Blunt shifted, and when he spoke next, there was none of the forced friendliness from before. For the first time since Alex had walked into the office, he saw the cunning shark that lay beneath the man’s skin.

“Your uncle left the Royal and General Bank in charge of your care. Certainly, Ms. Starbright is no longer needed, especially with her expired visa. I’m sure Mrs. Jones could find a suitable institution that would handle your living and schooling.”

“Are you blackmailing me?” Alex scoffed in disbelief, yet somehow he’d known this was coming. The storm in his life had finally broken, and now he had these people on one hand, ready to pull him out from drowning in the icy waves. If he didn’t do as they said they would push him back into the water.

Mrs. Jones spoke around yet another peppermint. “Alex, if you only helped us with this, we’d be able to let you stay in your home with your housekeeper. Otherwise, there’s just nothing we can do.”

“You haven’t really left me a choice,” muttered Alex, with a resigned sigh. “It’s just to look around, you said?”

〰〰

He’d done much more than just looking around. When Alex crept back into the room he’d been given at the sprawling Sayle mansion, he snatched up the gadgets Smithers had given him. After some thought, he pulled his sealskin out of the bag and slipped it on, too. If things went badly, he didn’t want to leave it behind, and surely it was safer on him. After his night time adventure in the submerged tunnel, he was coming to realize it could be useful in more ways than he had initially thought. He shuddered, thinking of how the cold and dark water would have been much more comfortable and easier to navigate with his warm seal fur and sharper eyes.

Pulling the silver fur closer to himself, he quietly opened the door, only to come face to face with Mr. Grin — and then, with a sudden jerk backwards, his eyes slid shut and he saw only blackness.

When he woke, he was cuffed tightly to a hard metal chair that rested against the vast, glass wall of the aquarium. Left alone in the room, after Sayle and his assistant had left, he had the distinct feeling of being just as trapped as the restless jellyfish that was held captive in the deep tank behind him. The glow of coloured lamps cast the undulating form of the sea creature in flickering shadows onto the tile in front of him.

As he wrestled with the metal cuffs, he heard the click-clack, click-clack of heeled shoes. With a feeling of dread, he looked up to see Sayle’s other assistant, Nadia Vole.

Moments later, that dread turned into panic, as he was thrown into the winding passage and splashed into the cold tank, only metres away from the Portugeuse Man of War.

The salt water burned at his scraped and bruised wrists. The jellyfish drifted languidly while Alex spluttered and slapped at the water, keeping his head afloat in the small pocket of air.

“I hope you can hear me, Alex,” he heard from a speaker somewhere above him. Through the thick glass, he could see Vole’s cruel smile. “I am sure you will have seen by now that there is no way out of the tank.”

As he looked around, he saw there was indeed no path for escape — the metal structure holding everything together was screwed tightly, and the glass seemed too thick to shatter with his weight. All the while, he kept an eye on the dark, mauve tendrils ever reaching through the drifting current. When he turned his attention back towards Vole, she was still droning on. “Soon, you will get tired, Alex. You will drown. Or perhaps it will be fast and you will drift into the embrace of our friend. You see him...no? It is not an embrace to be desired. It will kill you.”

Kicking in the water to keep afloat, he remembered Sayle’s words describing the stinging cells dotted along the long mass of tentacles. In the neon coloured lights, the circular nodes glowed ominously.

An unforgettable death, Sayle had said.

There was an echoing beat, like a drum, and he realized it was his own heart hammering away in his chest. Flowing water rolled towards him as the current changed, drawing the creature closer, and with a quick push against the wall, he managed to evade it. The glass stretched behind him, some twenty or thirty feet of it, but the man-of-war itself was close to ten feet long.

Its tentacles had danced through the current, just inches away from his arms. He broke through the water, spluttering in his shock. As he gasped for breath, trying to keep still, something clattered against the artificial rocks that were set into the massive aquarium. Through the rippling water, he could see something shiny and metallic winking back at him in the flickering lights.

Vole’s blurry figure seemed to be laughing at him from beyond the thick glass. Suddenly the water shifted, a strong current making small waves and bringing the jellyfish back towards him. More water splashed into his face, and he felt himself being dragged with the flow, his fur coat heavy on his back. With a sharp breath, he ducked underwater, swimming towards the metal object.

Distantly, Alex heard the song of the ocean thrum through his blood. As the water closed over his hair, the hood of his sealskin floated over his head, and he felt himself fall to the rhythm that was pulsing in his heart.

There, he saw what had fallen out of his pockets — Smithers’ zit cream — and breathed a sigh of relief. Somehow, the pressure of the water had lessened, and his lungs had stopped fighting for air. When he reached for the tube, he realized why — instead of rounded fingers, he saw five stout claws, attached to a furry, grey flipper.

Alarmed, he looked through the rippled glass at the bottom of the tank and met Vole’s shocked, round eyes. Breathing out slowly, he shook his head — Vole knowing his secret would only be an issue if he found a way out of the aquarium, and it was easier to focus on the problem at hand. A quick look up, and he could see the tentacled creature still drifted near the top of the water. Hopefully the current would keep it there, long enough for him to spread the cream onto the metal frame keeping the glass in place.

He snatched up the tube from where it lay amongst the rough hewn rocks, and scrabbled at the cap, struggling to get a strong grip on it with his claws. A few failed attempts, and he resorted to holding it in his flippers, and twisting it open with his teeth.

The white cream burst out, and he smeared it onto the metal that was closest to him. He followed the seams, squeezing the tube firmly and rubbing the paste into the joints with his claws. Dodging the enormous jellyfish, he swam quickly to the other side, his back flippers beating the water powerfully, and spreading the cream onto the other side of the frame.

Now, he would only have to wait, and hope that Smithers’ cream would work just as well underwater as it had in his office. He floated into the far bottom of the tank, away from the tangled tentacles and the front wall that would soon shatter.

〰〰

A lean, fair haired man stood silently in front of a helicopter. Though he was irritated at Sayle’s habit of delaying, he looked just as bored and indifferent as the rest of Sayle’s staff. The breeze rustled the leafy trees nearby as the helicopter’s engine rumbled in wait. An inconvenient, and supposedly urgent, phone call had had Sayle scurrying off of the aircraft, and he could see the short man waving his left arm wildly. A thin, shrill sound screeched out of the phone, and he recognized it as Vole’s voice.

Yassen Gregorovich was starting to regret taking this job, and he found himself wondering how many more madmen he would have to look after before his employers realized he was better suited elsewhere.

Sayle was still on the phone as he hurried off the helipad. Sighing, Yassen climbed into the aircraft and switched the engine off, watching the older man’s silhouette disappear into the hedges. It looked like they wouldn’t be departing anytime soon. He might as well stretch his legs.

As he passed through the open archway of the house, he heard an enormous, deafening crash from Sayle’s office. Was this what had caused Sayle to hurry back inside? What was that man up to now?

In a few quick strides, he had a sinking feeling he knew what had happened.

A steadily growing stream of water puddled on the persian rug in front of the office door. It seemed that Sayle’s grotesque jellyfish had finally met its match.

He opened the door slowly, letting the water flow out to equalize the pressure before stepping inside to a scene of complete wreckage, like a seaside town after a storm.

Water gushed through shattered windows, escaping the house. Lavish furniture floated by in broken pieces, and ornate frames with priceless, soaked artwork hung crookedly on the walls. Everything was covered in a fine sheen of liquid, and droplets trickled down from where the spray had hit the ceiling. He spotted the Vole woman prone on the floor, the man of war clinging to her head like a monstrous wig, and couldn’t suppress a grimace.

He delicately picked his way through the debris, careful to keep away from the venomous tentacles, which floated lifelessly in the shallow water that still flooded the room. The front wall of the aquarium was in pieces, as if something had blasted its way through.

A shape in the corner of his eye moved, and he whipped around to face it.

Something dark and furry disappeared under a floating bronze sculpture. Grateful for his combat boots, Yassen made his way towards the corner. He hadn’t been in Sayle’s office in some time, and wouldn’t be surprised if the man had added a new creature to his collection. Kicking aside a toppled candelabra, he sloshed around the heavy wooden desk only to come to an abrupt stop.

He blinked. There, hiding under the remains of Herod Sayle’s desk, was a large, fat, grey seal. As he stared at it, the seal spread its mouth into a smile. Impossibly, the creature lifted its paw as if to wave hello, before shuffling forward with a small splash.

Yassen watched it come towards him with apprehension. Perhaps it wasn’t a fully grown seal, but the thing would easily weigh over a couple hundred pounds, enough to cause serious harm. Clearly, enough to break the supposedly high-strength glass that now covered the floor in broken shards. Had Sayle decided to house a seal in the same tank as the jellyfish? The man was truly an idiot.

The man of war was highly venomous and any animal in close contact with it would succumb to a painful death. Almost every rich person Yassen had had the misfortune of coming across in his life had the most peculiar tastes, and more often than not, their whims bordered on idiotic cruelty.

Round eyes stared up into his, and he found himself feeling a bit sorry for the animal. It was lost, stuck in an unfamiliar world, but it was a strong and brave creature. Instead of succumbing to its fate, the seal had somehow managed to smash its way out of the tank, and now, instead of cowering in fear, it bravely looked up at him, asking for help.

Somewhere deep down, the seal reminded Yassen of himself, but he brushed that thought away before it had a chance to fully form. He bent down, stretching his hand towards the furry animal, and was pleasantly surprised when it bumped its head against his skin. Its fur was soft and warm.

As he looked closer, he saw a shard of glass had pierced into its flank, a bright red line of blood marking it out from the rest of the silvery fur. Now he understood what the clever creature had been asking of him.

“Are you hurt, little one?” He murmured softly, looking into the seal’s eyes as he slowly moved closer. For a fleeting moment, he thought he recognized something familiar — something he couldn’t quite place — in those dark eyes.

The seal huffed quietly, a low grunting sound, in answer to his voice. Compared to Mr. Grin and Vole, he supposed anyone would seem friendly to the poor sea creature.

The glass wasn’t embedded too deeply, and would be easy enough to pull out. Glancing around the room, he saw the sheer curtains that lined the heavy brocade drapes — they were still relatively dry. Tearing them from the windows, he ripped off a wide ribbon of the white cloth, and snatched up a heavy throw from the remains of an armchair.

With a few careful folds of the knitted blanket, his fingers were protected from the sharp edges of the large shard. With his other, free hand, he gently stroked the seal’s side, carefully assessing the best angle to extract the fragment. A quick, sharp tug, and the glass was free — but drops of blood fell into the water at his ankles, blooming like ink.

The seal was breathing quicker now, and as Yassen reached over to grab the strip of linen curtain, he saw the seal watching the blood trickling out of the wound. Swiftly, he folded the cloth around the cut, pressing hard until the blood flow slowed.

That was when he realized that binding the bandage would be a problem. He could wrap it around the top of the seal but he wasn’t about to endanger himself by trying to roll the animal.

Well. He’d done his best, and that would have to be enough. He supposed he could call someone who actually knew what they were doing. Who did one ask for, to help a randomly appearing seal, anyway? This job was ticking a lot of firsts on his list.

Seals, it turned out, were much more intelligent than he had originally thought. The furry animal pressed its flipper against the cloth covering the wound, and rolled in the shallow water, before attempting to tie the bandage itself.

The seal slapped its flippers against the water, and let out a loud, indignant bark. Yassen was shocked to see it grab the ends of the cloth in its claws and wave it at him, and couldn’t hold back a startled laugh. Shaking his head, he bent down again and tied the bandage securely.

For such a clever and brave creature, he would have to find someone to take it to safety, away from Herod Sayle, even if he wasn’t exactly being paid for it. But first, he had a deadline to keep, and a billionaire to prod back onto schedule.

Later, a bewildered animal worker would arrive at the scene after receiving an anonymous tip, but by then the seal would be long gone, as if it had never been there.

← Previous Chapter

#alex rider #yassen gregorovich #selkie au #selkies #fic #stormbreaker rewrite #seals #my fic #fanfiction #breathing underwater #my writing

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curiosi-tea-writes · 3 years

Text

Stuffed T-Rex

Pairing: Alan Grant / Ian Malcolm

Summary: Ian has had a hard time sleeping for years but a joke gift from the man he has feelings for brings him just enough comfort to help. After a while, though, he has to admit it to someone other than himself.

Note: Wrote this little one-shot for @intricatecakes because if it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t have had the confidence to actually post it.

------------------------

Alan thought it was hilarious. It was the funniest thing in the world at the time. He knew it would earn him a scowl, perhaps a light hit to the shoulder, but it was worth it to watch Ian pull the red stuffed t-rex out of the bag.

"You really just enjoy making fun of me, don't you?" Ian scoffed as he set the bag aside with a roll of his eyes.

"What else are friends for?" Alan shrugged with a laugh. He gave the man a nudge to his shoulder with a large smile.

Ellie laughed which earned her own scowl from Ian. "Alright, open my gift, birthday boy." She handed him another small bag.

Ian rolled his eyes with a huff. "Such great friends," he spoke with a sarcastic tone but truly he meant it. The two paleontologists at the table with him knew that.

Alan would soon forget the present he had gotten his friend slightly as a joke, despite that it had sat on his desk for nearly a month leading up to his birthday. But Ian eyed the gift bag with a soft smile. There was something about who it came from that made what could have brought about a painful memory rather sweet.

That night after Ian had said goodnight to Kelly, he went through his normal nightly routine of tossing and turning. He hated this time of night where he could lay awake for hours, fighting to go to sleep with no hope of such a thing actually happening. He could go nights at a time with not a wink of sleep, he should be used to it. This had been happening for years, since the first night he slept after the incident of Jurassic Park. Sorna had only made it so much worse. Before it was just nightmares. Now he would wish for even those because at least that would mean he slept.

He had tried many different ways to fix it. After Jurassic Park, he would often wake from nightmares, needing to not be alone. Ellie helped with that. A simple phone call to her would talk him away from the fear triggered pain in his leg and calm him enough to rest for the remainder of the night, even if he couldn't fall back asleep. After Sorna, he couldn't put Ellie through the long nights he was awake for. After having her first child, he knew she needed every ounce of sleep she could get. So he started calling Alan. He knew the paleontologist worked incredibly late nights, up fascinated over his latest finds or agonizing over funding. After the third of fourth night, Ian began to believe Alan enjoyed their late night calls as much as he did. Even if for most of them they simply sat in silence.

With a tired sigh, after multiple hours of struggling to sleep, he finally sat up. He made to reach for the phone sitting on his nightstand but his hand froze. Pain filled his chest as he remembered that the other man was currently on a plane back to Montana, having only been able to go to dinner with him because he and Ellie had work to do a few towns away from him. He wouldn't be home for a few hours still.

He let his hand fall back to the bed. He racked his brain for who he could possibly call but no name besides the two paleontologists came to mind. Nobody knew him like they did. Nobody else understood.

His eyes fell on the bags the two had given him earlier that evening at dinner and Ian's face softened to a small smile. Nodding to himself, he got out of bed and pulled the red stuffed dinosaur from the bag Alan had earlier set in front of him. He examined the animal slowly, taking a moment to enjoy how soft it was. In a moment of unthinking, he brought the toy up to his face and took a deep breath, taking in the scent that he knew all too well was Alan's cologne and the dust that perpetually filled his house, carried back from the dig site every day. It was a scent of comfort.

It pained him a little when he realized what he was doing. Although he would deny it to any person who presented him with the question, he had to admit to at least himself that his feelings for Alan went well beyond friendship. If there was a possibility he could deny it to himself before, there was no chance of it now. Not as he carried the soft t-rex back to his bed and climbed back under the covers, the toy never parting from its spot nestled under his chin.

Ian couldn't help the small smile he had as he held the toy close to him and, for the first time in a very long time, managed to slip into a peaceful sleep.

Years later as Kelly lay dozing on Alan's sofa one summer night and the two men sat on Alan’s bed, Ian commented that he should go make his way to the hotel he typically stayed at while visiting the other man in Montana. But for the first time in their few month old relationship, instead of offering to help get Kelly to the car, Alan asked him to stay.

A small wave of panic washed over Ian. He had long ago made Alan aware that he was sleeping better through the night but never, even after they got together, admitted what made that change. He thought a part of him believed he wouldn't have to tell him. Maybe one night he would manage to fall asleep without clutching the stuffed animal to his chest. Then he could consider himself cured of his nightmares for good without the need of a crutch. Now, however, he was put in a position where it was impossible to avoid the fact. He couldn’t bring himself to turn down the offer he had silently been waiting for Alan to be comfortable enough to bring up. But in order to accept, he needed to either tell him or make peace with the fact that he wouldn’t be sleeping that night. He found himself not particularly fond of either option.

"Hey," Alan drew his attention back, his hand falling gently on the back of Ian's neck. He smiled softly as he felt Ian lean into his touch. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

Ian sighed heavily and made his way to his suitcase in the corner of the room. "You are not by any means allowed to laugh at me for this," he told Alan sternly and he knelt and opened the bag. He took a calming breath as he pulled the stuffed dinosaur from his bag and carried it back to the bed.

Alan smiled brightly, memories of working at his desk with the animal sitting beside his papers came back after years of being forgotten. "You still have this thing?" He held out his hand for the toy and smiled softly as Ian handed it to him. "I just found it in a museum gift shop and thought it would be a funny gift."

"Yeah, well. I slept with it that night and it became a crutch of sorts," Ian admitted quietly, eyes down looking at his hands as he fiddled them in his lap. "I can't manage sleep without it. It just- it made me think of you and it helped."

"That's why you started sleeping better?" Alan gave a soft laugh.

Ian scrunched his nose a little. "Hey, I told you not to laugh." He bumped Alan’s shoulder with his own, trying to lighten his own mood.

Alan brought his gaze up to Ian's face and covered the man's slightly shaky hands with one of his own. "I'm laughing but not at you. I think it's sweet and I'm glad you found something that helps."

With a sigh of relief, Ian let his head fall to Alan's shoulder. He turned his hand over and threaded their fingers together, smiling brightly as he felt Alan give his hand a light squeeze. "Now that that's done with," Ian chuckled out, "can we go to bed?"

Alan nodded with a bright smile. He turned his head to place a soft kiss to Ian's hair and hummed, holding the t-rex out to the other man who took it happily and held it close to him. Alan could only smile fondly at the man he absolutely adored.

As Ian tucked his head under Alan's chin once they were in bed, the t-rex under his own, Alan gave another soft chuckle. "Did you name it?"

Ian sighed out a soft laugh. "Uh, yeah, I did. I named him Parker."

"Parker?" Alan pulled back a little to look at Ian, smiling as he met his eyes. His brain ran through different reasons for the name, looking for some connection Ian might have to it but nothing came to him. "Why?"

"'Park,'" Ian spoke with a large smile. "Like 'Jurassic Park.'"

Alan scoffed lightly with a smile. "You named your stuffed t-rex after the place where you were almost eaten by a real t-rex?"

Ian shrugged. "Felt appropriate."

"You're absolutely ridiculous," Alan muttered, shaking his head.

"Yeah," Ian sighed, putting his head back to Alan's chest. "It's why you love me." He smirked softly to himself as he could hear and feel Alan's heartbeat quicken at his statement. He held the paleontologist closer and gave a soft content hum.

Alan sighed into Ian's hair. "Yeah, it is," he admitted, his voice muffled, unsure if the other man could even hear him. It didn't matter. They both knew it was the truth.

#alan grant / ian malcolm #alan grant #ian malcolm #jurassic park #Han writes #gay dino men

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littlespoonevan · 4 years

Note

Gallavich + facing each other in bed, andd caressing each other's faces before falling asleep :')

sooo i don’t know if this was meant to be a prompt but i made it one lol. i’ve been wanting to write about the aftermath of 4x11 for a long time and exercise my hurt/comfort muscles so here’s my take on what happens after mickey’s coming out scene

enjoy :’)

The walk home is quiet, the only sound theirfootsteps on the wet pavement and their hushed breaths forming little clouds inthe air. Ian doesn’t hold Mickey’s hand, no matter how much he wants to.Tonight has already been too much without something like that pushing him overthe edge. Instead he lets their arms brush with every second step.

It surprises him though when they reach his streetthat Mickey’s the one to reach out and take his hand.

Ian looks at him but doesn’t stop walking, doesn’twant to give Mickey time to try and pull back. Mickey’s expression is hard tomake out in the dark with the dried blood still all over his face but Ian can atthe very least tell he doesn’t want him to say anything. So he squeezes Mickey’shand and tows him toward the Gallagher house.

Kev must’ve text Fiona when shit went down becauseshe’s still up when they come through the front door, sitting braced on thearmchair with a mug of what’s most likely spiked coffee between her hands. Sheflies out of her seat when she takes in the sight of them.

“Holy shit, what-“

“We’re fine,” Ian cuts in, keeping his voice low inan attempt not to wake anyone else up. Mickey doesn’t need an audience rightnow.

Fiona clamps her mouth shut though she looks like she’dmuch rather be talking. She must see something in Ian’s expression thoughbecause her eyes flicker to Mickey and then, briefly to their hands, and shenods. “Want me to call V?”

Ian shakes his head. “S’not as bad as it looks,” hepromises. “We’re gonna get cleaned up.”

Fiona nods again, hesitating a moment before shespeaks. “Terry back in lockup?”

Mickey answers this time and Ian can tell he’s tryingto joke but the bone-deep exhaustion and barest hint of anxiety evident in hisvoice makes it fall flat. “For a long fuckin’ time hopefully.”

And Ian can’t take it anymore, feels a burning needto get his hands on Mickey. To take care of him, to hold him, to salvage thishorrific fucking night. “Night, Fi,” he whispers, slipping his hand out ofMickey’s to grip his shoulders and steer him gently in the direction of thestairs.

It says a lot about how close Mickey must be tobreaking point that he doesn’t even protest, just lets Ian guide him.

Ian lets go of him once they reach the bathroom butonly to close the door. When he turns back around Mickey is standing listlesslyin the middle of the room and Ian nods to the closed toilet seat. “Here, sitdown,” he says, nudging around Mickey to get the first aid kit from under thesink. “You can take a shower in a sec, let me just clean the worst of it first.”

Mickey huffs a tired laugh as he sits down. “You finda new career without tellin’ me, Gallagher?”

Ian bites back a smile and kneels down in front ofMickey so they’re eye to eye. “Picked up a few things when Ned was getting a bulletoutta your ass.”

Mickey laughs again but it’s really more of anexhale. There’s faint smile on his face though. “Fuck, man. My head hurts.”

Ian winces in sympathy as Mickey closes his eyes –whatever the fuck Terry did to his ribs makes his chest ache with every breathso he gets it. “You think it’s a concussion?” he asks softly as he digs out theantiseptic wipes from the first aid kit, keeping one hand on Mickey’s knee –less to keep him steady and more because he doesn’t feel like letting go of himright now.

“Dunno,” Mickey shrugs half-heartedly, keeping hiseyes closed as Ian wipes the dirt and blood from his face. “Probably justfuckin’ tired.”

“Probably,” Ian agrees. “Your nose doesn’t look thatbad. Doesn’t look deep enough for stitches.”

Mickey cracks an eye open and appraises him. “Christ,Ian. Maybe you should become a nurse.”

Ian laughs, gently though – he learned his lessonearlier. “I’d get plenty of practice with you around.”

Mickey huffs again, his almost-laugh. “You want me toreturn the favour?” he asks when Ian’s finished with his face, fingers idlyfolding around the collar of the coat Ian’s still wearing.

“I’m good,” Ian assures him, swaying forward to pressa kiss to Mickey’s temple. “Let’s just shower and go to bed.”

The words look to be a relief to Mickey and he nods,letting Ian haul him up to stand again. Ian sets the water running while theyget out of their clothes, testing it with his hand before climbing in andMickey follows behind him. Ian pulls him under the spray and reaches for hisshampoo, squirting some onto his hand and reaching for Mickey’s hair.

Mickey lets out a quiet breath, closing his eyes whenIan’s hands run through his hair and Ian feels some of the tension in his ownstomach unfurl as he washes Mickey’s hair, working out the dried blood. Mickeyreaches for him at some point, seemingly intent on doing the same for Ian.

His fingers curl around Ian’s jaw at first, thumbshelping the water wash the blood off Ian’s face before he starts working on hishair. Ian’s not sure how long they stand like that until he can’t take it anymoreand closes the distance between them, pulling Mickey into his arms.

Mickey releases a shuddering breath as Ian’s armsclose around him, his own arms twisting across Ian’s back as his fingers clutchat Ian’s shoulderblades. His face is buried in the crook of Ian’s neck and Iancan feel the way his breath stutters. He knows the weight of what’s happenedtonight is finally hitting Mickey full force.

And he can’t help feeling an unbearable type ofguilt. For pushing Mickey, for making him choose, as if anything about thisentire situation has been as simple as Mickey wanting to keep them a secret. Hejust- it’s fucking irrational and stupid but it hurt feeling he couldn’t be with Mickey the way he wanted to, likethere was this whole other life being planned out for Mickey that Ian would oneday be exiled from. It’s selfish and he hates himself for putting Mickey inthis position but he promises himself he’ll do whatever he has to now toprotect Mickey, to put him first with whatever shit they’ve got coming theirway. He has to.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, carding his fingers throughMickey’s wet hair and speaking the words into Mickey’s shoulder. “I don’t knowwhat I expected to happen.”

Mickey shrugs against him, arms tightening just slightly.“Was gonna have to happen sooner or later.”

Ian pulls back a fraction to meet Mickey’s gaze, offeringhim a sad smile as he runs a finger under the cut on Mickey’s forehead. “Notlike that though.”

Mickey looks at him, a resigned look on his face ashe sighs. “Ian, it was always gonna happen like that. Whether there were fiftypeople in the room or just me and him. It was always gonna be like that. Atleast this way there were some fucking witnesses.”

Small blessings, Ian supposes.

“I’m still sorry,” Ian tells him. “I never wanted youto get hurt.”

“I know,” Mickey says, voice quiet as he leansagainst Ian. “Can we crash now? Feel like I’m dead on my feet.”

Ian nods and shuts off the water. Ian finds themtowels to dry off before going into the bedroom to get boxers and t-shirts forthem both. The only one in the bedroom is Carl, fast asleep in the top bunk.Liam must be in Fiona’s room and Ian reminds himself to thank his sister in themorning for giving them some modicum of privacy.

He returns to the bathroom with their clothes andafter changing and shoving their dirty towels down the laundry shoot they maketheir way back to the bedroom.

Mickey completely forgoes his makeshift camp on thefloor to follow Ian straight into his bed and Ian tries not to react toovisibly. Can’t believe this is actually happening. He can count on one hand theamount of times they’ve shared a bed for real. And while he wishes this wereunder different circumstances he’s going to savour the moment for all that itis.

His bed is too small for them to have much space butIan doesn’t care. By the looks of it, Mickey doesn’t either considering the wayhis legs immediately tangle with Ian’s under the covers. When they’re settledIan lifts his hand, smoothing the hair back off Mickey’s forehead before lettinghis fingers cradle his cheek.

He can just about make out the way the corner ofMickey’s mouth lifts in a smile at the touch.

They stay like that for a minute, still except forthe way Ian’s thumb brushes lightly over Mickey’s cheekbone. Then, tentatively,almost as if he’s never let himself dare try this before Mickey’s hand comes upto rest on Ian’s neck.

Ian’s too tired to grin the way he wants to so hejust lets his mouth twist up in a closed-mouth, contented smile. His eyesprobably give him away anyway.

“Did you mean it?” he whispers after a while. “Whatyou said before – about feeling free.”

Mickey tenses and Ian can tell so he keeps his thumbmoving across Mickey’s cheek, twists his legs around Mickey’s even moretightly. Tries to ground him in whatever way he can.

“Yeah,” Mickey says finally, soft and defeated.

And Ian doesn’t want him to think those words are aweakness, not when they’re the bravest thing Mickey’s ever said to him short ofwhat he’d done less than an hour later.

“For me too,” Ian says then, voice quiet and far tootender. “I’ve always felt free with you,” he explains. “Nothing’s ever made mefeel the way you do. Don’t think anything else could.”

He can feel Mickey’s eyes on him and he’s not surewhat Mickey can make out in the dark but eventually, the hand Mickey’s has onhis neck moves and curls around Ian’s jaw. In the next breath Mickey tips theirforeheads together and Ian’s heart squeezes painfully in his chest.

“It’s you, Gallagher,” Mickey whispers. “Don’t knowwhat anyone else has to offer but I don’t want it. Just you.”

Ian kisses him then because he can’t not. Just agentle press – one that he tries to infuse with as much love and devotion as hepossibly can. He doesn’t move away when he pulls back, keeps his foreheadagainst Mickey’s and the scant inch of space between their mouths. It’s barelyclose enough.

The words Ilove you are on the tip of his tongue and he wants to say them. Over andover again until there isn’t a single doubt in Mickey’s mind. But there havealready been so many confessions tonight he’s not sure if either of them cantake much more.

So instead he touches Mickey’s bottom lip with thetip of his thumb, then the corner of his mouth where a barely-there smile stillsits and whispers, “Night, Mick.”

Mickey’s fingers run through his hair before trailinghis cheek until they finally find their way back to Ian’s neck and fall torest.

“Night, Ian.”

#gallavich #ian x mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #shameless #dancewithyoutoday #my fics #asks

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moth-and-raven · 3 years

Text

CHAPTER TWELVE

I can’t sleep. And from my window, I see that Julian and Portia can’t either; the lights in the little cottage stay on long into the night. I hope they’re catching up, after a decade apart.

A piece of me wants to rejoin them. I felt so safe cocooned in the smells of Portia’s cooking and the laughter we shared. It drained away step by step as I returned to the palace. I trust both of them, but I miss them, too, even though they’re so close. It’s weird to be able to put faces to the holes in my heart.

I must’ve fallen asleep eventually, though, because I startle at the sound of a songbird greeting the dawn. We didn’t agree on an exact time to meet up again, but the earlier the better. With any luck, no one will be wasting the few days left before the Masquerade hanging around Lucio’s old rooms.

At least, no one but us.

The summer morning is cool and clear, buoying me down the garden path to the cottage. Julian emerges as soon as he sees me; Portia has to physically hold him back from running out to meet me. I laugh, seeing her strong, freckled arms wrapped around him from behind. She grimaces and releases him as I shut the door.

“Finally,” she grunts, though it can’t be later than six-thirty. “Nothing personal, but I’m already tired of hearing your name today.”

Julian pulls me into an embrace and spins around the small room, kissing my cheeks and forehead. “Good morning, my darling,” he murmurs. “What a sight you are.”

“Will you calm down, lover boy?” Portia rolls her eyes and swats at him, but I hear the smile in her voice.

He stops, raking his gaze over my face. “No,” he says softly. “I can't.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to.” She shakes her head and pulls a bundle of clothing from behind a chair. “‘Ian’ isn’t very excitable.”

“Ian?”

“Would you rather be Jules again?”

Julian looks closely at the clothes in Portia’s arms: a palace servant’s uniform, similar to her own, all cream and gold. “I need a different name?”

“Look, would you just let me have my fun?” she pouts, quickly turning it into a grin. “You’re Ian, my humble assistant for the day. That means you have to listen to me or I’ll fire you.”

“You wouldn’t fire me, would you?”

Portia eyes him up and down, as if thinking hard. “Yes I would,” she says. “You’re very fire-able.”

All three of us laugh. I can’t help but snuggle into Julian’s chest to feel the rumble of it. He nuzzles my hair, sighing contentedly as the moment passes. “I suppose I can let ‘Ian’ have the spotlight,” he tells Portia, taking the clothes from her. "At least for today."

“Good. I want to get up there soon. Did you have breakfast, Reyja?”

I don’t want to take her food, but I shake my head as she glances out the window at the sun.

“There’re some eggs on the counter, and an orange too, I think. I have some chores to do before we go, but they shouldn’t take long,” she says, moving to the door. “Ten minutes tops. Be ready by then?”

Julian nods.

Portia narrows her eyes at him, then at me. “Wait for me if you guys get done first, okay? You’ll be the least conspicuous if I’m around.”

Silence settles in the room after she leaves. I sit down on Portia’s perfumed couch; Julian starts to join me, then thinks better of it and ducks into the bathroom to change instead.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks. I can still hear him clearly.

“Not really. Too excited.”

“Nor did I."

I frown. "That's two nights in a row, isn't it? That you haven't slept?"

"Ahm… yes."

"Will you be alright?"

"This is nothing, truly. And I did sleep a bit. It'll tide me over, I promise."

I'm surprised by how fiercely I want to take care of him. I've never felt like that before. "If we get a minute, we should take a nap."

"Oh, darling, that sounds absolutely divine."

I lean on the back of the couch, resting my chin on my crossed wrists, watching the shadows he casts on the wall as he changes into his new outfit. Portia did the best she could finding clothes that would fit, but it looks like both shirt and trousers will hang loosely on him.

When he’s dressed, he reappears at the open door, doing up the last of his gilded buttons. “I was thinking about us.” He pauses, looking at me tenderly. “And I’m curious: would you have accepted my, erm, advances, from the beginning?”

“Like breaking-into-the-shop beginning?”

“Ha, had I not been so focused on tracking Asra down, I might’ve asked to stay.”

“Really?”

“I considered it.” He laughs. “You were in your element, my dear, with your spells and your blade. And in that robe too… I kept trying to think of reasons to come back, all the next day. If you hadn’t shown up at the Raven, I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

“Is that why you were so eager to talk that night?”

“What, when I asked you to dinner?”

That is what he did, isn’t it? A date I didn’t even realize we were on. “Yeah.”

“Circumstances being as they were, I did find myself wondering about that pendant. That you were carrying it only made me more interested.”

I touch the smooth silver moon hanging around my neck. “You still can't remember what it means?”

“No. I don’t mind, though. If all it did was bring us together, it means the world to me.”

My heart surges, swelling with affection. He grins and crosses the room, cupping my cheek as he kneels to press his lips to mine.

“I never did get to say what I pictured doing with you, did I?” he asks, more breath than sound.

He didn’t, though I can hardly regret what happened instead. I don’t have to encourage him to go on.

“Hm.” He sits down beside me. “Aside from the obvious, as I so vividly demonstrated, they're the most mundane things. Like— like taking you shopping, or doing laundry together. Is that… do you find that odd?”

I shake my head and nestle against him. It isn’t odd; it’s one of the most soothing scenes I’ve ever imagined.

“And, and settling down with you at the end of a long day,” he murmurs. “Just like this, or maybe in front of a fireplace. Anywhere, really, so long as you’re in my arms.”

I let my eyes flutter shut as I inhale the scent of his skin, his hair. “We could read together,” I suggest. “Or play cards.”

“We could, we could. Would you let me take you out to dinner again, too? Show you off?”

“If you wanted.”

“Oh, I want the whole city, the whole world, to see us and know we’re together. And we could even take Nurlan up on her offer of seeing a show, couldn’t we? I’m no stranger to the stage, you know. I used to be quite the actor. That’s where I met her, in fact.”

A slightly less peaceful thought burrows between his words, grinning slyly at me. “That could be fun,” I say. “Did you have your own dressing room and everything?”

His heavy-lidded gaze turns sultry as he follows where I lead. “All to myself.”

“Do they let audience members backstage if they really, really want to visit?”

“My darling, I wouldn’t let them keep you from me for all the gold in the Palace’s coffers.”

I hum contentedly, admiring the image in my head: I’m already in his dressing room when he comes through the door, flushed and exhilarated from a successful opening night. I stand up to greet him and draw him in for a kiss that turns rapidly from celebratory to sensual. I’m sure he can taste my intentions.

His chest moves with the sigh he heaves. “So much I want to experience with you,” he says wistfully.

“We can.”

“Do you think so?”

I peer up at him, throwing one leg over his thighs as I tuck myself into his side. “Yes.”

“Well, who am I to nay-say such confidence, hm?”

I don’t think anyone has ever described me as confident, but he’s right. I feel it. I’m tired, but excited, and hopeful, and determined to see what happens next. Maybe this will be beyond my capabilities, but I won’t face it alone.

“Oh, I could spend a lifetime kissing you,” Julian murmurs. “I want to spend a lifetime kissing you.”

“It takes two, doesn’t it? We’d be kissing each other.”

“So we would.” He grins. “Shall we start right away?”

He’s dressed and ready to go. Portia will still be a few minutes. We have time, but I won’t waste any of it by saying so.

We’re in a somewhat compromising position when she returns: sprawled along the couch, Julian laying against me with my legs wrapped around his hips, so involved in each other that I don’t even hear the door. I should’ve known better — it’s already apparent that his touch, his very presence, blurs my caution into action every time. Even the looming threats of the Plague and the Masquerade pale in the warmth he spreads.

Both of us scramble to sit up in response to Portia’s beleaguered sigh, but she just shakes her head. “Come on,” she says. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner the two of you can have some privacy. Wait, where’s your wig?”

“Oh, erm.” Julian gestures towards the bathroom.

Portia rolls her eyes. “Put it on. Everyone knows to look out for a redhead. They won’t be expecting dark hair instead.”

Julian offers his hand to help me up, dropping a final kiss to my knuckles before breaking away to collect the wig Portia found. It washes him out a little, but he doesn’t look half-bad with straight black hair falling to his chin, covering his right eye. He smiles bashfully and does his best to tuck his new bangs behind his ear, but they won’t stay. It’s for the best: he’d be even more conspicuous wearing his patch, and this way no one can see, and be tipped off by, his plagued eye.

We follow Portia through the sunlit gardens to the palace, swinging our linked arms. “We’re probably gonna have to go the back way,” she explains, tossing the words over her shoulder as she fishes for her ring of keys to unlock the same greenhouse we left through last night. “Carmeline was telling me that they’re blocking off the whole suite for the party, so no one wanders up there accidentally.”

“What’s the back way?” I ask.

“This, the servants’ passages. They run all over the building. Sorry about your neck, Ian,” she says to Julian, smiling cheekily. “You’ll have to crouch down.”

He sighs, resigned to his fate.

“Reyja can give you a massage later, right?”

I certainly could, and squeeze his hand to tell him so.

“What a reward,” he says dreamily. He’s about to lean in to kiss me again when Portia smacks his arm.

“No more of that. Not while we’re here.”

“Ah, of course.”

“And stay close. It’s easy to get lost, the way we’re going.”

I lose my bearings after the first three turns. How anyone can navigate these twisting halls with no indication of where they are in the broader scheme of the palace is beyond me, but every servant we pass seems to know exactly where they’re going. It’s for the best that they’re so focused, and so busy: no one gives Julian a second glance. Maybe his disguise was unnecessary, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.

We follow Portia single-file, past living quarters and storage rooms and kitchens and closets. At one point we pass an armory, full to the brim with weapons long neglected to rust. A tiny staircase gives us pause; it’s barely wide enough for my hips, and poor Julian is nearly doubled over to avoid the low ceiling. But we manage to squeeze up the tight spiral and crowd together on the landing crowning it while Portia feels for the door handle in the dark. I call a small light to my palm to help her, but our bodies cast shadows too dark to see through.

She finds it eventually, and we stagger out of the wall into ash piled high like snowdrifts. We’re on the other side of the suite now, opposite where Portia and I explored before. My heart catches in my throat when I realize that we’ve emerged in Lucio’s bedroom itself, untouched for the last three years, stirring cinders into the air with our breath and footsteps.

It’s so quiet. Eerily quiet, like sound is being eaten before it can escape. I close my eyes against the force of the silence.

And Lucio’s spark flares into view, white-silver and red, the vaguest shape of a man, blurred at the edges. His form disappears when I open my eyes again, but his presence remains, angrier than he was a few days ago. I wonder if he knows what time of year it is. The Masquerade was held in celebration of his birthday, after all, and from what I know of him, he’s probably pretty upset that people are ignoring its origins and partying without him.

At least that gives me an emotion to latch onto.

I rest one hand on Portia’s soft shoulder, holding her back before she can venture further in.

“What?” she asks. I can hear the excitement and concern mingled in her voice.

“He’s here,” I say simply.

Julian’s pressed so close to me I feel him tremble when I close my eyes again. I do my best to ignore him, weaving Asra’s old spells into careful nets to keep Lucio from vanishing when we call to him properly. He knows we’re here too, I think, but he can’t see us. I enclose the space around us, sealing up the room. Win or lose, here we go.

“Ready?” I ask quietly.

“We don’t have much of a choice, do we?” Julian whispers back, barely keeping his nerves at bay. Despite his eagerness last night, I can tell that this isn’t his favorite thing.

“Nope,” Portia says. “So let’s do it.”

“Okay.”

I call magical bindings to my fingertips, to hold him here when he manifests. I’d rather not use them if I can help it, because I know how much it will drain me, but needs must. Air mixed with fine particles of soot fills my lungs and I hold back a cough to call out to him: “Count Lucio?”

His aura flares red, searching through his former suite for the intrusion. But when he finds us, he recoils. Waves of fear and confusion replace his hostility even as he tries to stand his ground.

“Who’s there?” he hisses, but only I can hear him. His voice is reedy, a faint echo of what a living throat can make.

I ignore the question. He’ll find out soon enough. “We’ve come to visit you.”

“Uh-huh, sure. A palace full of toadies and not a single person comes up here until now.”

Not a single—? He’s been alone all this time? Three years, a floating consciousness with nothing else to do? How desperately lonely he must be.

“What do you want?” he adds peevishly. “I’m not really entertaining right now, y’get me?”

His presence is getting stronger, the more he funnels into communicating with us. He’s still unfocused, but I can almost see him when he moves. Behind me, Julian and Portia are frozen, holding each other’s hands, letting me work.

“That’s okay,” I tell him. “We won’t take long.”

“Hmph. Where else am I gonna go?” he pouts. “They’re shutting me up in here, away from the party.”

I wonder if he’ll manifest more quickly with flattery… “Locking you out of your own party?”

“Thank you! Finally, someone who recognizes how fucking stupid that is!” His shape roils like a thundercloud, smoke filling a glass vase until he almost looks solid. “The Masquerade is my baby! I may be dead, but I’m not gone!”

“That’s right,” I say, taking a hesitant step closer. “Um, speaking of… we had some questions for you.”

“Why d’you keep saying ‘we?’ There’s only one of you.”

Oh. “I… brought some friends. One of them might look familiar. He’s the one who wants to ask you about, uh…”

Lucio cuts me off. “Lemme see! Anyone who remembers me has shit to answer for, like—”

He stops dead the moment I take Julian’s hand. Both of them gasp, seeing each other for the first time. Julian’s skin is ice-cold, colder than usual, and his palm is damp with sweat, but he swallows bravely and raises his voice.

“Hello, Lucio.”

“Jules? ” Lucio says, the word dripping with incredulity.

“Now, you know I never liked that nickname—”

“Fuck my ass, it is you!”

“Erm.”

Lucio flows like quicksilver over the ash-stained carpet to shove his ghostly face into Julian’s. His eyes are the same piercing, plagued red, but his pupils are so pale as to be invisible.

“How fucking dare you?” Lucio shrieks. He tries to push Julian’s shoulder, but passes right through him. It only makes him angrier. “You fucking hack! I dug you outta the fucking trash to bring you here and wha’d’it get me, huh?! I trusted you, I gave you everything you fucking asked for! Why couldn’t you do what you said you would, asshole? This is all your fault! ”

I pull Julian back; he stumbles against me, flinching away from Lucio’s wrath. “I- I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“No! You fucking didn’t! You didn’t do shit and now fucking look at me!”

“Lucio, I—”

“Never should've trusted you. I thought we had somethin’, y’know? Since you were there for the arm thing and all. I should've called Naz-whatever instead.”

Julian swallows hard. “Nazali — erm, Doctor Satrinava — couldn’t have risked—”

“Don’t you dare fucking lecture me, Jules!”

Julian winces as Lucio launches into another tirade. I squeeze his hand; I could let go of him and he wouldn’t have to hear any of it, since it’s only through me they can communicate. But he squeezes back and draws a steadying breath.

“Look, Lucio, as nice as it is to hear your voice again—”

“And now you’re fucking mocking me? How dare—”

“— I really only have the one question. Then I’ll get out of your hair.”

Lucio crosses his arms, looking for all the world a petulant child just told he had five minutes until bedtime. “I’m gonna make the same promise you made me,” he says. “I’ll do ‘whatever I can.’ And apparently, that means I don’t have to do jack shit.”

Julian sighs. “Did I kill you?”

“You sure as fuck didn’t fucking cure me, did’ya?”

“No, I mean… at the end?”

“Pfft. You might as well have.”

The crunch of ash fills the silence.

“... But I didn't?”

Lucio shrugs.

“I didn’t kill you?!”

“I don’t know, okay?” Lucio turns his back on us and floats across the room to the soot-stained curtains, pawing uselessly at them as he tries to open the window. He grunts in annoyance and stares at the wall instead.

Julian presses his point. “You don’t know who killed you?”

“Look, I was kinda busy at the time. Dying and shit.”

“Do you remember anything?”

He scowls. “I remember someone coming in… someone tall, and thin. And pale. But… but I don’t think it was you. They weren’t… they weren’t human …”

I could shout for joy. I won’t, but I could. Julian is innocent! I knew he had to be! If there was someone else in the room before him, Lucio might have been dead before he even got there. That’s a mystery of its own, but I can’t help the relief flooding through my veins. Whoever it was, it wasn’t him. And right now, that’s as much of a victory as I need.

But Julian’s still worried, and still deadly focused on Lucio’s nebulous form.

“Hey, uh. I got a question for you, too,” Lucio says, shaking himself out of his patchy memories. “You owe me one, anyway.”

Julian nods for him to continue.

“You still in contact with that Skylar guy?”

Julian startles. “Skylar? I haven’t seen him in years. How do you know him?”

“Duh, he was here. Cared about me more than you ever did, too.”

“I… don’t remember that.”

Lucio smirks. “I sure as fuck do. Damn, if I hadn’t been, like, dying… he could rearrange my guts any day.”

I hadn’t realized Portia could hear him too, but she stifles a snicker behind her hand. The other, I see, is still holding Julian’s. Julian himself blushes, and clears his throat.

“Erm, I’ll be sure to let him know.”

“ASAP. He’s here, y’know.”

“What? How do you know that, if you can’t—?”

Lucio preens. “My good doggies were playing with Salsa a few days ago. I heard them.”

“You heard…” Julian trails off, then turns to Portia. I can almost hear his mind racing. “Pasha, is a tall man with dark skin and green eyes staying in the palace?”

Lucio interrupts before she can answer. “Do you think I’d be asking if he was actually here here? I just know he’s somewhere in the city.”

And Julian laughs, his shoulders loosening. Whoever this Skylar is, his presence must mean a lot to him. “I bet I know exactly where.”

—————

Skylar belongs to @ollifree.

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#the arcana #the arcana fanfic #reyja north #julian devorak #moth & raven

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librarygf · 4 years

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ian’s sleeping in there is such a soft scene and i constantly rewatch and think about ian halfway waking up when mickey’s sitting on the floor next to him and mickey petting his hair or holding the hand that’s hanging off the bed until he falls asleep again and how he would’ve had to get ian to eat for his night dose and probably had to squeeze between ian and the wall to sleep that night

omg this kills me but yes!! imagine that ian’s been out like a light like mickey says, so he goes downstairs to help fiona with whatever, and when it’s dinner time he grabs a grilled cheese and ian’s night meds and then he goes back upstairs. only ian’s already awake, eyes open, and when he sees mickey he smiles just a little. where you been? he says. giving your sister a hand. with what? ironing. ian frowns. bullshit. and that’s them smiling. brought you dinner, mickey says then, handing it over to ian, and maybe it’s because ian’s tired, but he just sits up against the wall and takes the plate without complaint, moving to the side so mickey can sit besides him. and then he eats, and when he’s done (still so tired), he leans his head on mickey’s shoulder instead. come on, mickey says, nudging him a little so they lie down, and then they curl around each other on the bed and mickey feels the sadnessloverelief again as this time, he closes his eyes too. and then it’s quiet, sounds from downstairs that are easy to ignore, as he pets ian’s hair and they both fall asleep

#em answers #not me in tears about softness again

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paigerambles · 3 years

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A happy belated birthday to my darling Gemma <3

(( four little drabbles based on some of our pairings )) @gemmamakeslists

A Dangerous Affair with Faith and Antonin

The door had closed much too loudly behind him. It mirrored the finality of this moment. Antonin had never pretended and that perhaps was what had made him so uniquely cruel. When he’d chosen her, when he’d decided to ‘see what happened’, he’d been open to feel whatever he might have. After all, the more open you were, the easier you were trusted. The more receptive you were to the little things she did, the more you noticed and became intrigued by. It was a dangerous tightrope he walked but Antonin hadn’t lost sleep about it. After all, he would always finish the job.

He was supposed to finish the job.

His hands never shook, not ever but tonight they betrayed him. If she had suspected, if she had been worried, it didn’t show. Instead, concern flashed across that almost unreadable face. That alone was a punch to the gut. Of course he didn’t exactly look his best. He was about to make the single most impactful decision of his life - his hair had not taken it well. Neither had the dark circles under his eyes, the palpable anxiety he felt causing a trickle of sweat to make its way down his neck.

If he made it quick, it could be a mercy. She was a target now and even if he let her go... It would be a life of looking over her shoulder. Faith may have been tougher than most but she wouldn’t survive, not now. Loneliness was easier to accept, to live with, when you hadn’t tasted the alternative. He knew that all too well now. This was just supposed to be another job. Another name scratched off a list. Another day.

What did it matter if he loved her? What did it matter that his father would kill him himself if he didn’t see this through? What did anything matter when she was looking at him like that, eyes hopeful and trusting and all too familiar with disappointment and pain?

The loaded gun felt impossibly heavy in his hands as he watched the colour slowly drain from her face as that trust started to falter. Surely not...? He couldn’t, he wouldn’t-

“Antonin-,” but he’d made his decision long before she breathed his name. In truth, he had made his decision long before even now. He had been interested every time she spoke, dizzied by her rare laugh and moved by the way she saw the world and all its dark, terrible corners. She’d danced with the devil and never known, until now. He took a step towards her and to her credit, to her grit, she barely flinched and did not move.

The cold touch of the metal ran up his spine as he put the gun away. Of course he put the gun away.

“We have to leave. Tonight. There’s no time to explain-,” his mind was moving faster now, catching up, calming down. This he could do. This he could manage without shaking. “They want you dead. My father, his organization. I won’t let that happen to you, do you understand?” Usually she would argue, questions, rage until she was blue or purple or red in the face. There was an ache in his chest as he saw the tears in her eyes, too stubborn to fall. Convincing her that his feelings were real would take time and maybe she’d never believe him which she was well within her right not to but that didn’t matter now. Now his only thought, his only goal, was to keep her safe.

Antonin stopped moving for long enough to look her in those burning blue eyes. It had to boil down to one thing now and it wasn’t love, it wasn’t longing or truth. It was this: “Do you trust me?”

And perhaps against her every better judgement, in that moment she nodded, gripping tightly onto his outstretched hand.

“Yes.”

A Reckless Serenade with Krystal and Luke

The pub was probably the dullest, stickiest, faintly rancid place in town but it let his band play and paid them in free drinks. So, really, who’s to complain? Luke was usually nervous before a show, anxious right up until he was bouncing around the stage and even then. Tonight he was especially nervous. Tonight, he’d asked the prettiest, coolest, sassiest girl from the record store to come to his show. He’d made some big song and dance about putting his homemade poster up in the store to which she’d said ‘nah, pal’. Luke had just been pleased as punch to chat with her anyway.

The likelihood of her actually showing up tonight... He wasn’t sure what made him more nervous. Would she? Wouldn’t she? He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was about Krystal Mercury but he thought an awful lot about holding her hand. That was enough to inspire screeds and screeds of poppy poetry, some of it beautiful even. When it came to writing a song, he could say it all. When it came to talking to her? Forget about it.

Now, all he had to do was convince himself that he wouldn’t be perfectly miserable if he didn’t see her tonight. It was a decent crowd, anyway. At least fifteen people. If you counted the bartender (which he always did). It was all peachy.

Except, he really wanted her to be in the crowd.

“Come on, mate.” Luke blinked at his band-mate, as if suddenly remembering the fact that the whole point of tonight was to play a show. Right, here we go. No matter what happ---

For half a beat, he held his breath entirely. After all, it wasn’t terribly well lit in here and he might have been mistaken. Although, wasn’t she quite unmistakable?

Krystal’s hair was down, hanging by the shoulders of her denim jacket with what he thought might have been sewn on patches for a splash of colour. She was here. When he met her eye, he reckoned he caught a smile and time might have slowed down. He’d always been hopeless and maybe even romantic but he never thought he’d get himself quite this tongue tied over someone. Not a very handy thing when you were the lead singer, mind.

Then just like that reality return and he opened his mouth at last, the sound of rip roaring guitar and faster-than-your-racing-heart drum beats filled the air, and his head. Luke felt giddy, elated and it wasn’t just from the adrenaline of playing a show. It wasn’t that at all.

“And truth be told, I’d be terribly content to hold your hand.”

Funny how much effort it took to make it seem like you were very cool and casual around someone you definitely didn’t feel cool or casual around. Luke gave it his best once he’d exited the stage.

“Alright, Songbird.”

“Well, you weren’t shite, then.”

Luke let out a laugh, still clad in his leather jacket despite the stage lights.

“Do you want to see backstage?” Luke took the world’s longest breath, holding out his hand.

“Backstage,” he shot her a grin at that comment. Fair enough, this was hardly the Grammy’s. Still, she took his hand.

A Brighter Day with Olivia and Ian

Ian Morrison had just been some guy on vacation when he noticed her. A totally normal, very stylish and slightly drunk guy on vacation. Olivia Winters had just been some girl working her part-time job and going to classes. Sometimes she remembered to text back her annoying BFF Samson too. She was perfectly normal, happy and a little bit no-nonsense especially when it come to guys on vacation who thought they were stylish.

It was perfect.

The first time Ian noticed her, she was sitting outside of a café with a stack of books and a black coffee. Her bangs threatened to cover her eyes, her brow was furrowed in concentration and she was about to lose one of her papers to a summer’s breeze. Now, being a perfectly normal, perfectly human guy, Ian had to run like a fool to catch it for her. Did he expect to be showered in thanks? No but a compliment on his Hawaiian shirt would have been nice.

Olivia didn’t even give him that.

The next time Ian sees her, she’s wearing dungarees and eating an overly shiny apple. He smells strongly of daytime tequila (it was vacation, after all) and was just on the way to meet his brother for a late lunch. Ian doesn’t have a good excuse this time but damn it all, he goes for it anyway.

“You know, an apple a day keeps the doctor away.”

“And what exactly would keep you away?”

“Pineapples. They freak me out.”

“There are at least seven pineapples on your shirt right now.”

“It’s a power play, I’m letting them know who’s boss so they don’t smell my fear. I’m playing the long game here. I’m Ian, BTW.”

“Right... Olivia, BTW.” She wasn’t nearly as accustomed to using the acronym out loud, hence the sarcasm.

“Well, I’ll see you around O-L-I-V-I-A,” he grinned, shooting her a wink. She rolled her eyes. She smiled. What a weirdo.

The next time again that Ian sees Olivia, the sun is setting over waves and he’s wearing shorter shorts than you might think appropriate for a Sunday evening. He was just giving the people something to smile about. He has his sunglasses on, sitting under one of those absurdly large beach umbrellas, half-asleep, when she sits herself down without even a ‘hello’. How rude. He didn’t mind.

“Here.” Ian opened his eyes lazily, glancing down at the apple in his palm. A smile tugged at his lips. What a weirdo. “For the doctor,” she added, as if that made sense. Ian let out a laugh. She felt funny but not in a bad way.

“Thank you, O,” he said around a crunch, peaking over at her before nudging his sunglasses down his nose. “So, you planning on sticking around or are you actually a mermaid en route to the sea? Either one is cool with me.”

“Not a mermaid. A sea-witch and if you’re not careful, you won’t leave here with all your fingers and toes still attached.” He was only almost certain it was a joke which only made Ian Morrison grin wider.

“Only one way to find out then.” Olivia stayed beside him long after the sun had set, telling herself it was fine because he was just some boy on vacation with a nice smile and a ridiculously warming laugh.

The last time Ian sees Olivia is when he’s on the bus, feeling a keen hangover as he presses his face against the cool glass. Mark Morrison is putting their luggage under the bus, making sure Ian has plenty of water and crackers for the uneasy ride back home.

Ian doesn’t know why or how he opened his eyes at exact, perfect moment to see her but he did. He was so glad he did. An easy smile came to his face and the same happened for her.

Olivia lifted her hand up in a wave, minimum effort and very meaningful all the same.

Ian pressed his palm to the window, dramatic and very meaningful all the same.

Mark made his way onto the bus, backpack in tow and Ian turned to shoot his best bro a grin and by the time he looked back around, Olivia was gone.

A Little Hope with Autumn and Oliver

There was only one bed in the motel and the bath tub was abysmal. Oliver would have taken the chair- it’s not as if he slept much these days anyway but Autumn had insisted. Well, perhaps that was the wrong word. She said he would be no good to her if he was exhausted and hadn’t he been the one who had dragged her into this mess? That he could not argue with.

Still, he couldn’t sleep.

Oliver wasn’t proud of the weakness, of the cruelty he had inflicted by having Autumn conjure up the soul of his beloved. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t know just how Angel had died, the fire, the explosion... The way that Autumn had to feel that just so he could have a scrap, a false echo of the woman he had loved more than anything in this wretched world. What’s worse is that he needed her to do it again.

Autumn needed the money. She needed to start over so if that meant sticking with Oliver DiLaurentis a little longer then fine. He shouldn’t have lied to her, shouldn’t have left out the part where there was a price on his head. They’d been on the run for weeks now and he had begged her to leave him to perish more than once. Autumn refused, for whatever reason.

Well, it was the money, wasn’t it? Of course it was. They had a deal. Had his father not taught him how to be a good businessman? He couldn’t back out of a deal. That would be dishonorable. How goddamn backwards his family had been. Were. Oliver turned on his side.

He owed Autumn his life, whatever was left of it. He would see this through. He’d protect her the way that he hadn’t been able to protect... To protect Angel. A haggard breath left his lungs as he looked over to her lying beside him. He felt his chest ache. Then-

Autumn turned, turned too far in fact and now she was leaning against his chest. Oliver stopped breathing. He hadn’t felt a moment of peace since the fire. Since he’d... Just, since. He doubted he’d ever feel a moment of peace again but for the briefest of moments, as he let out his breath, he felt the first real glimmer of hope that he might. It was a foolish, frivolous thought but he had it nonetheless.

Her breathing was even, her sleep yet to be interrupted. For reasons entirely beyond him, he gently touched her shoulder and felt the real weight of exhaustion he had been fighting off until now. He was bone tired, desperate for sleep but too scared to close his eyes. Autumn wasn’t though. From what he had seen of her, from what he had seen her do, he thought she was fearless. A survivor. Beautiful, in her own special way. He fought the thought off but still it whispered in the back of his mind- not like her though, not like Angel.

Oliver closed his eyes, a tear falling down his cheek. He didn’t move his hand from her shoulder and she didn’t move her head from his chest.

For the first time, he slept.

#gemmamakeslists #gemma #for you my dear <3

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