#garcy ff
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For a winter-themed prompt: our favorite time travelers and something involving piles of blankets?
"Lucy," Flynn says, with just enough bite in the growl of his voice to make it plain that this time, he really means it. "Come over here."
"Just a minute." Lucy doesn't look up from the stack of essays scattered across the kitchen table, which are making her lose the will to live the longer she beholds them, but if she doesn't finish them now, she'll have to worry about them and/or work on them over Christmas, and that sounds even worse. "I'll be right there."
"That's what you said ten minutes ago," Flynn points out, with his usual sardonic unconcern. "And twenty minutes before that. I'm sure the world won't end if Johnny Freshman doesn't officially earn his C- in the next three hours." He considers, then shrugs. "Though if we're going by the excerpts you were reading to me earlier, I think that might be generous."
"These grades were due to be submitted yesterday, and the department only gave us an extension because MyWeb crashed." Lucy's voice, by contrast, is increasingly brittle. "I don't have time to just throw that aside, even if I want to. I have to finish this first."
"Ah." Flynn regards her shrewdly. "It's your mother talking in your head again, isn't it?"
Lucy flinches. It is truly unsettling how well this man knows her -- and yes, the shrill taskmaster in her head does sound suspiciously like Professor Carol Preston, reading Lucy's own essays with red pen and making any number of helpful suggestions. But it's true that she has end-of-term responsibilities that cannot just be errantly flung aside, no matter how tempting it is to just snuggle with Flynn on the couch in front of the tree, and she looks back down at the essay. Which is a mistake, and she groans aloud. "Another AI-generated one, are you kidding me? Aren't these kids supposed to be smart?"
Flynn looks at her with a I-seriously-doubt-it expression.
"Right. Forgot who I was talking to." Lucy sighs, writes PLEASE EMAIL ME TO DISCUSS THIS on top of the page in large capital letters, and sets it aside. She's grimly reaching for the next one, hopefully not "written" by ChatGPT, when Flynn pulls out the chair next to her, sits down, and whisks the pen out of her hand. She goggles at him. "What are you -- "
"If these need to be finished," Flynn says, "I'll finish them. Go sit."
"What? You don't -- it would be against the rules for you to grade my papers, when this is my class and I'm the faculty of record -- "
At that, Lucy stops short, shakes her head, and sighs deeply. She and Flynn stare each other down, which as usual, he wins. She rubs her eyes, gets up, and leans to briefly kiss the top of his head. "Please don't fail everyone, all right?"
Flynn makes a sound as if to suggest he makes no promises, then gets to work, ripping through the papers with his usual terminator efficiency: whether altering history or grading history, there is nothing and no one that can stand before his stubbornness, and it is, if she's being honest, definitely one of the sexiest things a man has ever done for her. She pads to the couch, wraps up in the blankets, and lets her exhausted brain veg out, staring at the glowing tree, until Flynn signs off on the last one, gets to his feet, and crosses over to join her, settling on the couch with a creak. He puts his arms around her, and Lucy burrows into his chest, letting him hold her close. "Thanks," she murmurs, as he tucks the blanket around them both and pulls them into a more comfortable position. "I love you."
Flynn grins into her hair. His voice, this time, is very soft. "I know."
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2 or 13 for Timeless, please?
...I appreciate the prompt, I really do, but the prompt on Anon leaves me to take the sole responsibility for inflicting what might be Richard Siken's angstiest poem on my best-known Timeless ship.
All right then.
*
Lucy has known, since before she loved him, that it could end as it has ended. Their shared work has taught her that loss can be just this sudden. She still feels as though it is she who has plunged into nothingness. Time, at least, has not erased him. She is left with tangible reminders. Her favorite mug on the shelf in the kitchen that only he can reach. The black turtleneck she’d stolen so long ago that it no longer bears traces of his scent. Unexpectedly, his voice on tape. His name on the envelope holding the government apology.
#...look this was Not My Idea (entirely. except insofar as it was.)#timeless#have a drabble!#of suffering#garcy ff#we could have had it aaa-aalllll
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one more chance to say what really mattered
A/N: I’ve been caught in a Timeless spiral this last week, and the amazing Titanic episode of @timeless-season-four plus this (completely canon) add-on by @qqueenofhades has finally inspired me to write. I have to wake up in 4 hours to go to Berlin but fuck it. Enjoy some Garcy post-Unsinkable/pre-Aloha ‘Oe fluff. The title is a quote from The Matrix Revolutions because I’m watching that in the background. Sorry, neighbor.
Rating: M for mature. No smut but a looooot of kissing and some suggestiveness and nakedness.
Summary: It’s freezing worse than Lucy has ever experienced, her clothes are soaked through and stiff with frost, yet the physical cold is nothing compared to the cold fear that strikes her heart when she and Wyatt board the Carpathia and there is no Flynn anywhere in sight. The chaos on deck makes it hard to search, but Garcia Flynn is built like a slightly enthusiastic tree and should be able to stand out like one. The fact that he isn’t…the thought is too horrible to entertain.
on AO3 here
It’s freezing worse than Lucy has ever experienced, her clothes are soaked through and stiff with frost, yet the physical cold is nothing compared to the cold fear that strikes her heart when she and Wyatt board the Carpathia and there is no Flynn anywhere in sight. The chaos on deck makes it hard to search, but Garcia Flynn is built like a slightly enthusiastic tree and should be able to stand out like one. The fact that he isn’t…the thought is too horrible to entertain.
And there’s more people than expected. Lucy remembered only a little over 700 people making it alive to the Carpathia, yet she’s pretty sure the ship is already loaded with more than that. And there are still lifeboats being hauled onto the deck. She has flashes of her and Wyatt warning people, forcing the crew to led third-class passengers board, and under different circumstances she would feel some form of relief. There’s only ice-cold terror. Lucy, I’ll see you soon. I swear. Was Garcia’s last promise to her a lie?
They were prepared. They knew beforehand where and when things would go south. This mission, this one mission, had the highest probability of them making it back alive. And yet, here they are, freezing, soaking wet, and sans a Croatian.
“Lucy…” Wyatt says, reaching for her helplessly, trying to offer her some form of comfort. Soup and dry blankets are shoved at them, Wyatt taking one, Lucy still frozen in place, her eyes scanning the despairing, half-drowned Titanic-survivors. Tears slowly blur her vision as the realization that Garcia probably didn’t make it hits her like a…well, like an iceberg, she supposes.
At that moment, behind her, there is some commotion as a collapsible lifeboat is being hoisted to the top. Another heart-breaking, horrifying view as it reaches the deck and a whole wave of dead and dying people spill onto it. Others, however, are staggering, half-frozen and dazed. Among them…
Lucy’s heart lurches, hardly daring to believe, and she takes a single step. “G-Garcia?” she stammers, her voice weak with cold, pain and emotion.
The figure straightens up, whirls around, and stares straight at her. Lucy lets out a sob of relief, as the whole world falls away and her sole focus becomes him. It’s him, it’s Flynn, miraculously standing right there, alive. Half-frozen, shell-shocked, but very much alive. His mouth falls open slightly as he clocks her and then he’s moving. It looks painful, but he’s moving faster than he has any right to move. She’s crying, and either there’s ice melting on his face, or he is too, and then he reaches her. Grabs her around the waist, lifts her up with a strength neither of them knew he still possessed and kisses her.
Weeks, months, perhaps years of tension and emotion breaks open over them like a tidal wave, culminating in this one single moment of relief, hope, despair, love. They could be anywhere. The Carpathia could blow up around them and they would probably not notice. Lucy wraps her arms around his neck, and lays kiss after kiss on him, barely noticing how soaked and freezing they both are. She wraps one hand into his hair, holding on, making sure, because he’s here and she’s never letting go if she can help it.
Vaguely, she’s aware that he’s moving, shifting his grip on her so he can grab a blanket, which he wraps around her shoulders. She does not stop kissing him, and he lets her, sometimes managing to mumble her name between kisses. Then he’s moving down, through a door, into the slightly warmer, drier interior of the ship. His back hits a wall in a hidden corner and he sinks down with her in his arms. It’s dark, cold, and quiet, and not even a little comfortable, but this is not the time for physical comfort.
They break apart for a moment to look at each other. His dark eyes gleam in the darkness as he takes her in. His hand comes up to stroke her hair, her cheek and finally comes to rest in her neck, like he’s checking her pulse. She, likewise, moves her hands from his hair to his face, all the way down to his chest, where she can feel his heart beating. She lets out a small sob, then moves in to kiss him again. And again.
Vaguely, she hears more bodies hitting the deck above them, more desperate cries and shouted commands. If she had any energy left, she might wonder what Wyatt was doing, but all her remaining energy is focused on Garcia. He’s alive, he’s alive, they’re both alive, miraculously. The chances of making it off the Titanic were astronomical, and somehow, they’d all managed to.
“Lucy…” Garcia mumbles, his hands coming up to frame her face, and that’s how she realizes she’s been staring blindly at him for several moments. “We’re here, Lucy. I’ve got you, I’m here, draga.” She wants to ask what it means, but finds she doesn’t really care at the moment. She moves in again, capturing his mouth in another desperate kiss. She shifts position, placing her knees firmly on either side of his legs, pushing her body forward to get even closer. His arms wrap around her waist, and he pulls her against him. They’re basically one, unable to tell where one ends and the other begins.
The Carpathia finally starts to move, Lucy notices distantly. Relieved and anguished cries fill the early morning air, and she pulls away from Garcia to look at him again. Her eyes have adjusted to the dark some more, and she can see more of his face now. He looks at her in awe and wonder, as if he can’t believe he’s holding her, kissing her. “You-you saved more,” Garcia mutters, moving a hand to touch her cheek again. “You changed history.”
Lucy shakes her head, fingers tangling in his hair. “We did that. We saved more. Those passengers from third-class…that was you, wasn’t it?”
Garcia shrugs one shoulder. “I might have killed a steward and destroyed some White Star Line property.”
Lucy lets out a laugh, because of course he did. Chaos incarnate, always looking to do the right thing in the most dramatic way possible. “I adore you,” she says, breathlessly, before moving back in. Garcia is caught off guard this time, and he lets out a small noise of surprise. But he’s not fazed for long, and reels her back in. The kiss turns hungrier this time, the first desperation of their reunion finally fading and the relief of their survival, their…success, in a morbid way, washing over them. She has no intention nor desire to take this any further than what it is, but the swooping feeling in her stomach is building, and if they don’t stop soon, a slightly more animalistic side might take over. But, as ever with Garcia Flynn, rationality is simply thrown out the window, because this wonderful, frustrating man is holding her like she’s the most precious thing in the universe to him, and she’s not immune to that kind of attention.
In the end, it’s a sharp turn of the ship that jostles them enough, Lucy nearly keeling over at the sudden movement. Garcia holds her tightly, pulling her back, and despite everything, they giggle. It’s a wonderful sound, and slightly weird to hear from the mouth of a man that usually growls or sasses. She settles more comfortably against him, pulling the blanket over them both, and puts her head on his chest. His heart beats strongly, comfortingly, against her ear, and she sighs. Now that they’ve finally settled down, she notices again how cold she is, and she shivers. His arms tighten around her and he rubs her arms to give them some warmth. She closes her eyes, counts his heartbeats, reminding her with every beat that he’s alive. Alive alive alive.
“You checking my pulse, Lucy?” Garcia asks, a slight tease in his voice, even as his hand wraps around her wrist to do the same. Lucy can only nod. “I’m alive, Lucy, I’m here.”
Lucy nods, doesn’t move. “I keep thinking that this is a dream. That I’ve slipped into unconsciousness from the cold. Or maybe never left the Titanic at all and these are just my dying moments.” She shakes her head to clear her mind before the fear takes control of her and sends her into a panicking spiral.
Garcia takes her hand, pulls it up to his mouth and kisses every digit individually, his warm breath washing over her freezing skin, sending pins and needles through each digit. “I know the feeling.”
They sit in silence some more, the hold around them slowly filling up with shivering and frightened people. It feels unreal, having read about the most famous shipwreck in history, having watched the movie, having known about this part of history for most of her life, and she’s living it. “The RMS Carpathia takes three days to get to New York, dodging icebergs for most of the journey. We’ll be slowed down by thunderstorms and fog, so it won’t be a pleasant journey.” She can feel her historian side beginning to kick in, take over, take control. Teaching is good. Teaching is not crippling fear. “I hope you’re not seasick.”
Garcia lets out a breath. “Three days. That’s going to be rough.” Lucy nods, linking her fingers with his. It will be rough, but at least they’ll be together. “Rufus is going to be waiting for us at the harbour, on the 18th.”
At hearing Rufus’s name, she looks up hopefully. “Rufus made it out?”
Garcia glances down, and Lucy can see he’s uncertain. “I told him to go straight to the Lifeboat. He promised he would. I hope to God he made it out.”
Lucy feels the fear creep into her heart, but then thinks of Rufus’s brilliance and resilience, and her she looks Garcia straight in the eyes. “He made it out. There’s no other option.” He nods, pulls her close again, kisses the top of her head.
“Lucy? Flynn! Did you guys die of hypothermia or what?” Lucy and Garcia are startled from their little cocoon when a nearby voice starts calling their names. “Guys!”
“Over here, soldier boy,” Garcia calls, half-sarcastic, half-relieved. Lucy feels a little guilty. She’s pretty sure they’ve been down here for at least 2 hours, and not once have they given a thought to Wyatt. From the shadowy darkness, Wyatt stumbles towards them, relief written clear on his face as he drops to his knees next to them and, to everyone’s surprise, wraps them in his arms. Lucy wraps her own arm around his shoulders, too. She feels Garcia, frozen in shock, slowly move to pat Wyatt on the back. Flynn and Wyatt aren’t usually on the same page, and even less physically affectionate, but they seem to be equal parts relieved and embarrassed to be relieved in this situation.
“Look, I know you needed your alone time, but I’ve been getting really worried. I’m sorry if I interrupted…you know…”
Garcia rolls his eyes and pulls Lucy into his lap so as to make room for Wyatt to sit. “We’re slowly contracting hypothermia after just having survived one of the most horrible disasters in recent history, in the hold of an over-crowded early 20th-century steam ship. But yeah, we were humping like bunnies.” Lucy hits him in the chest at that, and he takes it with a wry chuckle. Even Wyatt manages to chuckle at that.
Wyatt settles in next to them, wrapping himself tightly in his own blanket and produces another he managed to snag. He drapes it over the three of them, and the huddle together for warmth, settling in for the gruelling three days yet to come. Ridiculous, Lucy feels a sense of calm. The three of them are together, and Rufus is waiting for them three days from now, as they’ll arrive. They’re going to be fine.
The three of them stumble off the RMS Carpathia in the early hours of the evening on 18 April 1912. Their clothes are stiff from the cold, still slightly damp, and all of them must look ridiculous. It doesn’t stop a lone figure from barrelling towards them and wrapping the three of them in a bone crushing hug. A huge wave of relief washes over Lucy, and fresh tears threaten to spill over. With one hand tightly holding on to Garcia’s, she wraps her other arm around Rufus’ shoulders. Rufus buries his face in her shoulder, and she feels more than hears his sob. “Thank God, thank God, you guys made it,” he mutters.
Garcia wraps him in a gigantic hug, too, the first time Lucy sees true affection between the pair of them. “I was worried you hadn’t made it to the Lifeboat,” he said, his voice breaking a little.
“How long has it been for you,” Wyatt asks, giving Rufus another hug of his own.
Rufus laughs a little maniacally. “Only a couple of minutes. I went back, had to change clothes, because I was soaked to the skin. Had to wade through waist deep ice water to get to…” He clocks their soaked and dirty clothes, realises they’ve been through worse, and stops talking. “Sorry. It doesn’t matter. I changed clothes and jumped straight here.” He takes a step back, looks at them all with tears in his eyes. “You all look like crap, you know.”
And despite everything they’ve just been through, despite all of them being colder than they’ve ever been in their entire life, they burst into laughter. The euphoria of having the Team back together, of being alive, finally settling in, as Flynn, Lucy and Wyatt realise that they’re safe and going home, to functional plumbing and hot water. They hug again and Lucy lets tears fall, and she’s laughing and crying at the same time, but it doesn’t matter, because they’ve made it and her boys are safe.
“Let’s go home,” Rufus says at last, and he links one arm with Lucy’s and wraps another around Wyatt’s shoulder. Garcia moves naturally to Lucy’s other side and slides his hand into hers. They hold each other tight as Rufus leads them towards the Lifeboat. Garcia helps all of them in before climbing in himself, and Rufus prepares to take off while the other three strap themselves in. From across each other, Lucy and Garcia take each other’s hands again, holding on tight, reluctant to even let go for a second. When Rufus turns around to check if everyone is secure, his eyes land on their hands and he raises an eyebrow. “That’s new…”
“Rufus, can we do this when we’re clean, warm and dry, please?” Garcia interrupts, and Rufus turns back with a nod. Lucy locks eyes with Garcia and gives him a soft smile. He squeezes her hand and at that moment Rufus flips the switch. The Lifeboat rocks and spins and then disappears. They materialize a second later, landing roughly, and with a high whine.
“Yeah, she did not like that. Three jumps without a charge is pushing it. But we made it. Let’s go get you guys warm and dry.”
The door opens and they pile out, dazed, confused, a little seasick. “Showers,” Wyatt grunts, as he hugs them tightly once more and then moves immediately towards the company showers.
“No offense, guys, but I gotta get to Jiya. She’ll be worried sick.” Rufus hugs them once more and then hurries off, leaving Lucy and Garcia alone in the landing bay. She moves closer to him, allowing him to wrap his arm around her waist and pulling her against him. He presses his lips to her forehead, then looks down at her. Lucy asks before she can stop herself.
“Garcia, do you – do you want to come home with me?”
He rears back, stunned, and Lucy has to giggle. They kiss like the world is ending, don’t let go of each other for three full days, and the man is still surprised she might not want to leave his side now. “Lucy,” he says, voice raw with emotion, “Are you – are you sure – ?”
“Yes. Yes.” Lucy is more than sure, and is absolutely done with pretending like she doesn’t want to spend every waking moment with him, like he isn’t the reason she gets up in the morning sometimes. She’s done waiting, and when Lucy Preston sets her mind to something, she usually gets it. “If you don’t want to, of course, then you don’t have to, but – ”
“No,” Flynn says, half to himself and then louder, “No. I want to.” He breaks out into a grin and leans down to kiss her. She kisses him back fiercely, determinedly, and the kiss is full of promise, of possibility.
“Come on then,” she whispers, takes his hand, and leads him to the company garage. He follows eagerly, and they can’t help but stop a few times to make-out like teenagers against several walls. They make it back to her home slightly more dishevelled than they left MCI. And then suddenly he’s nervous, and she has to take him by the hand and lead him up the stairs and into her shower. They undress each other as the water heats up, but there’s not heat behind it. They’re gentle, kind and the warm water nearly causes them to drop to their knees with satisfaction. They help each other wash all the muck and rime off, as they slowly remember what it’s like to not feel cold anymore. Lucy fetches them towels and they dry each other off, without any meaning behind it other than taking care of each other. After they’ve both wrapped themselves in towels, Lucy takes his hand and looks up at him with bright, clear eyes. “Should we – do you want to – ”
Garcia takes her face in his hands and silences her with a heated, searing kiss that sends tingles all the way up her spine. “Yes,” he whispers. With a sly smile, she starts walking backwards, taking his hand once more to lead him towards her bedroom. Garcia follows, gripping her hand tightly. When they enter her bedroom, he doesn’t hesitate. He pulls her into him, lifting her up so she can wrap her legs around his waist, and closing the door with his foot. He presses her back against it and captures her mouth in another searing kiss. “Lucy…” he whispers, as he moves his hand down to unwrap her towel. She lets him, feels his fingers brush the side of her breast and the top of her thigh. It’s thrilling, and they’ve waited far too long. She allows the towel to fall away, and he takes a sharp breath. They’ve seen each other naked in the shower, but this is different, the air between them is charged and the promise of what’s to come pours out of every kiss.
“Take me to bed, Garcia,” Lucy whispers, as she starts frantically pulling at his own towel. He grins, kisses her hungrily, then turns around to move over to the bed.
“Yes, m’lady.”
#timeless#garcy#timeless fanfic#timeless ff#garcy fanfic#garcy ff#lily's fanfics#garcia flynn#lucy preston#timeless season 4#timeless s4
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Chapters: 11
Lucy has some strange conversations and some big decisions to make.
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7 “I dreamt about you last night.” for Garcy if you'd like?
“I dreamt about you last night.” Lucy pushes back a branch so it won’t slap her in the face as she drops this tidbit like it isn’t a revelation.
Flynn’s brain stumbles and stutters to a stop and then screeches forward. Dreamt about him how? A nightmare? One of those where it’s clear the dream is about him but he’s a talking owl or maple tree or something? A (gulp) sex dream?
All he can manage is “Oh?”
She’s staring down at the trail as they walk toward the lifeboat. The terrain is fairly uneven here in the woods, but the sudden pink of her cheeks tells him that isn’t why.
“What was I doing?” His own cheeks heat at his daring as her head snaps up, she lurches to a stop, and Flynn gets ready to jokingly retract when she answers.
“You just made me feel safe and…” Her eyes dart away from his. “Well, it was–”
The snap of a twig has him whipping around, swiftly pinning her up against a tree trunk as he shields her with his body. It takes seconds to spot the culprits and he sags in relief.
“It’s okay. Look.” Two rabbits hop away into the brush as he tracks their progress.
Once they’re gone, he looks back at her to find her watching him instead of the wildlife. He’s suddenly very aware of the way they’re pressed together as she takes a deep breath and her chest presses against him. She’s staring at him searchingly and his heart clenches as he reads all the words she’s not saying. The hope, the fear of rejection, but mostly, the sheer want.
She clears her throat. “The coast is clear?”
Instead of the out she’s offering, he leans down to stare into her eyes and run his thumb gently across her cheek. Blood pounds in his ears and he wishes he could say something witty and sexy, but his heart falls out of his mouth instead. “Lucy, I’ll make any dream of yours come true, if you want me to.” God, he sounds like a sap.
“Oh?” Quirking her eyebrow, she parrots his earlier question, but her hands land on his chest and slide up tantalizingly.
Nuzzling his way to her ear, he whispers “You know it’s true.” Then he bends his mouth to finally meet her smile with his own.
#timeless#timeless ff#garcy#garcy ff#lucy preston#garcia flynn#prompt fill#mine#sorry this took so long!#i'm rusty
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Said I Wouldn’t Call
“It would ring five times. He knew no one would answer.”
#this is an old work#but I’m thinking i might go through them and edit and post them like this#and plus this is one of my favorite pieces#I couldn’t find a gif I really wanted for São Paulo Flynn but oh well#the way the two gifs are almost in sync#timeless#Garcy#Garcy ff#Garcia flynn#Lucy Preston#my fic#my writing#(not my gifs)
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Milk and Cookies
[Also on AO3]
“What are you doing?”
Flynn stills, caught in some act she can’t precise, his face illuminated by a candle on his nightstand that wasn’t there when Lucy fell asleep. “Putting it out.”
“No, I know. Don’t.” She’s tired of the dark. “I mean it wasn’t there when I went to bed.”
She sits up and runs her fingers through her hair, they brush the bandage on her forehead. The room smells like chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven, but a little to the left. Lucy squirts at the label on the candle. Sure enough.
“You’re right, it wasn’t.”
“Where did you even find that?” She can’t imagine a reason for his secrecy. “And why’d you light it while I was sleeping?”
“If you don’t like it I’ll put it away.“
“Flynn.”
He responds to the whine in her voice, the exhaustion, and flicks his tongue. “Denise brought it by a little while after Christmas. I stashed in my room.”
“And the middle of the night just needed a little ambience or...?”
“Not exactly.” He sighs, uncomfortable. “You were talking in your sleep the other night, you seemed... unhappy.” By her recent dreams, he’s trying to spare her pride. “I remembered you saying scents have influenced your dreams in the past, so I thought” —he gestures vaguely at the candle.
It’s so achingly sweat she could cry. The gesture bleads.
“Flynn.” With reluctance, he meets her gaze. She offers her hand, hovering fingers splayed. The weight of her own empty palm shakes her wrist.
She can’t say what she wants without something dying, or that’s her 3AM excuse. It’s okay. It’s their language.
Unsure and not without adoration, he lets their hands gently encounter, explore. She interlaces their fingers, red angry skin that reminds her somehow of life.
#garcy#timeless#lucy preston#garcia flynn#garcy ff#timeless ff#fanfiction#my fanfic tag#Fic series: Here and Now
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Link to fic that @magnificentcowboypeanutpaper commissioned this for!
Thanks @ununpredictableme for the reference photo!!!
#timeless#lucy preston#garcia flynn#garcy#my art#timeless fanart#garcy fanart#my commissions#garcy ff
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Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Timeless (TV 2016)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston
Characters: Garcia Flynn, Lucy Preston, Jiya Marri, Rufus Carlin, Connor Mason, Wyatt Logan
Additional Tags: Garcy Secret Santa 2021, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Episode: s02e10 Chinatown (Timeless), Christmas Isn't Canon, Not Canon Compliant - s02e11-12 The Miracle of Christmas (Timeless), Rufus Carlin Lives, garcy, Smut, Shameless Smut, So much smut, Don't Blame Me - It's What Sass Wanted, Sex, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Face-Sitting, Anti-Wyatt Logan
Summary:
It's almost Christmas in the bunker and most of the Time Team are away on a mission. Lucy is feeling sexually frustrated from sleeping in the same bed as Flynn every night, but platonically. Can she find somewhere to relieve the tension safely without being disturbed?
Happy Christmas @coldsasschronicles, I’m your Secret Santa!
Hope you enjoy the shameless smut!
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I will always attempt to prod you for new Garcy content, so, here's hoping this speaks to you 😂 (also happy belated birthday! <- my Tumblr wasn't working properly on you big day, and didn't let me send you a HBD greeting then, so I'm doing it now) 🥳
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Garcy
41. Don't look back
The New England night is rank with cold, with the briny scent of the distant sea, with woodsmoke and creosote, tar and turpentine, hay and mud. Lucy stands with her arms crossed, her coat drawn tightly over her shoulders, staring out at the dark woods that stretch endlessly beyond this simple farmhouse on the edge of Boston -- in the year 1880, a fast-growing industrial city, thronged with largely-Irish immigrants, strung up with newfangled electric lights and trolley cars, steamships moored at the docks, but still straining at the old Pilgrim bones beneath, forced to accept all this modernity at a blow. In other circumstances, she would almost like the chance to look around. Not, however, as if that is going to happen. Now or ever.
She shivers harder. She can still feel the wind cutting right through her, and surely it's her imagination that it's not just a figure of speech, that she's becoming more and more insubstantial, never-existing, by the moment. She feels dreamy, almost comfortable, the sort of lulling reverie you slip into when you're on the brink of freezing to death and it feels downright pleasant. She looks down at her hands, tries to see if she can see through them to the ground. It would be just, perhaps. It would be the only outcome.
Just then, there's a particularly loud commotion in the farmhouse behind her, and she turns around sharply. She hasn't been paying attention to the low-level clamor -- the shouts, the shots, the smashing, the screaming, the sort that would attract the neighbors if there were any in range. As it is, there aren't, and that too is all by design. She stands here, a cold and merciless goddess, listens to men die inside, and feels... nothing. Her mother has, in the end, done her job too well. Carol Preston dutifully raised her daughters in Rittenhouse, trained Lucy to be the heiress, the crown princess, and now it's playing out exactly as she intended, with one devastating little twist. It's Rittenhouse dying in there, all of them, or at least Lucy so badly hopes. All her ancestors, her great-grandfathers and uncles and whatever else, and that means that when they get back to the present day (if they get back to the present day), there is a very good chance that she will never have existed at all. Will be a revenant, a time-ghost, a relic from another timeline who has nothing left at all, no root to her old life, and not even anyone else's memories. Hell, she might just wink out on the spot, a twisted paradox too contradicted to exist. Is it worth it? Can anything possibly be worth this?
Yes, Lucy thinks. Her face is stone, her eyes are dry, she does not weep a single tear. Yes, it is.
At last, the banging and blasting falls silent. Ruthlessly effective as he is, Garcia Flynn is far from subtle. There's a long moment in which Lucy panics, thinking that they managed to strike a lucky blow, that he's gone too, but then he emerges, tall and dark and shadowed, his suit sleeves spattered in blood. He looks at her and doesn't say a word. Just goes to his knees in front of her (even so, he's still almost as tall as she is) and holds out the gun, a medieval knight pledging his sword to the service of his lady. At last, his voice half a whisper in the wind, he says, "It's done."
Lucy shivers from head to toe. She looks down at him and doesn't answer. Yes, her ancestors might all be dead now, but there's still no guarantee that Rittenhouse has been erased, root and branch. One of them might have left a pregnant wife somewhere, or a secret mistress with a love child, or all the other ways history contorts around on itself to protect its continuity. She could have done all this, live with the knowledge of it forever, and still failed. Flynn might have gone in there to kill her whole family, but Lucy is the one who brought him here.
(What would she have done, if they hadn't found each other? Who would she be? Carol's perfect little Rittenhouse princess, just as planned? Not this, this Salem witch, hands dripping with blood just as much as Flynn's. It's only on his because she asked him to do it, and he agreed. That's love, she supposes. A twisted and dark and desperate version, but still love. He is the only thing she has.)
"Flynn." Lucy doesn't recognize her own voice. "Please. Get me out of here. Get me out of here."
Flynn considers, then nods once. He lifts her halfway, arms around her waist; as ever, her weight is completely negligible to him. It's going to be a long walk back to the Mothership, where Rufus is waiting nervously. When they get in, the jump very well might not work, as long as Lucy is in there. The space-time continuum might reject traveling back with an alien entity, an erased object. She might have to get out and stay in 1880 forever, the price of removing Rittenhouse in the present. Is she ready to do that? Can she stand it? Or will she just simply evanesce away?
"Flynn," she starts again, shaking, her face buried in his shoulder. He walks quickly, but somehow without hurrying. The wool of his jacket smells of lamp-oil and fresh blood. "Flynn, I'm not going to be able to come back, not if I don't -- "
"Yes." He sounds calm, certain, cold as the snow. "You're going to be fine, Lucy. Rufus will figure it out. You'll come home with us."
"But back there -- " Lucy twists, tries to peer over his shoulder, to look back at the dark farmhouse where Rittenhouse has, pray God, finally met its utmost end. "If you -- "
"Shh." Flynn's grip tightens on her. "Don't look back, Lucy. It's all right. Trust me. I would never do anything to hurt you."
It's a deeply ironic utterance, considering what he just did to her whole family (on her express invitation, but still) and how their relationship started, but she does. She trusts him. She holds onto him with both hands. Don't look back. Like Lot's wife fleeing from Sodom, unable to resist the curse, transmogrified into salt. There are tears on her cheeks. She tastes it on her lips. She doesn't know who she's crying for. It seems impossible for it to be her.
Don't look back.
Lucy buries her face in Flynn's neck again, and does not.
#battleshipgarcy#ask#lucy x flynn#garcy#garcy ff#fic prompts#spooky season#i would apologize for the angst but also#ahem#also thanks for the belated hbd!
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Weapon of Choice
As much as she loved Wyatt, Lucy could barely stand living in such close quarters with Jessica. It was probably because she loved Wyatt so much that she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Time and time again, Garcia had joined her in front of the shared TV late at night, offering her a glass of water to sober her up while everyone else was asleep. He doesn’t talk much.
The night after Lucy and the team had travelled to 1936 and somehow managed to secure the future of rock and roll and the Civil Rights movement, she couldn’t sleep.
Sighing, Lucy grabbed her bottle of vodka that, as Garcia had truthfully said, she stashed under her bed and quietly padded to Garcia’s room. Lucy knocked gently. After a moment, Garcia opened the door. He didn’t look surprised to see her; his dark eyes were gentle as he stepped aside to let her in.
“It’s your turn to choose a movie,” Lucy said, sitting on his neatly made bed without being asked.
Garcia raised his eyebrows. “I wasn’t aware I had a choice.”
Lucy glanced at him. “I’m tired of making choices.” She looked back at the floor.
Garcia decided to not comment on the fact that Lucy had also broken with tradition by coming to his room instead of watching in the communal room. Instead, he opened his laptop and, after a moment, pulled up an older movie.
Without saying anything, Garcia settled next to Lucy and they both watched the first few minutes of the movie play out, occasionally passing the bottle back and forth.
“Wait a second,” Lucy said, squinting at the screen. “Is that—“
“Castle Varlar. And that, my dear Lucy, is you,” Garcia says, pointing at a busty brunette hanging on to Sean Connery for dear life.
Lucy lets out a strangled laugh and squeezes her eyes shut. “Wow, thanks Ian Fleming.”
“I have spotted a few discrepancies between you and your film alter-ego,” Garcia deadpans.
“Garcia,” Lucy warns, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol in her veins.
“Your hair is longer. And this woman’s eyes are too small.” This makes Lucy laugh again.
The two of them settle into comfortable silence again. Lucy sets the bottle on the floor and leans her head onto Garcia’s shoulder.
About an hour into the movie, James Bond inevitably ends up in a bed with the Lucy look-a-like. Lucy groans as Garcia tsks. “You didn’t tell me about that part of your mission.”
“Because it didn’t happen,” Lucy insists, giggling. “Not that he didn’t try to make it happen.”
Flynn gasps in mock horror. “You mean Ian Fleming hit on you?”
Lucy rolls her eyes. “Don’t look so surprised, Flynn.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He knows as well as Lucy what it means. Sometimes living in a Cold War-era bunker twenty-four/seven means you pick up on things you normally wouldn’t have noticed.
Lucy rests her head on Garcia’s shoulder. “I won’t say it until you do.”
“There’s the Lucy I know. Very stubborn.” Flynn smiles as Lucy lightly pushes him. They finish the film in silence.
Garcia shuts the laptop, suddenly plunging the room into darkness. “I love you too, Lucy.” His accent is thick.
Lucy smiles and gently reaches up, touching his face.
#garcy#garcy fanfic#garcy ff#garcia flynn#garcia flynn x lucy preston#flynn x lucy#lucy preston#castle varlar#weapon of choice
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Brain Please
I have neither energy nor time for the idea of Garcy in a hardly lit steamy jazz lair. Around S1 when the air is sizzling around them and they cannot resist each other although they really should.
#garcy#garcia flynn#lucy preston#fic idea#garcy fic#garcy ff#brain is evil#idea is hot#jazz#enemies to lovers when they shouldn't
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Hail to the Chief Historian
Chapter 23: At Last
(Chapter by RedGold. This is an E-rated chapter!)
Summary: The president and the historian. Alone at last. 😏
#flynn friday imagines#ffi: garcy ever after#garcy au#time team#as flynn's cabinet staff#garcy fanfic#garcy ff#timeless fanfic#timeless ff#garcy#garcia flynn#lucy preston
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Link
Chapter: 10
Flynn is getting there but he has a lot of questions, and quite a lot of unresolved anger too.
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RMF 2
This is a Timeless fic, sequel to Resting Murder Face. I’m not sure I’ll ever finish…but we’ll see.
Snippet:
So when Flynn walks into their room to find her with a foot propped on her cot, skirt lifted, strapping a leg holster around her thigh, he about has a heart attack. Every fiber of his being is yearning to cross the few steps to her, grip that thigh (check if that skin is as soft as it looks while he’s at it), hitch it over his hip and—
“What? Am I doing it wrong?” Lucy frowns at him.
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Wrapped Hands & Healing Hearts
“I’m not strong enough for this anymore.”
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Last Seen Blogs
