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stilemawillow · 3 months

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MTIJ | Ch.30 City of Dumbassery, Here I Come

|mtij masterlist|

pairing: levi ackerman x reader

word count: 13k

summary: a girl with a variety of hidden complexes has to live with a french asshole for nine months. easy? on the surface. problematic? definitely. romantic? not too much, or at least they’d make it a point to say so everytime when asked. the end? please, their dynamic isn’t as simple as that.

warnings: nsfw content; mentions of nudity; virginity loss; oral sex (f! receiving); protected sex; explicit sexual content; reader discretion advised

A hundred-dollar question: where do people go to blow off steam when their interns weren’t back back from their vacation yet? First and foremost, never City of Dumbassery as it’s not a place for relaxation. I might’ve been its main population these days, but I fancied myself a rational person capable of making the right choices when needed. Pretend you’re not looking at my romantic history. The right choice, however, wasn’t always right in the heat of the moment, only in perspective, so we begin this scene with me, seated on Erwin Smith’s couch with Hanji Zoe and a cup of coffee.

For more information on the right-est choice I made as of late, keep watching. Or as asshole-me insists on promoting: Come see the prequel to the biggest fuck-up of this girl’s life. I, though oblivious to its imminent eventuation at the point where we start, had a vague notion of what I wanted the next few days to look like. Let’s just say, humourlessly enough, that my wildest dreams came nowhere close to the reality that would take place.

“I’m sorry about last time, (Y/N). I didn’t know about you and Eren.” Hanji’s contrite apology made my smile widen as I lifted the cup of coffee to my lips. Dismissing the fact she brought the topic right back with the intention to make amends, Hanji was a good person and clearly sincere in her ways of regarding me. Kindness was one thing, but this woman’s pure cordiality was admirable.

“It’s not a problem. I could tell it wasn’t your intention to hurt me.” The corner of my mouth twitched in self-reproach at the manipulative bullshit I let slip. Instantly, I corrected: “Not that I was hurt.” If it’d been Annie, she wouldn’t straight-up laughed. Had it been Levi, he would’ve stared at me like I was dumb for thinking him dumb enough to buy it. But this was Hanji and she just smiled reassuringly.

“You can share if you want to. That’s what I’m here for with all my friends,” she offered. It sounded tempting but I couldn’t allow myself that kind of openness yet. Annie was, as always, the only person who knew the full story in all its repulsive glory but if I wanted to preserve (Levi’s privacy) my reputation, I couldn’t tell the whole thing here. The whole thing – look at me dodging the serious parts in an attempt to make myself feel better. I couldn’t tell Hanji about my intoxicated attempt to sleep with her friend, who gave dubious if any consent. Sounded appropriately disgusting like this.

“Mike and Erwin seem like they lead pretty decent lives, though.” Redirecting the topic, ignoring everything weird, dismissing all as a dirty scheme meant to humiliate me – a methodical step-by-step guide on how to be a paranoid bitch. It would’ve been my equivalent of the Bible if I weren’t an atheist. Even if I regularly used OMG, if I had to pick a fictional character to believe was real, at least I’d pick one from a book with a legit author – something by King, Thackeray, Hemingway, Tolkien, Orwell or Hawthorne. Following that train of thought, I might as well start worshipping Mickey Mouse – it’d do me more good than the big guy with the beard who loves me but would make me suffer for all eternity for stepping out of line once. I did it a lot.

“It wasn’t always like that. Not to mention Levi was stuck in the gutter a month back.” Hanji’s words snapped me out of my daze. “I know I told you to wait for him, but I don’t trust him, so make sure you keep this conversation a secret,” she warned while leaning forward as if afraid the walls would hear. The suspense, though exaggerated and a bit comical, made me put down my coffee. “So, you know how Petra is mentioned here and there?” I nodded. “She was Levi’s fiancé. She died in a car crash last October.” I knew I should’ve reacted appropriately but I couldn’t force it quickly enough. Hanji noticed. “You don’t look shocked.”

“No, but I am surprised. A lot of things make sense now. I’m sorry for your loss.” I hastened to make a recovery to lessen the doubt along the planes of her face. A pang tugged on my heart. When I considered the alternate reality where Petra hadn’t died, the notion of Levi not arriving for his internship was incomprehensible. He’d be studying hard at home and married. No rings, no chaos, no cheating for me – yes, good, but no company around the house either, no distraction and no comfort.

“You haven’t done anything to apologise for it,” Hanji said. “Anyways. Shorty was in a really bad place the months after. Working himself to the bone, no sleep, no food, no nothing. He just had to be doing something. The one good thing that came out of it was his weekly visits to his mother.” A small pause, a moment of consideration for her and an odd feeling of fascination for me. I was soaking it up like a sponge because I was seeing, at last, his angle. “Maybe it hit him that if death came for Petra, it could come for Kuchel, too. I can’t know for sure. All I know is he exhausted himself to the point he collapsed. Unconscious for three whole days. Isabel told him he’d gotten the internship when he woke up.”

“So he used it as an escape,” I finished. It was a logical conclusion. Hanji nodded. Avoiding pain wasn’t the way but he’d been desperate to get away and the internship had been the perfect opportunity. He’d grabbed his bags, boarded the plane and then… well, had to deal with me. Not a warm welcome by any means. He hadn’t even had the energy to get angry or look like he felt anything. I hadn’t known, hadn’t cared enough to see. It made me uncomfortable to realise it.

“Flew over a whole ocean and kept working,” Hanji proceeded. “He wanted something to distract himself with. When he ran out of work because he did overtime, he started calling home more often. Vague details were all he gave, but I got the feeling he had something else to work on.” Hanji’s words made a lopsided smile kiss my lips. He’d wanted to busy himself with my well-being, but I’d taken it the wrong way, as I often did. Nowadays the matter was often used against him but never by him – wasn’t that funny?

“Becoming the spoiled brat’s babysitter,” I filled in kindly, but Hanji’s disapproving frown meant to reproach along with the eloquent gesture of her crossing her arms. I didn’t regret the way I worded it. Eren, Annie, Mikasa and my mother had often tried to make me rethink my ways, but results were yet to manifest. This story, with me as the shitty protagonist most likely to be insufferable contrary to sympathy-inducing, portrayed reality as I saw it – and reality often neglected character development.

“He never called you either, but he did mention taking care of you had the same effect as working, if not better. I felt he might find himself a friend, so I supported him. I think I made the right choice. You have a lot in common,” Hanji declared. It struck a cord – did we really? Our arguments were fire lashing out at ice – not something that happened with people got along. Levi was hard to anger whereas I had a short fuse – everything was a personal insult. No easier target than a conceited paranoid.

“On the topic of that,” I piped. “How do you forget somebody?” The question was light-hearted. I decided to dismiss the whole story so I could ponder it later. Hanji’s brows furrowed as she smiled sympathetically. She couldn’t imagine the situation well enough. The question was I over Eren? had kept at a safe distance from my mind during my birthday vacation and the beginning of August only to assault it now with pitiless ire.

Things kept coming back when I least needed them. Thoughts of the twinkle in his teal eyes or the crooked smile he always wore before a kiss, the sound of his voice – the softness he’d told me he loved me with the first time, the haunting quiver in it when we were breaking up. I woke up at night with the howl of planes taking off and landing. On some mornings, I woke up, hoping to hear a knock at the door and see his face. Would he be more tan? Would his eyes be the same? Would his hair be styled differently? Would he have grown taller?

But, (Y/N), a voice would say in my head, people don’t grow taller just like that, it’s physically impossible.

Eren can, I’d argue, because Eren is my boyfriend and he can do anything if he puts his mind to it.

But Eren wasn’t my boyfriend and he wasn’t a miracle-maker. I’d sit in bed and argue with myself that Eren would come back, that I wanted the best for him and that wasn’t me, that we were done, but that he’d still come back. He never did. A small desperate part of me still hoped for the door to open – any door. Erwin Smith’s apartment’s front door right now, even. I could almost hear his footsteps going up the stairs. I swore I could. I turned to Hanji, a naïve question – can’t you? – flickering in my orbs. She didn’t catch it.

“I’m not an expert,” she said instead. “But Levi can be of help. His coping mechanisms aren’t the best example to follow, but he has a good head on his shoulders. He just doesn’t listen to it.” She might’ve thought, with how desperate I looked, that I might cry. She didn’t know pride would rather have me rip out of my tear ducts before that happened. I didn’t cry often or in many people’s presence. That wasn’t to say I didn’t like Hanji. But Annie and, unfortunately, Levi were the exceptions here. The latter was a mystery, probably my attempt to play a damsel in distress to ask for attention. Attention and help and fucking, might as well – a kiss. Couldn’t he just kiss me sometimes without me having to be in the middle of a mood?

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t copy those coping mechanisms even if I wanted to. Work, sex and alcohol are never a good mix.” I let out an awkward string of laughter, weirded out by my abrupt disconnection from the conversation and how it turned my thoughts against me. I didn’t miss him that much. Also, he was coming home tomorrow. I had nothing to play the desperate whore for. There was the blondie. That wasn’t jealousy, though. I’d say it was my wish to prove myself better.

“Sex?” Hanji echoed with a conflicted expression.

“Sex with my father’s secretary. I think it was around May. He stormed out after calling her and came back drunk in the middle of the night,” I explained. The brown-haired woman took a second to process the story, then burst out in incredulous laughter. My brows twitched. “What’s so funny?” Was it something else or was I just weird for not thinking my father’s intern and secretary fucking the joke of the century?

“I remember him telling me about that,” she started, voice hinting at a new bout of cackling. “He went to her place for paperwork and she had her boyfriend over. They kept offering him drinks and he agreed to shut them up. Crossed the line at some point. He even got lost on his way back to the house.” I wanted to face-palm using the table and, hopefully, get myself into a coma. Was there a person on this Earth denser than me or was I a phenomenal idiot?

“Oh, God,” I muttered in a wheeze. “I’m so stupid.” Embarrassment and shame painted the tips of my ears bright crimson as I clenched my fists. Hanji patted my shoulder.

“You’re not stupid. I would’ve thought the same if I had no context. Levi would never just have a one-night stand, though. Not the type of person for it. He claims it’s the wrongest way to get over something.” Her brown eyes, previously fixed on me, were now directed at the coffee table. “Might work for you, but he most certainly hates it.” A snort was drawn from her lips as she withdrew her hand from my shoulder. I tried not to think about it, but it was inevitable. Hitch’s party, him refusing, refusing, refusing, because it would be “just like that” and “just like that” was a solution for neither of us.

“I’ll consider it,” I joked. “I was busy up until recently, but maybe university won’t be enough to distract me.” I smiled as Hanji chuckled, patting my back.

“Another boyfriend should do the trick in that case,” she said.

But I don’t want another boyfriend, I wanted to counter. I want your grumpy short friend. The thought froze me up. Asshole-me joined Hanji’s hearty chuckle. Bold of me to think it. Terrible of me to think it. Wrong of me to think it. It was complicated. If romance was not involved here, it was undeniable at this point. I could almost feel it written in capital letters on my forehead.

ATTRACTED TO LEVI ACKERMAN. VERY.

“I’m not ready for the commitment.” Was the only comment to exit my mouth due to the sudden discomfort nestling in the crevice of my ribcage. “I think,” I added awkwardly, reluctant regarding a relationship but very opinionated on the topic of engaging my father’s intern in something inappropriate that would make our relations twice as complicated as they were.

“A friend with benefits then?” Hanji’s mind-reading abilities amazed. I realised it suddenly – that it was natural, this attraction of mine, no matter how humiliating and inconvenient. It wasn’t weird and maybe it wasn’t all that wrong. It was a guy who was three years older than me who lived with me that I considered unreachable. The forbidden fruit, so to say. He was handsome, mysterious and had abs. Natural to be attracted to that. Natural to be attracted to it when I saw it every day and it saw me every day and most times it treated me with passive kindness. So there’d be no harm, I assumed, in initiating something a smidge bigger. What was stopping me? I didn’t have a boyfriend, I wouldn’t feel guilty and I wasn’t insecure because, hey, he’d kissed me last time. Obviously, I wasn’t nasty.

“Update from a virgin to a slut then?” I smirked, a decision born. Hanji’s mouth clamped shut shamefully and I laughed. “I’m kidding, calm down. It was just a joke.” I patted her back. The ring on my finger was cool to the couch and soothing. My resolve, for once, was there. I had a goal. A simple one at that – nothing dangerous. Two words: kiss Levi. I would do it because there was nothing to stop me. I mean, what was the worst that could happen?

…

Imagine an elegant expensive kitchen armed with all kinds of top-quality appliances. Paradise for all little housewives who greet their husbands with a warm meal. I wasn’t that type and the fact I spent four hours cooking more food than a family of six could eat didn’t make me one either. Judging was futile because I took care of that myself during the whole process. Currently, the fruit of my effort sat in front of me – a full three-course meal with different forks to go with the high-class atmosphere. I was far from a successor of Gordon Ramsay, but I outdid myself this time. Why? Last-minute anxiety maybe. Or fear. I needed a distraction because the thought of Eren wouldn’t stop pestering me. Added to that was the fact my father could walk in without Levi. Asshole-me didn’t help.

Bet on the outcome now! A once-in-a-lifetime offer that provides an endless amount of entertainment for the whole family! Fifty bucks says a discount version of William will use the vanishing potion and fly back to France! The other side of the bet? Sorry, I don’t know her. With such a commentator, it was early to skip the food and go straight to consuming my fingernails. Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock. Place your bets right now, your bets need to go in the ballot box, quickly fill out the slips and put them in! Will he go or yes? And what’s the sweat for, princess? Don’t we like watching history repeat itself? I love it. So bet, bet, bet, bet! Come on, faster! If I had a penny for each time your father’s intern left you in the summer, I’d have two pennies. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s hilarious it happened twice!

The jingle of keys pulled the plug on asshole-me’s voice. I’d waited a whole hour now and my head snapped up so fast I heard my neck pop. The front door opened and my heart flinched when my father walked in, dressed in one of those hideous Hawaiian shirts they sold in souvenir shops and flaunting on his nose and cheekbones a really bad case of sunburn. He’d say the sun was harsh in Minnesota. I’d pretend not to hear because believing was impossible. He slipped out of his sandals and I clasped my hands together in excitement.

“Dad, finally! I was starting to think I’d have to reheat everything,” I said. He turned to face the fake exasperation masking the genuine joy I felt at his return. A doubtful smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and my eyes were frantically bouncing from him to the open door. Panic began to well up in my mind. Asshole-me was diligently digging a hole for it, to fit as much as possible.

“A pretty big feast you have there.” Rolland Raven took off the sunglasses he was wearing to eye the food a bit better. I cracked a smile I hoped wouldn’t seem constipated. My thought process was starting to lag due to overload when I heard a faint curse. Next thing, Levi’s pale figure, wearing a ridiculous straw hat. My heart dropped like a stone, plugged the pit of panic and made asshole-me yelp when it nearly crushed her fingers. I felt like stumbling back into my chair and never getting up.

“I guessed you might be hungry after the flight. You don’t have to eat all of it,” I said. It was then a pair of graphite hues shot up to my face. It felt like each muscle in it strained almost to the point of tearing. My father took a seat at the counter while the intern opted to drop off his luggage upstairs and change clothes. I stared after him a second too long while he was climbing the stairs.

“You’ve never waited for me after a business trip before.” (E/c) clashed with (e/c) as my father began picking his food and digging in with more enthusiasm than I’d expected. Levi had mentioned the almightly Raven had complained about the poor quality on the trip compared to what he had at home, but it was still a compliment to witness it manifested.

“I usually have things to do when you’re on business trips, father. This summer I needed a source of entertainment.” I rolled my eyes, letting them scan the interior during the roundabout lie. Lucky enough, they caught the exact moment Levi was leaving his room, tugging down his shirt. A glimpse of fit abdominals. A vague tan line. The food on the counter became a tad bit less appetising.

“Don’t you have Eren Jaeger to help with that?” My father’s question made my attention snap back in place just in time for Levi not to catch me staring. He took a seat at the far end of the counter but I was too preoccupied with a small freak-out fit to dwell on it.

“About that,” I squeaked out with a constipated expression, prompting both men’s attention to turn from half-hearted to wholly undivided. Amazing. I couldn’t have done a better job at it if I’d begun yodelling out of the blue. “Eren broke up with me two months ago.” The key to not sounding like a squeaky toy was to not meet anybody’s gaze. My father was blinking like something had gotten in his eye and Levi’s jaw clenched at the discomfort he was subjected to.

“And I wasn’t notified of that because?” Rolland Raven, among many a quality, was a proud man who, in spite of his profession, could never act quite as predictably as I wished him to. This was no exception because I didn’t have time to open my mouth before he silenced me with a hand in the air. “No, forget I asked. I need to have a serious talk with him. Maybe make him pay back all the dates you’ve handled with interest. We can make a fortune.” The devious plan was voiced in his typical cold-blooded businessman manner. I waved my hands around in discomfort.

“Hold your horses, father. You’re not the one who got dumped. Eren ended the whole thing because he went to study in Germany,” I explained but it wouldn’t satisfy my father, who only glared while putting a fork-full of potatoes in his mouth. Levi tried to become fully invisible. I thought if things got too heated for him, he might make a dash for his room with the dish.

“Unreasonable as can be. If he loved you as much as he had the balls to claim in front of me, he could’ve thought of an alternative that didn’t include breaking your heart. Because of something as insignificant as distance, too.” My father leaned back in his chair with folded arms. He forgot all about food so he could glare at me.

“4898 miles to be exact,” I murmured pitifully. Both men shot me an incredulous look, to which I switched on defence mode. “I did my research. I wasn’t crying the whole time.” Subconsciously copying my father’s position, I reclined in my chair and crossed my arms, glaring like a child prior to giving a sigh and smiling weakly. “I gave it a lot of thought and he did the right thing. So can you be the one to tell mom later?” The last inquiry seemed to surprise him, maybe because it was expected of me to share more with my mother and thus already have her know the super secret information I was handing him.

“I’ll try not to cry as I do.” A nod and a similar weak smile. “You did well not to tell me immediately.” He returned to normal – calculating and sharp, looking for weaknesses and thinking in numbers. Levi’s lack of shock went unnoticed, which I was secretly thankful for. The raven was looking at me playing with the silver band around my finger to soothe my nerves.

“Because you would’ve gone to the airport to kick him to the curb like a good father?” I smirked, a pointed look aimed at the dark-haired businessman, who only snorted in return prior to redirecting his attention back to the food.

“… maybe.” A small pause betraying care, an awkward glance in his intern’s direction conveying mild panic as a result of his feelings showing and a fake clearing of the throat to show discomfiture. He changed the topic immediately. “Have I told you you’ve become a better cook than your mother?” (E/c) clashed with (e/c) and I knew he could see I was holding back laughter by the way the corner of his mouth twitched downwards in displeasure.

“You have now. Congratulations on successfully dodging the topic,” I announced with a complacent grin as he scoffed, ignoring the embarrassment so he could go back to eating. Levi’s gaze was relentless but, once having resolved the current minor conflict, I felt too ashamed to return it. I couldn’t be speaking of Eren, thinking of Levi and acting like a professional whore. It went against my moral code. I wished it was as stable as my pride. Somewhere in my head, asshole-me was drafting an advertisement for the future demise of both.

The following day was unexpectedly laid back in terms of emotions – the process of waking up and going to work was starting to become mechanical. I disliked that I was turning into a nine-to-five zombie, but Melinda’s cross remarks did nothing to hinder my placidity and Adam’s request for a date was, surprisingly, accepted with a pinch of reluctance. It was time for something new, I defended when asshole-me breached the topic of my change of heart. I couldn’t go a whole life without clashing with a man who wasn’t Eren. To forget him, I actually needed to accept that. Because knowing he wouldn’t come back and I didn’t want to get back together was different from realising I couldn’t stay in the comfort zone of being endlessly attached to him and using it as an excuse to never move on.

I felt a smile light up my face the moment I saw Levi in front of the TV with a cup of tea in his hand. Unfortunately, I couldn’t use him to move on – it was the conclusion I drew from the quiet happiness gripping my heart at the sight of him beckoning me over. Everything I’d done had been quite enough. I wouldn’t turn him into a tool as well. So I settled on the couch and we led a half-assed conversation about the movie playing until my parents barged in, beaming and formal. Going for a date at a restaurant – yeah, no, I knew where they were going after. I smiled as we sent them off, and then the ebony-haired intern began choosing the movie we’d be watching and I worked on the snacks downstairs.

Accepted a date, claimed you won’t use him and now you’re pondering the kiss you’ll initiate. You know you’re fucked in the head, correct? Asshole-me piped mockingly, making me huff. I knew I was fucked in the head because she was there. Also, kissing Levi and using Levi were two different things. Different for him how? It’s kissing. It wasn’t. It would be exploring this time – not thinking about being distracted but feeling it for what it was. Jesus, that’s such a weak excuse. I felt she might be face-palming. Seriously, what’s wrong with you? You spent so much time telling your best friend you don’t like him, then you miss Eren, then you “date” Adam, then you grab your friend-zoned intern and decide you’ll be kissing him again – after you established you’re fucking inferior to the blondie who’s clearly hitting on him or clearly intent on doing it too. Can you not follow the timeline?

“Princess, why does Natalie tell me you’ve filled out all the forms related to the company’s income during our vacation?” Levi lowered the phone from his ear. The call had ended a second ago and he was glaring at me doubtfully. I was busy watching the movie – hopefully, excuse enough for scarce to no eye contact. I opened the pack of Doritos I’d dug up from my secret stash in the garage and warily eyed the pale intern’s expression.

“Because the forms were in the office downstairs and I figured they’d get in the way of our movie marathon, asshole. I haven’t messed them up.” My scoff was promptly returned to sender as Levi shoved his phone back in his pocket and clicked his tongue in exasperation. Another three minutes passed before I spoke up: “By the way, I need advice.” The room was dimly lit and the raven’s sharp gaze was on my temple.

“Will you have it in mind when you get back on your bullshit?” The inquiry was flat and doubtful. I tried to nod but it came out looking like a cringe and a shrug. His lips pursed in exhaustion. “Spill,” he ordered coldly, making me pout.

“How do I forget Eren?” Squeaky was the best I could do after becoming tense again. Nervousness was gnawing at the feeble stem of courage I’d managed to grow and my hopes for this to go as smoothly as a chat about the weather were stuck in an elevator on the top floor of a skyscraper. Even overthinking was useless here.

“Easy,” he said. Again, there was that breach of grammar. “Find somebody new. Judging by how much you’re smiling these days, you might as well be done with that.” The suspicious mockery made me snort.

“Don’t you think I might be happy to have you and dad back home?” I asked pointedly.

“No,” he countered with a defiant click of his tongue. What he said next sounded like an extract from a Jorge Bucay book. Something about self-love maybe. “Before you get with Rivers, however, you have to accept that Jaeger is now your ex. He’s part of the past and the past doesn’t hold power over the future if you don’t let it.” I bit back laughter to not offend him.

“Such a poet you are,” I huffed half-heartedly. “And how do I stop loving him?” Seriousness stood perched on my right shoulder, but the Doritos between us kept decreasing and I felt the soothing coolness of the ring on my finger. Our gazes locked and I stared, just because I could, because he was back, because he acted normally. And why wouldn’t he? Our circumstances surely weren’t enough to alter his demeanour.

“You don’t. You never will and you should get used to it.” His answer cut deep and I realised it might’ve confused me but I was too captivated by his eyes to process it. He forced himself to explain: “We never stop loving somebody once we’ve fallen for them. We just fall harder for another person.” It was as romantic as it was businessman-like. A bit too… systematic somehow.

Line up, line up! Asshole-me encouraged. I imagined a big queue in front of an entrance door with a sign bearing my name above it. Number 12, pass through, but beware – number 10 wasn’t careful with his words and number 11 made no effort to change that! The asshole side of me clearly fancied the idea. For all waiting, the Eren Jaeger mural is on the left and the guy on the right is the one you’ll never be! Keep trying but keep this face in mind – Levi Ackerman is hiding in a lot of the corners you’ll visit! He’s an invaluable guest at this establishment! Oh! Is it time for the next one already? Hurry up, number 13! Don’t hold up the queue, who knows how much capacity we have left. And so on until the last victim had walked in. It made my nose scrunch up.

“Does that mean you still haven’t gotten over Petra?” I piped curiously, bright eyes observing closely the intern’s reaction. The movie was no longer as interesting. Everything I could focus on was the furrow between Levi’s brows and the flat unperturbed look in his eyes. He grabbed a Dorito from the pack. I moved my hand away just in time to avoid a clash.

“It means I haven’t fallen in love with the next in line,” he said, reinforcing the notion of a queue. “I’m used to the fact she’d dead. Filling out every report in the world won’t bring her back,” he paused briefly and gulped, “so I go on with my life.” The explanation was simple but relatively quiet, like he was trying to say the words while not exactly aiming to have me hear them. His gaze was staring at the screen ahead as I looked down, trying to come up with a good one-liner to put him out of his discomfort.

“I feel like we’re becoming pensive,” I started with a lopsided smirk, “so let me pull a Reverse Uno card on this mood by saying I��ve reached a milestone in my life.” Licking the Dorito dust off my fingers, I puffed out my chest proudly, making the intern put a hand to his mouth. Maybe he’d bitten back a smile behind it. “I won’t get fined for driving without supervision now. Not to mention, I can have sex.” Waving an index finger in front of his face, I didn’t react when he grabbed it without warning.

“I don’t see what stopped you before,” he stated nonchalantly. I shrugged, concluding I hadn’t exactly shared with him details about my childish vow.

“There was this really religious teacher at school when I was ten – she scarred all her classes by giving them unsolicited Sex Education lectures mixed with Bible verse. Got fired because children complained to their parents, but she did a good one on me before that,” I explained with a smile, yanking my finger from his hold. “Since sex was for sinners – both began with the letter s, she explained to us – and I didn’t want to be a sinner because it meant… well, a bad person, I told myself I’d have sex only after turning eighteen, regardless of the temptation. So I held out. Proud of myself for that.” My complacent smile made him snort. He might’ve glanced at my lips right after.

“I’m sure there’s been a lot of temptation for you, princess,” he drawled in a deep sarcastic voice, moving the empty bag of Doritos away before wiping his fingers with as I processed the retort. I sat still, pouting for a fraction of a second, when it hit me this was my chance. The signal was there – shining in bright green, if I wasn’t color-blind – and it was time for me to grasp the opportunity.

“More than you can imagine, asshole,” I said with a scoff, not parting my eyes from his profile to observe his reaction. We cast aside the fact he could’ve poked fun at me being the furthest thing from a believer, yet such a big aspect of my life had been altered by a religious teacher. The tip of his nose twitched when he snorted in dismissal, not daring to meet my eye all of a sudden.

“The mood has been brightened. What do we do now?” He turned to face me, curious but hesitant, and I felt a surge of courage at the sight of the indecisiveness dawdling about in his grey eyes. The blue specks were calling me – count us, (Y/N), count us – and I concluded this would be the one time I initiated anything between us. It was stressful and scary, but it was Levi, so want overpowered fear, resulting in something we’d have a hard time sorting out our feelings on.

“Watch the movie you so diligently picked for us maybe?” But actions contradicted words because I was leaning in and he could see it. For two whole seconds, there was no movement on his end. Panic was about to make me pull back, pin it to something else, anything else, when his hand lifted, slender fingers gently tucking my hair behind my ear. This was it. It would happen. I was exploring what it’d be like without the guilt of purposefully seeking distraction.

It was slow – the first kiss – his lips barely landing on top of mine so we could taste the water even when we knew it was lukewarm. The movie was like white noise – I could catch fragments of dialogue and the screen illuminated Levi’s profile the few times my lids fluttered open. His hold on the side of my face was gentle, granting permission for me to pull back at any point. I didn’t know what he was thinking. I knew I was barely thinking and it felt nice, for my head to be so blissfully empty. It was all sensations and when he dragged his tongue over my bottom lip, my mouth opened to allow access for further exploration. The kiss deepened and I tried to push closer into him.

“Get on top,” he muttered into my mouth. His right hand dipped to grab my leg. I might’ve flushed bright red, but I still complied, slowly straddling him and letting his hands guide me to where he found it most comfortable. I was terribly aware of what I sat on. It might’ve been terribly aware of me, too.

It was slow and fast at the same time. We weren’t breaking the kiss but some moments of it – like his hand brushing my side and making me cover in goosebumps – were fleeting like blinks while others – like the weird scorching thing in my whole torso – felt endless. It was indescribable to a point, the heat of the moment but the moment was long and the pace was changing slightly the more it went on. It hadn’t been him either. It was him responding to me, because I couldn’t for the life not hold him tightly and subconsciously look for more. We were glued together and his fingers had tentatively pushed up my shirt at the back so they could trail up and down the curve of my spine.

My head was tilted, fingers tangled in his hair and heavy huffs escaping my nostrils. He smelled like lavender and rain and cologne, and my fucking conditioner I’d told him a thousand times to stop using because it was expensive. I didn’t bother scolding him about it now. My desperate want turned the kisses hungrier and there was this point – I might’ve wiggled slightly to find an even closer spot – but he stiffened and grabbed the back of my head, growing twice as persistent and passionate. Weird, using that word about him. It hit me the forbidden part of male anatomy I was seated on top of had risen to attention. It made me wonder if it had happened before and that, in turn, was simultaneously embarrassing and flattering. He was attracted to me, too. Duh. We were literally making out on my bed.

When more began translating as more of everything instead of more of this particular thing, he seemed to sense the shift. His hands guided me off his lap and back on the bed. My head was resting against the pillow and my head was empty, lids fluttering open to drink the sight of him the first time he broke the kiss – pale but handsome, tired but caring, bored but clearly moved by the happening. It was a miracle. I’d been begging for this statue to show me anything in the beginning of his internship. I hadn’t known it could show me this – it looked like a godsend. My heart was going a hundred miles per hour, my breath was unsteady and my body felt hot all over.

It didn’t matter where he kissed – my lips, my neck, my chest, my shoulders – I just wanted him to keep kissing me. Temptation had seldom been this strong and the vow was no longer active, it was fulfilled – an electrifying realisation. I didn’t need to have him stop. What my sinner’s hands did the moment that resolution snapped in place was to grab the hem of his shirt and, with pointed urgent eyes, plead with him to take it off. He hesitated for exactly one second, then complied, like he’d complied with everything else without having me say it. He was kneeling between my legs, arms going over his head so the piece of clothing could be discarded. His chest and abdomen flexed, the biceps, the triceps, all the other names of muscles I’d had to read about but hadn’t memorised. Adonis in the flesh. Fuck me for drooling. Oh.

If I could paint, I’d paint him. If I could sing, I’d write a song. If I had a taser, I’d tase myself out of being so cringe-worthy in admiring the body of a man. But when that body pressed against mine, everything became a bit too hot – literally and metaphorically – so I decided the next step was to cool down by taking off my own clothes. First the shirt, then the pants he helped out with. I almost laughed when they tangled at my ankles and he had to tug them off with an irritated frown. Here it was, having my father’s intern see my bra again. This time I didn’t mind.

“Frills? Seriously?” Well, now I minded.

“Do we have an issue?” I snapped with a pointed look. It didn’t help he was towering over me, sizing up my underwear with eyes that spoke simultaneously of him being amused and him being something else. I wondered if he was still hard. I hadn’t touched there once.

“It’s almost cute,” he mocked flatly. He didn’t reach to take it off – he just leaned down to mollify me with a kiss. It worked. I was carried off into wanting more again. The weight of him on top of me grounded the body and made the soul soar. It was a cringe comparison but whatever, it was true. I realised, right about the time I tugged on the waistband of his sweatpants and his brows flashed in unrestrained surprise, that I was an eighteen-year-old doing exactly what was expected of every single eighteen-year-old on the planet – sneaking a boy into my room while my parents were out.

This here was a boy I trusted and a boy I was halfway convinced was more of a man than a boy, mostly when it came to observing how he casually sat up and removed his sweatpants with precision contrary to clumsiness. My eyes flickered down to his boxers. Still hard alright. There was a rush of excitement and shame all at once when I realised it. A bit too late to stop and pin this a mere heat-of-the-momet make-out session. It was the real deal. Happening. Live. In my room. On a late August evening. Goodness gracious.

It took me a second to process it and he might’ve sensed that I’d grown a bit rigid despite remaining just as active. He didn’t advance the happening, petting my hair and kissing me, and trailing lower, but only as low as he’d gone before, finding the rest a sort of forbidden land. Didn’t even take off the bra with the frills he mocked me for. What a gentleman. He was kissing the curve of my breast and I was wondering how in the fucking hell I’d deserved this.

“We don’t have to,” he warned at some point. “If you don’t want to. Saying no is allowed.” He kissed me and it was intoxicating, but also the last snapped nerve. I arched my back off the bed, elbows bending so my hands could reach for my bra clip. The shoulder straps went loose and Levi paused for a moment to process what the act meant.

“I won’t say it,” I muttered with determination, eyes locked with his. Pride was strong within me even now and, having the wordless consent, he gently took off the bra before paying some attention to newfound territory. It was like being examined in a lab. Again, my boobs weren’t perfect. It was genetics and fate, and whatever else. In being embarrassed about him staring at my chest, I was graced by the thought I hadn’t shaved anywhere. Double embarrassed. Wasn’t it only right that the first time would come with presentability? There go the Raven teachings.

And the word nipple is somewhat lame – I’ve heard it from native and non-native speakers of English both – but there is no other word. So when his tongue rolled around my nipple, I forgot I hadn’t shaved and drew such a sharp breath I almost choked. My chest was heaving and he was thumbing my other nipple. I thought we’d get straight to it and was mistaken. He knew better, it seemed, because a virgin needed the bare minimum of this much and more foreplay to truly relax. It hit me for a fraction that this was actual foreplay while I was staring at the ceiling between trying not to make any sounds. I was like a dead fish, just letting him do things to me. More responsive than a dead fish but awfully inexperienced in any case. It made me feel just a bit guilty. My one saving grace was the fact his erection kept brushing against my leg – and if that was there, then it meant he wasn’t dissatisfied.

It was a black spot for a while because I couldn’t pinpoint between the overwhelming build-up of nice but not nice enough where exactly Levi was kissing or sucking or nipping or touching. Now it would be my thigh, now leaving a hickey on my shoulder, now trailing kisses over my jaw and down my neck, now caressing my side, now trailing a finger down to my navel, now my boob, intermission, the other boob – and the whole time there was that thing in my abdomen, the same one I’d felt with Eren, the hot knot begging for attention.

This was a new person and I hadn’t thought it’d come with a new person, but it was there alongside a brand new dynamic which wasn’t hurried or harsh or overtly passionate like I’d been used to. The pace was decent and steady and passion here didn’t amount to bruises – or at least not explicitly so. The new person made it thrilling, overwhelming. The new person made it a brand new experience. And when the brand new person’s hand gently dipped to touch the part where my legs met, I shivered all over, heart and lady boner flinching at once. Levi, with his obstinacy, refused to ask permission vocally. I still nodded, spreading my legs a bit wider. Slowly, like my panties weren’t in the way, he kissed from my knee to the base of my inner thigh, nipped slightly and made me yelp, and muffled something like a chuckle against the plush of my leg.

I didn’t know what he was thinking. I knew his fingers pressing against the spot where wetness had accumulated made my mouth gape slightly. I craned my neck and closed my eyes. There was embarrassment holding hands with excitement, with pleasure breathing down their necks. Nothing quite mattered. I breathed out like I’d been holding my breath for fourteen minutes when the raven’s fingers gently dragged back and forth against my core and then he might’ve been impatient, because he tugged my underwear out of the way, down my legs, past the knees and the ankles, dropping it with the rest of our clothes and the empty Dorito bag on the floor. It was a whole mess, this thing. I wanted it.

“The house is empty, princess,” he said while leaning down to kiss below my navel.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, almost out of breath in spite of my lungs functioning perfectly. His fingers were ghosting on the side of where I wanted him to touch. His mouth dragged lower. There was the jab of shame about not being shaved again. It hadn’t sent him to his feet and out of the room, so it was probably fine. A man wasn’t afraid to fight the jungle, I’d heard a few times before.

“That you can make noise without being scared,” he responded casually. I snorted and decided inwardly that I wouldn’t be making any noise whatsoever, just to spite him. It did feel good, though, so I doubted I could actually hold back effectively. As though to challenge the unsaid decision, Levi cut the suspense short. When his tongue rested where only one other had before, I came close to whining. My hand shot down to paw at his hair and he hummed against my clit. The vibrations of it made me writhe slightly.

He licked and sucked – nipped twice, which made me yelp both times – and did all sorts of other magic. Added to the title of mind-reader would now be the rank of mage. Then, there was this point when I could feel his fingers prodding at my entrance – a gentle warning of what was to come. First it was one. My mouth gaped and there was a slight flash of something like pain. More like discomfort. Now this was brand new wherever I looked at it from. Remember, my vow had its doors but none had included penetration. Officially the furthest I’d gone with somebody. Goodbye, hymen. You served us well.

He waited. Waited almost a full minute and distracted me with his tongue before I rolled my hips to give him the green light. Slow pumps. It was still uncomfortable, but the friction wasn’t painful. Just uncomfortable and new and I didn’t like change, but when this one found with its finger one particular spot sold off as the Bermuda Triangle for men to find, I might’ve liked this particular change. First, it made me moan. Second, the more he kept reaching that spot – because it was impossible to miss I liked it – the closer I was to coming. There were sloppy sounds and a second finger inserting itself in me, and my voice bouncing off the walls before dropping to the floor in a hush.

I might’ve said his name, actually, I might’ve half-screamed it. The orgasm hit me like a brick dropping straight on my genitals and he kept flicking his tongue slower and slower until I’d ridden it out in full. How considerate. When his fingers came out, there was a spot of blood. My mouth clamped shut in shame. He reached over to clean them with a wet wipe – then he cleaned me, too, because obviously he could see things that were invisible to me. There was slick on his chin and I glared half-heartedly when his eyes twinkled in amusement at me.

“Well, that’s done,” I muttered while he leaned over with the intention to kiss me again. “Wipe your mouth, asshole.” I put a hand to his chest to prevent my own pussy juices from coming in contact with my face. For a clean-freak, he sure didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get them off.

“You don’t want to see how tasty it is?” He was mocking me. I was red and hot all over still, a bit like a deflated balloon being refilled with exasperation contrary to air. No longer a virgin, as far as doctors would care. Still kind of in the middle, considering typical hetero interactions included something more than fingers.

“God, no!” I tried to push at his jaw and he almost chuckled when the pussy juice got on my fingers and I flicked my wrist frantically to get it off.

“It was god, yes a second ago,” he drawled pointedly. I burned bright red under his gaze, naked and not a hymen-bearer and kind of lost as to what came next. I pouted, swatted his shoulder and pretended to be very disgusted when he kissed me, making it open-mouted and sloppy for the sake of spiting me. In truth, it didn’t taste like much. Tasted weird, unlike food and drink. Well, that’s bodily fluids for you.

Remember the right-est choice I made as of late? Here it comes. The kiss guided his fingers down to my clit again and mine – to the band of his boxers. A tug and a snap, and he asked me three whole fucking times if I was sure. Not verbally, of course. It was just the particular way he stopped between each step to make sure, to look at me straight in the eye and have me nod my consent back to him. Like I’d change my mind that fast. God’s sake – if I would’ve said no, I would’ve said it before we’d kissed. But this wasn’t something he would do under normal circumstances – not a matter of alcohol, guilt or duty. It was free will and choice. Mine might’ve been made sometime last month, right around my birthday.

The boxers were gone. I blinked at it. A penis in textbooks, a dick in colloquial speech, a cock in smut books, a member in tame erotica. Length, girth, meat sword, love machine – could go on forever. We sat staring at it like it was an alien and while I was bashful, I was also bad with measurements without the aid of a ruler, hence why I safely concluded that I could stack about four donuts on it and put the zipper on it. There was that thing – precum, was it? – leaking from the tip. In all honesty, no I didn’t want to lick it off. Same went for sperm. In the history of mankind, I’d done the gracious thing and sucked off my boyfriend exactly once – the rest had been handjobs because blowjobs came with terrible pains in the jaw, a cramping of the tongue, a crap salty taste and the awkward detail of looking like an unattractive fish during the act. So, no, I didn’t volunteer to show off how bad I was at it.

“Condoms, shit.” It flew out of my mouth unintentionally. Levi’s face scrunched up. We were both visited by the bitter realisation that going further was not an option anymore, unless he wanted to don on a sock. Then the solution came to me. “Keep it up, I’ll be back in a minute,” I mumbled hurriedly, jumping off the bed and rushing butt-naked out of the room so I could go to my parents’ bedroom. Yeah, no, such was the reality of things. I tried to keep my conscience untainted while rummaging through the wardrobe. The hidden box of condoms in the back by the shoes was the saving grace. I wouldn’t speak of this to a living soul that wasn’t Annie Leonheardt ever.

The moment I returned to the room with the box held proudly over my head, Levi snorted. He laid me on the bed again and the mood returned, which was weird because I’d pinned him the type of experience one moment of interruption and consider it all ruined. Not that I’d thought about him during sex or having sex. I hadn’t. I promise. I was thinking it now, when I was about to have it with him. The kisses eased the natural awkwardness and by the time he was putting it in, I was a desperate mess again. Sweat stuck to skin and my breath got stuck in my throat when he pushed it in. I blanked, gaped like I’d received a headshot and felt him stand still to let me adjust. There was, again, mild discomfort. Fingers couldn’t compare to a dick.

I gave it half a minute and told him to move. The first thrust had me whining into his mouth. It was good. It was good, progressively becoming better and better and better, a surprise arriving with each snap of his hips. My father’s intern having sex with me, my father’s intern, my father’s intern, my intern, my Levi. The first five minutes were full of careful slow strokes to let the awkwardness dissipate and for me to get used to it. I won’t call myself anything but I’ll say I got used to it a bit too fast for comfort. So it went. Losing my virginity to my father’s intern.

“Faster, can you--- a bit faster?” The words were choked out and you’d wonder why I would ask for faster when slow was doing a good job of making my chest heave like I was running a marathon, but it was maddening and addictive.

“I can for you, princess.” It was a rasp against the side of my neck and I was blanking because the voice, paired with the hands, with the scent, with the sensation of being full and empty, then full and empty again was so mind-numbing I could melt on the spot and stay there forever. So slow and careful turned into fast and considerate. There was no harshness in him even when he kneaded my boobs or licked stripes down the length of my throat, no harshness whatsoever when he gripped my thighs or my sides. It was tight, but pleasant, egging me on further.

I bit down on the pillow when he found the spot. I bit his finger, too. I bit his shoulder and I bit my own hand to keep my voice down because how was something on this Earth allowed to be so nice? Fuck. He murmured at me to moan if I felt like it. There was a smug undertone. And when he reached between us to roll circles around my clit, I didn’t moan – I was a banshee impersonator, neck craning, back arching, toes curling, all that jazz. I came with a crash and a bang, and it might’ve been an hour by now, or maybe more, but the neighbourhood was asleep and I was wide awake, trying to wake them up, too.

A five-minute break of kisses served as an intermission to avoid me becoming overstimulated but Levi was still hard and still quite energetic in spite of the fact he’d been fucking me for an overall of thirty minutes without stopping or having his pace hitch. Round two started fast and I had my legs up, knees on the sides of my head. It was hot, seeing him through that kind of frame. Just one bead of sweat on his temple – not sticky all over, unlike me. Why was I the one becoming exhausted anyway? I was being a pillow princess. His eyes were gorgeous and his lips were slightly swollen.

“Please, don’t stop,” I whined at some point. He didn’t seem to have any prospects of stopping anyway, but I couldn’t help it. He huffed, chest heaving with lust and I knew it wasn’t easy to be the one doing all the work, so I mentally gave credit where credit was due. “Oh--- Levi, God!” He seemed like he wanted to laugh and my ring glimmered in the dark against his cheek while I tried to pull him down for a kiss which was simply impossible in our current position. He switched it five minutes later. It was not an understatement to claim I was seeing stars and everything was nice and nothing was awkward and this was the most handsome man with the most stamina on this land.

I lost my voice at some point, or I thought I did because my third orgasm couldn’t make me bite down on the pillow fast enough to muffle the literal holler that left my lungs. His name, by the way. If that hadn’t woken the neighbours, I wasn’t sure anything would. I was recuperating and he was trailing gentle pecks along my neck, still not finished. Was sex always this physically draining? My mind might’ve blanked during the third round and we were in missionary again because I insisted that I be able to kiss him any time I wished to. His hand was holding my wrist captive and the other was massaging my breast and it was all a giant whirlpool of pleasure and heat and fluids – the nasty and the nice in one, but I couldn’t care less about the nasty.

He came with a growl, biting down on my shoulder to muffle something that sounded like my name as his pace hitched and turned sloppy for the first time in what felt like hours. He slumped down on top of me and I was breathing more heavily than him, calmed by the weight. I was blinking at the ceiling and my heart was doing somersaults in my ribcage. He went to shower after a minute of rest, I called him out for being a clean freak and it just so happened that my perception of time wasn’t all too warped because checking my phone made me realise we’d had sex for about three hours, foreplay included. I slipped into the shirt he’d tossed on the floor, wiped myself and very considerately ignored the soreness in my hips while changing the sheets.

To my biggest surprise, he returned to my room in a new pair of boxers with his hair wet. There was no invitation. He joined me on the clean bed and wrapped his arms around me. This might’ve been aftercare. When our gazes locked, I didn’t dare avert my eyes in bashfulness. It was surreal and I wanted to memorise it. Then he asked me again – as voicelessly as the first time and the following ten – and I answered positively by flashing him the biggest smile I could muster. No words were exchanged. Levi rolled his eyes and I tucked myself under his chin, legs tangling with his. I was knocked out cold. I wouldn’t hasten to write this off as a happy ending but I wouldn’t immediately turn it angsty either. I explored. It was nice. I don’t think I regretted it for a second.

Waking up was a surreal experience because it included the added luxury of being bathed in sunlight with a warm arm draped around my midriff and a pale sunlit face inches from mine. A spot of purple in the crook of his neck and a few red crescents on his shoulder. Perhaps one or two leftover scratches on his back. I blinked at the sight incredulously, gradually coming to and realising what this position meant – prompted by last night’s three different ones, too.

It happened! Asshole-me hollered in my head, nearly hysteric, slamming a pan into a bell and making the echo of the toll ring painfully against the confines of my skull. You ruined it all! It was like an automatic switch – suddenly, the neutral was the bad and I had complicated it with my impulsiveness, my stupid hormones. I imagined four months of awkwardness and the wish to have more but being completely incapable of asking for fear it would mean feelings. I pictured a tense atmosphere, uncomfortable interactions, embarrassing thoughts, lame excuses. A friendship built with struggle and just barely reinforced annihilated to smithereens by my dumb ass.

I cringed, removing my hand from Levi’s chest to slap myself across the face for being horrible again – not in using him but in indulging my own selfishness. His eyelids fluttered open before the admonishment transpired and I was staring straight into the melted silver which had the tendency to read my thoughts. The current self-reprimanding cacophony would entertain him.

“… should make you coffee,” he mumbled half-coherently, making me blink wondrously at his hazy composure. This is normal, his eyes whispered, lips pressing nonchalantly to my forehead before he got up, so there’s no need to be so shocked. The trip down the stairs was silent. I had left scratches. More than two.

Currently, we were in the kitchen, sitting around the counter with our mandatory morning drinks. Unsaid words hung from the ceiling like dangling cobwebs. Levi, who’d needed a moment to retrieve his memories in full, was stiff and uncertain, and in spite of that visibly calmer than me. I could feel my face heating up as I thought of what to say. This wasn’t normal, even if both of us upon our respective awakening had pinned it such. It was something we had to discuss but how were we supposed to discuss sex when we sometimes fought over food? Deciding what to do seemed impossible.

“Are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?” The raven, of course, was the one who broke the silence while I was slurping on my coffee, gaze averted and heart beating erratically. “Princess, I’m afraid this is something important,” he said in the face of my silence. His piercing glare was on my temple but I wouldn’t turn, keeping my fingers glued to my cup and my mind grounded in panic. “Need I remind you exactly what happened?” Levi pressed additionally, husky voice raising in audible urgency. I felt completely and utterly naked – dressed in only his shirt and my own underwear.

“We had sex, that’s what happened.” I shrugged, mind preoccupied with the strange feeling eating its way into it. Deep into my stomach, up to my lungs, through the chambers of the heart, in the windpipe – but not painfully. “There’s nothing more to it.” The nonchalant statement didn’t get a warm welcome. That much was to be expected. The attractive intern was frowning, rubbing his temples with a frustrated sigh. I tried not to look at his fingers.

And I’m trying to do just that, asshole-me scoffed pointedly. There’s something different about them when they’ve been inside you last night, yeah? A good type of different. Imagine it. My shoulders tensed as I chased her around in my head with a frying pan. Levi ran a hand through his ebony locks. Wow, is that the sex hair? And I pursed my lips in displeasure, knowing the struggles of the current moment and choosing in spite of them to secretly a wish for a second time. No harm, you know, no harm whatsoever in wanting to fuck your father’s goddamn intern, yeah? No? Can you hear it? Does it sound like a good sentence? Does it?

“Where exactly does your lacking virginity fit into your nothing more to it?” His retort made me cringe, well aware of the virginity ace hidden up his imaginary sleeve. It was a bit harder to argue with him when he was half-naked, letting me see the spots I’d bitten and kissed. The situation: we’d had sex. My side: I had nothing against him being my first because I trusted him and he’d been experienced and careful enough to make it nice. The actual problem: he was my father’s intern.

The abstract part: intimacy often came with, well… intimacy. Casual sex had the advantage of not seeing your partner again afterwards and in our case, we’d had casual sex with somebody we saw daily. Future speculation: tension due to this adventure would brew either discord or twice the ferocity in repeating the adventure. A possible solution: talking about feelings. Additional issue: Levi and I talking about feelings? Not in this day and age. Not in this life either. Telling him he made me feel warm and appreciated? Impossible. Honesty in the face of something embarrassing? Sorry, I don’t know her. She must be really lame.

“Everywhere, because I don’t care for it. It might add complexity to your situation, but it doesn’t play a big role in mine.” Dismissing the whole of it and pinning it on him was wrong. My nonchalance was false. Maybe it was what made him take a deep breath prior to speaking up again, his tea untouched.

“You’re supposed to be freaking out, princess.” His eyes were on mine and asshole-me was screaming: Come on, do it! Just kiss him and make things worse! Go right ahead! I averted my gaze with a snort. He’d used my nickname last night. Added a shade of meaning to it. I tried to get a grip as my rational side reasoned with the situation. This had been a one-time thing – or at least for him. Following that train of thought, wanting more was useless.

“You think I’m not?” It was high-pitched and ludicrous. Memories were surfacing and it was somewhat unpleasant to think they wouldn’t repeat. Levi kissing me in the dark, almost saying my name, clearing the hair from my sweaty forehead, biting my neck as he came, smiling against my lips as I tugged on his hair and tried not to moan, holding me close afterwards, not once saying the wrong thing. “I’m freaking out. You just don’t see it.” My downcast gaze was thoughtful and the air was becoming heavier with something I couldn’t identify. I could feel him staring and it bugged me not to know what he was thinking. “What?” I snapped, refraining from playing with my ring.

“What do you want to do now?” He asked flatly, eyes pinning me in place. “Do you want me to pretend this didn’t happen or do you want us to keep going?” It was ridiculous hearing him say it because, usually, he wouldn’t. I blinked, thinking I’d misheard.

“Keep going as in keep having sex?” I echoed to make sure I’d understood. It might’ve gone out a bit more shocked than expected, which made him sigh.

“I was listing options. In the end, it all comes down to what you want.” The flat voice made me realise I knew what I wanted well enough to have chosen during the conversation with Hanji three days ago or maybe even before I’d had the courage to admit it to myself.

“I don’t know what I want,” I lied with a pointed look, vehement embarrassment clawing up my throat and scratching at the back of it. I could say I wanted to keep going – his offer meant he might be willing – but his response was a fifty-fifty on whether he was sexually frustrated or would rather stick to decorum while living in the same house as the girl he was fucking and her father. I couldn’t turn the question on him because it was mean. I couldn’t call it a mistake because that would be another lie. I was tired of lying when it didn’t go to protect my pride.

“You don’t?” He quirked a thin brow mockingly, feigning the surprise he didn’t feel. “Or you just don’t want to admit your favour the more embarrassing option?” I sat motionless, knowing this wasn’t what I should’ve been doing – considering it. Maybe this was a test he had for me – to see if I’d be dumb or act like a reasonable adult. But (there came that stupid word again) if Hanji had been right, this wasn’t a random hook-up, which meant there might be something and---

Are you seriously considering a relationship with somebody who’s leaving in less than four months? Asshole-me interjected, making me sigh in defeat. Doesn’t fuck randomly, okay, fine, but this is an exception. How in the fucking hell would he grow to like you? You know that’s impossible. Methinks he went along with it because you clearly wanted it. Think about it, he does all sorts of bullshit for you. So what sounds more plausible? Him being himself or him liking you? The former, of course, but I couldn’t admit it. Like I couldn’t admit he was right to say I favoured the more embarrassing option.

“Even if it was like that,” I chose to return the favour and be doubtful, “I’m not inclined to think your morals would let you humour me.” My chin was tipped upwards while Levi shook his head and finally took a sip from his tea. The ghost of a smirk in the corner of his mouth disarmed.

“I have little to nothing against it. But,” (that fucking word again) the firmness of his voice was the only thing keeping my chest from swelling, “it doesn’t sound like an ideal course of action when you’ve almost got yourself a new boyfriend,” he reasoned calmly, somber responsibility lacing his tone.

“It’s not cheating if we’re not official,” I protested instantly, furrowed brows and a pout. He snorted.

“That’s not what I meant, princess.” My lips pursed at the jolt the nickname gave me. “I don’t want sex clouding your judgement. I get Rivers isn’t your boyfriend, but you shouldn’t exclude him as a possibility just because you’ve started thinking you have feelings for me.”

“Besides being a poet, you’ve turned into a psychologist, too,” I exclaimed with a genuinely cheerful chuckle that made him quirk a brow. Something in my throat shrivelled up. “Don’t dwell on my feelings too much, asshole,” I reassured. “I like this because it’s something new, not because I’m head over heels in love with you.” I was still chuckling as he sipped on his tea and fixed me with one of those firm looks that had the ability to bend the knees. The effect was doubled in intensity this morning.

“Make your choice then,” he said boredly, not wishing to be too imperious, seeing as the situation wasn’t taking place in a formal setting where he was the boss and I was the indecisive underling. I might as well have been, with how hot my ears got while I held his gaze, brave and stupid in the face of somebody who read me better than I sometimes read myself.

“I’m not saying it out loud,” I muttered, bashful. The ebony-haired intern watched me struggle before tilting his head to the side with a fake air of oblivion.

“Then I won’t know what you want,” he said innocently, attempting to mock my shyness and what was more – succeeding. I burned bright red, feeling heat creep up my neck and my glare was pointed and uncontrolled. It couldn’t pass as mere annoyance because Levi was hitting a nerve.

“I didn’t see you having a hard time knowing everything I wanted last night, but okay.” There was more spite than sass in the sentence, which only further conveyed my inability to stay nonchalant – something that clearly amused him. “I want us to… keep going. Satisfied?” Crossed arms, downcast gaze and a childish pout. I was the live embodiment of the word petulance and Levi wasn’t done having fun with it.

“Not as satisfied as I clearly left you.” He was smirking and I glared at him, furious and not knowing where the blood would go when there was no space left in my head. I hopped off my chair, turning my back to him and hearing how he moved to stand behind me. A well-meaning hand landed on my shoulder. “It was a joke, princess, there’s no need for the cold shoulder.” His tone was flat and disinterested, but there was a pacifying sliver. He might’ve been trying to make peace but I wouldn’t have it after all the embarrassment he put me through – just to have a good private laugh, too!

“Un-fucking-bearable, that’s what you are,” I hissed, brushing his hand off my shoulder and heading to the staircase in order to escape. He gave chase and set on ignoring the usual code that forbade touchy-touchy when unneeded. The pure and unfiltered imagination one must have in order to picture a shirtless Greek God chasing after a poorly dressed eighteen-year-old spoiled brat was too ambitious a requirement for anybody to fulfil. Turn to mythology for that, but it’s inappropriate there and this one meant well.

“I’ll stop embarrassing you if that’s what you want.” His hands were on my shoulders. He turned me around and I didn’t look at him, much less respond. He could sense I was ashamed. His hands slowly trailed down over my arms to hold my wrists in a grip I could, with effort, free myself from. “Does the mere mention of sex with no context whatsoever embarrass you, princess?” He knew it did, leaning forward with twinkling eyes and a complacent half-smile. “Your face is red.”

“And you’re a fucking genius, congratulations,” I spat with sarcastic disgruntlement. He pulled me forward so that I bumped into his chest. My shoulders jumped in surprise. I didn’t want to look him in the eye but the sight of the marks I’d left on him were no less embarrassing to behold. My heart sped up and I was pouting, flush against him with nowhere to go.

“It speaks,” he whispered by my ear. His hands retraced their steps over my arms and shoulders, gently gliding against the sides of my neck until they held my face. “Does it want to go up to my room?” Blue specks in a pool of melted silver. The question was genuine, in spite of being masked with slight mockery. The adult of us two. I tried to stay mad, but it was impossible. I promised the blue specks I’d count them later and then we were kissing. It was a funny picture – the whole of this situation – ridiculous but somehow not fictional. It was him lifting me off the floor and me wrapping my legs around him. It was him making step after step, steady and careful not to drop me while I snickered into his mouth. It was me being a literal koala and then it was us, hearing the jingle of keys.

“Shit,” I cursed, parting from him with a smack. He let go and I could catch only a glimpse of the panic on his face before I was running up the stairs. I’d barely closed the door behind us when I heard my mother greeting the empty kitchen downstairs. While I breathed out in relief, Levi was already heading to the balcony. It occurred to me that there was a pack of condoms on my nightstand and they were stolen. I’d need to make a trip to the pharmacy and replace the box. Talk about inconvenient. “Careful now,” I piped while the intern was preparing to make the jump, “we don’t want you to fall.” He gave me a half-hearted glare but said nothing.

When he was gone, I plopped down on my bed and grinned incredulously at the ceiling. This “secret sex” thing we were about to dive into wasn’t how I’d imagined the weeks prior to my first year in university, but oh, well. Expect the unexpected and if unable to – just accept it. This officially marked the beginning of my longest stay in City of Dumbassery. It was surprising, however, that I wasn’t alone in there. Twice as surprising that I’d be stuck with my father’s intern. Whom I was having sex with. Amazing. Spectacular. Asshole-me would have my ass for that.

tag list: @unloved-cadillac ; @donaldthrts

#mtij #levi x reader #levi ackerman fanfiction #x reader #levi ackerman imagine #reader insert #levi ackerman x reader #it finally happened #all i'm going to say: i wrote the actual sex scene while editing the rest of the chapter because i was too bashful in the past lol #sure hope it's not worse than the vague three paragraphs of the past #levi is a literal king who preaches consent and safe sex and nobody will change my opinion #also our drama queen is entering a brand new arc of her life #beware: storm incoming

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socalwriterbee · 1 year

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Something New

This story came from a lovely ask and conversation with a dear friend. Thank you so much @txemrn for the idea to this Holiday treat with our favorite twins!

Book: The Nanny Affair

Characters: Marie Castro (MC), Mason Dalton and Mickey Dalton. Appearances by Carter and Sam Dalton

Rating: Fluff

Word Count: ~3700

Summary: Marie wants to bring a bit of home and the memory of her mother to Sam and the boys with a traditional Christmas dinner she grew up with. Marie gets to chance to show Mason and Mickey how to make tamales. What could go wrong?

A/N: This story came from an ask for a holiday treat. You can find the ask here.

*Characters belong to Pixelberry*

🫔🎄🫔🎄🫔

“Thank you for all your help” I tell Carter as I place the heavy bag of ingredients onto the counter of the kitchen island. “Who would have thought it’d be a bit further to find everything that is needed.”

“I sure didn’t Miss Castro.” Carter replies as he follows behind me with the rest of the bags. “Are you certain you don’t need any help with this?”

Looking up from removing the items from the bags, I see Carter placing the remaining bags with the others. “Yes, yes. I’m fine. Doing this takes me back home. I can’t believe it has taken me this long to think to share it with Sam and the boys.”

“To be fair Miss Castro, the boys and Mr. Dalton are traditional in a sense. Even when Mr. Castro comes, the Daltons have everything planned and ready. Our traditions get swept to the side, of course unintentional.” He chuckles. “And I don’t mind at all, I do have a few hours to spare.”

“Well, I hope to change that. Even if it needs to be done before or after the holiday they’ve known all their lives. We’d compromise on it, switch it up every year, fair enough right?” Smiling warmly at him but I shake my head at his offer. “Use those hours to unwind and relax before we have to pick up Mason and Mickey and Carter—.”

“Yes?” He gives me a questioning look.

“Please call me Marie, I would like to think after a couple years knowing each other we’d be friends.”

“Of course Miss— Marie.” Carter tips his black hat. “I’ll see you in a few hours.” He says before turning on his heel and walking out of the kitchen.

After taking out all the ingredients out, they lay in front of me. The dry corn husks, waiting to be rehydrated. The dark green of the jalapeños, tomatillos, garlic and onion for the green salsa sitting next to my mothers secret to her delicious red salsa, she would make only for this.

The words I said to Carter coming back to me, I really couldn’t believe that it has taken me this long to show Sam and the boys a part of who I am and what both of my parents instilled in me of our family tradition during the holiday. And about the only one that stuck with my mother from being raised in her type Mexican household.

The images of my mother around the kitchen getting our Christmas dinner ready come to mind as I unwrap the butchers paper that contains the meat for the filling.

How she and my father would be talking of how many family members were expected that year and if we had gotten enough to feed everyone. Yes, there had always more than enough and how they would remind each other that the following year they’d get the original amount they always said they would.

That never happened.

I could hear my mother’s voice in the kitchen of our family home, ‘Mija, remember we cook the meat first because it takes the longest. Once we get that on the stove, we need hot water to soak the corn husks to make them soft so they can be folded.’

As I have the first two steps going, the bubbling pot of pork, onion and garlic on the stove and steam coming off the soaking corn husks. I turn my attention to the two salsas that need to be made. Plucking out the stems from the jalapeños, I throw them into another awaiting pot. Biting my bottom lip I debate if I should keep it at two or test my luck and go with three hoping that it won’t come out spicy. I go with my gut and toss in that extra jalapeño. After peeling the papery husk from the green tomatillos they go in with the jalapeños and a piece of onion. Covered with enough water, onto the stove they go.

‘Now Marie Isabel. The red salsa is my little secret. Nothing fancy, no three or four dried chiles rehydrated going into a blender with seasonings and such. When it’s made like that the masa tends to absorb the moisture from it and they became dry. And nothing is worse than a dry tamale, ask your father he almost choked on Tia Lupe’s tamales one year.’

My preteen self laughing at the image my mother had set up for me as she moves about the kitchen getting ready to show me her secret. With a can opener in hand, I open the can of tomato sauce, a can of the Mexican spicy tomato sauce. Emptied into the blender with the rehydrated red chile.

‘But mom I thought you said no dry chiles?’

‘This Marie is mostly for color. It’s gonna give flavor of course but it’s that nice red color it’ll give us in the end too.’

I had just nodded as everything my mother was showing me, sinking in so that one day I could make them and share a piece of my family with a family of my own.

As the minutes turn to an hour going into two, the tamale station I’ve set up is waiting and ready to go. When Carter walks into the kitchen. “It smells amazing in here M..Marie.”

“Thank you but they are not even cooked, heck they aren’t even spread, filled and folded yet! But I do have two forks at the ready for you to try both fillings.” I grin at him, holding up the two forks in my hand. “And be honest tell me what you think.”

Handing them over to Carter, I begin to remove my apron. I checked the time on my watch and it was time for us to collect the boys from their grandparents. As I’m placing the apron over one of the chairs, I hear a small oh my slip from Carter.

“This is incredible. Your mother would be proud, she has taught you well. In this,” He points to the red and green filling. “And in life.”

My eyes glisten at Carters spoken words. “Thank you, that is very sweet of you. Your are going to make me cry. But I assume you have come to get me so we can pick up the twins?”

“Yes and no. I’ve come to let you know I was off to pick up Mason and Mickey and we’d be home shortly after.”

“Are you sure? I could come along to get them, everything here is ready for the next step.”

“Which is an intensive and laboring step. If I go, it will give you time to get something done before they boys arrive.”

Carter was right about that. It would allow me to get some of the tamales ready before Mason and Mickey came home. And knowing the boys well enough, they would like to know and then learn how to make them or see what kind of prank they could pull off with this. It would be a mix of both for sure. “Ok. I’ll stay and get a step ahead.”

“See you shortly Miss Castro.” He calls out.

“Carter!”

“On the clock Miss. On the clock.” He chuckles.

I drop my and shake my head and laugh. You win some you lose some. Grabbing from the drawer my weapon of choice, the spoon, to take down the five pounds of masa that was purchased and begin to slowly make a small dent.

With a small part of the counter space covered with corn husk and masa spread on them, I hear the chime of the elevator announce it’s arrival. Followed closely by two pairs of feet hitting the floor as they run through the penthouse.

“Marie! Marie! You’ll never guess what Grandpa let us do.” Mickey says as his running comes into a halt and eyes everything on the counter, his eyes growing big with awe.

“Yeah, Marie you’ll never—.” Mason follows, bumping into his brother.

“Hey!” Mickey calls out to Mason.

“Sorry.” Mason turns his attention from his brother to me and what’s before us. His eyes widen under his glasses just like his brother.

“What is this?” Mickey steps closer and pokes the end of the husk with his finger.

“And this.” Mason points to the bowl holding the masa.

“This.” I hold up to them. “Is a corn husk and that is masa.”

Both boys turn their head to the side. “What is it for?” They ask in unison.

“I’m using it to make tamales. A traditional food my family made during the holidays. One I’d love to share with you.”

“Oh. We learned about different culture traditions in school before break. Is it something like that?” Mason asks.

“Yes. The two of you came running to tell me something you two did with Grandpa Mason, what was it?” I ask them as I go back to spreading the smooth masa on to the husk. Two sets of eyes watching with amazement as I finish in a few strokes and place it with the others.

“Can we try?” Mickey asks, his voice a whisper.

“You want to learn how to make them?”

They both nod.

“I’d be happy to show you. When I was a bit older than you two are now my mom taught me how to make them.” I smile at them. “Wash your hands and while you do that you two tell me what you did at grandma and grandpa’s house.”

Mason and Mickey both rush to the sink when Mickey turns towards me. “I’ll tell you later. Right now we want to play—make that.”

“Nice save Mick.” I laugh.

After the boys wash and dry their hands, they take a seat. “Do we get a spoon to?” Mason asks. “And why a spoon?”

Opening the drawer the holds the utensil, I pull out two spoons and hand each of them a spoon. “A spoon for each of you and I don’t know, it’s what my mom used and it’s the way she showed me.”

“What is ma-sa?” Mickey asks as he tries to pronounce the word.

“Hmm…” I ponder. “Best way to explain it would be a dough made from corn. This—.” I tap the bowl that contains the dough for the boys to know what I am explaining to them. “was already prepared. So I could have used it as is or as my mom taught me she’d add a little more ingredients to it to make it the way she liked.”

Mickey goes for an overly filled spoonful of the mix. “What do we do with it? We just plop it on the husk?”

I smile as I watch Mason copy his brother and fill his spoon as well. “No, no plopping. And less dough. We need a good balance of masa to filling. Before we get our spoons full, we need to have a corn husk to put it on.”

The three of us go to reach for one, and each on grabbing one of different a size. Mickey has gotten a large husk, smooth, prefect really. Mason has a smaller one that is a bit more crinkled, going to smooth it out when he pulls it rips.

Mason eyes widening as if he did something wrong, reminding of myself when I tried to the same thing when I was first learning. “That was an accident Marie. I didn’t know it was going to rip. I’ve ruined it.”

“Oh no Mason, sweetie. You didn’t ruin it, not at all. Here take mine.” I hand mine over to him and grab his two pieces now. “We still could use it, to cover the tamales when they are steaming.”

Grabbing another husk for myself, I grab a spoonful of the masa, showing the boys the amount I got and place it in the middle of the husk. “Ok, so now you both get about the same amount I did and place it on your husk.”

Watching as they reach and grab their spoons and copy me. Mason and Mickey both look up when they have done the first step. I smile at them before moving on. “So now with the back of our spoon we are going to thin it out the masa over the husk.” Slowly gliding the spoon and mix from one end to the other and down to the straight edge, giving the boys a clear view of my movements. “ We need to leave the end that sticks up clear, we don’t want any masa there because when we fill it that end will be folded over.”

“Now you try.” Watching as they begin to spread the masa on the husk.

“That’s good you two.” I encourage them to keep going.

“Marie! I got it on my hand.” Mason shows his brother and me. “It feels so cool. You should try it Mickey.”

“Look at mine. Did I do a good job?” Mickey asks.

Eyeing the beginnings of his tamale, I bite the bottom of my lip to fight back a smile but unable to hold it in at seeing what and amazing job he has done. “Such a good job Mickey.”

“You’re right Mason, it is sticky. Do you think we could get it to stick on the ceiling? Or we can get it to explode mixing it with cola and baking soda.” Mickey plays with the masa between his thumb and finger.

“We should totally try it.” Mason answers.

“We will not be doing that. We could come up with another experiment for you to try and no more honey in the shampoo either.”

They both laugh at the latest and most often used prank.

“Now lets get to work. We have all that to spread.” I tell them, pointing back to the mixing bowl.

After spending a good portion of the rest of our afternoon laughing and me going back to give their tamales a bit more evenness, laughing and talking about my life in California.

Seeing the boys being covered up with more masa on their shirt and not the corn husk and not knowing how they got it in their hair. The excitement of making something new beginning to wear off.

“Guess I got a bit more than needed.” The three of us stare at the counter covered with a mix of red and green tamales.

“We have a lot.” Mickey says. “What are we going to do with all of them.”

“Well it’s special when these are made, typically around the Christmas season. My mom and dad would tell me that we make them to share with loved ones. Everyone gathering around, like we did, it brings the entire family together talking, laughing just catching up on everything everyone has been up to. We would even make more to share with our neighbors and share the dishes from where our family came from.”

“I have an idea.” Mason speaks up, the spark coming back to his gray eyes. “We could go around and take some to Uncle Robin, Grandma and Grandpa, our friends from school and even Aunt Sofia. We know she could use some cheering up from being grumpy all the time.”

“Yeah. We would be sharing something we made with the people that we love.”

“I think that is a great idea. I’ll make a deal with you two. I will finish up, get these cooking and clean up the kitchen. While you two get cleaned up and changed, pick up your room. And in no time we would have tamales to eat and deliver.”

“How long would that take?” Mason asks.

“They should be ready in an hour and a half. I’ll set a timer for you and it will let us know when to come check on them. Do we have a deal?” I stick out my hand towards them. Watching as the look at each other, their twin connection coming into play before Mickey takes my hand and shakes it, followed by Mickey.

“Deal.” They both say. Hurrying off their chairs and running upstairs.

*****

The beeping of the timer rings through the penthouse. Mason and Mickey running out of their room and into mine and Sam’s ready to check out the tamales we had made.

“They’re ready. Let’s go!” They run out and down the stairs full of excitement.

Following behind them, when the three of us reach the kitchen Mason goes to turn off the timer. Both boys taking a seat waiting for me to present them with what we’ve made. Removing and placing one green and a red tamale on a plate.

“It’s going to be soft.” I explain to them. “So we have to let it cool a bit so it can firm up. And boys they look incredible. You did an amazing job.”

“Let us see, let us see!” Mickey jumps in his seat.

“Here they are. What do you think?” I smile at them.

My mother’s recipe, a fond and one of the best memories of my past and a tradition I love, sit in front of two boys who had captivated my heart the moment I saw them with awe and excitement in their eyes, waiting to try what they had a hand in making.

“It smells so good.” Mason says. “Can we try them now?”

“Just a few minutes and then we can. I’m going to take more out of the steamer. Your dad should be getting here soon and we all can have dinner and then go off on our deliveries.”

Turning back to the pots and removing enough for the boys, Sam, Carter and I to have for dinner. Going us the time needed to try the ones I plated earlier.

“Ready?” I grin at Mason and Mickey.

They both nod.

“Grab your plate, unfold the end piece, the one that is folded in and from there open one side and then the other, just like a present. And voilà we have a tamale to eat.”

The boys follow my directions, cutting off a piece with a fork. Blowing on it to cool it off before popping it into their mouth.

“thisissoooogooooodd!” Mason mumbles.

“yeeeaahsoogooood!” Mickey agrees.

“Let me try.” I reach over and take a piece on my fork. Blowing the piece before the savory taste of the cooked masa hits my lips followed by the tanginess and touch of spice from the green salsa takes over. The whole thing melting in my mouth.

“Try this one Mas—.” Mickey tells his brother before reaching over to Mason’s plate. “I don’t know which one I like the most they are both so good.” He says after trying both.

“Marie, can we call Carter and give him some. He is family and we share with family right?” Mason suggests.

“Of course we do. But I was going to invite Carter to eat with us.” I tell him.

“We can present him with what we helped make and he’d love that, wouldn’t he. Like a present, just like you said.” Mason says.

“You two go get Carter so we can show him and give him what you made.” It fills my heart with much more love for those boys hearing how caring they are of everyone they know. As they leave the kitchen the chime of the elevator rings.

“Hi Dad.” Mason and Mickey call out.

I could hear them tell Sam that they are off to get Carter. Sam’s footsteps echo and get louder the closer he gets to the kitchen. “Smells amazing in here. What have you been doing?” His deep voice calls from the entry way of the kitchen.

Closing the space between us, he takes me in his arms and leans in placing a light kiss on my lips. “Hi.” I whisper against his lips.

Sam’s gray eyes holding my mine with a passion that still burns strong between us. “Hi.” He leans in more and gives me a deeper kiss.

Breaking the kiss, I pull back. “I wanted to make something from home. Mason and Mickey helped.” I tell Sam.

Sam eyes the serving plates. “What did you make?”

“Tamales. One of the many things mom taught me. I thought it would be nice to share and incorporate my traditions here with you and the boys.”

Before Sam could answer Mason and Mickey come running back, pushing Sam and I to get to the serving plate. “Hey!” Sam calls out.

“Sorry Dad but these are for Carter.” Mason says holding a plate while Mickey loads it up. “And after we have to go and deliver to family and friends. Marie already said we could.”

“Do I get any of these?” Sam asks the boys.

“Nope!” Mickey tells him. “We figured it out. Carter gets these. We are taking some to Uncle Robin, Grandma and Grandpa, our friends and Aunt Sofia. After Mason and I eat our share they will be all gone.”

I press my lips together fighting a laugh. Seeing the mock hurt in Sam’s face. I wink at him.

“Sofia gets some and I don’t?”

“Maybe one or Marie can share hers with you. She showed us what she did growing up for the holidays with her mom and dad and how they would share with others even their neighbors and how happy they would be.” Mason tells his dad.

“We liked making them and really happy eating them and Aunt Sofia needs all the holiday cheer she can get.” Mickey adds.

Leaning up and placing my lips close to Sam’s ears. “Don’t worry, I’ll share.”

After all was said and done, in the end Sam, Mickey, Mason, Carter and I passed around the plates piled with steaming tamales from a recipe my mother passed down to me.

The night had turned out to be the one of the best as happiness coursed through me at being able to share a bit of my mothers memory and bring a taste of home to the family I call my own.

#ask turned story #choices the nanny affair #choices tna #tna fanfic #the nanny affair fanfiction #marie castro x sam dalton #mason and mickey

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thedisneychef · 1 year

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How to Make Chef Mickey's Breakfast Pizza: A Delicious Recipe

I’ve heard a lot about the breakfast pizza at Chef Mickey’s… Next to Mickey Waffles and Dole Whips, the breakfast pizza is one of the most talked about “must have” foods at Walt Disney World. While certainly most commonly attached to Chef Mickey’s, I can say that I’ve also seen it in various forms at Tusker House, Crystal Palace, and other breakfast buffets. More Delicious Recipes You Will Love: - Barbecue Pulled Pork – Kona Cafe - Canadian Cheddar Cheese Soup – Le Cellier - Canton Beef – Nine Dragons That said, I can’t say I’ve ever tried it… I don’t know, I like eggs (but they’re not my favorite) and I enjoy pizza, but something about it just didn’t seem to pair well. Clearly, I didn’t get what the fascination was and I was OK with that. My son, however, talks about when he went to Chef Mickey’s and had breakfast pizza with the same enthusiasm that people reserved for when they met The Beatles. There were three things he could share about his trip… He went to Animal Kingdom Lodge, he saw lots of animals, and he had breakfast pizza with Mickey at Chef Mickey’s. Could he remember what rides he did? Nope. Did he remember which parks he saw? Nope. The characters he saw? Kind of. Where he ate? To listen to him talk, it was Chef Mickey’s and breakfast pizza the whole trip. Considering how wild he was about the pizza and that yesterday was the first day of school (we start after labor day in our area… Don’t be too jealous, we go to school until about July), I figured it’d be a nice treat for him. This really was a “the kids will like it, just make it” recipe. Even my husband was kind of “yeah, I’ll try it” but overall not to excited to eat it. I realized that this wasn’t exactly what I thought it was as I was putting it together. It’s more of a really thin, cheesy quiche than scrambled eggs baked with cheese on a pizza crust, which is what I thought it was. Putting it together was super easy and fast (big plus) and it didn’t create a lot of dishes (super big plus). When I served it, the kids went nuts! I didn’t get half as much fanfare for doing a full Thanksgiving dinner as I did for this pizza. Everybody had at least 2 slices… Obviously this means this passes the kid test with flying colors. It also got the thumbs up from my husband who also had more than just a couple slices. After eating it, I have to say that I’ve judged breakfast pizza wrong for all these years. It’s actually really, really good! You can really taste the different cheeses and there is an undertone of quiche-like eggyness to it that’s not dominating or overwhelming. Personally, I think copious amounts of bacon or sausage would make this the perfect meal (isn’t that how it’s served at Tusker House? I think it is, actually), but it’s really good just with the cheese and eggs. Something fast, kid-pleasing, and easy to put together? For sure my dinner table will be seeing this meal again. Conclusion After putting it to the test, we can confidently say that Chef Mickey's Breakfast Pizza is a delicious and unique dish that is perfect for breakfast or brunch. This pizza is topped with a blend of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and cheese, making it a perfect combination of savory breakfast flavors. The crust is perfectly crispy and chewy, adding a perfect texture to the dish. Whether you're a fan of pizza or simply looking for a fun and delicious breakfast option, the Chef Mickey's Breakfast Pizza is definitely worth a try. Additionally, the restaurant, located in Disney's Contemporary Resort, offers a fun and lively atmosphere, making it a perfect spot to start your day at the Walt Disney World Resort. So, if you're planning a visit to Walt Disney World Resort, be sure to add Chef Mickey's and their Breakfast Pizza to your list of must-try dining experiences. In addition to the delicious food and recipes, Disney World is also known for its unique dining experiences, such as character dining and themed restaurants. Whether you want to have breakfast with Mickey Mouse, dine in a replica of a sci-fi drive-in theater at Hollywood Studios, or enjoy a meal with an ocean view at the Coral Reef Restaurant in Epcot, there's something for everyone. And with the help of Recipes Today and the How to Make category, you can even recreate some of these magical dining experiences in your own home. So why not start planning your next Disney-inspired meal or dining experience today? Read the full article

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priscilla9993 · 2 years

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The Downhill Spiraling Tea Party (pt. 1)

Each part of this analysis has a part number to it.

This is one of my favorite scenes of Season 7 that has stuck with me long after the show has ended as a powerful dynamic and rush of emotions. But the fact that it’s in Wonderland is not what I remember most, it’s the Tea Party table.

Alice is distraught, eyes tearing up as she had been crying before turning around from hearing the door creak, indicating that Ella or Henry had entered the tea party area after following her and drinking the vial she left on the table. In her guilt and sadness, she wonders if her Papa was okay and how much her actions could have jeopardized him after, causing her to ask Ella, “My papa, is he okay?”

There isn’t time for Ella to explain as Alice grows increasingly frustrated at herself in explanation, partially for Ella to hear, but mainly for herself to come to terms with what had occurred.

Alice needs a hug, looking like she’s so broken. She justifies, “I didn’t mean to hurt him. I didn’t think that…”

That the cure wouldn’t work, that taking this chance of being together was worth the risk, and about how she jumped too quickly into false hope. For Alice, she’s probably thought about the moment of reunion with her papa for so long. But when the moment came, she squandered it by endangering him by poisoning his heart more and giving him hope that she had found a way for them to be together again.

Ella rushes over to Alice, a woman she barely knows, but can tell is hurting. Just look at how fast she moved from one end of the table to get to her. Also, nice hidden Mickey.

She comforts Alice by saying that her papa “is in good hands. He’s gonna be fine.” I assume Ella might have hugged her or definitely tried to soothe her in any other way if Alice had accepted the soothing words.

But Alice can’t trust sugar coated words, especially when she’d been wrong before about the cure from Drizella and look where that got her.

“You don’t know that. You can’t!”

Alice is in pain and takes a realistic approach, not wanting to fall back into false hope by lashing out at Ella’s kind words.

I’m glad Ella doesn’t take offense to this, as she knows Alice isn’t really angry at her, but that’s still rough for anyone to hear. Look at how much she’s backed away and I can’t imagine it’d be easy for her to get yelled at when she meant well, having also had a whole lifetime of being nice and getting berated by her stepfamily.

Alice sighs, saying, “I better stay here.”

It’s not said happily. For a girl who claims Wonderland to be the one weird trip she doesn’t want to be remembered for, she can’t deny that she comes back to it as soon as she’s crestfallen. Her words imply that Wonderland is better than nothing and lonely, but it’s where she can’t harm anyone, much like when she wanted to leave Hyperion Heights as Tilly when she thought she was a potential threat to others’ safety as a murderer. I.e. the scene in 7x14 where she says, “I better leave before I hurt anyone else.”

Running and waiting are both things she is good at, cursed or not, so what’s the harm in a bit more? The harm is that it’s extremely sad and isn’t the best solution for her. A thing I want to point out is the setting. Alice could have chosen anywhere in Wonderland to be, but she chose a place of past comfort turned into a solemn place of misery, the Tea Party.

On the table, we see the usual cakes and tea sets. But we also see a wrist strap/shoe, top hat, gauntlet, some yarn, a piece of fancy cloth, a paper fan, and eventually Ella’s mother’s locket. I didn’t think about it too much until rewatching the scene, but Alice would have to clean up the mess of the Jabberwock attack and bury her friends before deciding to create a memorial from their items on the long table. I believe there is a sword and shield nearby somewhere, but I’m too lazy to look up the screenshot for that.

It’s the calm looking aftermath of a battlefield where Alice is the sole survivor, having to deal with the loss of many companions/friends and almost punishing herself by being there at the head of the table, thinking about what could have happened if her papa was gone too. Would she have put something there in memory of him or would her burn mark/scar be a permanent reminder of her tie to him?I don't want to know how many times that has happened where Alice had a rough day or depressing thought and then tried to distract herself with something happier, pretending the pain away. There's a part of me that headcanons that Hook, her papa, in the past tried to cheer her up or change to a better topic every time she was upset from being stuck in the tower. Alice probably mimics that in this scene. Playing the host, she pretends Ella is a guest who has just arrived in time.

Especially in Ella's presence, Alice tries to not let her be worried or feel hurt at the circumstances by eerily having a change of topic and pace as she says, "Oh! Would you like a cup of tea?" It's where she's masking her pain to the point where it's jarring and anybody would assume Alice had fallen down a mental rabbit hole.

In one second, Alice’s true feelings are replaced with a smile that doesn’t meet her disheartened eyes. She’s not fooling anyone, but she lies in hope that it will become truth.

Ella is a no nonsense kind of woman when it comes to signs or problems that don't have a clear cut solution, but she doesn't let up when someone is hurt and even comes to a nonsensical place for answers. I like to think she would have asked something and called Alice out on changing the subject. But Ella doesn’t pry and watches, letting it play out.

#pretty in blue scene analysis #alice jones #ella mills #ouat s7 #ouat 7x08 #pris speaks

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mickeym4ndy · 12 days

Note

34, 43, 59?

ty for asking🩵

34. Do they ever go to couples therapy? Does Mickey go to a therapy to deal with his past?

Realistically they probably should lol. I feel like they might in the future yea.

I definitely do think Mickey goes to therapy to deal with his past. I don’t think it’d be something he’d be open to at all initially no matter how much Ian encourages it. But I’ve said before that once things slow down for him post canon that he’d go through a rough time when everything he’s suppressed hits him. Feel like there’d be nightmares & panic attacks & flashbacks etc. I kinda think it’d get to the point where he’d have no choice but to find a way to manage it all, like Ian would be like “you can’t go on like this Mick.”

So yea I think he would. Think it would initially be very hard because he’d have to deal with things and talk about moments he’s avoided for years (eg what happened with Svet) and talking about it all would be hard for him, but worth it in the long run.

43. How's Mickey's relationship with Lip and/or Tami? (Bonus: How are Lip and Tami doing, in general and are they still together?)

Ok look I love the idea of a Tami & Mickey friendship! I know there’s no evidence to suggest they’d be friends but fuck it idc. In my mind they’re like a little team that helps each other get through the Gallagher chaos. Mickey didn’t even wanna hang out with her at first but Tami just sorta wormed her way in and how Mickey actually likes her. Whenever one of them is pissed off they text each other and meet up somewhere away from both of their houses lol.

I think Mickey’s relationship with Lip remains how it’s always been. They fight but they’re family. But they’ll never be like close friends.

Also realistically Tami & Lip probably won’t last but again who cares I love her so I want them to stay together so they will in my mind lol.

59. Do they try to contact Svetlana / Yevgeny? Is Yevgeny even his? (Where are they? Do they know Mickey is out of prison/back from Mexico?)

Ahhhh

Ok so I love Svetlana and Yevgeny. And I’m a big believer that had Mickey not been written out of season 6, that he definitely would’ve gotten close and become a father to Yevgeny and they’d have a close relationship. But I don’t think a relationship is as guaranteed post canon.

I think it’s possible for sure! I think it’s something that they’d both discuss and agree that they want to have a relationship with both Yev and Svet again, because Mickey did care about Yevgeny despite what people believe.

Conversely, I also think it’s possible that Ian would want to, but Mickey would not. And it would cause some tension between them. Kinda think Ian would believe he just needs time to change Mickey’s mind and then Mick would be pissed off when he realises that, putting his foot down saying it’s never going to happen.

But anyway Mickey & Yevgeny is my favourite unexplored arc. I think about what they could’ve been all the time, so I’d absolutely love if they reunited. I think it would be nice for Yevgeny to know his dad, and I do think that it’s for important to Svetlana that Yev has a family & a father figure. So I definitely think it is possible!

#asks #gallavich headcanon #headcanon #gallavich #mickey milkovich #shameless #ian gallagher

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bumblesimagines · 2 years

Text

Little Loomis

Part 4

Request: Yes or No

I think I end up calling Derek, Sids boyfriend, David from time to time, so sorry if his name changes randomly. I went back and hopefully corrected them all.

~~~

“This still isn’t my type of scene.”

“It’s part of the college experience, (Y/N). Party, study, get laid, find your future spouse, find your worst enemy.” Hallie listed off as she poured you a drink, handing you the red cup once it was filled. Her words did little to ease your anxiety.

“So, nobody waiting for you back home?”

“Just dad.” You responded, pouring the drink into a nearby plant when Hallie turned her back to get herself a drink. Hallie continued to talk about her sorority and about how she met Sidney, her voice fading into the background as you looked around the party. People danced, some played drinking games, and soon Sidney came into view with two preppy girls. Hallie was quick to walk over and save Sidney from the two. You felt someone place their hand on your shoulder, feeling their arm slither around your shoulders.

“Hallie’s a chatterbox around guys she likes. Trust me; we dated for a year.” Mickey said with a smirk, looking back at the girl. You blinked, brows furrowing at his words. Hallie had seemed friendlier than needed but with a lack of experience in relationships and flirting, it hadn’t been all that obvious to you.

“Oh, I’m not- I’m not interested in her. She seems great but-”

“You’ve got the hots for Sidney.” Mickeys’ eyes sparkled with mischief and playfulness. You felt your cheeks burn, letting out an awkward chuckle and shaking your head. Mickey leaned in, squinting. "You blushing, Loomis?"

“No, no, I don’t. She’s like a sister to me!” From the way Mickey tilted his head and rose his brows, you could tell he was far from convinced. Sure, back in high school you had crushed on her but you pushed those feelings away when she began dating Billy.

“Keep it in the family, bro.”

“First of all, gross. Secondly, No, Mickey.” You set the red cup on the table, stepping forward and facing him. “Even if I did like her, which I don’t, it’d be super weird.”

“Like who?” If there was a God up above, you prayed Mickey would keep his mouth shut. Sidney looked between you and Mickey, arm loosely wrapped around Dereks’ waist. Her boyfriend pressed a kiss to Sidneys’ temple before smiling.

“Don’t tell me you’re already whipped for someone here.” David glanced at Mickey and Mickey stared back at you, a wide mischievous smile on his face. Mickey looked at the couple and shook his head.

“No, actually, we were talking about an actress but (Y/N) thinks it’s weird cause she’s married. Isn’t that right, Loomis?” Mickey looked back at you, quirking a brow. You pressed your lips into a line and nodded. Derek chuckled, patting your arm and getting himself a drink.

“That’s adorable,” Derek mumbled. Sidney took a step towards you, gently bumping her hip with yours.

“Which actress?”

“Uhm, Sigourney Weaver.” You replied, hearing Sidney hum.

“Yeah, I get it. She’s gorgeous but it’s not weird since she’s an actress. Everyone crushes on married celebrities, hell, some people crush on couples.” Sidney shrugged with a smile. “I didn’t know you liked Alien.”

“I enjoy horror movies with fictional monsters as the villains. When the killer is a human... It feels a bit too real.” You explained. Sidney hummed, raising her hand and rubbing her shoulder. She cleared her throat softly, looking at you with a tilted head.

“What about her do you like exactly?”

“Uh-”

“You guys! Something happened at Omega Beta Zeta! There’s like, police tape everywhere.” One of the sorority girls shouted, the crowd outside immediately calming down into murmurs while everyone left to check out the scene. Police sirens grew near, the flashing lights visible as they passed by the house. You followed Sidney and Derek out onto the front porch where the sorority house was visible from. A crowd began forming, reporters and more police officers joining the scene.

“Next time, you’re visiting me.” You muttered, seeing Gale's distinct van amongst the cars.

“Get your jacket, Sid. I’m taking you home, alright? (Y/N), you can crash with Mickey and me.” Derek offered, unwrapping his arms from around Sidney so she could head inside. You swallowed and followed her inside.

“Sid, I should head home. The news will reach my dad and he’ll be worried sick.” Your voice echoed in the now empty house. It gave the house an almost eerie vibe.

“I understand, (Y/N), but Dewey has a point. They might target you when you’re on the road.” Sidney replied, picking her jacket up off a couch and facing you. The phone beside you began ringing, drawing your attention to it. Sidney stood beside you, staring at the phone before shaking her head.

“Not worth it.” She whispered, moving past you and walking towards the door. You sighed and reached for it, picking up the phone and holding it to your ear.

“Hello?”

“What a pleasant surprise. Is Sidney there?” A gravelly voice responded, similar to the fake one Billy and Stu used. The phone was taken from your hand, Sidney standing infront of you with a hard look.

“What do you want?” You sighed, taking a step back. Sidneys’ brows furrowed while listening to the caller before scoffing and calling them a coward. She hung up and faced you before her face morphed into one of surprise and fear.

“(Y/N)!” You turned in time to see the familiar mask, dodging to the side and missing the knife swing.

“Sidney, go!” You shouted at her, grabbing a nearby vase and smashing it over the killer's back while Sidney ran for the front door, screaming for Derek as she tried opening the door but to no avail. The killer recovered and aimed for Sidney next, narrowly missing her and instead stabbing the door.

“Sid!” You called for her, getting her attention and grabbing her arm. You ran through the living room, glancing back at the killer as they stumbled into some furniture. Sidney tugged on your arm, pulling you through the kitchen and out to the backyard. She screamed when Derek rounded the corner, his hands grabbing her arms to keep her still

“Are you both okay?” He asked, checking Sidney for injuries and looking into the house when she assured him she was fine.

“Derek-” He pushed past you and into the house, ignoring Sidneys' frantic calls for him to stop. You wrapped an arm around her waist to prevent her from following him into a possible death trap, listening to her desperate pleads for him to come back.

“Sid! (Y/N)!” You spotted Dewey, breathing a sigh of relief. You heard a distant crash and grunting, swallowing and making Sidney look at you.

“Stay here, alright?” You whispered, wiping away her tears and following Dewey into the house. If there was more than one killer inside, Derek stood no chance against them. Noticing the bloodstain on the door frame, you took slow steps towards it and pushed the door open, breathing in relief when you saw Derek on the floor with a bloody arm.

“Sid, get in here!” Dewey called, running past Derek to search for the killer. You grabbed a roll of paper towels, pressing them against the wound. The blood slowly soaked it, leaving a leaky red mess behind.

“Welcome to the club, Derek. You’ll be getting a cool scar out of this.” You said softly, hoping to keep him distracted from the pain and blood. It seemed to work, a pained chuckle leaving him. Dewey crouched down beside you, pulling out proper bandages and wrapping them around the cut. You looked over your shoulder, noticing Sidney standing in the kitchen, tears in her eyes and an unreadable look on her face. You stood up, using one of the paper towels to wipe the blood off your hands, and approached her.

“Why is this happening to us?” She whispered, staring at Derek and Dewey. Her bottom lip trembled and her brows furrowed, shoulders begin to shake with her sobs. You wrapped your arms around her, rubbing her back.

“It’s just some sick fuck trying to get the attention Billy and Stu got.” You told her softly. “You saw how they tripped... It won’t be long before they’re caught, Sid.”

“Everyone around me dies.” Sidney sniffled, burying her face in your chest and sobbing harder. You looked back at Derek, sighing softly.

“Derek will be alright.” Dewey helped Derek stand, taking him outside to an awaiting ambulance. You and Sidney followed, hitching a ride with Mickey and Hallie to the hospital.

“You guys okay?” Hallie asked, turning in the front seat and facing you. Sidney wordlessly nodded, blankly staring out the window. You could only wonder what she had to be thinking. Two years of peace were disrupted in one night.

“We’ll be okay.” You answered Hallie. She watched her friend for a moment longer, reaching out to give Sidneys’ knee a squeeze and facing the front once more. Mickey pulled into the hospital's parking lot, shutting the car off and getting out. Dewey led you and the others to Derek's room, standing by the door while everyone else got situated. You approached Dewey, peering into Dereks’ room while Mickey got pulled away for questioning. He returned a few minutes, patting your back as he walked by.

“Have you spoken to your dad?” Dewey asked, leaning against the door frame. You shook your head and looked at him, feeling the tears begin to prick your eyes.

“If I call him.. This nightmare becomes reality.”

“I know.. but he deserves to hear your voice and know you’re alright.” You sighed at Deweys’ words and nodded. The nurse finished with Derek and left the room, allowing the officers to speak with him.

“You’re lucky you weren’t killed.” One officer said, watching Dereks’ face closely.

“Awful convenient,” Dewey added, arms crossing. Derek turned to look at Dewey in offense, scoffing.

“You were the one who got there too late.” He retorted though, from the look on the officers' faces, they weren’t entirely convinced.

“Let’s not argue with Sid right there.” You glared at the two, eyes rolling when they continued staring each other down. "The last thing she needs is thinking her boyfriend is out to kill her. Again."

↣ ↣ ↣

“Dad, I’m fine. Please don’t come down here, it’s not safe.”

“(Y/N), It’s my job to keep you safe. I can protect myself-”

“I can’t lose you too, dad. Please..” Your pleads earned silence in response. You were sure he had his bags packed and ready to go but if he got hurt, you’d lose your only remaining family. Your mother hadn’t reached out after the massacre so you could only assume she had a new family or had possibly even died.

“Fine, but I expect phone calls every day until you get here, understood?”

“Understood. Love you, dad.” You hung up the phone and stepped away from the booth, clearing your throat and tilting your head.

“You hungry?” You asked the man leaning against the booth. Officer Sanders, an officer assigned to keep an eye on you at all times. He looked like he had walked out of a cop show with his suit, dark sunglasses, and permanent scowl. He had slicked back dirty blonde hair and seemed to be as tall as a skyscraper. From what you had been told, he was 35, married to an actress with a baby on the way, and had originally planned on being a teacher but chose to follow in his father's footsteps.

In response to your question, he stared and remained silent. “Great, I’m loving how much of a chatterbox you are, Sanders. It really puts me at ease.”

“The principal of Windsor said you could eat in the cafeteria with Miss Prescott and her friends.” Your brows raised upon hearing him speak, though it wasn’t exactly what you wanted to hear. Crowds made you uneasy and it was more comfortable being in open spaces.

“I’d rather not.” You moved past him and walked down the sidewalk, looking at each of the shop names for any indicator that they sold food. Officer Sanders trailed after you, his footsteps different than others. He didn’t bite at your heels but he didn’t stray too far. On any other occasion, you would’ve hated to be followed, but with a killer after you, better safe than sorry.

"Miss McDaniel is running over, Mr. Loomis."

“(Y/N)! Jesus, I’ve been looking all over for you!” You glanced back at Sanders as Hallie crossed the street and stood infront of you, hand raised to her chest as she panted. She raised both hands to fan herself before finally speaking.

“Sid had a freak-out during rehearsal. I think you should talk to her. You know her better than us.” Hallie breathed out, tan skin covered in a light sheen of sweat. “First building behind the main office."

“Fuck.” You crossed the street and broke out into a jog, following Hallies’ directions and entering the theatre. You entered the theater, hearing Sanders panting behind you.

"Sorry, this probably wasn't in the job description." You apologized, heading down the rows and reaching the front.

“Where’s Sid-”

“Backstage.” Quietly thanking the teacher, you got on stage and nodded to the girl who pointed to a door.

“Stay here, Sanders.” You called, opening the door and walking down the concrete hallway until you reached a small room, spotting Sidney and Derek. Relief spread on Sidneys' face.

“Sid, what happened?" You walked into her open arms, feeling the fabric of the dress brush against your fingers. Derek stared at you and Sidney, exhaling through his nose. His jaw visibly clenched but he didn't comment on what was on his mind.

“I see.” He whispered and took a step back, disappearing down the hallway. You pulled back and cupped Sidneys’ face, a small smile tugging at your lips. Her hair had been pulled back into a braided bun with golden hair accessories, makeup adorning her face.

“Red is definitely your color, Sid.” Her cheeks warmed underneath your fingertips. Sidney chuckled, resting her hands over yours and smiling.

"Do I still look pretty?"

"Always." A silence fell over, Sidneys' hands falling to hold your sides while you kept yours on her cheeks. Her eyes closed as she inhaled, calming herself down until she was ready to speak.

"I thought I saw someone wearing the mask and I... I thought they were gonna kill me." Sidney explained, opening her eyes. They began watering again so you softly shooshed her.

"We'll survive, Sid. Just like we did in Woodsboro with Billy and Stu. These guys don't seem experienced."

"The local police aren't experienced either."

"Yeah, well, they've got Dewey helping out. I'm sure Randy is running around giving his opinion as well and Gale.. is being Gale." Sidney giggled at your words and nodded. She fell silent, arms wrapping around your waist. She leaned her head against your shoulder and let herself be enveloped in your warmth.

"Thank you, (Y/N). You're the only one who knows how it feels to be on edge and waiting for some psycho to come charging. Is this how I'm gonna have to live the rest of my life? In fear that the people around me are gonna get hurt cause of some sick fucks?"

"I can't promise you'll get the life you want after this, Sid... But I can promise I'll be in your life until you don't want me around anymore." You told her, feeling her nuzzle into your shoulder and sigh.

"We haven't had time to catch up yet, have we? Let me change out of this and we can grab a coffee.”

“Maybe we can ask the others-”

“No, just.. you and I. I don’t- I don’t want to talk to Derek.”

After Sidney got changed back to her normal clothes, she took you to one of the shops, her two officers and Sanders following and getting a seat at a nearby table. Sidney looked back at them with a small smile, watching them talk and look around.

“You think they’re comparing notes?” Sidney asked, drumming her fingers along the side of her cup. You chuckled, raising your drink and taking a sip.

“Maybe. They could be gossiping about us too.” You smiled, setting the cup down. Sidney laughed and leaned back in her chair, releasing a soft sigh.

“Probably wondering if they’ll be going home.” She muttered with a more solemn expression. “They’re professionals, right? If they die, they die doing what they love.”

The brunette straightened up, scooting her seat forward and resting her arms on the table. “Let’s talk about you. What happened after you moved?”

“Well, dad wanted us to move to another town. Not a small one where everyone knows everyone but also not city big. At first, he wanted to buy a house in a rural area but considering his job demands he’s at the office... I didn’t want to be left alone in the middle of nowhere so we settled for an apartment. I tried looking for jobs here and there but none stuck for long. Then, Gale released her book, which I never read, and things got weirder. Luckily, basically, everyone in town likes the peace and quiet so nobody told the media where I lived. Dad has a girlfriend and she’s pretty sweet but I don’t see her often.”

“And your love life?”

“Same as always. Sometimes people seem interested but leave when they realize who I’m related to. I think I’ll probably grow old and die surrounded by cats.” Sidney shook her head at your words, reaching out and running her finger over your hand.

“You’ll find your special someone.” Sidney looked at the tv when the Stab trailer played, her eyes rolling and a scowl appearing on her face. Her gaze trailed to the clock near the tv and she blinked, abruptly standing up.

“I forgot I had to check something on the school computers.” Sidney collected her things and gave you an apologetic look. Scooping up her coffee, she planted a kiss on your temple and hurried out with her two bodyguards following. Sanders took her seat, setting his coffee down.

“You like Miss Prescott?”

“Jesus, why does everyone keep saying that?”

#x reader #x you #x y/n #x male reader #x male!reader #scream #scream x male reader #scream x y/n #scream x you #scream x reader #sidney prescott x loomis reader #sidney prescott x reader #sidney prescott x male reader #sidney prescott x you #sidney prescott #sidney Prescott x y/n

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restapesta · 3 years

Note

How about this one, my dear Emina? ☺️

“Stop fussing over me.” // “Fine.” // “Ok, maybe don’t stop completely.”

"How in the actual fuck are you so clumsy?"

Ian moves his gaze away from the broken shards of glass that are littered on the floor around his feet, even passing by the obvious ragged cut on the side of his hand that looks like it's just begging to bleed, and meets Mickey's eye.

Answering with a childish am not would probably end up being rebutted by the scene around them, fucking obviously, so he just settles on rolling his eyes and moving away from his spot to grab the broom.

Mickey asks, from behind him, "Where the fuck are you going?"

"To clean this up, duh."

"Man, your hand is literally dripping blood."

Ian checks it because, well, he trusts that what his husband is saying is true, and, yeah, the cut from the glass is no longer a red pencil-like scratch on his palm but rather a full-on blood waterfall, pouring down the length of his forearm.

"It's nothing," He says, eyes only slightly bulging ad what a simple shard of glass had done. "I've had worse."

Mickey remains placid for a few moments, just staring at the gash as if it personally wronged him by killing his entire family, but then he moves his angry gaze towards Ian who has it in him to only be slightly scared of what's to come.

Mickey isn't gonna kill him, right? It'd be easier to just step on the glass again... right?

"Sit down," The man in question commands, tone sharp, and Ian wonders if he should be running for the hills or getting down onto his knees, because, well... assertive Mickey is a fucking turn-on.

"Mick, I really don't think this is that big of a--"

Mickey cuts him with a glare so sharp Ian's afraid it'll cut his other hand and he simply points at the chair at their kitchen table, moving away to grab something from a drawer, still in Ian's line of sight.

Bossy, Ian thinks, in bed and out.

Hot.

He looks down at his arm and sees that it is bleeding pretty bad--combine that with Mickey being over-the-top worried, Ian doesn't know whether to keep sitting stoically, waiting for medical help, or just huff and get up.

He settles on rolling his eyes.

"Did you just roll your eyes at me?" Mickey says as he pulls a chair up to sit in front of him, first aid kit opened widely on the table, brand new and unused--weirdly.

Ian rolls his eyes again for good measure.

He winces when Mickey presses the antiseptic deep into his cut, cleaning off the blood.

"Fuck you!" He hisses.

"Quit being such a baby."

"Stop fussing over me, man, I'm not dying. It's just a little cut!"

Mickey looks up from what he's doing--and he's doing it well, years of things-that-shall-not-be-named done by he-who-shall-not-be-named for once working out in his favor--and he watches Ian intently for a second. Maybe two.

Then he nods, "Fine."

And the man, much to Ian's fucking surprise, gets up and heads on to leave.

"W-wait? You're actually gonna stop?"

Mickey narrows his eyes at him, sending him an incredulous look. "You told me to back off!"

"Well of course I didn't fucking mean it!"

Well, he thought he meant it, but fucking come on, Mickey fussing over him and Mickey not fussing over him are both terrible things!

Mickey rolls his eyes, heading back to sit on the chair. Ian notes that his thighs look great in Ian's sweats.

He levels Ian with a look as he picks up the cotton wipes again. "You done bitchin' or are you gonna continue to be a baby?"

Ian holds back a smile, racking his eyes over Mickey despite the sting in his hand. "There's only one baby in this room and it's mine." He motions to his lap with the tilt of his chin. "C'mon baby, you might be more comfortable here."

Mickey looks like he can't believe it for a second, the way Ian's mind works. And Ian himself thinks the pickup line won't work.

"You're insufferable," His husband says, looking like he's reevaluating and regretting every life decision he had ever made that led him to this point.

Ian grins when Mickey sighs exasperatedly, sits up from his chair, and climbs into Ian's lap, settling comfortably. And what Ian does is he keeps making what have to be obvious heart eyes as he works on his hand again.

"Hey, Mick?"

"Hmm?" He asks as he scoots even closer, Ian's hand between their torsos.

"You gonna kiss it better?"

That gets him a whack on the head.

Oh, well, there are worse things in life.

#gallavich #*ficlet #emina answers #based on a prompt #don't mind the voldy joke i just needed it to be there okay?#thank you for the ask my dear evie!#ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #drabble

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dreamylyfe-x · 3 years

Note

Do you think Ian broke up with Mickey in s5 because he didn’t wanna be with him anymore or more of a ‘i love you enough to let you go’ situation?

Oof. Honestly? I think it's both.

This is one of the top ten scenes that people pillory Ian but one thing I think gets ignored is that the scene is told to get us to sympathize with Mickey. I find that fascinating, since I think it probably WAS reshot -- and in fact, maybe that's why it is the way it is. Because if you were going to ask me "What is the most brutal, stab-you-in-the-heart moment in all of Gallavich" I'd be fighting between Ian-gets-kicked-in-the-mouth and... *pause to sob* Mickey Milkovich running through the streets to get to Ian just so that he can get dumped.

And then we get moments like this:

Like. Look. I know Mickey isn't being an angel while Ian is gone but I think he's acting out in a way that is acceptable within their relationship. Like I don't think it would be much of a lasting thing between them. I do think the show spends a lot of time showing us how emotionally devastating Ian's disappearance is to Mickey. It's really, really hard to be in the place Mickey is in where Ian is just GONE and he might be fine and he might be dead and Mickey has no idea. Just none.

So Mickey -- no angel, but during this period I also think he's sort of the best. He is really earning his stripes in the partner department. Mickey is the only person in Ian's life who has what I consider a healthy perspective on Ian's illness. And maybe it's a little simple -- Ian's sick, so he needs to do the things to be less sick. Take vitamins, avoid alcohol, eat with his medication... I never get the sense that any of this is a big deal with Mickey. He's just focused on this very simple and essential goal -- get Ian feeling better. One forehead kiss and one bottle of Gatorade at a time.

Which is why this sucks so much because while I DO think Ian breaks up with Mickey both to save Mickey the pain and agony, AND because he doesn't want to be with Mickey anymore, I think that's all happening because of other people. Namely, the Gallaghers.

I get why Ian's siblings react the way they do when Ian gets sick. It's obvious that they've been traumatized and that they are really scared of what it means that Ian is bipolar. But it's still so hard to watch those moments where Fiona says things like "Mickey doesn't know what he's in for" and where Lip speculates that Ian's "doomed to be a piece of shit" like their mother. Ian isn't stupid. He knows how they feel. They never say that to his face, but I think he's very, very aware of it. And that pain of that has to be breathtaking.

I think inside the awareness of how very little faith his siblings have in Ian's ability to overcome his diagnosis, it's really hard for Ian to see what Mickey is giving him as something he can rely on. Or as something he deserves. We talk a lot about how Ian's love for Mickey gives Mickey things that he has never had before. That's just as true in reverse, because while Ian has other people who love him and support in him a way that Mickey doesn't, Ian doesn't have another person who loves him like Mickey does. Mickey loves Ian with his whole heart. Ian is his favourite person. And he loves all of Ian. He isn't thinking about how it would be great if this whole chunk of Ian didn't exist.

Like... I love the Gallaghers, but who else feels that way about Ian? Who else has he ever gotten that from? I'm not sure Ian can even recognize, at that point, how unconditional Mickey's love is. He flat out can't take it in.

The Ian that Mickey encounters on the porch is a mess. He needs a whole lot of things he isn't getting -- mostly notably time, acceptance, space to figure his shit out and some continuity with his medication! I think what we see in that scene is Ian venting his rage and heartbreak at what's happened to him... but he's also giving Mickey up because he doesn't know how to BE anymore, let alone be with Mickey. He can't conceptualize what he has to give to him anymore. I don't think he can see the future, full stop, and I think the part of the scene that seems the most damning -- when Ian barely reacts to Sammi showing up and pulling a gun on Mickey -- is exactly the moment that shows us how disconnected he is. He's practically in a fugue state, just unable to take in what is happening around him. It takes him almost a whole other season to start to get his feet under him in any meaningful way.

It's sad because Mickey gets so hurt and he truly doesn't do anything to earn what happens. But neither does Ian. They both got kicked in the teeth by life and I think the one thing that doesn't change is how they feel about each other. Ian needs some time to figure out who he is. It'd be nice if it could happen differently, with less chaos and more understanding, but their lives are never, ever like that. Mickey and Ian are always figuring it out on their own, and MOST of their support comes from each other. This is one of those moments where they can't make everything fit together. When Ian has even an ounce of optimism in him, he wants to be with Mickey. But at the end of season 5, I don't think he has that.

#asks #thanks for asking #sorry I'm so slow right now #life stuff #but truly #this is the saddest moment in canon for me #poor mickey #poor ian #poor everyone #except sammi #everyone read heather's Sideways #because boy can I rant about how little sense what happens next makes #shameless season 5 #shameless 5x12

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gallavictorious · 3 years

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But what if someone starts stealing shit in the apartment complex and Mickey gets really fucking pissed about it? Not because morals or because he's upset over quite a few people suspecting him (including, possibly, Ian, who – unlike the neighbors – isn't content to just murmur and throw worried glances Mickey's way; when he hears about the thefts he plays it off all unknowing and concerned and then he marches straight up to their flat and confronts Mickey, who manages to be both highly affronted that Ian would suspect him and very annoyed that Ian still considers Mickey stealing shit in the apartment complex an issue) – no, Mickey's upset because someone has the fucking audacity to rob a place where he, Mickey, lives. Don't they know who they're messing with? He couldn't care less if someone robs these bougie suckers down to their designer thongs, it'd serve them right really, but West Side or not, this is his turf now, and ain't no longfingered asshole gonna go thieving here. It's a matter of principle and face, you know? (Alternatively, Mickey doesn't give a fuck until the thieft takes something of his. Then... ah, there'll be blood now.)

So he sets out to catch the presumptuous bugger and by being a clever bastard with quite a bit of criminal know-how he manages quickly enough. There's a trap and a tussle and in the end there's a feral Mickey grinning madly into the terrified face of a highly surprised thief.

Now, I'd like to imagine that this unfortunate scoundrel is an outsider, come here because he figures the West Siders would be an easy target, and once he realizes that there's a Milkovich on the premises he is falling over himself to assure Mickey that he didn't know, he would never, it's all a mistake–

Mickey is not moved by this, just punches him again and drags him out into the yard, where a bunch of the neighbors are enjoying the pool and are startled into stillness when Mickey and his cowering prisoner appears.

”Here's your fucking thief,” he tells them (giving Ian a very pointed stare as he does so).

There are oh:s and there are ah:s. Ian is simultanteously proud, relieved, amused, and annoyed because he knows Mickey is not going to absoultey insufferable over this later.

”Should we call the police, or did you do that already?” a perfectly lady in her mid-forties asks.

Mickey stares at her blankly for a moment, opening his mouth to say something, but then thinking better of it. ”Actually, I was going to the store and I'm gonna pass right by the station, so I'll just drop him off. Save the pi– our boys in blue the trip, right?”

And the neighbors nod, like yeah, this is good thinking, such a thoughful young man, they've probably been all wrong about him, how unfair of them, they should probably bring him and his delightful husband a nice cake very soon... (All the neightbors except for Alan; Alan is watching with his arms crossed a little bit off, with casual interest, deep skepticism, and detached amusement.)

After possibly helping himself to whatever illgotten goods the thief hasn't had time to fence yet and disposing the criminal (in a South Side alley, I imagine, with a few bruises and bunch of threats about what will happen if they stray into Mickey's territory again) Mickey returns back home in smug triumph. He pointedly ignore the neighbors and their apologetic thanks and heads straight back to the flat to demand that Ian compensate him for his outrageous lack of faith in his husband's virtue.

Ian is proud enough to be slightly pouty about being wrong (and it's not like he thought it was Mickey! He simply entertained the possibility for a moment, which you know, fair!) and even more pouty about Mickey bloody well crowing about it, but at the end of the day he is really damned pleased about Mickey sticking to their deal and kind of turned on by Mickey taking down a thief and also Mickey's ideas about compensation are pretty hot, so yeah. It works out.

(And if any of the neighbors are unhappy with the amount of noise coming from our boys' apartment that night, they'll swallow their annoyance. Mickey's a hero now, after all.)

#no point to this #just mickey being a smug thug #and unpurposedly helpful #and ian having all the feelings for his husband #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #meta ficlet #my stuff

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unbridgeabledistances · 3 years

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prompt: domestic gallavich/being intimate in a nonsexualway bc there’s like 3 weeks til the next episode 😐

your wish is my command, anon!<3 i decided to tie this into next ep bc i simply cannot HANDLE mickey’s outfit/big gay metamorphosis & i needed to create the scene that inspired it so i wrote this

a one-shot bridging 11x06 and 11x07 in which ian and mickey talk about “gay friends,” ripped jeans, and do a bit of processing along the way

tw for brief mention of homophobia/abuse (bc terry lol)

“How come we don’t have any, like, gay friends?”

Ian looked up from where he was laying on the ground, breathing heavily after a series of push-ups, a nightly routine that he was trying to keep intact even though he and Mickey were practically driving the entire circumference of Chicago every day to make weed deliveries from dawn til dusk, leaving them both exhausted. It had been a week since all the shit with Terry, and a month or so since he and Mickey had started the security gig; while months ago their evenings would be spent sitting side by side on the bed in a brittle silence while Ian read or scratched in his notebook and Mickey played games on his phone blasting at full volume in the pajamas he’d been wearing all day, these days the evenings in their bedroom were softer and warmer— like they were settling into the space together, like they were both on the same team instead of constantly clashing and butting heads while trapped in a too-small space. These days, after having dinner in the clamor of the crowded kitchen, he and Mickey would head upstairs and change out of their uniforms, and Ian would work out while Mickey mostly just lounged on the bed, sometimes making commentary and watching him bob up and down with a pensive smirk or scrolling through his phone.

But tonight, Mickey was quiet— his eyes flickered to the curves and edges of Ian’s torso every now and then as Ian broke a sweat, but otherwise he wasn’t playfully poking and prodding like usual.

Mickey had been a lot quieter in general this week, after all the stuff with Terry— Ian knew seeing the source of all of Mickey’s trauma in a wheelchair immobile from the neck down, the most vulnerable Terry could have been, felt worse than someone repeatedly twisting a knife in Mickey’s abdomen. But beyond the initial shock and the almost-murder and lugging him up the stairs, having Terry in a wheelchair twenty feet away did something deeper to Mickey. This whole situation shifted something solid that had been lodged in the pit of Mickey’s stomach for years— Ian could see it, and he fucking hated it. He hated Mickey’s glassy contemplative eyes as he looked out the car window while they drove to a new dropoff location, lost in his head when he thought Ian wasn’t looking. He hated the tightly wound tension between Mickey’s shoulder blades as he slept, curled into himself and twisted in the comforter, facing away from Ian on the other side of the bed. He hated the tight smiles Mickey gave him as he made some offhand joke about Terry when they could hear him cursing and shrieking through the open front windows, smiles that were trying to prove something outwardly but showed the barbed pain stinging at Mickey’s insides. Ian poured out what he could in soft touches, in skims of fingertips at the breakfast table and in an arm over Mickey’s waist while they slept; but he could only give as much as Mickey would take, and for most of the week Mickey had shut everyone out with iron walls.

Ian couldn’t imagine what was stirring in Mickey’s mind; he’d seen some of Mickey’s trauma firsthand, sure, and some of the stories about Terry came slipping through the cracks when Mickey’s guard was down— mostly on those late nights when they both couldn’t sleep and Mickey whispered into the crook of Ian’s neck as they were curled into each other, cradled in the dark silence of their bedroom. But Ian knew there was deeper shit that he hadn’t heard about, and he could see the constant fear of Mickey’s adolescence hanging heavy around his neck all these years later. But Mickey didn’t need anyone to push his walls down— Ian knew he’d open up when he was ready.

Which is why this random question, the most direct statement Mickey had really made to him all week, caught Ian off guard. He sat up, folding his arms over his legs and staring up at where Mickey was slouching on the bed, propped up by a pillow he’d shoved between his back and the wall. “Gay friends?” he asked, more than a little confused.

Mickey cleared his throat. “Yeah, gay friends, y’know. Like all your youth center queers that came to the wedding or whatever.” He suddenly looked down and picked at a fraying thread on his shirt sleeve, not meeting Ian’s eyes.

Ian raised an eyebrow in curiosity. This was random, sure, but Mickey wouldn’t have brought it up if something wasn’t weighing on him, bubbling up after all the events of this week.

“I don’t know— I guess since the pandemic and stuff, I haven’t really kept in touch with Geneva or any of those guys who came to our wedding. We only really talked after I got out of prison because of all the Gay Jesus publicity bullshit, but after you got out I wasn’t really thinking about that as much.”

Mickey blew out a breath, so quietly Ian barely noticed it. Ian stood, wiping his sweaty forehead and plopping down on the bed next to Mickey, folding his legs so their knees were almost touching— but still giving him space, still letting him breathe.

“Why’re you asking?”

“Don’t know, really. Just thinkin’.” Mickey picked at his shirt sleeve again, then flickered his gaze up to meet Ian’s eyes, two clear pools of glassy blue. “Thinkin’ about what life could’ve been like. If I wasn’t scared shitless of who I was for so long.”

Ian felt something twist in his gut, the same queasy pang of pain that always resurfaced whenever he saw Mickey like this, whenever he was reminded of all the unspeakable agony that Terry had put him through.

“It’s fucked up that you didn’t get to be who you were for so long, Mick,” he breathed, knowing that statement didn’t cover the amount of things that were fucked up about this situation.

Mickey ran his teeth over his bottom lip, like he was concentrating. “Yeah.”

Ian let them sit there for a second. It seemed like Mickey wanted to say more, but something in him was frozen solid. After a moment, Ian tried to break the tension.

“Hey, for the record, I’ve had lots of gay friends and you aren’t missing much. There’s lots of PC bullshit that’s important but took me fucking forever to learn— and even then, I never really felt like I totally belonged.” He gently nudged Mickey’s ribcage. “I guess that’s why I forgot about everyone, between work and getting to be with you all the time— I’d rather eat pizza in the mall food court with you than go to some boujee fucking café with the youth center people any day.”

The corner of Mickey’s mouth ticked upwards slightly. “Yeah. Guess you’re right.” His fingers went slack around the threads on his shirtsleeve he’d been picking at. “You don’t… miss it though? Bein’ around people who’re like us?”

Ian paused for a moment, imagining the youth center crew in the same room as Mickey— it would be fucking comical, like people speaking two different languages, like astronauts trying to communicate with aliens on Mars through gestures and confused looks. But that was just because Mickey didn’t know how to speak that language— he’d been kept shrouded in an abusive household with daily death threats for years, and then stowed away in prison where he didn’t have the chance to go to fucking brunches and clubs and education events like Ian could. Ian got the chance to learn all that shit— it wasn’t Mickey’s fault that he never did, and if it was anyone’s, it was all Terry’s.

Ian’s eyes flickered to Mickey’s face— he looked vulnerable and split open, like he was drifting away in all the possibilities of what could have been. When he answered, Ian spoke softly, carefully.

“I mean… I guess I do. There were nice parts of going out with people, or even those after-parties back when I used to work at the club. There’s something nice about being with your people, where you can make jokes about stuff or talk about deep shit and everyone’s on the same page. It’s hard to find that around here.” Ian tentatively crawled his hand over the blanket, letting it rest on Mickey’s knee. “S’there anything else going on?”

Mickey raised his thumb to his mouth, biting at a hangnail contemplatively. “Dunno, man. Just thinking. How it might be nice, to have friends like us. I used to be scared of hangin’ with other queers, but I think that was just some deep bullshit with Terry.” He looked up to meet Ian’s eyes. “It’d be nice to stop… hating that part of myself, or whatever.”

Ian smiled, reaching to intertwine his fingers with Mickey’s and tracing a pattern with the thumb that was free from their grasp on Mickey’s inner thigh, a soft touch of validation that Ian hoped would soak into Mickey’s skin.

“I think so too.” Ian watched the corner of Mickey’s mouth curve upwards. “I can definitely hit up some of the people I used to hang with, and see if they wanna get coffee or something? With the two of us? Only if you want.”

Mickey nodded— then chuckled a breathy laugh, like he was relieved. “Fuck it. Yeah.”

Ian couldn’t help it; Mickey looked so fucking sweet and so relieved that he had to press a kiss to the top of his head. Mickey squirmed underneath him, bristling like a cat that didn’t want to be pet like he did with most of Ian’s soft touches— but Ian just grinned and doubled down, pressing another slower peck onto Mickey’s temple. Mickey blew out a slow breath.

“Don’t know what I’d fuckin’ wear to a brunch with a bunch of Northside do-gooder gays,” he said after a moment, his voice wavering so slightly that no one except Ian would have noticed.

Ian rolled his eyes fondly, giving Mickey’s hand a quick pulse of a squeeze. “Mickey, are you kidding? Wear whatever the fuck you want. You don’t need to change yourself, that’s kind of the whole point.”

“Yeah. Fuck. Guess it is.” Mickey was quiet for a moment, but still chewing on his bottom lip, like he was building the courage to say something more. Ian could tell— he let the comfortable silence hang between them, knowing that Mickey would break it when he was ready.

“D’you think it’d be stupid if I, like, tried to… jazz up my look a bit?” He darted his eyes nervously to Ian’s face, down to their clasped hands, and then back to the covers again. “Like, uh— I don’t know. Maybe wore some shit that didn’t have holes in it. With patterns, or whatever.”

Ian felt his face split into a grin. Patterns, or whatever— god, he loved his dumbass husband so fucking much. He pressed another kiss to Mickey’s cheek— this time Mickey didn’t flinch away, his only resistance a forced roll of his eyes.

“Mick, I don’t think that’s stupid at all. I think you should dress however makes you feel good.”

“’Kay.” Mickey pursed his lips, like he was still hesitant. Ian rubbed his thumb over the back of Mickey’s hand, their fingers still clasped and hanging limply in Mickey’s lap. The silence was hanging again, and Ian could still feel the tight waves of anxiety bouncing off of Mickey. He took in a breath.

“I could… help you, y’know. If you wanted to dress a certain way. At the very least I could gas you up and tell you how hot you look.” Ian paused, smirking and running his eyes over Mickey’s torso. “But I could also help you pick shit out, or whatever. We could order some stuff online.”

Mickey looked up at him, his eyes oddly relieved and open in a way they hadn’t been in days. “Yeah?”

Ian softly smiled. “Yeah. Only if you want to. You’re you, and you don’t have to pretend to be anyone else. I love the way you look— hell, it drives me crazy, Mick. But— if you feel like you aren’t dressing the way that makes you feel the best, or like you’re putting on an act for other people and you don’t want to anymore— then we can figure this out.”

This time it was Mickey that initiated affection, lifting their clasped hands and pressing a quick ghost of a kiss to Ian’s wrist. Ian smiled in acknowledgement, then playfully raised his eyebrows. “You wanna look online now? I’m done working out and more than happy to help you gay up your look.”

Mickey unclasped their hands, playfully shoving Ian squarely in the chest. “Fuck you.” Then, in an uncharacteristic move from the way Mickey had been flinching away from his touches all week, Mickey leaned in closer to Ian’s chest, nestling his back on Ian’s sternum and reaching for his phone that was discarded on the blanket beside him. “Alright, hot stuff. Where’re we fucking shopping?”

Ian grinned and snapped the waistband of Mickey’s sweatpants playfully, shuffling underneath him and getting comfortable.

“’Kay, let me think. I used to order a bunch of shirts and stuff from Primark when I was going out with the youth center people. They have good denim, too.”

Mickey’s bottom lip was caught between his teeth again while he listened. He hesitated for a moment, his thumb hovering over the phone’s keyboard— then, in an automatic movement, he quickly shoved his phone into Ian’s hand, cheerfully wriggling back into Ian’s chest. Ian smirked and unlocked the phone, happy to take the reins— online shopping for fashion was clearly lightyears out of Mickey’s comfort zone.

Ian navigated over to the Primark homepage, plastered with torsos of toned models wearing striped button ups and ripped jeans. His thumb pressed down onto the “denim” tab, and he started to slowly scroll through the rows of options, holding the phone so Mickey could see.

“I don’t know what you really want, but they’ve got pretty cheap pants and shit that’re good quality…” Ian let his voice trail off, speaking softly to where Mickey was lying on his chest in a voice that he knew was tickling the shell of Mickey’s ear. Mickey almost seemed… nervous, or at the very least paralyzed by the wealth of options. He raised his thumb to his mouth, anxiously biting the hangnail again.

“I guess those ripped ones don’t look too bad.”

Ian clicked on the picture Mickey was referring to. They were black jeans, a dark wash and skinny cut, with patches ripped on both knees. Ian felt something well in his chest, probably an overreaction to a pair of jeans— but these jeans were perfect for Mickey. They weren’t too much, weren’t overly fashionable, but they still felt more clean-cut than the baggy pants Mickey usually threw on. These jeans were badass, and totally aligned with Mickey’s don’t-fuck-with-me vibe, but they were deliberate. Stylish. Like they were saying here the fuck I am.

“Yeah?” Ian knew Mickey could tell he was smiling from his voice.

Mickey smirked, craning his neck and turning to look up at Ian. “Yeah. Think I can pull ‘em off?”

Ian pressed his lips together. “Fuck yeah. You’re gonna look so good.”

Mickey just gave a satisfied smile, and nestled back against Ian’s chest again. “Let’s get ‘em, then.”

#i hope u enjoy!<3 #also im sorry I’ve been so mia in regards to prompts #my mom’s been in the hospital all week and it’s just been a very tough and draining time #but writing this brought me so so much joy!#gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #shameless fic #ian x mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #shameless season 11

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