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a-dinosaur-a-day · 1 year ago

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What follows is a retelling of the Jurassic Park story, mainly based on the 1993 film, with portions of the original novel used to supplement the story. The main point of divergence occurs when the park is unable to find workable nonavian dinosaur genetic material for cloning, since - as in the real world - dna degrades much too rapidly. Instead, the park consists only of extinct dinosaurs that can be brought back - birds from the last 2.5 million years. What happens after that is, as Ian Malcolm would say, an emerging pattern.

Infinite thanks to beta readers @killdeercheer, @otussketching, and @plokool! And extra thanks to @i-draws-dinosaurs for the killer logo!

Link to the masterpost of chapters

Chapter Two: Egg Mountain, United States

“Doctor Sattler! Doctor Grant! We’re ready to try again!”

Ellie stood up from the dirt in front of her, brushing off the sand from her shorts and looking around for the source of the call. Alan took a longer time to get up, looking grumpy and befuddled at the interruption.

“I hate computers,” Grant muttered.

Ellie wanted to laugh, but she managed to keep it in. Computers felt like something from a separate world – a cleaner one, a manufactured one. Out here, in the badlands, surrounded by mountains and dust and old bones, computers were alien. But they had one.

And it had quickly become Alan’s archnemesis.

“The feeling’s mutual,” Ellie joked, smirking at him as he shook his head in bemusement. The two walked down the side of the mountain towards the equipment, including a large lead slug dispenser (aka Thumper) and a portable computer covered in dust and dirt. The computer ran the computer-assisted sonic tomography (CAST) program – Thumper would send a lead slug into the ground, which would generate waves, allowing for the computer to get an idea of the layout of the ground around the slug. The computer would then, theoretically, show a reading of any fossils detected by the sonic waves. Usually, the best it could do was show the approximate location of a fossil – which saved significant amounts of time on digging. But, with repeated readings, sometimes a more detailed outline could be found. That detailed outline was then helpful for digging in the right location – and preserving that location from further environmental damage.

As they reached the bottom of the valley, the students activated Thumper, causing a loud boom to resonate through the mountains. Alan made a beeline for the computer monitor to read the info, while Ellie meandered behind him across the dirt.

“Hey Dr. Sattler!” one grad student shouted. She waved back at her with a smile. There weren’t a lot of women on the dig site, so each one supported the others as much as they could.

By the time she reached the monitor, the image from Thumper was finally loading on this screen.

“This new program’s incredible,” another grad student, a man this time, said, “Few more years development and we won’t even have to dig anymore!”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Alan scoffed, causing the gathering crowd around the screen to laugh with him.

“It’s... a little distorted, but I don’t think it’s the computer,” the student continued, typing away to try and manipulate the image’s presentation. Ellie could see right away, however, that the skeleton was in the right pose. She walked up to the screen and pointed, from a distance, at the tell-tale characteristics.

“Post-mortem contraction of the posterior neck ligaments... Deinonychus?”

“Yes, and it’s in good shape, too,” Alan confirmed, walking closer to the screen himself, “Five, six feet long, I’m guessing nine feet tall. Look at the –“

Suddenly, Alan’s touching of the monitor made everything go fuzzy.

“What’d you do?” Alan asked the student angrily.

“He touched it,” Ellie laughed, patting the student comfortingly on the shoulder, “Dr. Grant’s not machine compatible.”

“Hell, they’ve got it in for me,” Alan grumbled, before composing himself, “And look at the half-moon shaped bones in the wrists. It’s no wonder these guys learned how to fly!”

Everyone laughed around him. While birds being living dinosaurs was a fairly widely accepted hypothesis in the field, it still drew some chuckles – especially from the unaware.

“No, seriously!” Alan said, turning around to look at everyone, his educator face completely taking over the irritation face he had previously, “Dinosaurs have more in common with present-day birds than they do with reptiles. Look at the pubic bone, turned backward, just like a bird... look at the vertebrae, filled with air sacs and hollows just like a bird... and even the word Raptor means, ‘Bird of Prey’.”

“That doesn’t look very scary,” scoffed one of the children on the dig, an annoying little boy who was constantly complaining about the connections between living birds and their extinct dinosaur relatives, “More like a six foot turkey!”

Alan lost his educator face, and Ellie found herself smirking at the sheer irritation he had for an expression instead.

“Have you met a turkey, kid?” Alan asked.

“Oh no,” Ellie muttered, but she wasn’t about to stop him. Alan had been patient with the kid for weeks, and his time was up.

“Um, at Thanksgiving,” the kid responded.

“Okay. So, to begin with, a turkey is already nearly six foot – they can grow up to four,” Alan stated, smirking, “Then, when you are just alone in the woods – or, you think you’re alone – with no one around, guess what is the last thing you want to hear?”

“Um, turkeys?”

“The distant sound of many turkeys coming right in your direction. You see, turkeys – they aren’t predators. So they know at any time they could be on the receiving end of a horrible, horrible attack. And so they, like all prey animals over a certain size, will defend themselves to the death. More human deaths are caused by the vegetarian hippopotamus each year than by sharks or any other predator. And turkeys? They have that ferocity, too.”

The kid did not have a response to that.

“Some might peck you. That has a nasty sting. Others may just run at you, flashing their feathers, making loud sounds. Enough to set your teeth on edge. And then there are the kickers. Nowhere more than the feet can you see how birds are just dinosaurs among us,” Alan let out a snort, “Those claws, that force, it is enough to break bones and other organs.”

Alan stepped up closer to the boy, getting right in his face. Ellie watched, moderately mesmerized, too much so to intervene.

“Just one, a human alone could not deal with. But on your own, surrounded by who knows how many? You would wish it was a Deinonychus, kid. A Deinonychus eventually gets full.”

The boy visibly gulped in front of everyone, who was dead silent. No laughs emerged from a single person.

“So, you know. Try to show a little respect.”

“Okay,” the kid said, nodding. Alan nodded in response, and turned to walk away.

The child’s mother ran forward to him, while Ellie followed after Alan, shaking her head in bemusement.

“If you wanted to scare the kid you could have pulled a gun on him, you know,” Ellie snorted.

“Yeah, I know,” Alan sighed, “Kids. You want to have one of those?”

Ellie laughed, gesturing behind her, “I don’t want that kid, but, a breed of child, Alan, could be intriguing.”

“Ha!”

“I mean, what’s so wrong with kids?”

“Look, they get in the way. I mean, I never thought I’d date anyone, before I met you,” Alan said, “It never interested me.”

“You just wanted to find the bones,” Ellie laughed, shaking her head.

“I just wanted to find the bones! But one person is enough for me. More, and this time I’m responsible for their well-being? For what kind of person they turn into? Nah.”

“You didn’t think you’d like dating me, and you did!” Ellie countered, jabbing him lightly in the arm.

“Cause you’re the only person who understands me,” Alan scoffed, “Besides. You don’t smell.”

“What? Kids don’t smell, either!”

“Some of them smell!” Alan insisted, “Babies smell!”

The whirring of a helicopter cut off their conversation, and both immediately ran down to the site to cover up the new find, shouting for tarps to drape over the rocks and exposed bones. Alan sprinted to the helicopter, while Ellie ran down to the site, covering it quickly with the help of the volunteers and students.

“Get it down – yes – secure the corner – don’t let it be exposed! Even this amount of wind from the helicopter could erode away important information! Yes, get that side down, too!” Ellie barked at everyone, directing people to properly place down the tarp. Satisfied the specimen was secure, she quickly ran towards the trailer, where she had just seen Alan disappear into.

“Alright!” Ellie shouted, opening up the door, “Who’s the jerk?”

“Uh, this is our, paleobotanist, Doctor –“

“Sattler,” Ellie filled in, frowning. In the room was an older man, with a white beard and glasses, wearing a beige hat. Ellie didn’t have a moment to ask before Alan continued,

“Ellie, this is Mr. Hammond.”

Ellie felt her mouth drop open in shock.

“I’m sorry about the dramatic entrance, Dr. Sattler, but...”

“Did I say ‘jerk’?” Ellie laughed, grimacing.

“We’re in a wee bit of a hurry, here. Will you have a drink? We don’t want to let it warm, come along, sit down, sit down.”

It was weird, how he managed to make the space his own, just by virtue of having paid for it, even though it was Ellie’s and Alan’s. Ellie tried to take control, reaching for glasses in the sink, as he protested. Before she knew it, she was sitting at a table.

“Now, I’ll wait a minute, because I have a surprise for you!” Hammond laughed. Conveniently, the door opened at that moment, and a tall dark skinned woman entered the room, her hair done in dreads, a grin spreading across her face.

“Guess who’s baaack!” the woman sang, beaming at Alan and Ellie.

“Miri!” Ellie shouted.

“Miri!” Alan said in unison. Miri laughed and ran to hug Ellie, shaking Alan’s hand eagerly afterwards.

“Mr. Hammond picked me up on the way over here, I’ve been a consultant on his project for the past year down at my dig – I have so much to tell you, when was the last time we saw each other?” Miri said rapidly, laughing at the shocked looks on Ellie and Alan’s faces.

“Last SVP, I think!” Ellie responded, “Oh it’s so good to see you! Are they treating you well down in Florida?”

“As well as can be expected for Florida!” Miri laughed, “But we just found a new Titanis skeleton, and since Pierce passed I’m in charge of the dig site!”

“I was so sorry to have heard of his passing, Miri,” Alan said, “You’re more than capable to take over for him, but so soon after you graduated from here –“

“The man lived in a hoarder house, Alan,” Miri snorted, “A literal hoarder house. Besides that, I was brought on the team because he knew he needed a good replacement. Regardless, I’m here now.”

“And good thing, too!” Dr. Hammond laughed, “Your former mentor would never have been able to come alone on our little trip, Dr. Spinoza!”

“About that, as I was saying in the helicopter, you’re never going to get Alan to –“

“Never going to get Alan to what?” Alan asked, affronted. Ellie snorted, making him glare at her for a moment.

“I’ll get right to the point!” Hammond chortled, clearly delighted by the proceedings, “I like you. Both of you. I can tell instantly about people, it’s a gift. Could tell I liked you, could tell I liked Miri. Now,” Hammond took a deep breath, beaming, “I own an island. Off the coast of Costa Rica. I’ve leased it from the government and spent the last five years setting up a kind of biological preserve. You remember the consultancy you did for me at the time?”

“Yes, but after a point you said we were no longer needed for that?” Alan asked in confusion.

“Which is when he reached out to me,” Miri said, nodding.

“Well, the island is really spectacular. Spared no expense. Make the one I‘ve got down in Kenya look like a petting zoo. And there’s no doubt, our attractions will drive kids out of their minds.”

“And what are those?” Alan asked sarcastically. Miri snorted.

“Small versions of adults, honey,” Ellie laughed.

“And not just kids, everyone! We’re going to open next year, that is if the lawyers don’t kill me first. I don’t care for lawyers, do you...?”

“Oh we... uh...” Ellie began.

“Don’t really know any,” Alan and Miri finished with him in unison.

“Well I do, I’m afraid. There’s a particular pebble in my shoe who represents my investors. Says they insist on ‘outside opinions.’”

“What kind of opinions?” Ellie asked.

“Well, your kind, Dr. Sattler and Dr. Grant, not to put too fine a point on it. And Dr. Spinoza’s too. I mean, let’s face it – in your particular fields, you’re the top minds! And if I could just persuade you to sign off on the park, you know give it your endorsement, maybe even pen a wee testimonial, I could get back on schedule!”

“Is the work I’ve been doing for you not enough of a testimonial?” Miri laughed.

“Well, they want you to see the place, get a feel for it, as it were. They want an expert’s eyes on the whole proceedings.”

“But why would they care what we think?” Dr. Sattler asked.

“With your expertise from paleobotany and paleoecology, Dr. Spinoza’s in behavior, and Alan’s in anatomy, you have the best handle on what sort of problems we may deal with in the park –“

“What kind of park is this?” Alan asked, frowning in confusion.

“It’s right up your alley,” Hammond laughed, handing the three of them drinks.

“Please come down, you two, with Dr. Spinoza and I, for the weekend. I’d love to have both of your opinions on the project. We have a jet standing by at Choteau,” Hammond pleaded.

“I basically had no choice, since he’s sponsoring the dig,” Miri sighed.

“Well, look, we just dug up a new skeleton –“ Alan began.

“And I will compensate you, as well, by fully funding your dig...”

“This is a very unusual time,” Alan continued.

“For a further three years,” Hammond finished.

“Well.. uh...” Ellie stammered, “Where’s the plane?”

“Yeah, okay, okay!” Alan shouted, clinking his glass with Hammond and turning around to Ellie in excitement. Both shouted happily and hugged each other, spinning around the room.

“Three more years!”

“We can get the entire raptor nesting site!”

“Three more years!”

Hammond chortled happily, as the pair reached to grab bags from under the table and pack them.

Soon, they would be off to Costa Rica.

#jurassic park #jurassic park au #jurassic park: it's ironic #palaeoblr #dinosaurs #birds #the birdcage

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sacredsorceress · 4 years ago

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Honor || Peter Parker

pairing: peter parker x reader

summary: your best friend peter parker who has a secret crush on you catches your boyfriend cheating with another girl

a/n: reblogs and replies are super appreciated!

word count: 3.1k

warnings: mentions of cheating, swearing, angst, fluff

masterlist || request

Peter sat on the edge of the rooftop, kicking his feet back and forth while monitoring the street below him through a pair of binoculars. It was a slow afternoon and a chill hit him as he watched the sun begin to set over the bridge in the distance. He was beginning to wonder if maybe he should head home for the evening, get some homework done and eat when his binoculars landed on a couple sat on a street bench with their tongues practically down each other’s throats.

“Gross.” Peter grumbled, moving his binoculars on from the couple to skim the remainder of the street.

Although his sight had shifted to the other end of the street, his attention was grabbed by the sound of the girl’s voice from the couple he had just had the displeasure viewing, calling her boyfriend’s name.

At the sound of the name, Peter quickly swung his pair of binoculars to land on the couple again. He knew that plenty of people could have that name and that it was probably not even worth checking out, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Ian,” The girl laughed pulling away from the boy’s lips, but still in his arms.

Peter began to feel a knot twist in his stomach and his heart started beating rapidly. It couldn’t be him, right?

As he shifted the binoculars a bit more to land on the boy’s face he immediately recognized his face. How could he not? There was no doubt that the boy holding another girl in his arms was none other than your boyfriend, Ian.

As soon as he recognized him, Peter could feel nothing but rage. Ever since the moment that you had first mentioned him, Peter hated him. Before he had even met him he hated him because he had you. After he met him, he grew to hate him even more. Peter didn’t trust your boyfriend and had always had a bad feeling about him in his gut since the two of you had started dating a month ago which he now realized he was right. He didn’t feel good about it, however, he just felt sick looking at the sight in front of him.

How could he do that to you? He had you- Peter’s most favorite person in the world- who he would lay down his life for- and he had the audacity to cheat on you. Peter had been in love with you since he couldn’t even remember when and you still chose him- the guy he was now watching cheat on you in front of his own very eyes.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Peter swore to himself, pulling himself up off the ledge and throwing his binoculars to the side.

As he stood on the ledge, he didn’t know what to do. How was he supposed to handle it without exposing himself as Ian’s girlfriend’s best friend? However, Peter’s logic was probably the last of his guiding principles at the moment as he thought about how hurt you would be when you found out.

Without much thought, Peter shot a web at the lamppost across the street, swinging himself to land right in front of the couple.

At the sound of Peters feet loudly hitting the ground, the girl jumped away from Ian’s arms with a yelp escaping her mouth.

“Hey guys!” Peter waved to the couple sitting in front of him, attempting to mask his anger.

“Spider-Man?” The girl asked, eyes wide and her hands shooting to cover her mouth. “Did we... did we do something wrong?”

At her question, Peter shook his head adamantly, moving his hand to rest under his chin as he began to pace back and forth in front of the couple.

“No, ma’am. Nope. No no no no.” He stated. “I was just wondering- are you two dating?”

When the girl answered ‘yes’ confidently, Peter stopped in his place turning towards the couple. Restraining himself from going after Ian on the spot for not only cheating on you, but dating a completely different girl behind your back, he continued.

“Huh.”

The girl shifted her gaze from Peter to Ian before landing back on Peter. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Peter shrugged, crossing his arms and beginning to pace back and forth once again. “I don’t- I don’t know, ma’am...”

Peter felt bad that he was worrying this girl, but then again she had the right to know and Peter was going to drag this out for your cheating boyfriend for as long as possible.

The girl leaned forward in her seat. “What is it?”

Peter then halted in front of the bench. “It’s probably nothing.” He shook his head.

“Please-”

“Well,” Peter began, gesturing his hand from himself to the boy in front of him. “I just thought... you know.. that I saw him here the other day with another girl, but she looked nothing like you so that can't be right. Maybe it’s just my eyes, you know, I see a lot of people, but I could’ve sworn-”

“Hey man, what the fuck!” Ian shouted at Peter.

The girl who was previously sitting beside him, stood up and walked backwards away from the bench. “Ian, is that true?” She asked.

Ian shifted his view from Spider-Man to the still unnamed girl that he had been kissing a second before. Before answering his girlfriend, however, Ian finally focused on Peter, glaring his eyes and pushing himself up from his seat on the bench.

“What the fuck’s your problem? Who do you think you are coming in here and starting shit? Don’t you have actual shit to worry about?”

When he came a little too close for Peter’s liking, Peter spoke up again. “Hey, dude, back up-”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

And with that sentence, Peter had had enough. Holding himself back from kicking his ass right then and there, but still wanting him out of his face, Peter raised his hand, instead shooting a web at the boy causing him to be thrown back into his seat with a grunt, held down by Spider-Man’s webs.

Before another word could slip out of anyone’s mouth, the unnamed girl stepped forward, ripping off a bracelet that had previously adorned her wrist and threw it at Ian who was still restrained.

“Don’t call me.”

“Wait!” Ian called, watching the girl walk away with her back towards him. Despite his pleas, however, she continued without another look. “Baby, wait! I can explain.”

At the sound of him calling her baby, Peter grimaced under his mask. The sight of him struggling under the webs admittedly made Peter feel good, but the absolute rage he felt at the excuse of a boyfriend sitting in front of him remained.

When she left his point of view, Ian swapped his attention back to Spider-Man, shouting.

“Seriously, who the fuck are y-”

Without the girl there to watch him and barely anything to hold him back from his own anger, Peter stomped towards the boy, grabbing the collar of his shirt and shoved him back against the bench.

“I’m Spider-Man and you fucked up.”

As Peter watched the fear in the guy who he had hated for so long’s eyes, he felt a sense of pride for getting at least a minuscule piece of revenge on your behalf.

He shoved your boyfriend back one last time before letting go and walking in the other direction without a word. He heard Ian calling for him from behind, but he refused to acknowledge him, instead making his way towards your apartment.

He didn’t know what he was going to say to you. As much as a part of him was happy that the relationship between you and Ian would surely be over, he already knew that it would hit you hard and the last thing he enjoyed seeing was you in any form of distress.

The sun had already set by the time he reached your street. It was dark and there was barely anyone on the road, luckily enough for him so he could climb up to your window without raising any suspicion.

With a light knock on the glass, he soon after heard shuffling around your bedroom before seeing your smiling face opening the window.

His heart sunk in his chest knowing that he was about to ruin your day and wipe the sweet smile he loved so much off of your face.

As soon as he climbed inside and sat on your bed, he pulled off his mask. Without even a word having come out of his mouth yet, you asked.

“What’s wrong?”

Peter fiddled with the mask in his hands, not meeting your eyes. He was a horrible combination of angry, sad and worried. Of course you would know something was wrong without him even opening his mouth- you could read him like a book. Although he knew he had to tell you about what had just happened, he didn’t know how and he hated the idea of hurting you.

“Peter?” You asked again, this time sitting down beside him on your bed.

Peter shook his head still refusing to meet your eyes. “Y/n...” He began.

His not answering and the somber sound of your name leaving his lips caused you to begin to worry. You rested your hands on Peter’s leg that was bouncing anxiously to calm him and let him know that it was okay.

“You’re scaring me, Parker.” You told him. “I can handle it. What is it?”

Peter knew that you could handle it. You could handle anything. The night that he told you that he was Spider-Man, you barely even flinched- just making him promise that he would be safe and that he would remember you when he was “buddy buddy” with the Avengers. He remembered laughing that he could never forget you. He never could.

He knew that you would be able to handle it and get over it- you had only dated Ian for a month- but he knew it would still hurt.

“I was... I was just patrolling and I saw... Ian.” He told you, your boyfriend’s name slipping out of his mouth in a snarl.

“Okay...”

“And um-“ He paused, scratching the back of his neck, still refusing to meet your eyes. “He was... he was with some other girl.”

“Oh.”

Peter continued on with details but you had already stopped listening by then. You knew enough of what was going on just by him saying it and you couldn’t deny how you felt sick thinking about it.

Peter ceased his rambling, finally allowing himself to look at you and when your eyes were focused on the other side of the room, and beginning to glaze over he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you towards him.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

You knew however much he hated Ian, he meant it. You trusted Peter more than anyone, but until you were pulled into his hug, you had tried to contain your feelings. You wrapped your arms tightly around him and hid your face in his neck, similar to the way you had the first time he had taken you swinging around the city.

“Is there something wrong with me, Pete?” You asked.

He could tell even without super hearing that your voice was cracking and that you were close to crying. His heart broke hearing you, but he pulled away, holding your shoulders at arms length and forcing you to look him in the eyes.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Y/n.” He told you seriously. “Why- why would you think that? He’s the one who messed up.”

You didn’t know how to tell Peter that you weren’t necessarily upset about losing Ian, but instead how you were cheated on and disrespected in such a way. You never told Peter but the whole reason you had even started talking to Ian in the first place was because you had feelings for your best friend. You felt as though you could never tell him and even if you did, you felt that Peter would never like you back, so you kept it in, instead attempting to fill the hole with a random boy like Ian.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m not worthy of love or something.” You told Peter, wiping the tears that had fallen onto your cheeks.

Peter almost felt his heart burst in his chest when you told him that you felt unworthy of love. He didn’t know how to tell you that this guy wasn’t worthy of your love, respect or your attention. He didn’t know how to tell you that he knew for a fact that you were worthy of love because he chose to love you every day despite the fact you didn’t in return.

Your best friend moved his hands and held either side of your face, holding his world in his hands.

“Y/n, listen to me.” He told you, his eyes searching yours. “That guy was a jerk. You know I hated him and I hate even more that he hurt you. You deserve all the love in the world, Y/n. I mean you’re super cool and nice and- and beautiful and funny and um... you just deserve the best. The best of the best.”

You trusted your best friend more than anyone but it also hurt to hear him saying all of that. How he could be saying all of this about you and not love you the way that you loved him?

“Why don’t you love me then?”

Your voice was almost a whisper and so light Peter almost didn’t catch it. When it slipped out of your mouth you hoped he didn’t, but he did.

You watched as a look of hurt washed over Peter’s face. “You know I love you, Y/n.”

You shook your head. “Not like that, Pete.”

You were frustrated that he didn’t understand what you meant. For God knows how long your life has felt like some cosmic joke where it granted you the most perfect boy in your life, but he would only love you as a friend and at this point you felt defeated.

You pulled Peter’s hands off of your face and pushed yourself off the bed, now standing in front of him.

“What do you mean?” Peter asked.

You scoffed. “Really Peter?” You crossed your arms. “When are you going to get it? Don’t get me wrong I liked Ian, but.. I’ve always.. he wasn’t...”

Peter stood up from his seat on your bed. “You’ve always what?”

“Oh my god, Peter! I’ve always loved you!”

When you realized what you had just shouted at your best friend, you went still and the room was silent. You almost couldn’t bare to look at Peter after just admitting that you were in love with him, but you did anyway. He stood still in his place with his eyes wide.

With your heart racing in your chest still, you softened your voice.

“I’m so sorry, Peter. I didn’t mean to-”

“You love me?” He asked, cutting you off.

In this moment, Peter was glad that you didn't have the same abilities as him because if you did he knew all you would be able to hear was the loud thumping of his heart in his chest.

Unable to speak, you nodded.

Peter didn't even know what to do with himself. Both of you had spent all of this time and wasted so much energy, pretending to not be in love with each other and here he was now, learning that the entire time you felt the same way. He didn’t want to waste a second longer.

“Can I kiss you?”

Still unable to speak and shocked by his question, with wide eyes you nodded adamantly.

As soon as you nodded your head, Peter tossed his mask onto the bed, made his way towards you and kissed you with his hands holding either side of your face.

You knew Peter could hear your heart racing in your chest as your lips met his and wrapped your arms around his neck.

The moment he kissed you, you never wanted it to stop. You had pined after him for so long and you always assumed it would be futile- that Peter could never possibly want you as more than a friend- but as you kissed him, all that time didn’t seem wasted, but worth it because despite everything the two of you had been through he was now yours and that was all that mattered.

Pulling away, Peter leaned his forehead against yours. “I love you too.”

You smiled, pecking him one last time on the lips before pulling away entirely. Without a word, you made your way to your desk, picking up your phone.

“What are you doing?” Peter asked.

“I have to call Ian to tell him we’re over.” You informed him, searching for his number.

Peter, however, pulled the phone away from your hand, smirking.

“I think I have a better idea.”

Twenty minutes later you were following Peter as he led the way down the dimly lit street to find the bench he had left your cheating boyfriend on not even an hour before. When he finally stopped, the two of you stood in front of the bench and you you couldn’t help but laugh at Peter’s handy work, Ian still held to the bench by Spider-Man’s webs.

At the sound of your laugh, you watched Ian stir in his seat, meeting your eyes.

“Y/n?” He asked, opening his eyes wider in surprise when he recognized you. “Y/n! Thank God you’re here. You have to get me out of these things.”

“I don’t know, man.” Peter told your boyfriend, now stepping into his line of sight. “I feel like Spider-Man must have had a pretty good reason to leave you like that.”

At the sight of Peter, Ian scowled. “Fuck off, Parker. What the hell are you doing here?”

Before Peter could say anything, you moved to stand in front of him. “Peter saw the whole thing.” You told him and with that you swore he looked like a deer in headlights. “We’re over, Ian.”

With that, you grabbed Peter’s arm. “Let’s go, Pete.”

Peter nodded, placing his hand on your lower back, guiding you in the opposite direction of your now ex-boyfriend. When you weren’t paying attention, though, Peter turned his head, flashing your cheating ex a shit eating grin while giving him a thumbs up before resting his hand once again on your back. Your ex continued to shout profanities at you and Peter as the two of you walked away, but all that mattered to you was that you and Peter were no longer in hiding, both finally knew the truth about each other’s feelings.

“I couldn't say it before,” You told him. “but nice web work by the way.”

Peter laughed. “It dissolves in a few hours, but he deserves to stay there all night if you ask me.”

You smiled, pulling Peter to a stop. You turned to face him, gripping the fabric of his sweatshirt. “Thanks for defending my honor, Spidey.”

Peter smiled back at you and even under the dim street lights you could tell he was blushing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Y/n. That was all Spider-Man. You have him to thank.”

You hummed in response leaning in closer to kiss him but just as you were about to meet him you pulled away.

“Oh... well why am I kissing you then? Where’s Spider-Man?”

"Okay! Okay!” Peter threw up his hands, giving in to your teasing. “You're welcome! You don’t have to thank me though. I would defend your honor any day.”

You smiled, pulling him in one last time by tugging on his sweatshirt. This time, meeting his lips, smiling.

“I know.”

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fluff #peter parker angst #spiderman x reader #spiderman x you #spiderman x yn #peter parker oneshot #peter parker imagine #peter parker blurb #peter parker drabble #mcu fic #mcu imagine #mcu oneshot

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look-i-love-u · 2 years ago

Text

Who's your BFF?! - A Gallavich Ficlet

Lyle, @milkovetti, I'm sorry for worrying you without reason. It was supposed to be a drabble but it got longer. It was supposed to be Tami and Mickey in action but... a certain tall redhead had other plans. Hope you like it!

***

“What the fuck??! Mickey!”

Ian’s shout probably made stupid Melanie’s weird diaper wearing poodle jump off her office couch.

Mickey sighed and rolled his eyes, quickly going through his mental ‘things I did that will piss Ian off”-list.

Asked the hot guy that looked like freaking Michael B. Jordan for an interview as a driver without consulting it with Ian first. - No, his husband had eyes. He wouldn’t shout like this if that was the problem.

Helped Iggy move some stuff - Nope, Ian wouldn’t be able to find out about that for the next five days at least.

Ate the last of the tomato pesto without buying a new glass - Maaayyybe.

So… what exactly is the problem?

Only one way to find out.

Mickey sighs and pushes himself up from his comfy position on their bed. It really did feel like a fucking cloud and Mickey has never slept better.

“What? What the hell you yelling for like this? Do you want to wake fucking Frank up from the dead?” Mickey grumbles, his voice getting quieter and quieter as he sees Ian. His neck is burning red, his eyes are blazing.

Oh oh.

Fuck.

This is worse than any tomato pesto situation could ever be.

Mickey bites his lip. Looks up at his husband through his eye lashes.

“I…”

“Explain. This.” Ian presses out through clenched teeth and Mickey’s eyes fly around the room to get any sort of clue what the hell was going on. Really, any hint would do at this point.

The muscles in Ian’s arms twitch and Mickey feels his mouth go dry while a bead of sweat rolls down his back. Fuck. He was in deep shit. Sleep on the couch and not get the good d tonight- deep shit.

“I…”

“Yes. I’m waiting.”

“I don’t know… I didn’t do… anything.” He says and holds Ian’s furious gaze.

His eyes go a shade darker and the vein along his neck pulses.

Wrong answer, Milkovich. Fuck.

“Are you serious? Are you fucking serious right now?” Ian says and reaches behind himself to throw a magazine against Mickey’s chest. The pages flutter into his face. Shit.

“Didn’t do anything? Then what is this! Explain this. Please!” Ian says and waves his huge ass hands around the room in a wide motion, encompassing the magazine lying on the floor with a broken spine, their apartment, their furniture and the photos on the wall.

Fuck.

“You mean the… the test?”

“Of course I fucking mean the test!” Ian growls. “Best friends, Mick! Best friends!”

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

“Okay… first things first. You need to calm the fuck down.” Mickey says and lifts his hands before Ian can go on another tirade. “You really should learn how to play stuff cool, Gallagher.” He sighs and picks up the magazine.

“And then you need to listen to me. And listen to me real good.”

Mickey grins. He feels on solid ground again now and takes a few steps closer to Ian.

“We did the test. We had a laugh. We have a lot of shit in common. We’re both bad-ass. We’re smart. Fucking gorgeous. Laugh about the same shit. Get off on crime. Care about our family. Get hard ons for stupid Gallaghers… and love a fucking good drink. And your precious tomato pesto. So… yeah… it was pretty obvious what the test would say. We’re best friends. Tami and I are best friends. BFFs. It’s written right here. And Teen Magazine is obviously never fucking wrong.” Mickey says and stands toe to toe with his Ian, who is still pouting and refuses to meet his eye.

“I love that chic. Not gonna lie.” Mickey shrugs and presses the magazine against Ian’s chest. “And I know that you love that I love her. And all the rest of your stupidly annoying family, Red.”

Mickey raises his eyebrow and sighs.

“But… Mick.” Ian blinks and finally looks at him again. His cheeks are flushed now.

“Yes?!”, Mickey grins, like the little shit he is.

He presses forward a bit to let Ian feel just how hard he gets for this certain Gallagher.

“Fuck… Best friends? I thought, that I…? That we…?” Ian groans.

Mickey’s grin gets wider.

“Ey. We are. You are….” He smiles and nuzzles Ian’s neck. “And you’re also my husband.” A kiss against freckled skin. Ian sighs and tilts his head back. “And the fucking love of my whole fucking life.” Another kiss, followed by shiver. “The guy I live with… and want to spend my life with. My partner. My lover. My family….”

Ian groans and rips the stupid magazine away to get fully up into Mickey’s personal space.

He kisses him. Open lips, tangling tongues.

“Fuck.” Ian presses his forehead against Mickey’s, cradling his face. “I’m sorry, Mick.”

“Ah. Fuck it. Don’t be. It’s hot that you get jealous over stupid shit like this…” Mickey grins and pulls Ian into another hot kiss, knowing Ian will be incredibly eager to make this shit up to him. The whole fucking night.

He laughs into the kiss and kicks the magazine under the couch before Ian throws him on it.

Ian’s lips leave a hot trail down Mickey’s neck and he leans his head back, closes his eyes. He grins brightly… fuck yes!

…

Two hours later he is sweaty and bruised and totally satisfied. Mickey smiles and kisses Ian’s shoulder. Just one moment and he could pass out next to his blissfully smiling and sleeping husband.

[text] You were right, Tamietti. It worked like a charm.

[text] Wait till you hear the details. You’ll learn a thing or two.

[text] Meet you tomorrow at our spot?

He chuckled. Changed her name to “Bestie <3” and wrapped himself around Ian… he deserved some rest before Mickey would make his husband check something on his phone…

#gallavich #mickey milkovich #mickey and tami are bffs #it's official and all #Shameless #ficlet #idek what happened here #But I don't hate it #totally not beta read btw #gallavich fic

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you-show-me-love · 2 years ago

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Gallavich Kinktober 2022 Day 23 - handcuffs X “You deserve a reward for being so good today, what would you like it to be?”

For @gallavichthings and those joining Mickey's anti-work movement

Read on Ao3 or below the cut

"Why is Mickey handcuffed again?"

Lip eyed his brother in law sitting on the dryer, a tall boy in one hand while the other hand sat limp and tethered to the wall rack by a set of handcuffs. Ian sipped his coffee at the counter, EMT uniform on and lunchbox packed, ready to go.

"Mickey told me this morning that he was going to do something incredibly stupid-"

"Fuck you Gallagher!" Mickey shouted, causing Ian to raise his voice to be heard over him.

"And get himself thrown back in jail leaving me a prison widow after only six months of marriage!"

Lip pinched his nose, hiding his smile behind his fist. When he wasn't in Mickey's warpath he was a sucker for the drama his brother-in-law brought to the table.

"What were you trying to do?"

Mickey opened his mouth, but one look from his husband had him taking a drink from his tall boy instead of answering.

"I'll tell you on the way to work." Ian said, draining his coffee cup and grabbing his lunch box. He came to a stand just outside of Mickey's spread legs, arms crossed and face firm.

"Mickey-"

The man in question rolled his eyes. All he had done was casually mention getting a couple of his cousins together and raiding the Amazon warehouse before setting the whole thing on fire. It was Ian's fault really, trying to pull him out of his honeymoon early to get a fucking job. The whole interview had gone horribly leaving Mickey embarrassed and pissed off.

"Don't worry your pretty little head over it, Red. I'm just gonna be sitting here getting shit-face drunk."

He drained his can, burping and crushing the sides, tossing the crumpled can over his husband's shoulder. Lip grabbed him another can from the fridge, smirking all the while. Ian's jaw twitched, his eyes hard and unwavering against his husband's nonchalance until his brother's hand landed on his shoulder.

"You're going to be late if you keep this up." Lip reminded him and Ian gave Mickey one last look before stalking past his brother and out of the Gallagher home.

"Need me to find the key to those?" Lip asked, pointing to Mickey's cuffed hand. Mickey looked at it with interest before shrugging and opening his fresh beer with one hand.

"Nah, I can get myself out. Easy."

Lip let out a disbelieving snort before hurrying out the door to get his brother to work, debating between egging on his anger or trying to soothe things between the couple.

–

Mickey had weasled his way out of the handcuffs, downed another beer while watching tv, jerked off to porn on his phone, and eaten leftover lasagna before he called it a day well earned and went upstairs to take a nap. As he fell asleep he hoped his little threat on Amazon would keep Ian off his back about getting a job for at least a month.

–

When Lip dropped Ian off at home ten hours later his brother was looking a little worse for wear.

"I kept waiting for a call about a warehouse fire." He admitted, rubbing at his eyes as Lip laughed.

"I bet you Mickey is still handcuffed on top of the dryer." Lip said, trying to ease his brother's stressed state. Ian shook his head.

"He can get out of them. He's probably in bed."

–

And that's where Ian found his husband when he got home, in his cutoff shirt and boxers, sleeping the sleep of the innocent with no whiff of smoke on his hair or ash on his skin. Ian sighed in relief and shed his EMT jacket before crawling onto the bed on top of the covers and gently shaking Mickey awake. The man grumbled, face scrunching as he joined Ian in the land of the living.

"Is the Amazon warehouse still standing?" Ian asked with playful irritation.

"Yeah, man." Mickey's voice was rough with sleep, vulnerable in a way it wasn't usually. The beautiful blue eyes Ian loved to look into so much were still closed against the harsh overhead light. "Didn't leave the house today."

Ian smiled, though Mickey hadn't opened his eyes to see it yet, so he planted a kiss on the man's temple, hands already reaching to hold him close.

“You deserve a reward for being so good today, what would you like it to be?”

Mickey raised a brow, the corners of his lips rising when Ian raised his own brow in turn. He watched his husband's fingers skate over his sleep wrinkled clothes, the path of his fingers ran shorter, focusing on the hardening line of his dick.

"Anything?" Mickey clarified and Ian kissed him, slow and deep, leaving him dizzy and hard. He played thinking on the request for a second, making Ian wait.

"Fuck me on that asshole's desk in the Amazon warehouse." Mickey laughed as Ian tackled him, wrapping an arm around his neck and pinning him to the bed while his free hand tickled Mickey's sensitive sides. Ian let up after a moment, releasing Mickey and falling back on his side of the bed, waiting for Mickey's giggles to settle.

"That what you really want?" Ian asked, looking Mickey in the eye, loving the way they were still crinkled at the corners with amusement.

Mickey shook his head, already over the whole thing, not that he would admit that to Ian if it meant getting his reward, or stay at home husband status, taken away. He bit his lip, ready to ask for what he really wanted, but not sure if Ian would be up for it.

"You haven't fisted me since we got outta prison."

"Oh," Ian let out a noise of interest, hands returning to Mickey's body. "You mean I haven't fisted you as my husband?"

Mickey nodded as Ian's hand crawled up his shirt, pinching his nipple between this index and middle fingers.

"Poor baby. What kind of husband am I?"

"One that's hopefully about to fist me."

He pulled off Mickey's shirt, then his own as Mickey pulled off his boxers. He pulled off his work pants while Mickey wrapped himself in a towel and ventured off to the bathroom to clean himself out. Ian got ready too, grabbing the lube, a spare towel, and a couple of old pillows to put under Mickey's hips. When his husband returned to their room Ian tore his towel away and threw him on the bed the second Mickey had pulled the accordian door closed.

"I love you." Ian whispered before claiming Mickey's lips in a hungry kiss. They made out, hot and heavy, until their cocks were hard and hot, rubbing against each other, catching on dry skin and creases.

"I love you too." Mickey got to say after what felt like days later when Ian left his lips alone to flip him over and put him on his knees, tucking two flat pillows under his hips.

They started slow, one finger then two then three. Ian listened to his husband's moans, sighs, hisses, the hitches in his breath and when he let all the air escape him. He kept an eye on his stretching hole, the way his hips shifted, how stiff his cock was against the pillows supporting him. Twice he had to grip himself at the base to stave off an untouched orgasm. First just from hearing Mickey sob in ecstasy when he finally got his whole hand inside him, folding in to make a fist against his prostate and second when Mickey came untouched himself while Ian rubbed all his fingers against his inner walls. Only once Mickey was smiling and his tears were licked away did Ian enter his sensitive, stretched hole and take his own pleasure.

#gallavich #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #shameless #ian x mickey #chaos writes #gallavich fanfic #ao3 #gallavich kinktober 2022

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jomilky · 2 years ago

Note

Hey hey ! Head canon of the day ?✨

Ian was at Lip’s, helping to set up for Freddie’s first Halloween party that he would actually remember.

So Mickey was out there taking care of their transport business, also using the opportunity to train a new employee. They were already on their way back to the parking lot when Ian called Mickey, who was lying in the back of the ambulance. And Ian decided that they should make good use of this short time before the party began, since Mickey was already kinda alone, and he was taking a rest in his car without company.

But when Mickey was palming his half-hard cock through his boxers and asking Ian to put on FaceTime, Ian said, “No I wanna make you come on my voice only,”

Mickey rolled his eyes so hard. He could still feel the sting where Ian bit him on the inner side of his thighs so hard last night, and now the jealous motherfucker’s acting like he’s still not over it. “Jesus, Gallagher. One time. I just said the dude’s voice was kinda hot ONE TIME.”

“Hmm.” Ian makes some random noise that’s incomprehensible as a reply.

Mickey just smirked and pulled his member out eagerly. Phone sex was phone sex, jealous husband or not.

But soon things got a little… ridiculous.

“Yes, let me hear how horny you’re for me, babe. Stroke it faster so I can hear the precome smearing all over your palm…”

“…Gallagher.”

“Put two fingers in your mouth, spit on them, get them wet…”

“…Galla-”

“Squeeze your balls too, Mick. Remember how I suck your balls last night? You totally loved it..”

“Ian!”

“…What?”

“Stop lowering your voice, dude,” Mickey grumbled. He almost failed to hold his laugh, or to keep himself aroused. “Your real voice is hot enough, alright? It’s sexy, it’s dirty, it’s hot. You happy now?”

“…”

“Ian, we don’t have all day.” Mickey didn’t stop pumping his throbbing cock. He held the phone between his cheek and his shoulder while moving another hand towards his behind. Those fingers were wet enough. “I don’t wanna get busted by-”

Mickey paused and panted when another stream of precome flowed from his slippery slit. His waiting hole clenched as his hand cover with spit rubbed on his own perineum.

“What’re you doing, Mick?”

Thank god, Mickey raised his head and took a long breath. Ian’s finally using his normal voice instead of speaking like a rusted locomotive.

“What can I be doin’?” Mickey rubbed soothing circles around his hole that’s been waiting for his two fingers.

“Did I tell you you can put your fingers in your ass now?”

Ian’s tone dropped, but in the most natural and sexist way possible. Mickey withdrew his fingers in a heartbeat.

“The fuck you know?”

“Put you fingers back in your mouth, Mikhailo.”

Mickey shivered and complied. His husband’s voice husky from flowing lust. Now that’s my man, Mickey sighed, this’s gonna be real fun.

“Who gives you permission to touch yourself down there? You’re a very bad boy, Mickey.”

Ian’s voice was even more enchanting when it was coming from the other side of the phone. Mickey had to squeeze the base of his cock to stop himself from coming right now. He suckled the fingers in his mouth like they were Ian’s.

He sucked them so loud and earnestly to make sure Ian could hear it through the phone.

Then maybe Ian would call him a good boy again.

And yes he could definitely come from Ian’s voice only. He’s more than happy to.

#gallavich drabble #ask box #I was gonna post this earlier but smth happened at work and kinda kicked me into a bad mood #sad face #anyways this’s a quick Drabble hope you enjoy #;))#also sry I know that this ask’s been sitting in my ask box for almost a month now #but life’s too overwhelming for a fragile dude like me haha

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arrowflier · 3 years ago

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hi 💛 i know this may be out of character for post-finale, but i was wondering if you could write a bit of angst (with happy ending of course) where mickey becomes more withdrawn from the gallagher fam cause he doesn’t feel like he really belongs (thinking of lip during the “mickey’s not family” kitchen scene and mickey&lip’s fight) - maybe mick is staying back at their westside apartment more often, not attending family events, only feels comfortable around ian, etc. - eventually ian catches on, they talk, and he makes it better 🥰

This went a little different and it's ooc for the other Gallaghers, but I think it still hits the general vibe so I just went with it.

---

The wake of Frank Gallagher’s death was filled with uncertainty. For the present, the future, the family. For Ian. Because for all Ian said he wouldn’t care when Frank died, for all he said he was done caring for, mourning for a man that used him, threw him aside…

When it came down to it, Ian was still a Gallagher. And Gallaghers didn’t let each other go that easily.

Mickey wasn’t a Gallagher. He never had been. And he had never felt that difference more strongly than now, standing behind the counter in the Gallagher family kitchen, feeling like an eavesdropper as he listened to them plan.

Plan for a wake no one wanted, a remembrance no one asked for. Plan out Frank’s goodbye while the man himself sat in ashes on the mantelpiece.

Ian looked tired sitting on the opposite side of the room, facing Mickey. His face was drawn, his eyes squinted thin and surrounded by red, and his mouth twisted as he argued with Lip over how much of the money from selling the house should go toward completely unnecessary arrangements.

“I’m just saying,” Ian said plainly, “that we don’t need to do anything fancy. There’s nothing wrong with a cheap party at the Alibi.”

“Party,” Lip snorted. “Don’t think this is the kind of thing we’re supposed to celebrate.”

“Why the fuck not?” Mickey couldn’t help himself from chiming in. “Frank was an asshole, and nobody cared when he was dyin’ on the goddamn sofa.”

It was true enough. They had all been rather unbothered by his imminent demise until they got the call, a few words over a tinny phone connection enough to suddenly make it real. To make it important.

“No matter how much we hated him, he was still our dad, Mickey,” Lip argued, wiping a hand over his face. He eyed the drink Carl held hungrily before taking a slow sip of his own cola, adding, “Not all of us can just leave family to fuckin’ rot.”

And that hurt. Felt like a fucking kick in the chest, over a heart already bruised. He could see Ian watching him, though, and his husband had enough to deal with without getting into Mickey’s shit again.

“He’s already cremated,” Mickey pointed out, putting on an unconcerned face for Ian’s benefit. “Nothing left to rot, man.”

“Well we can’t just do nothing,” Debbie said, for once on Lip’s side. “I mean yeah, he was a shitty dad, but it’s not like he was Terry.”

“Not a high bar,” Mickey countered. “Think he deserves some kind of parade just cause he didn’t try and kill any of ya on purpose?”

A brief moment, just one, as that went through the room. Then:

“Mickey,” Lip sighed, “just let us deal with this, yeah? This is kind of a—”

“Family only thing,” Mickey interrupted bitterly, repeating words that Lip had thrown around one too many times. “Yeah, I figured.”

Ian offered an apologetic look from across the table, but didn’t argue for him. Not like last time, when his first thought had been to defend Mickey’s place.

Mickey took the hint.

“I’ll be out back,” Mickey said shortly, directed at Ian, and marched toward the door. “You know, whenever fucking family time is over.”

“Mickey…” Ian called after him, but he didn’t get up. Didn’t follow. And as Mickey left, he could vaguely hear Ian making apologies.

So he didn’t stop when he went down the steps. And he didn’t stop at the gate. He didn’t stop at the sidewalk, or the street, or the edge of the neighborhood.

If he wasn’t fuckin’ family, he didn’t need to be at the family home. So he went to his new one instead.

---

“Mickey?” Ian called out as he entered the apartment, hours later. “Mickey, are you here?”

Mickey didn’t answer. Ian found him anyway.

“There you are,” he said with a sigh as he came into the living room, where Mickey lay sprawled over the sofa. He stopped at Mickey’s side, towering over him.

“You weren’t answering your phone,” Ian complained, looking to the device Mickey held with both hands. “Why did you leave?”

“Why do you think?” Mickey answered. “Wasn’t exactly welcome.”

Ian had the grace to look chagrined.

“Sorry about that,” he said sheepishly. “You know how Lip gets…”

“Stupid?” Mickey said, and Ian shrugged.

“I mean, yeah. Kind of.”

Mickey went back to playing on his phone, leaving Ian standing awkwardly at his side.

“I told them I’d come back once I found you,” Ian told him abruptly. “You should come with me.”

Mickey didn’t answer, eyes on his game.

“Will you come?” Ian pressed, and Mickey dropped his phone with a sigh.

“They don’t want me there,” he answered. He lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck, and Ian caught it, pulled it away.

“Why would you say that?” he asked, voice earnest, his thumb tracing circles on Mickey’s wrist.

“Dunno,” Mickey lied, then caved immediately. “It’s a family thing,” he said. “And I ain’t family.”

“You’re my family,” Ian countered, but Mickey shook his head, pulling his hand free.

That wasn’t enough.

They were quiet, for a moment, and Mickey was about to give up and pick up his phone again when Ian broke the silence.

“You’re more family than Frank was, if you think about it,” he said suddenly. “Definitely more of a Gallagher, if you only count the good bits.”

“It’s cheating to only count the good parts of me,” Mickey argued, feeling bitter, and Ian knocked his shoulder with his hand.

“Meant only the good bits of being a Gallagher, Mick,” he corrected, rolling his eyes before they settled, soft, on Mickey’s face. “Stuff like being there, taking care of each other. Sticking together when things get rough.”

“Don’t think your brother agrees,” Mickey said flatly, then winced as Ian sat down hard on his outstretched legs.

“My brother,” Ian started, “is an idiot.”

Well, Mickey wasn’t going to argue with that.

“But believe it or not,” Ian continued, “he does think of you as family.” Mickey tried to cut in, but Ian glared at him until he closed his mouth, settling back against the arm of the sofa.

“You know what I heard him telling somebody the other day?” Ian asked. Not waiting for a reply, he said, “that if they had any trouble, he’d sic his brother-in-law on them.”

“Don’t think using me as a threat counts as me being part of the family,” Mickey grumbled, but Ian shook his head.

“Wasn’t a threat,” he explained. “He was offering your services. Cause you’re part of the family, now, and he knows you would help him.”

He would. Of course he would. Without a second thought, even for his least favorite in-law, even at risk for himself. But it was a surprise to hear that Lip knew that.

“Carl tells people you taught him how to fight,” Ian went on. “Brags that the infamous Mickey Milkovich taught him everything, and that’s why he makes a good cop.”

Mickey snorted. Of course that little fucker did.

“Didn’t think he’d grow up to be a pig, did I?” he said, and Ian just smiled.

“Liam tells the school bullies that if they mess with him, his brother will beat them up,” Ian continued. “Didn’t work very well until he said that brother was you.”

“Damn right I would,” Mickey agreed easily, scowling at the idea of anyone giving Liam a hard time. “He’s a good fucking kid.”

“And Franny fucking adores you,” Ian said, knowing it would make Mickey smile. “Which means Debbie does, too.” Ian scooted closer, sitting on Mickey’s thighs instead of his shins.

“You know I offered to babysit the other day, and the first thing Debs asked was if you would be there?” Ian laughed. “She almost said no until I promised you would be.”

“Little sis has good sense,” Mickey muttered, flushing to his ears, and Ian nodded.

“She does,” he agreed. “They all do.” He raised a hand to Mickey’s face, held his cheek. Stroked his thumb over it. “You’re family, Mickey,” he whispered. “And they love you. Just like I do.”

“Fucking sap,” Mickey murmured, leaning into the touch.

“You know it,” Ian said, and pulled him in for a kiss.

When they parted, Ian took Mickey’s worries with him.

“What do you say?” Ian asked softly, hand sliding down to Mickey’s neck. “Come home with me, let them apologize?”

“Thought this was home, now,” Mickey said.

“It is home, for us,” Ian answered. “But the house is home too. Family is home,” he stressed. “And you’re family.”

“Lip ain’t gonna apologize,” Mickey pointed out next, leaning in again, and Ian shrugged.

“Come home with me and tell him he’s an asshole?” Ian offered instead.

Mickey grinned, resting their foreheads together.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I can do that.”

#daily speedwrite #gallavich #fanfic #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #lip gallagher

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usercelestial · 3 years ago

Text

The night Mickey had gotten out of prison was eventful for more than one reason. But the one that stuck out in his head was not a what but a who. It was the first time he met the small red headed Gallagher; Debbie’s mini me; his niece.

After Paula released Ian from her grip, after the strangers fled from the house, after night had fallen and silently hung over the Gallagher house, Mickey walked sluggishly to the kitchen, his body weighed down by exhaustion.

He felt a tap on his lower leg and looked down to see big green eyes staring up at him.

“Who the fuck are you?” He said on instinct, thinking she looked like a carbon copy of Ian before realizing that she looked more like Debbie. He swears they could be twins.

“That’s my kid, Mickey,” Debbie walks into the room, dawning pajamas and a tired expression.

“Oh, that’s right. I remember Ian telling me you’re a mom now,” Mickey looks down at the kid again.

She’s still staring up at him with those same wide eyes.

“Uh, hi?” He says a bit awkwardly.

“Mama,” she said for the first time since appearing, “Who’s this?”

“That’s your Uncle Mickey,” Debbie says, sitting down at the table with a pile of bills.

Mickey’s not sure what happens next because he’s pretty sure he blacks out. He’s not sure how to respond or even if he should.

Uncle.

He stands there dumbly while the kid hops up and down, “Yay!” She hugs his thighs tightly, almost tipping him over in surprise.

He looks at Debbie who glances up for a moment and smiles, “Introduce yourself, sweetheart.”

“Hi, I’m Franny!” She pulls back and stares up at Mickey again, “I like your drawing,” she points to his forearm arm, “Mama won’t let me draw on myself. Does yours? When did you draw it on? What does it say?” Franny asked.

Oh, god, where’s Gallagher?

“Alright, Fran, isn’t it time for bed?” A masculine, familiar voice calls from the stairwell. As if reading Mickey’s mind, Ian descends down the stairs and saves him from the conversation.

“Oh, thank God,” Mickey says aloud, gently moving Franny out of his way while Ian bends to pick her up. Debbie nods to Ian, Mickey isn’t sure what it means but he goes along with it.

“If Uncle Mickey is my uncle, does that mean he’s your brother?” Franny asks naively, resting his face on Ian’s shoulder.

Ian laughs, “No, Fran, you know how Auntie Tami is Uncle Lip’s girlfriend?” He explains gently, while carrying her up the stairs. Mickey trails behind them silently, again unsure of himself and his place here.

“Well, Uncle Mickey is my partner in that same way.”

Mickey’s astounded at how soft Ian’s voice is, how patient and gentle he is with her as they walk to a room that Mickey assumes to be Franny’s. Ian places her down on the bed skillfully, Mickey also assumes Ian’s had experience in doing so based on how comfortable he is with it. How he picked her up easily and without hesitation. How Franny trusted him enough to let him.

“Oh,” Franny says simply, “Okay,” she yawns.

He watches as Ian tucks her in and wonders somewhere far away, from deep within his subconscious, whether Ian expects him to do the same if he couldn’t. Would Ian ask him to pack her lunch or take her to school. Surely not, right? Mickey doesn’t know the first thing about kids. And he knows he’s not responsible enough to babysit one either.

“Can you read me a bedtime story, Uncle Mickey?”

And just like that, Mickey stops in his tracks, his pulse jumping.

“Uh-I-Wouldn’t you prefer Ian-er-Uncle Ian do that?” Mickey stumbles through the words, looking to Ian for help but only finds his boyfriend snickering.

“But I want you to,” Franny whines quietly, rubbing her eyes and pouting. Something about the way she flashes big puppy dog eyes reminds him of someone.

He gives in of course, sighing and sitting down beside Ian on the queen-sized bed. Ian picks up a thin, hardcover book and hands it to Mickey.

“She’ll be out like a light in two seconds,” Ian whispers in his ear, placing his giant palm on Mickey’s shoulder, grounding him.

He shrugs, “Whatever.”

He begins reading, slowly, making sure he doesn’t skip over a word or talk too fast. To his own ears, his voice sounds rough, very Southside, and not very soothing but when he looks up from the book for the first time, he sees that Franny has fallen asleep, curled into a ball.

He also feels dead weight on his shoulder, at some point Ian had leaned against Mickey and now had his eyes closed, snoring peacefully.

He held back a laugh and carefully set the book, watching as his sleeping partner nuzzled deeper into his shoulder.

“Yo, sleepy face,” he whispers softly, watching the four year old stir slightly.

“Mhm,” Ian grumbles, “Whaa?”

“Let’s go to bed,” Mickey nudges him and gets up suddenly, watching Ian fall onto the sheets.

“Dick,” Ian stretches and follows Mickey to bed.

Once they’re settled, Ian tests the water in terms of conversation, prodding slightly at how his day was before jumping into how he felt about reading to Franny.

“Whaddya mean?” Mickey slurs, peering at Ian through the dark.

“I don’t know, I guess I just wanna make sure you’re comfortable with it.”

Mickey shrugs, hoping Ian can feel it, “It’s fucking weird, I guess,” Ian hums, so Mickey doesn’t expand on the idea.

Then Ian says, “You know, you’re an Uncle.”

Mickey’s not sure why he reacts the way he does, his heart thumping in his chest and his throat tightening, but he suddenly feels panicked.

Ian notices; Ian always notices, “It’ll be fine. Franny already loves you.”

Mickey hides his face in Ian’s neck, clinging onto his shirt, “I have a niece,” he says, solidifying the idea. Repeating the fact over and over in his head, trying to make sense of it. He has a niece, and people who consider him family. A sort of sister-in-law who lets him read stories to her kid. It’s foreign and strange and down right stressful but he takes a breath and lets himself feel Ian’s trailing up and down his back.

“You know, you also have a nephew.”

“Shit.”

#summary: mickey meets franny for the first time and realizes he's an actual uncle now #or literally just 1000 words of ian and mickey being domestic uncles #sort of abrupt but i wrote this cause i wanted a distraction #we just found out my father has covid so i really wanted some fluffy goods times thats all #shameless #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #debbie gallagher #franny gallagher #ian x mickey #gallavich #gallavich fanfiction #gallavich drabbles #margo drabbles #and they were uncles <3

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y0itsbri · 3 years ago

Text

kinktober day 3 -- lingerie @gallavichthings

the devil in disguise

ian has a deep appreciation for mickey's halloween costume.

beta read by @mishervellous ❤️

words: 1.3k

"when you said you wanted to do a couples costume, i thought you meant with me!" ian rifled through his closet, trying to put together a last minute costume while mickey changed in the bathroom into his costume so he could coordinate with fucking tami. ian could have been an angel, but no, that simply wouldn't do.

to be fair, ian should have seen this coming after lip decided to put in an ungodly amount of extra hours at the shop. tamietti's went hard for halloween, and this year was not going to be an exception. he cursed lip for inadvertently stealing his husband away from him for the night.

this was impossible. ian banged his head against the wall.

"you die out there, firecrotch?" mickey called, voice strained.

ian was thoroughly confused with whatever elaborate feat was going on behind the closed door.

"no," he called, hopeless. he tried again, "you need any help in there?" ian reached for the knob only to find it locked. motherfucker.

"aye no peeking!"

"are you almost done? i need your help," ian sat back on their bed, sinking into their mattress and tapping his fingertips along this thigh.

he couldn't decipher all of mickey's mutterings through the wooden barrier, but the 'jesus fucking christ fucking gallagher' was unmissable.

ian grinned devilishly. he was always in the mood for a grumpy mick.

mickey unlocked the door with a click and stepped out in a red blur, discarding his old clothes on the floor in his corner of their room as if ian's world wasn't currently being absolutely rocked merely three feet away.

it took mickey a moment to realize that his normally chatty husband had yet to say a word. shit. maybe ian didn't like this kind of thing.

he bit the bullet and faced ian head on, only to meet a love-shook caricature of his husband -- wide eyes, blushing cheeks, and mouth agape, damn near salivating.

oh.

mickey smirked and flexed his arms not so subtly, "what d'ya think?"

ian unfroze from his trance, caught. he groaned and flopped back onto the bed, lifting his head and peeking at mickey between his fingers, "you're going to fucking kill me."

because there mickey was. clad in a fucking red, silk, corset cut just for his body. the red ribbons crossing in the front, carving his figure in all the right angles.

after a moment of deep appreciation and an unexpected awakening, ian allowed his eyes to scan the rest of mickey, which wasn't bearing any better for his blood pressure.

sheer, fingerless red gloves were stretched across mickey's hands, faded knuckle tattoos still visible. the glint of his ring seemed more prominent all of a sudden.

ian's eyes made their way up his arm, chest, neck. a sequined devil horn nestled into his dark hair and reflecting the low light of their bedroom lamp, giving mickey a literal red aura.

enjoying the show, mickey spun around, biting his lip. ian continued to ogle.

red fishnet stockings covered mickey's muscled thighs under almost-too-short-not-short-enough leather shorts embroidered with orange flames. pointed wings attached with some elaborate belting situation between his shoulder blades, and an arrow tail slinking around his hips.

"i think this is hell," ian closed his eyes, willing the blood to go back to his brain by the sheer power of force.

mickey chuckled darkly. "that so? ian gallagher on the naughty list?"

ian cracked an eye open, "what are you, fuckin' santa claus now?"

mickey smacked ian's stomach as he sat on the bed next to his idiot of a partner, "fuck off, ho."

"don't you mean ho ho ho?" ian couldn't resist.

"and we're done," mickey made to stand up but ian caught him by the arm, sliding his hand down until he reached the hem of the glove, inching his own fingertips underneath and sliding against his skin. his voice went deeper in the way that he knew made mickey melt.

"lemme make a deal with the devil?"

he tugged and pulled mickey onto his lap so that he was straddling him, knees digging into the soft mattress.

"what does the mere mortal have in mind?" mickey teased, voice light but eyes dark.

"kiss me and i won't tear your costume to shreds," ian ran his hand up mickey's back, catching on the wings clumsily before tracing his silk clad skin back down to his thighs. "you're looking hot as hell." the statement carried heat behind it.

mickey's breathing picked up as he considered the weight of his options.

ian grinned, trapped under mickey's control, but waiting patiently for the signal he knew he would be allowed.

a breath. two. three.

"c'mere," mickey leaned.

ian crashed his lips against mickey's own, his mouth a fire hot cinnamon. ian groaned. did mickey really have a mint for this? motherfucker thought of everything.

ian traced his hands over the mickey's chest as they kissed, following the lines of silky ribbon crossing back and forth. back and forth. lower. lower. lower.

the textures of silk and leather and skin mixing together under his hands, grasping at whatever he could reach.

mickey's weight pinned him to the mattress, helpless.

he felt fingers caressing his hair as his mouth felt warmer as they melted into each other.

what felt like an eternity in damnation later, mickey broke them apart. they took a moment to assess their equally disheveled appearances while fighting to catch their breath behind a laugh.

ian made a grab to pull mickey back in, certain he would comply, but mickey was quicker.

he rolled off with a grunt, tossing a half empty water bottle at ian's still body and nudging his leg when he didn't respond.

"you ready to go?"

"go where?" ian picked up the water bottle and idly traced its shape with his fingers.

a flick. "the party? tamietti's? your sister-in-law? ring any bells?"

ian sighed as he nestled further into their bed, "i still don't have a costume."

mickey waltzed towards their dresser, a slight unbalance in his step, and flung an old flannel on the bed.

"lumberjack. you've already got the scruff, thank you very much." he added quiety, grinning lopsidedly to himself. he was genuinely so proud he had convinced ian to abandon the clean cut army man look and to not shave for a few days to see what would happen and dear god was he enjoying the consequences.

ian finally sat up and chugged the rest of water bottle in one go before setting on their nightstand. it took a moment for mickey's words to register, but when they did -- yeah.

"you're a genius."

ian leaned up to grab mickey again, but he side stepped ian's attempts and straightened his outfit. "no sir, you gotta get changed. we need to leave like... ten minutes ago. tami's gonna have my ass if we're any later."

"tami better not go anywhere near that ass," ian grumbled, but complying with mickey's requests.

"don't worry, logger, you're the only wood for me."

"oh mickey, now that was bad."

mickey grinned as he shimmied in his satin outfit, smoothing over the wrinkles that ian had put there mere minutes before.

ian could easily stare at this image of mickey all night. as he was buttoning up his flannel, he made a mental note to buy mickey some more red.

"i think red is your color, mick." ian let slip, shoving his wallet in his pocket.

"yeah?" mickey grinned, "you too, stud," he ruffled ian's hair and pushed him out the door.

#kinktober #gallavich #gallavich kinktober #gallavich kinktober 2021 #GK2021 #my posts #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #shameless #mickey x tami

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callivich · 4 years ago

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I really love the idea of Lip having to take Ian and Mickey home after their anniversary party, so I wrote a little something.

This references a previous ficlet where Lip has an inappropriate dream about Mickey, so adults only please!

Thanks to @udontfuckangie for the advice RE: babies in car seats in ambulances! This was originally going to have Tami drive the ambulance with Freddie but yeah, not safe. So, I had to change things - therefore let’s assume the ambulance is fine parked outside the Alibi for a night. Also, the song is “Hot Girl” by Megan Thee Stallion.

Lip gets into the front seat of his and Tami’s car to find Mickey leaning through the gap, half in the front of the car and half in the back, fiddling with the radio. He flicks through the different stations until he finds something he wants to listen to. Lip wants to shove him backwards and tell him to sit the fuck down, but...fuck, it’s their wedding anniversary. So, he’ll allow it.

“All the hot girls make it pop, pop, pop, bad bitches with the bag say ah ya ya”

“Fucking love this song.” Mickey shouts, turning the volume up, the bass vibrating through the car. He scrambles back awkwardly, elbowing Lip in the side, so that he’s sitting in the back seat. Ian laughs like this is the most hilarious thing that he’s ever seen. They both nod their heads in time to the rhythm, singing the chorus loudly.

Lip shakes his head, if there’s one thing he hates about being sober it’s dealing with drunk people, but, he reminds himself it’s their wedding anniversary and, goddamn, do they deserve to be carefree and happy. And they are feeling very carefree and happy right now. And also very drunk. So much so, it was decided that they should leave the ambulance outside the Albi and Lip would drive them home, before coming back to the bar to get Tami and Fred. It’s not that late, and Freddie is sleeping soundly so he leaves Tami to enjoy the party for a bit longer.

The song ends and Lip quickly turns down the volume so his eardrums aren’t destroyed.

“Play it again!” Mickey shouts, again, as if Lip isn’t sitting right in front of him.

“I can’t, it’s the radio.”

“Fuck you.”

He can hear Ian laughing again, like Mickey is the funniest person in the world.

“Put your seatbelts on.” Lip orders, cutting through the laughter.

“Fuck you.” Mickey replies, as Ian puts on his own seatbelt.

“Very creative, you just gonna repeat yourself all night? I’m not driving until you wear a seatbelt.” Lip sighs, as Ian’s words from earlier come back to haunt him - he’s feeling very much like a dad to Ian and Mickey right now.

“M’fine, just drive, bitch.” Mickey grumbles, punching the back of Lip’s seat.

“No.” Lip taps the steering wheel. “Seatbelt.”

“Here, I’ll do it.” Ian reaches across Mickey and pulls the seatbelt, clicking it into place after a few tries. “Gotta keep you safe.” He gently pats Mickey’s chest.

Lip rolls his eyes at the sappy, soft tone of Ian’s voice, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get over hearing Ian speak like that to Mickey fucking Milkovich, as if he’s the most precious thing in the world. But, he supposes, to Ian he is. Still, it’s weird.

Checking one more time to see they are wearing seatbelts, he starts the car and wishes for no traffic and an easy ride to the West Side.

“You liked the surprise?” Mickey asks Ian.

“Loved it.”

“I got you good.”

“Yeah, you did. Really thought you’d forgotten.”

“But I didn’t!”

“Fucking love you so much.”

“Love you too.”

And then the inevitable making out starts, and the car is filled with the sounds of sloppy kissing, breathy ‘yeah’s, and some verging on pornographic sounding moaning.

“Wanna suck you off.” Mickey whispers, thankfully loud enough for Lip to hear so he can put a stop to that before it happens. He reaches one arm behind and pushes blindly at Mickey’s head.

“No you’re not, Mickey. I’m serious, sit back.” He pulls his arm back, when he hears Mickey huffing and swearing under his breath. He checks the rear view mirror, and Mickey is glaring at him but sitting upright.

“It’s our fucking wedding anniversary.” Mickey punches the back of Lip’s seat again.

“I know, but you aren’t going to suck my brother off in the backseat of my car. That just isn’t going to happen.” Lip takes a deep breath, goddamn, Mickey is a pain in the ass when he’s drunk, and even more so than usual tonight. Probably down to him being so pleased at pulling off the surprise. And Lip gets that - Ian looked completely astonished when he’d walked into the party. Ian is drunker than Lip’s seen him in a long while - he doesn’t usually drink that much because of his meds, but once in awhile, during a special occasion like this, he lets loose. And it’s kinda nice to see? Because Ian is a sweet, sappy and very silly drunk - there’s something endearing about his behaviour. Lip likes seeing him carefree like this. He doesn’t feel the same way about Mickey, but then, he’s never really found Mickey that endearing.

Lip hears a slurred “c’mere” and some giggling and then there is more kissing. Which is fine, but anything more than that and he’s pulling this car over immediately. He really is in dad mode. He doesn’t want to spoil all their fun, he just doesn’t want to be anywhere near their fun while they’re having it.

The drive seems to take forever, all to the soundtrack of two very in love husbands who are making out as if it’s the first time they’ve ever done it. Lip can’t lie to himself, he’s a little jealous. He’d love a night like this with Tami - just the two of them, happy and silly and able to make out like teenagers. But that’s probably not going to happen anytime soon. Especially if she’s pregnant again. That’s a thought for another day though. Right now he needs to concentrate on Ian and Mickey.

He was hoping to just drop them off, but Lip realises, as he pulls into the apartment car park, that isn’t going to work. Because the first thing Ian says as the car comes to a stop is “let’s go swimming!”

“Yeah! Let’s fuck in the pool!” Mickey agrees excitedly, pulling on the car door and failing to open it.

Lip realises he needs to make sure they get to their apartment before they get themselves in trouble. He has visions of them being found floating face down in the pool, so he helps them both out of the car and firmly steers them towards the entrance to the apartment block.

“No swimming. You two are way too fucked up for that.” He ushers them through the open door into a well lit corridor, lined with doors to apartments and other doors to what he guesses are the offices and maintenance for the building.

“You just.....you just don’t wanna see Mickey without a shirt. In case you get all excited...again.” Ian is grinning, his face flushed.

“What?” Mickey barks, suddenly very interested in the handle of a door which he yanks up and down. There’s a sign that reads ‘private’ and it’s obviously locked but Mickey continues to yank at it for some reason Lip can’t fathom.

“He had a sex dream about you.” Ian is attempting to whisper, but it’s loud, oh so loud in the empty hallway. “I’m not supposed to say because it’s a secret.”

“Ian. What the fuck?” Lip sighs, exasperated.

“Ugh, gross.” Mickey gives up on trying to open the locked door, and turns to Lip with a disgusted look on his face. “Don’t fucking dream about me like that.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose. It was a fucking dream.” Lip realises his mistake as soon as the words come out of his mouth.

“It sure was!” Ian is still grinning. “A fucking dream. Where you fucked Mickey!” He bursts into laughter at his own joke, leaning against the wall.

Mickey still has that disgusted look on his face. “As if I would ever let you....” He shakes his head. “Fucking gross. I love Ian. Only wanna get fucked by Ian.”

Christ, Lip thinks, he needs to get them to their apartment, he doesn’t want to hear anymore of this kind of talk.

Mickey has taken Ian’s hands in his own, and Ian’s looking at Mickey like what he just said was very romantic. “Yeah, Lip, you can’t have him. He’s mine. My husband.”

“It was a dream. It doesn’t mean anything. I definitely do not want to have sex with Mickey. Ok? Let’s just get you two to your apartment. Now.” Lip pushes them firmly, and they stumble forward, still holding hands.

“Good. Besides...if I was...if I was single. Sure as fuck wouldn’t want to fuck you.....jabby.”

Lip frowns, “How do you know about that?”

“Oh, me and Tami....we talk. Gotta complain about you Gallaghers.”

“Jesus Christ. You two are friends now?”

“Yeah.” Mickey laughs. “Guess so.”

“Jabby!” Ian shouts gleefully, running slightly behind in the conversation, but with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what ‘jabby’ refers to.

“And you told him? Great.”

“Course I did, it was fucking funny.”

“It’s ok.” Ian pats Lip on the shoulder, trying to be reassuring. “I’m sure you’ll get better with practice.” Mickey lets out what Lip can only describe as a cackle.

“Jesus Christ, that was one time and it was a one off.” They are finally, finally, at the elevators and he practically punches the up button. He’s hasn’t been here before but he remembers Ian saying their apartment was on the second floor, so he trusts that’s right.

“In you go.” He herds them into the elevator and presses the ‘2’ button. And once again, they are on each other, furiously kissing. Lip thinks the elevator is moving much to slowly. He hits the ‘2’ button again. Mercifully, the elevator doors soon open on the second floor. But neither Mickey or Ian has noticed and Lip grabs Ian by the back of his coat and pulls him out, Mickey stumbling after him.

“Hey, hands off.” Mickey grabs for Ian, who Lip is dragging behind him as he purposefully strides down the corridor. He has to get them inside, he can’t take much more of this.

“He’s stealing me, Mickey!” Ian laughs, “Help! Help!” His voice echoes much too loudly around the corridor.

“I’ll...save you!” Mickey manages to spit out between laughs, almost doubling over.

“You can have him back when we get to your place? Ok.” Lip turns and looks over his shoulder. “Just come on Mickey, follow us.”

A door they are passing suddenly swings open, and a very annoyed older lady is standing there, cell phone in hand. “Everything alright? I heard someone say they needed help?”

“No, no. Everything’s fine.” Lip smiles, trying to look respectable. Which is hard because Ian and Mickey are giggling, red-faced and stumbling about. “They....they’ve just had a bit too much to drink and I’m helping them get home.”

“It’s our wedding anniversary!” Ian yells, throwing his arms in the air.

The woman looks distinctly unimpressed. “That’s very nice. But it’s late, you know. You can’t go around shouting for help if you don’t need it. Especially at this time of night!”

“Listen lady, if my husband-”

Lip interrupts before Mickey can finish whatever threat he’s about to make, “They know, and they’re very sorry. And I’m gonna make sure they are quiet right now.” He grabs Ian’s hand and then Mickey’s and uses all his strength to get them to start walking, as the woman shuts her door with one more disapproving glare. “Come on. Home. Now. Please.”

They get to the door of the apartment Lip thought they would never reach. “Keys?”

Ian frowns, as if this question is a difficult math problem on a test he didn’t study for. “Uh.” He slaps one hand to his chest, then the other and then begins to rummage around in his jacket pockets. “Uh. Hmmm....”

Mickey isn’t much help either. “Maybe....here?” He says, grabbing Ian’s crotch, which causes Ian to smile and giggle and get distracted.

“Come on, Ian. Where are the keys?”

“Oh. Yeah. Keys.” He eventually produces a set from his jacket which has far too many pockets for Lip’s liking or for his tolerance at this time in this never ending evening. “Keys!”

“Good. Great.” Lip snatches them, opens the door, and shoves them, gently - it is their anniversary after all, no matter how fucking annoying they are being - through the door, slamming it shut behind him as he follows them in. He lets out a deep breath, it felt like they would never get here.

The apartment is nice, new, modern. The kind of place he never would have imagined them living in. In fact, even though it’s not furnished properly yet, Lip can see it’s a really nice place. And he’s pleased, he wants them, especially Ian, to live somewhere good like this. They deserve it.

They’re standing in the middle of the empty living room, holding one another, swaying slightly. Ian’s hands move down Mickey’s back to rest on his ass. Better get out of here, Lip thinks to himself.

“You guys need to drink some water.” He starts to rummage around the pristine kitchen until he finds two glasses that he recognises from home...or rather, what’s no longer home, not really - the Gallagher house. There’s only two glasses, clearly they haven’t been shopping yet, he fills them both with water.

“Alright, lovebirds, drink up!” Lip holds the glasses out, but neither of them move. They’re just staring at one another, silently, with small smiles on their faces. “Not gonna leave till you have some water.”

They both put one arm out at the same time, because of course they do. Lip hands them their water and waits until they’ve both drunk their whole glasses.

Satisfied that he’s done everything he can, he makes a move to leave. “I’m going. Enjoy the rest of your anniversary.”

Ian is caressing Mickey’s face with one hand, the other barely holding the glass which is dangling at his side. “Thanks, Lip. Love you bro.”

“Love you too, asshole.” He turns to leave, but fuck it....Mickey is his brother-in-law, and even though he’s a real pain in the ass, he makes Ian happy and that’s the most important thing, and also they’re probably too drunk to remember what he’s going to say.... “And you too, Mick.”

“Gross. Stop fucking fantasising about me, Philip.” Mickey grumbles, never taking his eyes of Ian.

Lip laughs, and let’s himself out, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

#gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #shameless #gallavich fic #ficlet #as always feel free to continue this or add to it!!

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batsandbugs · 4 years ago

Text

The Great IKEA Game

Chapter 5: Vent Shenanigans and Keurig Conversations

AN: Okay, this is the last that anyone is going to hear of me for two weeks. Then I’m out of school and will be ready to crank out some more chaos. Until then, I hope you guys enjoy!

Television shows made navigating through vents appear much easier than it was in real life. Then again, they also made being a superhero look easy too, and Marinette was painfully aware how that was false.

Her knees and back ached from crawling through the low ceiling vents, and though she wasn’t claustrophobic, she was decidedly cramped. And if that’s how she felt, Damian, at more than half a foot taller, had to be doubly suffering. She asked how he was doing.

“I've crawled through far more pleasant vents before,” he replied seriously. “If we could continue quickly, we’ll come out near another vent gate in about ten or so minutes.”

They continued in silence until they came to a fork in the vent.

“Which way?” asked Marinette.

Damian hesitated. “I didn’t see this on the plans.”

“So, you don’t know.”

“I did not say that.”

“So which way do we go?”

Silence.

Marinette sighed and closed her eyes, poking for the pooled energy inside herself. Being the Guardian of the Miraculous had helped her innate magic to grow in leaps and bounds, but it was her Ladybug powers she ultimately searched for. After being bonded with Tikki for so long, certain… qualities tended to bleed over. One such ability was making decisions infused with good luck. It wasn’t easy, but it was one she had been working hard to master.

A glimmer of magic burned in her chest, and a fleeting whispered voice told her to turn left. She smiled in the dark of the vent.

“Left,” she said confidently, “we go left.”

“Why?”

Marinette’s smile turned into a smirk, even though Damian couldn’t see her. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

“You wouldn’t be the first to try.” The quickness made the reply appear casual, but Marinette could tell by the steel in his tone it told more truth than intended.

‘Who the hell did I team up with?’ her brain once again asked.

“Let’s leave me off the list,” she said, bypassing the dangerous remark with a gymnast's grace. “Come on.”

She crawled around the corner and, after only a moment’s hesitation, heard Damian follow after her.

Silence reigned for another minute or so before far in the distance they spotted light.

“Oh, thank the Kwamis, an exit,” Marinette muttered.

Damian grumbled behind her. “None of this appeared on the plans.”

“Learn to roll with the flow.” The light grew stronger, so she flicked off her phone flashlight. “Chances are it didn’t take your brothers too long to track me back to our hiding spot. They probably know we’re in the vents. If they found the same plan you did…”

“They won’t have any clue about this.” She could hear the pleased smirk in his voice.

“Exactly.”

The light flooded upwards from the vent floor. The slats in between large enough to view the room below. Marinette crawled over it and maneuvered herself around to face Damian.

“Nice to see your face again.”

The dim light from the vent illuminated his face. “N-Nice to see yours too,” he said. It was at that point, it dawned on Marinette that Damian's view the whole way through the vent was an up close look at her butt. From the heat radiating off her cheeks, it was likely her face was as red as his. She was torn between laughing hysterically and curling into mortified ball and never emerging.

Instead of either of those rational actions though, her mouth, her stupid, stupid mouth, decided to betray her.

“Enjoy the view?” she asked with a grin. ''What are you doing?' She yelled at herself, that was the last thing she wanted to utter.

Damian, if it was even possible, turned redder, and coughed lightly. “You have, uh, your bottom is quite shapely.” By the end of his confession, his voice was a high-pitched squeak, more appropriate for a preteen, then an adult. It took every bit of self-control for Marinette to keep from falling apart laughing.

“Thanks, I exercise,” she responded cheekily. A familiar magical hum settled in her breastbone. Her connection to the Kwamis magic. Marinette held back from rolling her eyes, even as her inner panic grew. One of the Kwamis was helping her to flirt. Probably Plagg judging by her cheesy replies.

‘They are the physical embodiments of the powers of the universe, and they choose to help me flirt. What even is my life?’

“It's working well,” replied Damian, with more of a teasing tone than an embarrassed one, although his cheeks still appeared redder than normal.

“Yeah, well…” Marinette sat there struggling for a reply, when noise from below cut off their impromptu flir- teasing session.

“I swear to God, if I find out who caused the mess in the Market Hall, I'll strangle them with my bare hands,” complained a voice from below.

Marinette winced when she saw Damian looking at her with a raised eyebrow. She hadn’t meant to cause that much damage.

“Oh, come on, Ian, it’s not like it was unscrewed on purpose. A bolt probably loosened and the shelf got bumped into. Blame it on bad luck.”

“Well, can I strangle bad luck then?”

Marinette held back an undainty snort. Plagg's constant whining and complaining coming to mind. ‘There I certain days I definitely want to.’

“I don’t think so. I’m more worried about the giant cart pile up.” At that, Damian raised a second eyebrow, and Marinette shrugged, she didn't controlled what the Bad Luck Balls did. “We’re gonna need to test all the carts to check for any more loose wheels, that’s gonna take forever. Anyway, are you headed home?”

“Yeah, I’m half an hour over the end of my shift,” responded Ian. Marinette could see two people moving around in the room below. “Ooh look, someone brought in doughnuts! You want one Casey?”

“No thanks, still trying to stay on that diet. I just came in here for a drink and then I’m back out on the floor.” The sound of a fridge door opened. “See you next week.”

“Yeah, you too Casey.”

The sound of another door opened leaving the room below silent once more.

“Shopping carts?” Damian asked, half-amused, and half bewildered. “I didn’t hear about that.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Escape was the highest priority, okay?”

“When would you find the time to accomplish that?”

Marinette hesitated, there was no good explanation to give that would satisfy him. She wouldn’t tell him about the Miraculous or the Kwamis. It was her job, no her duty, to maintain their safety, and after everything she had fought for, bled for, nearly died for... no matter how comfortable he made her, there was no way he'd learn about what she could do. Especially when she had the feeling he was far more than meets the eye. Which didn’t leave much in the way of a good excuse for what she did and how.

Then, as if understanding Marinette’s great need for a distraction, their stomachs rumbled in unison. They looked at each other for a moment before laughing.

Marinette huffed, wiping away a tear of joy from her eye. “Okay, we need to find food to eat.”

Damian nodded. “The food court is a no go now; Drake will monitor it even more closely than before. We could find a vending machine?”

An idea popped into Marinette’s mind. “Or… how about the doughnuts?”

“Huh?”

She pointed down. “This is the breakroom. Ian mentioned doughnuts.”

“That would be stealing.”

“As opposed to the twenty other things we’ve stolen over the course of the past two hours?”

Damian rolled his eyes. “I can back pay those.”

“So, we’ll send them a box of doughnuts once we’ve won. I’m sure the IKEA employees will understand the doughnut's sacrifice to a worthy cause. Besides, breakrooms have coffee machines.”

Damian sneered. “Coffee from a machine will taste will taste like swill.”

“Didn't you say your brother dragged you out of bed at eight this morning? Coffee means caffeine, which means energy.”

He tilted his head and contemplated it for a moment. “Fair point.” He looked at the grate. “It’s probably a ten-foot drop. Can you handle that?”

Marinette had to refrain from rolling her eyes. She had free fallen off the Eiffel Tower before, she could handle a measly ten-foot drop. But Damian wasn't aware of any of that of course. “Yeah, I can do that.”

He dug into his pocket and pulled out the laser pen. “Back up, it’s going to get hot in here.”

Marinette averted her eyes while Damian cut the grate away with the laser, the heat making the metal vent shaft turn into a furnace. She wiped away at a bead of sweat forming at her brow. The grate gave way and clattered against the floor below. Damian put away the laser and gave her a quick smirk. He slipped his legs into the hole where the grate had been and jumped to the floor, landing with a soft thud.

Breathing a sigh of relief at finally leaving the cramped vent, Marinette maneuvered her legs to dangle over the vent opening and slid out, bracing herself for the landing.

But instead of meeting the floor, she found herself caught in mid-air. Damian had her in his grasp, holding her off the floor by a few inches with his strong arms snug around her waist. Their eyes caught and the air between them grew thick with tension. His bare hands brushed against a sliver of her exposed back, the contact sent shivers up her spine.

Neither of them breathed for a brief moment.

“I told you I could handle the drop,” Marinette said, her words barely above a whisper.

“I know.” Damian’s voice matched hers. The look in his eyes impossible to decipher. His arms tightened for a moment, before letting her slip-free.

Marinette smiled, resting her hands against his arms. “Thanks.”

Damian opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it. He stepped back, effectively breaking the bubble around them. Marinette pushed the rapid flutter in her chest away. She could deal with it later when she was far removed from crazy games of hide-and-seek, and dark-skinned boys who made her too comfortable to be safe.

She turned and looked around the room they had dropped into, finding it, thankfully, empty. The last thing they needed was security getting called on them. Spotting the counter with the box of doughnuts on it, Marinette smiled.

She walked over to the box. “Well, it’s no Parisian artisan pastries, but I suppose the chain-restaurant swill will suffice,” she teased, looking back over her shoulder at Damian.

“Ha, ha, very funny,” he deadpanned. Heading over to the coffee machine to start a new pot. She turned her attention back to the box, the words Krispy Kreme printed on the front in large green letters, several doughnuts still inside.

“Which one do you want?” she asked.

“Anything with chocolate.”

“You have excellent taste.”

“I strive too.” That made Marinette smile. It was such a Chole-like response. She had to make sure never to introduce the two of them.

Marinette pulled out a few doughnuts and put them in the microwave. They would taste much better warm. After a few seconds, she brought the plate over to Damian staring at the ancient coffee machine with distaste.

“Here, you take this.” She pushed the plate of warm doughnuts into his hands. “And I’ll deal with this.” Grabbing a filter to place the pre-crushed coffee grounds into.

“Tt, why don’t they use a Keurig?” he asked with a sneer.

“Uh… because it’s a breakroom in an IKEA?” Marinette was shocked to find a breakroom at all. She’d figured employees would have to lean against the wall if they wanted a break, before being prodded into moving again by their superior. At least, she thought that was what Americans did.

Damian scoffed. “Everyone uses Keurig.”

“Even you, Mr. Machine coffee tastes like swill?”

“No, Alfred makes our coffee in the morning French press style. I do occasionally steal Drake’s Keurig out of his room when he hasn’t slept in four days to watch him cry though.”

“Damian!” she exclaimed.

“What? It’s for his own good. At that point he’s more likely to make a mistake, he needs sleep, not more caffeine.”

Marinette's thoughts flickered to her own Keurig she bought before she left Paris and the number of times she had played out the exact scenario Damian described. “Coffee is a lifestyle.” She grabbed two paper cups and placed one underneath the machine as the coffee dripped.

“It’s a crutch. Drake is a grown man, and he should, mlph-” Marinette cut him off by shoving a chocolate doughnut into his mouth. He glared at her.

“Getting between a determined person and their coffee is a criminal offense and should be punished.” She grabbed a doughnut for herself taking a bite of the sugary pastry. It tasted nothing like her parents’, but her empty stomach didn't care, so it would do. “Who’s Alfred by the way? Another brother?”

Damian took half the doughnut out of his mouth, swallowing the rest. “Most people wouldn’t dare to take the liberties you do with me.”

“Good thing I’m not most people,” Marinette responded with a smile. “You’re avoiding the question.” She took the cup out, now full to the brim of steaming hot coffee, and replaced it with the second.

“No, fortunately, I have no more brothers. Although my father likes to pick up strays so who knows if we’ll obtain another. Alfred is our butler.”

Thankfully, Marinette hadn’t taken a sip of coffee otherwise she might have done a spit-take. “You have a butler?” She had gotten the impression his family was pretty rich, and she was used to her friends having personal staff, but never failed to shock her when this level of luxury was mentioned so casually.

Damian shrugged. “Tt, butler, pseudo-grandfather, the only reason our family functions even semi-normally; same difference.”

Marinette shook her head in exasperation. “If you say so.” She pulled out the second cup, handing it to Damian. He took a sip.

“If mediocre had a taste…”

“Oh, shut up and drink it.”

They devoured their meager rations in silence, going back for seconds on both doughnuts and coffee. Marinette was by no means full when she finished, but at least her stomach wasn’t threatening to eat itself anymore.

“So, where do we go from here?” she asked.

Damian pulled out his phone. “The store closes at nine, which means we either have to avoid my brothers for eight more hours, or…”

“We have to knock them out of the game completely.”

“Exactly.”

“So, are we gonna actually knock them out, or should we just get them kicked out of the store?” She would normally try to avoid the use of excessive force on civilians, but from the few hints Damian had dropped, Marinette figured his family was used to a higher level of insanity. Living in Gotham must have that effect.

“Effective and vicious,” commented Damian, “I like the way you think. As much fun as it would be to knock them out, getting them kicked out is probably the better method. We have… family plans for this evening that potential concussions would make difficult.”

“Who’s our first target?”

“Drake,” said Damian without a moment’s hesitation. “He’s their eyes and ears. The other two are still good at hacking, but he’s the best. Get rid of him, and Grayson and Todd will be scrambling to recover. Plus, he’s the least likely to put up a fight.”

With a plan made, they erased their presence from the breakroom, hiding the lasered off vent grate and discarding their trash. Once confident the coast was clear they snuck out of the breakroom, and into the bowels of the back hallways, leaving nothing but doughnut crumbs and the smell of coffee in their wake.

It was time for the hunters to become the prey.

Tag List (closed, sorry)

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#damimari #maribat #maridami #daminette #damientte #damian x marinette #marinette dupain-cheng x damian wayne #mlb crossover #mlb x dc #the great IKEA game #hide and seek

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unbridgeabledistances · 4 years ago

Note

ian + mickeys neck (was thinking of the drunk ian fic and wondered if you would be interested in pursuing this idea further?) <3

anon i am CRYING thank u so much for this!!!! i have been feeling like i need to make my contribution to the “mickey’s neck” discourse for a while lmao and this is my opportunity (esp bc ian holding mickey in the 11x12 stills wrecked me)

in the spirit of following up 11x10 i decided to write this based on an amazing post @mickey-millagher made/a prompt that @pombby sent me about ian teaching mickey to swim at a public pool during lockdown at some point early s11- i hope u enjoy<3

(this is the tiniest notch steamier than what i usually write but it isn’t smutty fyi- tw for descriptions of choking😌)

There was no one at the park— the air hung heavy and humid over the empty picnic tables and wooden benches that punctuated the fields of dying grass. As much as people on the Southside were definitely not taking any part of this lockdown shit seriously, it didn’t surprise Ian how silent the public park was— there was still a scarcer number of people out on their stoops or lounging on street corners this summer. Ian guessed that the few people who didn’t think that this was a hoax realized that this COVID shit was serious enough that they couldn’t afford healthcare if they got it, or whatever— but regardless, that meant that this Southside summer was weirdly stagnant somehow, and felt different from the noisy and crowded rhythms of summers past.

It was the late morning, just as the air started heat like a convection oven as the sun rose over the skyline— and Ian had his heart set on teaching Mickey to swim today. The conversation had come up last night at dinnertime, when Debbie was complaining about the heat wave— and they had all started reminiscing about the rickety, tin-sided pool they used to put up in the backyard years ago until Carl had taken a hatchet to it when he was 11 when he was trying to tear it down. Sitting next to Mickey at the kitchen table, thighs pressed where their chairs were scooted close together, Ian had suddenly remembered his words from their road trip to the border, years ago now:

“You could try swimming across the border.”

“I never learned how, man.”

And he’d immediately opened his mouth, not catching the words before they moved from his brain to his mouth, and asked Mickey in the middle of the dinnertime chatter: “Hey Mick, did you ever actually learn to swim?”

It was funny, and arbitrary, and stupid; they were married now, but for some reason this small fact about Mickey, the fact that he used to not know how to swim and by now he might have learned without Ian’s knowledge, made something warm pool in Ian’s stomach. He’d known Mickey, and had been itching to be closer and closer to him, for a full decade—and there were still so many things that he didn’t know. And this was proof, this question that Ian still didn’t have the answer to about some weirdly fundamental aspect of Mickey’s identity— he was always going to want to keep asking things about Mickey. And he was always going to get to.

Mickey had looked him with daggers in his eyes, then flickered a defensive glance at all the smirks growing on Ian’s siblings’ faces. “Fuck you. I was doing plenty of other shit in Mexico, didn’t really get the chance to lounge on the fucking beach.”

Ian had reached under the table and placed a hand on Mickey’s knee—a peace offering, an apology for whatever Mickey-can’t-swim quips Carl and Lip would inevitably think up as a low blow the next time they all butted heads at breakfast time— but as the chatter about backyard pools and heat waves continued at the dinner table, Ian felt an idea stirring.

Which is why the next morning he’d woken his husband up by pressing a tender kiss to his jawbone, both of their skin damp and clammy from the heat in the stuffy bedroom, and whispered into his neck:

“I wanna try something today.”

Mickey’s mind had immediately veered in… other directions, his eyebrows raising in vaguely disappointed disbelief when Ian had explained his idea to go to the public pool and teach Mickey to swim with an exuberant grin on his face; but after some very enticing morning persuasion that had a lot to do with the fact that Mickey was still half asleep while Ian had pressed kisses down his spine and dragged him out of bed and handed him a pair of swim trunks, now they were at the public pool in the nearest park at midday, with Ian leading the way and Mickey dubiously and sleepily straggling behind him.

Ian slid open the lock on the chain-link fence that surrounded the pool, the same pool that was usually crawling with groups of teenagers smoking weed and toddlers in floaties who were sticky with melted ice cream on a summer day like today. And maybe he was just all hopped up on nostalgia, but Ian was feeling cheerful— there was a lightness to the blinding summer sunshine, radiating through him as it pooled on his skin, that made him feel weirdly exhilarated and giddy about teaching Mickey to swim in this grimy Southside pool, just because he could.

“I still can’t believe you never learned how to swim.” Ian said it over his shoulder as he strode through the gate, holding it open for Mickey.

Mickey just flipped him off, following behind him and setting down two towels and the 6-pack of beers he’d grabbed from the fridge as they’d shuffled out the door minutes before. Ian grinned. He knew the beers would be warm and syrupy in minutes—the air was muggy and humid, without any hint of a breeze for relief. Ian could already feel the sweat dripping down the back of his t-shirt; he peeled it off as he walked over the sunwarmed concrete towards the pool’s edge, crumpling the shirt and throwing it on top of the pile with the beers and the towels. Mickey was hesitant, not following Ian to the border of the water just yet.

“Seriously. I can’t count the number of times I was shoved into our bacteria-infested backyard pool when I was a kid. I’m pretty sure that Frank tried to drown me in there at one point.”

Mickey just shrugged noncommittally, his fingers slack around the bottom hem of his shirt and his eyes zeroing in on the pool of water. Ian thought Mickey would say something in reply— but the only sound in the air was the faint shouting of kids playing a basketball game the street over.

Holy shit. Ian had been so buoyant and excited about his nostalgia-fueled idea of going to the public pool on a summer day and teaching his husband to swim, dragging Mickey out of the house without a second thought, that he hadn’t realized it until now— Mickey was scared.

Ian swallowed down the grin that was threatening to overtake his face— one he knew that Mickey would immediately notice and hate, because he it drove him crazy when people gave him shit in vulnerable moments like this, when Mickey couldn’t do something. So instead Ian kept talking, hoping his chatter would loosen some of Mickey’s nerves.

“Didn’t you and your brothers ever go down to the other pool over on Trumbull?”

Mickey met Ian’s eyes then, raising an annoyed eyebrow. “Clearly not.”

And, okay. This was understandably bringing up some childhood shit. Ian tried to snap Mickey out of his head— he strode over to where Mickey was standing, a good six feet from the poolside, and snaked a hand onto the back of his neck, squeezing gently in what he hoped was a grounding and comforting touch that would drain the trepidation from Mickey’s defensive stance.

“One summer Debbie was so afraid of getting drowned at the public pool that she learned how to hold her breath for 4 minutes.” Ian grinned at the memory of Debbie dunking her head in a tub of water in the kitchen, making him and Lip time her. “Honestly, it was probably for the best you never went to the public pool. It was a shit show.”

Mickey scoffed, but the lightness was back in his eyes. “If I knew how to swim back in the day I probably woulda been the one doing the drowning.”

Ian barked out a laugh— and why did he immediately turn back into his 15-year-old self, with a god-awful crush on Mickey Milkovich, whenever Mick said shit like that? He pressed his lips into a smile, squeezing Mickey’s shoulder once more for good measure.

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, king of the Southside. You ready to get in the water?” Ian’s hand trailed down from its grasp on Mickey’s shoulderblades, dropping to encircle Mickey’s wrist and guide him towards the water.

Mickey immediately recoiled, yanking his hand from Ian’s hold and taking a step back, squinting and holding up a hand to block the bright rays of sun out of his eyes now that he wasn’t standing in Ian’s shadow.

“Fuck d’you mean? I’m not just gonna fucking hop in there and drown. You gotta show me what to do.”

Ian grinned again, without being able to hold it back. He knew what Mickey was like when he was afraid of something— defensive and grumbly and avoidant to touch. He rolled his eyes. “Can’t really teach you to swim when we’re not in the water, Mick. C’mon.”

Ian walked over to sit on the edge, then slid his torso down into the pool. The water was lukewarm and tepid, barely providing any relief from the sticky air— but it felt nice. Ian let out a little breath of relief from the heat as he waded over to the shallow end. Mickey was still standing by the mound of the towels the ground, watching him warily. Ian raised his eyebrows.

“You coming?”

Rolling his eyes, Mickey aggravatedly pulled off his shirt, tossing it behind him— sunrays bounced off of Mickey’s pale skin, owing mostly to the fact that Mickey had barely left the house in the last few weeks because of their prolonged “honeymoon.” He slowly walked to the very edge of the pool and, in a movement that made Ian’s heart grow ten sizes, hesitantly dipped a toe into the water like a cat trying to paw at something. A corner of Mickey’s mouth flickered downwards almost imperceptibly, a worry line sprouting on his forehead.

“I don’t know, man.”

Ian breathed out a laugh. Leave it to Mickey Milkovich, shit-talking king of the Southside, to be afraid of the shallow end of a public pool. Ian reached out a hand in what he hoped was a comforting gesture, still smiling like a sappy motherfucker at his painfully endearing husband.

“C’mon Mick, just stand here with me first.” Ian was waist-deep in the shallow end, the water pressing against his upper thighs— he knew that at this height the water would be at Mickey’s waist, right where his swim trunks met his hipbones.

Mickey’s brows furrowed from where he was still perched on the concrete lip of the pool ledge, his two feet firmly rooted. “Explain what I gotta do first. To swim, or whatever.”

Ian blew out a breath, still grinning like an idiot. “It’s not that hard, Mick. You just gotta circle your arms and circle your legs. But you have to get in the water first.”

Ian treaded over, pushing through the water to where he could rest his upper arms on the edge of the pool beside where Mickey was standing, staring up at him with what he hoped was a convincingly pleading face. Mickey’s eyes were still fixated on the water, lapping at the pool’s edge from where Ian had rippled through it. And suddenly Ian had an idea.

With a teasing grin, he reached a wet hand out from the water and encircled it around Mickey’s ankle, splattering the concrete with drops of water. Mickey immediately jerked like an electric shock had jolted through his body.

“You gonna come in, or do I have to make you?”

Mickey tried to shake his ankle out of Ian’s grasp, but Ian had hold of him with an iron fist. Mickey leaned over and tried to swat at Ian’s arm without losing his balance on the pool’s edge.

“Cut that shit out right now, Gallagher.”

Ian just grinned, squeezing Mickey’s ankle like he was about to tug him in. “Come on, Mick.”

Mickey’s eyes widened and, just as Ian had imagined he would— he started to freak the fuck out.

“Ian stop that shit right now, I swear to god I will fucking murder you if you—”

They were at the 6-foot marker in the pool, right where it was deep enough for Mickey to stand on the very tips of his toes; and with this knowledge, Ian tugged at Mickey’s calf— causing him to falter, his arms circling like a cartoon character before he lost his balance and crashed into the water on his side.

Ian immediately placed his hands on Mickey’s hips, standing him upright before his head even fell under the water— but Mickey was still sputtering and splashing, like the drama queen that he was. Once Mickey regained his composure and realized he was easily standing on the bottom of the pool, his head bobbing just above the water, he swiftly splashed healthy burst of water into Ian’s face, the chlorine stinging his eyes and nose.

“Fuck you, Gallagher!”

Ian coughed at the water that had shot up his nose, but immediately splashed Mickey back—and then, because there wasn’t any way this whole pool situation was going to go anyways, he and Mickey were immediately engaged in a life-and-death splash battle, circling each other in the middle section of the pool.

Ian was laughing so hard he felt a stitch in his side— and Mickey was finally grinning again, water dripping down his cheeks and clinging to his hair. After a few minutes Ian threw his hands in the air in surrender, the water cresting at his shoulders.

“Truce!”

Mickey splashed one more surge of water at Ian’s chest for good measure, grinning like a kid in a candy store— then he took a step closer to Ian, eyebrows raised.

“Truce.”

Ian beamed down at him, pressing a quick peck to the top of his damp hair. “Sorry for throwing you in the pool.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

“But in my defense, it had to happen eventually.”

Mickey shoved him squarely in the chest, taking a step back. “You ruined the fucking truce.”

Ian gave a smug smirk. “Do you wanna learn how to swim, or not?”

Mickey flicked another burst of water at him, just enough to cast a slew of droplets onto Ian’s cheeks. “Alright. Get coaching, Michael Phelps.”

Ian hadn’t really considered how he was actually going to teach Mickey to swim— but it couldn’t be that hard, right? He tried to think back to when Lip had taught him how to tread water, on an equally as sweltering day in the backyard pool, when the yard was packed with lawn chairs and drunk neighbors and smelled of ashy barbeque smoke.

“Okay. So you’ve gotta move your arms in circles, kinda, to stay floating. And your legs too.”

Ian swam over to the deeper end of the pool, just an arm’s length away from where he and Mickey’s feet could touch, and tried to demonstrate how to tread water. “I feel like the easiest way for you to learn is just by doing it. C’mere.”

Mickey looked at him reluctantly, brows furrowed again in an outward display of his bundled nerves. “No fucking way.”

Ian sighed in exasperation. “C’mon, Mick. I’ve got you. I’m not gonna let you drown, you can hold on to me the whole time.”

Mickey raised an eyebrow— but then hesitantly took a step towards Ian, the water reaching up to the bottom of his chin.

“Alright, good. Now step where you can’t reach and try to tread water like I did.”

Mickey stepped forward again, then started to circle his arms under the water— and he was doing great, for a second, before he seemed to get too in his head about the mechanics and started to grit his teeth.

“Little help here, Gallagher?”

Ian grinned and stepped forward. “Here, you can hang onto me.” He stood where Mickey could reach and grab onto his shoulders if he needed to— but Mickey seemed to regain his confidence, and was starting to steadily, if a little bit clumsily, tread water.

He kept it up for a while, until Ian could see that he was overexerting himself— waving his arms under the water with a little too much gusto, brows furrowed and his teeth digging into his lower lip in concentration.

“Mick, you’ve got it. Chill out for a sec.”

Ian reached an arm out, a branch for Mickey to grab on to— because he had been joking before, yes, but he really didn’t want Mickey to fucking drown— and when Mickey grasped onto it, Ian pulled Mickey towards him in the water, kicking backwards so they were suspended in the deeper end of the pool with Mickey clinging to Ian’s neck.

Mickey looked nervous as Ian veered them towards deeper waters, his eyes darting from side to side where they were floating, his fingers digging into the back of Ian’s neck— and Ian smirked at how freaked out he seemed, standing only a few feet from where they could both confidently stand on the tiled pool bottom. But Mickey didn’t resist, or try to propel himself back into the shallower waters— he let himself cling on to Ian, fingers interlaced behind the tops of Ian’s shoulders, as he kept them afloat. Ian laughed softly in a warm, wet gust across Mickey’s cheek. “You okay?”

He could feel the heat radiating off of Mickey’s body, squeezing up close against him— and Ian couldn’t help it, the wave of fondness that came over him as he looked down at where Mickey was pressed against his chest; trusting Ian to keep them above the water, trusting Ian enough to go along with his stupid plan to teach him to swim in a public pool on a random morning just because Ian wanted to. Ian couldn’t help but feel warmth in his stomach at this simple moment, at the two of them bobbing in the pool— at teaching his husband to swim, something Mickey’d never gotten to do as a kid but something that they had the rest of their lives to do together.

“Maybe we could teach Franny to swim next summer. If we have our own place.”

As he said it, Ian hoped that Mickey could see the flood of hopes that he had for them in his eyes— that he wanted a place with a pool, and a balcony, maybe a backyard, and maybe even a fucking garden—he’d always wanted to grow tomatoes. More than anything he wanted to build something sturdy, that could stand up to whatever ground would inevitably shift beneath them in the years to come— he’d been thinking about that a lot these days, especially with all of the pandemic shit that had pulled a rug out from under this entire neighborhood.

Mickey’s gaze flickered up from where it had been boring a panicky hole in Ian’s sternum, meeting Ian’s eyes at the phrase “our own place”— and Ian instantly knew that he got it, that he could see the dreams that Ian was building for the two of them right in front of their eyes. That after months and years of obstacles and chaos and other voices infiltrating their heads, now it was just them— now it was just Ian and Mickey, clinging to each other and drifting through the calm, chlorinated waters.

And maybe it was their proximity, or the intensity Ian knew he was pouring out in his gaze, but instantly the air between them shifted as Mickey looked up— starting to hang heavy like the press of the humidity in the air. Their faces were centimeters apart— and Mickey’s lips parted slightly, his eyes now cast downward at Ian’s lips. Ian could smell the sweet, warm beer on Mickey’s breath, mingling with his own; he looked at Mickey, whose arms were still wrapped around his neck, water dripping down his face from the hair that was fanning over his forehead—and Ian just had to pull him in, had to place a hand in the damp hair at the nape of Mickey’s neck and tug him closer, backing them against the tiled wall of the pool.

Ian could taste the faintest bitterness of chlorine on Mickey’s lips, from the water droplets lingering there, as he took Mickey’s bottom lip between his teeth. Mickey’s hands were still limply wrapped around Ian’s neck, keeping himself afloat— even though Ian had backed them against a wall in the shallow end of the pool again, and Mickey could probably touch his toes to the ground if he wanted to.

Ian raised his hand from under the water, wanting Mickey closer— he pressed a hand to the side of Mickey’s neck, slick with water, and slid a thumb over Mickey’s collarbone, pressing down with the pad of his fingers.

And Mickey gave a little involuntary noise from the back of his throat, sending a jolt down Ian’s spine.

Ian’s hands circling Mickey’s neck was definitely not a foreign concept while they were kissing— it was something they did a lot these days, especially as their hours in bed had taken a turn from the crazed, I-missed-your-body-so-fucking-much sex they were having in the beginning days of being in prison together and those early months after Mickey had gotten released— but both in prison and during this fucking quarantine, they’d gotten a bit more experimental, and a bit more reckless—especially before Ian had gotten his warehouse job and they were still on their structureless “honeymoon,” spending entire days lounging in bed.

It was those days of lazy, languid kisses, after years and years of already knowing each other, that Ian realized that he was maybe a little bit obsessed with Mickey’s neck. He’d always joked about liking Mickey’s legs, and that was true too (if he was being honest, there wasn’t a part of Mickey’s body that didn’t make his blood run hotter)— but the first time Mickey had grabbed Ian’s hand and put it up to his neck while they were tangled together, pressing down until Ian’s hand covered most of his throat, Ian knew that they’d opened Pandora’s fucking box.

By this point, Ian’s hand was pretty much always on Mickey’s neck at some point while they were fucking or even just making out— if he was being totally honest, Ian’s hand was on Mickey’s neck more often than not in lots of contexts these days, once they realized how much they both loved it. But there was something about this current moment, of Mickey wantonly desiring a point of contact there, right now, while they were very randomly and decidedly making out while floating in a public pool on a lazy weekday afternoon, that made Ian’s blood run hotter than usual, and rush quicker through his veins.

Ian let the pads of his fingers creep up the velvet skin of the side of Mickey’s neck, pressing a little deeper, a prelude— he could feel the vibration of Mickey’s heartbeat starting to flutter from where Mickey was still pressed against his chest, still clinging to his neck in the water.

They’d already extensively discussed limits and everything, Mickey would tap his wrist twice if shit got too intense— but even with that in mind, Ian pulled apart from Mickey for a second, trailing ghosts of kisses up the side of his neck and nipping at the underside of Mickey’s jaw. Mickey stretched his neck back and gave a little involuntary sputter of a moan, bubbling out of his mouth before he could stop it. He fisted a hand in Ian’s hair, at the nape of his neck, and leaned forward again to press their lips together with more fervor.

Ian pulled back again, his upper back resting against the concrete lip of the pool. Mickey looked disheveled and wrecked, half-dry chlorine-crusted hair sticking up from where Ian’s other hand had been cradling the back of his head, his blue eyes gleaming and catching the over-bright summer light. Mickey was still clinging his arms around Ian’s neck, holding on— they were in a fucking pool, and Mickey still couldn’t really fucking swim yet— and even though they were standing in a place where Mickey’s toes could certainly touch the ground, the whole thing felt weirdly insular and intimate, like they had to cling to each other.

Mickey raised his eyebrows at Ian, like he was daring him to keep going.

Ian leaned forward, breathing heavily into Mickey’s mouth, but not pressing their lips together yet—and he reached a hand up again, against Mickey’s tender skin. Mickey’s legs were wrapped around Ian’s hips now, locked like a vice to keep himself upright in the water— and he pressed a little harder, gently pulsing at the sides of Mickey’s neck, in tandem with their lips pressing together over and over again as the warm waters surrounded them—the whole thing, the whole combination, made Ian feel indescribably floaty and weird and warm and blissed out; his skin stinging like ice and fire at every point of contact, electricity zapping his nerve endings wherever his fingertips met Mickey’s skin. Mickey fisted his hand harder at the back of Ian’s hair, nodding slightly—and they were definitely not going to fuck here, in the filth of a Southside public pool, but this insular closeness, the knowing what they both wanted to right now, was equally as thrilling and fulfilling to Ian in the moment. He could almost feel his own heart beating, reverberating as it pressed against Mickey’s chest, vibrating straight through Mickey and back to him as they clung to each other in the water.

Mickey’s body was thrumming, letting out little gasps of breath between kisses and touches—and Ian pulled back and dragged his lips down the side of Mickey’s neck, inhaling the sunwarmed skin. Fuck. He was never, never going to get enough of this.

Later, they’d dragged their water-heavy limbs back through the still summer streets to the Gallagher house, their skin pink and their bodies exhausted from soaking up the sun— and they’d collapsed into bed, feeling the dried chlorine coating their skin.

Ian reached a hand up, rubbing a thumb over Mickey’s cheek, their bodies pliant and fatigued— and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Thanks for letting me teach you how to swim.”

Mickey had smirked. “Yup, that was definitely the only highlight of today. Swimming.”

#a fluffy premise AND ian being obsessed with mickey’s neck??#what more could u want #*blows kiss to elias and stella* for u #also yes i did have a word document on my computer titled ‘neck fic’#what about it #ty for the prompt anon this was truly an experience to write #ily<3 #gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #shameless imagine #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian and mickey #ian x mickey #ixm #gallavich fanfiction #cw choking

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hxseok-honee · 3 years ago

Text

atlas heart || part 49

a/n : "the incantation comes from latin 'protego', 'i protect', and 'diabolica', a declension of 'diabolicus', meaning 'diabolic, relating to the devil'. it is unclear if the translation is meant to suggest 'protection from the devil' or 'the devil protects.'..."

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“Jungkook, will you stop eating all the cookies please--”

“How come Jin gets to eat everything in sight, but I can’t--”

“Because Jin is an insatiable mountain troll with no human manners and six stomachs--”

“Aw, Yoongi, you’re so loving with your words!”

“Shut up, Jin.”

“Kim Seokjin, stop eating the fucking food!” Jimin watches with thinly veiled exasperation as chaos unfolds in Yoongi and Hoseok’s countryside cottage. They’d arrived a few days prior, spending the week together before dispersing for Christmas Day, just in time for the full moon. It had been a chaotic week at best -- verbal altercations were had over stupid things like gift-wrapping techniques, and several small fires had already occurred in the kitchen, mostly due to Taehyung’s ice cream maker.

But somehow, they’d made it to Christmas Eve. And, so far, this Christmas Eve had been spent watching Jin eat all the food as it’s being made and consequently be kicked out of the kitchen entirely by Hoseok. Jimin’s seated in the living room with a perfect view of the chaos happening at the dining table. Y/n’s next to him, reading quietly with her head on Jimin’s shoulder. She’s especially tired today, the full moon just over 24 hours away, so Jimin’s staying close to her.

Namjoon and Taehyung are seated in front of the fireplace, engaged in an intense game of wizard’s chess. Namjoon is beating Taehyung by a landslide, but Taehyung just will not give up, something that makes Jimin smile fondly.

There’s a bang from the kitchen, catching everyone’s attention. Hoseok turns slowly from where he stands at the oven, smiling sheepishly at them.

“I may have put the pie in for too long.” The room is a collection of groans and exasperated laughter, Jin’s complaints overpowering the rest.

“How the fuck do you make a pie explode?! It’s a pie!” Hoseok looks to Yoongi for help, but the boy only shrugs.

“The man’s right, babe -- pie’s not that hard.” Hoseok lets out an affronted scoff, moving to open the window over the sink to let some of the smoke from the oven out. Jimin feels Y/n snicker softly beside him, and when he looks down at her, she’s peering over the top of her book at the scene in the kitchen. She looks so peaceful and happy, even with eyes full of exhaustion. He adores her entirely, and he knows it’s obvious to everyone but her.

Her eyes flick up to meet his then, and, over the cries of outrage from the kitchen about not having dessert, he hears her whisper to him.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Jimin purses his lips, smothering the smile that’s rising to the surface. He only shakes his head, his expression judgmental.

“Not everything’s about you, Y/n, geez.” He laughs when she gives him a hard nudge with her elbow, and he moves to wrap his arms around her and trap her in his hold. She lets it happen, only grumbling noncommittally about being unable to read like this. He presses his lips to her temple stubbornly in response. “You have a lifetime to read -- let me hug you.”

“Alright, it looks like we’re having deconstructed pie for dessert, so everyone come eat!” Apparently, the argument about the oven disaster has ended, as Hoseok’s setting a pie on the table, a giant hole in the middle where it had imploded. Taehyung jumps up from his tragedy of a chess game and runs for the kitchen, socked feet sliding to a stop in front of the refrigerator. Plucking a big bowl of homemade ice cream -- its flavor to be determined -- from inside, he makes his way to the table and spoons a giant scoop into the pie’s battle wound. He gestures dramatically at it when he’s done.

“Problem solved!” Hoseok mimics him, gesturing just as dramatically at his disappointed boyfriend.

“The man’s right, babe -- problem solved!” The group laughs, everyone slowly making their way to the table to eat. Y/n sets her book on the couch, moving to stand, but Jimin stops her. From within his pocket he pulls a vial and shakes it, eyeing her knowingly when she groans.

“Ten seconds of pain, and then you can drown the taste out with some ambiguously flavored ice cream. If it makes tomorrow night more bearable for you, then ten seconds is nothing.” She smiles, taking the vial and uncorking it.

“Did you just admit to being someone who eats dessert before dinner?” She downs the potion in one go, eyes squeezed shut. She doesn’t see Jimin gazing at her lovingly, only to lower his eyes when she’s done. She hands him the vial and takes his hand, pulling him to his feet and toward the table.

“You promised me only ten seconds of pain before ice cream, so move faster, Park Jimin.” They take their seats in the chairs nearest them, Jungkook setting his plate down on Y/n’s other side and moving to join them. Tae, Yoongi, and Hoseok sit across from them, Jin and Namjoon taking the end seats. Namjoon leaves his seat after a moment, moving to pass out silverware and swap the ladle in Jin’s hand for a normal spoon. Jin refuses to give up his spoon of choice, glaring at the boy standing over him.

“Dude, I will fight you on Christmas Eve -- I have no qualms about fucking up the holiday spirit or whatever--”

“Stop.” It comes from Jungkook, spoken with a quiet urgency that halts all activity in the room. He’s standing just behind the seat he’d been about to take, his hand resting on the back of the chair. He ignores their questioning glances, his eyes locked on nothing in particular as he focuses his hearing on the open window. When he finds what he’s looking for, he meets Yoongi’s eyes, alarmed.

“I thought you said you put a barrier around your house.” Yoongi and Hoseok glance at one another, shaking their heads simultaneously as Yoongi looks back to the Gryffindor.

“We never got around to it…” But Jungkook’s stopped listening. And, for all the years of jokes, remarks, and complaints Jung Hoseok had ever made about the boy’s heightened senses, he can say with complete confidence later that Jeon Jungkook is the only reason he’s still alive. Because the only person in the room that’s ready for the unforgivable curse that’s shot though the open window, aimed squarely at Hoseok’s chest, is the boy who’d heard the call for death fall from its caster’s lips.

Suddenly, Jungkook’s across the room, launching his body at Hoseok’s over the dinner table and twisting in mid-air to throw his hand out toward the window. He’d never in his life attempted nonverbal magic -- not necessarily the most advanced of students -- but it’s said that wizards can create even miracles if they’re desperate enough. And this is nothing like the World Cup, when Hoseok had protected him from a nasty stunning curse -- the beam of light headed Jungkook’s way right now, in this moment of literal life and death, has been shot to kill. So desperation is exactly what produces the shield charm that emits from his entire body, exploding outwards and shattering all the windows in the house as it goes. The force of it blows them all back, throwing them to the floor and against walls with cries of shock.

And, while a shield is normally null against a curse so powerful, it seems Jungkook’s done more than just perform nonverbal magic for the first time. He’s produced a physical barrier -- an invisible pane of pure energy separating his enemies from his family. It takes out half of the kitchen as it goes, destroying the far wall completely and opening the house out to the cold night around them.

In the confusion of chaos and rubble, Y/n lifts her head from the kitchen floor, catching a glimpse of the group of people outside the house, all equally disarmed from the display of sheer strength they’d just witnessed. She counts 6 bodies, all donned in dark robes, and she knows immediately that this is a Death Eater attack.

Groaning, she drags herself to her feet, grabbing anyone she can get her hands on and pulling them with her, staying low to the ground. Jimin’s the first to follow, holding onto Y/n for dear life, but he can’t help the way he hesitates when he looks past the overturned dining table, the wood splintered and cracked amidst all the wasted food.

Because there in front of him, right where the initial wave of power had surged out from and disoriented them all, is something that is very much not human. When it rises to its feet, it stands to full height, and Jimin knows that it’s easily as tall as he is. Black fur as far as the eye can see, the end of its ears and tail painted grey -- its body practically ripples with strength as it moves, and it’s from behind a set of sharpened teeth and a massive jaw, so powerful it could probably break Jimin clean in half, that a low growl starts to rumble.

It becomes a terrifying snarl in a matter of seconds, those piercing teeth shining in the moonlight with deadly intent. Jimin can feel that he’s still moving -- that all of this is happening in slow motion as he runs for safety and that no time at all has actually passed -- but he feels his whole world stop, drowned out by the sound of his heart pounding in his ears, when the beast shifts. Preparing to attack, it turns its head at the last moment to meet his eyes, and Jimin sees then that he knows these eyes. He knows the way they look him over with guarded concern and the way they turn away from him as soon as they know he’s unharmed, silently telling him to find his own way out -- after all, Jeon Jungkook’s always made it clear he has better things to do than look after Park Jimin.

Jungkook presses all his weight into his back legs, crouching low for a moment so suspended in time that Jimin doesn’t even see him leave. But then he’s gone, wind rushing past Jimin’s face and blowing debris everywhere as the wolf takes off. After another hard tug from Y/n that pulls Jimin’s focus back to the matter at hand, he only hears when Jungkook finds his first target, the ripping of cloth and the hellish cry of pain ringing in Jimin’s ears like a nightmare.

Tripping over pieces of the ceiling and walls -- the back half of the house essentially crumbling in on itself -- Jimin finds the faces of each of his friends. They’re all there with the exception of Jungkook, who seems almost feral, if the shrieks of death behind them are anything to go by. The group stumbles from the side of the house through a door that’s comically useless at this point, and when they circle around to the back, it becomes clear that there are far more than 6 Death Eaters.

The group that had led the attack has all but been taken out now, Jungkook nowhere to be seen -- but he’s certainly left evidence of his presence there. Jimin can’t tell if these people are dead or still dying, but he doesn’t have time to sort through the discarded bodies to check. Behind the cottage is a field of tall wheat that's surrounded by forest-- a massive expanse of land -- and when they look into this field to the top of a hill not too far away, there’s another wave of Death Eaters lined up, these faces rather familiar to just two of his friends. Jimin hears swearing behind him, and then Hoseok’s pushing past him roughly, only stopped by Namjoon’s hand clamping down around his wrist.

“Don’t, Hoseok! We can’t do this -- there’s too many of them. We have to run--”

“They just tried to kill me, Namjoon! In my own home!” Hoseok whirls around and gets in his face, eyes wild. Jin tenses next to Y/n, one of his hands hovering over his pocket where his wand is. When she follows his eyes, she sees that the line of Death Eaters has started to approach.

They move slowly, as if they have all the time in the world. As if they have nothing to fear, organized and protected against this mismatched group of ambushed friends. She watches as they approach like predators waiting for the kill, and she knows that this is no simple Death Eater attack -- it’s a massacre.

And then, just as silently as he’d disappeared, Jungkook’s returned. Their attackers are given no warning, only registering that the wheat around them is rustling when one of them is violently pulled down into it. He’s gone in an instant, his screams echoing in the night as he’s dragged through the dirt toward the house.

The moment Jungkook emerges at the edge of the field, the Death Eater is flying through the air and crashing into the remains of the house, slung from Jungkook’s jaws like nothing more than a ragdoll. He lands not a few feet away from them, and Yoongi’s jaw clenches when he recognizes the bloodied face of a fellow Slytherin. Turning to lock his gaze onto the line of his old classmates, he pushes past the group and summons his wand from within the rubble of his home with nothing more than the flick of his wrist. It flies from deep within the ruins into its master’s hand with ease, and Yoongi spins it between his fingers casually once he has it.

“I really hope you guys all know how to cast shields as powerful as Jungkook’s -- otherwise, we’re fucked.” The wolf in question falls into line with Yoongi, his whole body shaking from the warning growl forming deep within his chest. The rest of the group follows, facing their enemies head-on.

From Jungkook’s other side, he feels a warm hand press into the top of his head, and he knows it instinctively. He can also feel the cold length of a wand, hidden easily in the darkness of his fur and beneath her flattened hand. Y/n keeps him there for only a moment -- knowing they only have a moment -- and presses her fingertips against his skull as if to hold him back. As if to stall him just long enough to tell him to be careful. And then the moment is gone and she’s wrapping her fingers neatly around her wand, releasing him with a whisper.

“Go.”

None of them can say how long they’ve been there -- every second that passes is another that they could lose their lives, so it feels like they’re there a lifetime. They’ve huddled into a small circle, surrounded completely. Jungkook is mobile, weaving in and out of their enemies at too fast a speed to ever be hit by a curse. He’s taking them out slowly, dragging them back into the darkness one by one while the rest work just to stay alive. Unlike at the World Cup, where every enemy shot fired was red, these beams of lights are all hauntingly green, glowing in the night sky -- a sign that things are different now, death standing only a few feet away in the form of old friends.

Every killing curse fired is met with an equally powerful shield, a wall that shatters the moment it meets its mark. They’re cancelling each other out, evenly matched in a battle that won’t end until someone gets tired -- until someone makes a mistake. The only sounds come from incantations, spoken by those of their group that cannot cast silently.

Hoseok and Yoongi fight much like their opponents, masks of guarded silence -- a reminder that while they’re on opposite sides of the war, they were once very much the same. The difference, of course, is that their old housemates are now murderers without remorse. But that’s not their only problem.

Y/n suddenly stumbles next to Jimin, and he can’t even tear his eyes away from the Death Eater before him to check on her. He can only reach for her with his free hand, gripping her wrist in panic, which she rips from his hold with a groan. She only barely manages to raise her wand in time to block the killing curse headed right for her head. The force of her shield colliding with the curse so close to her knocks her back, and she falls into the circle with gritted teeth.

Jimin steps in front of her, closing the gap in their circle and allowing her a moment to recover inside their circle. But she never returns to her spot, only curling in on herself and gripping at her head with a cry of pain -- she knows this feeling. The feeling of her skull splitting, her body rejecting itself as it turns into something unnatural -- something unhuman.

But this can’t be happening. The full moon is not tonight, something she confirms simply by rolling over in the dirt and looking up at the sky, in excruciating pain. She can see clearly that this cannot be her reality, yet the popping of her spine as it dislocates itself is very much real. Reaching out blindly, she latches on to the first person she can find, her hand clamping down around Hoseok’s ankle and squeezing with all her might. He hisses above her and manages to glance down long enough to see an expression of pain he’d long become accustomed to.

“What the fuck?!” It’s the first time he’s spoken in ages, his attention back on his opponent as he works out in his mind how this is possible. There’s no time to reason through what he knows, however, because Y/n’s teeth are clenching so hard she’s afraid they might crack, her grip on his ankle tightening painfully. Hoseok makes a snap decision then, calling out into the night.

“Jimin, listen to me.” The boy’s on his left, so focused on the shield he’s casting that he responds only once he’s successfully blocked the deadly beam of green light.

“What is it, Hoseok--”

“You have to take her into the forest. Now.” His instructions are muffled by the sounds of a curse crashing into Namjoon’s shield, unheard by their enemies, but Jimin hears him clearly. He also hears the urgency in Hoseok’s voice, telling him there’s no time for questions. “It has to be you, Jimin.”

He knows then what Hoseok’s saying, what he hasn’t had the chance to confirm himself. Y/n’s transforming on a night other than the full moon, and they’re out of time. He calls for Y/n then, reaching back for her.

“Y/n -- baby, listen to me. We gotta go.” There’s a moment of nothingness, only her groans of pain, but then he feels her hand slamming down into his and gripping hard. And then his body is working faster than his brain.

Stepping forward out of the circle and straight for the man that’s been trying to end his life all night, Jimin swings his arm out, bringing a new shield up with him as he goes. It hits the Death Eater from the side, catapulting him through the air. Just as he’s in the downward arc of his fall, he’s caught suddenly, torso trapped in Jungkook’s jaws as the wolf leaps into the air to capture his next target. They crash to the ground not far away, hidden away in the wheat.

Jimin pulls Y/n to her feet, pointing his wand out into the field as he runs for the treeline.

“Fumos!” The effect is immediate, smoke pouring out of his wand and swirling around him in a dense fog. It keeps them hidden as they make a beeline for the trees, allowing them safe passage. Jimin chances a look over his shoulder and sees that the smoke hasn’t passed over his circle of friends, ensuring that they’ll still be able to see clearly and protect themselves.

Y/n stumbles again as they run, but Jimin’s hold on her keeps her going, and she registers that he’ll be there for her transformation. Panic seeps in through the pain, and she calls out desperately for him to stop, her vision leaving her. Jimin can feel her struggling against him, but he tightens his grip and forces her to follow. They’re close to the treeline by now, but it won’t be enough until they’re completely hidden. And, although he can’t see where the wolf has gone with his old enemy, Jimin steps in something wet and everything suddenly reeks of blood, so he knows Jungkook is near. Apparently, Y/n can smell it, too, because she’s struggling harder now.

“Jungkoo-- Jungkook, stop him!” Jimin grits his teeth and stops, turning to face his girlfriend and pulling her forward. She crashes right into him, the force of his sudden movement propelling her straight into his arms. Her eyes are wide open but her vision’s completely blacked out, which Jimin can see in the fact that she won’t look at him. But he doesn’t need her to.

Ducking low, he wraps an arm around her waist and throws her over his shoulder, ignoring her cries of outrage as he races for the forest just ahead. She pounds her fists against his back, practically roaring with fury as she fights him. He only pushes on, telling himself he’ll let her be as mad as she wants later, if they’re still alive.

Once they make it into the forest, Jimin runs only far enough that he feels unseen before setting her on her feet. She’s immediately falling to the ground, crawling blindly away from him and clawing at the dirt in pain.

“Go away! Just go away!” Disappearing behind a tree, she swears at him loudly, looking for any outlet for her pain. Jimin only turns to the treeline, letting her curse him as he surveys the land around him for Death Eaters. All he sees is Jungkook in the distance, turning in circles in the field as if lost.

Jimin watches as the wolf races for their friends, sliding to an urgent stop and turning back again in confusion when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for. He sees when Jungkook’s ears perk up at someone’s call, and his head is turning in Hoseok’s direction. Hoseok’s lips move, giving instructions Jimin can’t hear, but he knows exactly what’s been said when Jungkook’s whipping around to look at the trees.

Interestingly, the wolf hesitates, moving forward before stopping to looking over his shoulder. It’s only a moment, but it’s enough for Hoseok to point out at the forest urgently as he blocks another curse. Jimin can read Hoseok’s lips clearly then as the older boy calls out to Jungkook.

Jimin will die if you don’t go.

The chill that runs down Jimin’s spine at that moment, an omen playing a cruel joke on him, only worsens when he realizes that he’s stopped being able to hear Y/n’s pained gasps. A low whine rings out behind him, and it’s with bated breath that Jimin’s turning slowly on his heels.

Towering over him with an icy gaze locked on him is Y/n -- rather, it’s the part of Y/n that has no idea who he is in that moment. The eyes that see him only see through him, completely empty of anything that isn’t primal. Where Jungkook’s eyes are still his own even in a wolf’s body, these eyes don’t recognize him, and Jimin knows that fact alone will haunt him forever.

Yet, he isn’t afraid of her. He’s only afraid for her -- for the way she’s still curled in on herself, still in pain. He’s afraid for the way she blinks, thoughts muddled and lost, struggling to find herself in the darkness of her mind. He’s especially afraid for the way she finally gives in, losing her will to fight for herself. Her pupils shrink and grow until she’s focusing in on him, and Jimin knows by the way she tilts her head curiously at him that he’s got her attention -- and that’s never good.

When she takes a step toward him, he mirrors it with a step back, and that alone seems to set her off. She moves suddenly, closing the distance between them easily. She leans down until her snout is pushed close to his nose, snarling at him as he stays frozen where he stands. When she raises one clawed hand, he barely has time for a final thought before she’s swinging down at him.

Well, shit.

Suddenly, Jimin’s flying through the air and crashing to the ground a few feet away, rolling to a stop at the base of a tree with a groan -- but he’s in one piece. Lifting his head, he finds that he hadn’t been sliced to pieces by his own girlfriend. He’d been shoved out of the way by a wolf twice his size, the wolf in question now standing where he had just been.

Jungkook’s got his teeth latched around Y/n’s wrist, growling loudly to keep her attention on him. They stand there a few moments, eyes locked in a tense stare-down of dominance. Y/n eventually raises her other hand, claws gleaming in the moonlight, but Jungkook only growls again, a warning. It stops her, as if recognizing this moment, and, although she seems enraged by the display, she lowers her hand anyway.

Ripping her other, trapped, wrist from Jungkook’s jaws, she lets out her own snarl and steps toward him, and Jimin thinks these two might really tear each other apart. But Jungkook’s been here countless times, and he’s still of clear mind, so he knows exactly what to do.

Crouching quickly, he snaps his teeth at her ankles, sending her backwards. She roars angrily, but he persists, snapping at her feet again and again until she’s finally scurrying off into the forest with a cry of outrage. Jungkook watches her go before rushing to Jimin, startling the boy out of his shock.

The wolf sniffs at the air around Jimin, knocking him around with his massive head as he pushes his snout into Jimin’s torso, checking for injuries. Jimin’s lost for a moment, wondering exactly why Jungkook’s expressing so much concern when Y/n should be his priority, but then he remembers exactly what it would mean if he had been caught by one of Y/n’s claws.

Once Jungkook’s done checking that Jimin won’t be turning into a werewolf anytime soon, he’s gone, disappearing after his sister. Jimin only sits there, bruised and battered but alive all the same. Then he hears someone yelling Taehyung’s name in the distance, and he’s on his feet.

Rushing out to the field, he stops at the top of the hill, his breath catching in his throat when he sees the scene down below. His friends are still surrounded, and, although the number of Death Eaters has been severely reduced thanks to the merciless animagus running around, there’s still too many of them. But before he can rush to help, something happens, all too fast to process -- and Jimin has the displeasure of witnessing everything from that hill.

Down in the circle, the rest of the group is fighting for their lives. Many of the boys have sustained injuries simply from their own shields exploding too close to them -- pieces of the ground and debris from the house are thrown around, catching on their bodies in surface wounds they won’t even notice until the next morning.

There’s a special kind of desperation spilling off of Namjoon and Taehyung -- the only muggleborns in that circle -- and it’s making one of them reckless. Namjoon’s keeping his cool, as he’s been in the Order for months now and has had the battle training, but Jin’s having to compensate for small mistakes Taehyung is making out of fear. The Gryffindor’s only a boy, a boy targeted simply for being born. This is the first time he’s ever been faced with his own reality, and he’s terrified.

So when he slips on a piece of rubble at his feet, the only thing that keeps him alive is the fact that he’d moved his head a quarter of an inch to the left just in time. The killing curse flies past him and through the circle, passing Yoongi on the right and hitting a mark just past him -- that mark is the Death Eater that Yoongi had been battling all night.

The boy crumples instantly, the light in his eyes gone. Yoongi watches as he goes, his mind blank as the body crashes to the ground. And then he’s turning on his heel, everything slowed and muffled around him. The Death Eaters have all stopped, equally shocked from what’s just occurred -- after all, they’re just boys, too.

Yoongi hears Jin yelling Taehyung’s name, and he sees Hoseok rushing for him. He watches as Namjoon starts to run to Tae and then stop, raising his wand and choosing to keep guard instead, realizing that their fight isn’t over. Yoongi watches all of it with wide eyes, thinking then that this scene would be very different had the curse hit Taehyung as intended. He spins, staring down at the dead body below him, thinking that this is what Taehyung would have been. This lifeless, empty corpse. And that’s just too much for someone like Yoongi to deal with.

In that moment, the strength of the silent marksman is broken, shattered from within as he fights no longer to protect his own life but those of his friends. In that moment, he proves to be much more worthy than he’d ever thought himself before, breaking through that perpetual tendency to hide himself away — but it comes at a price. Because it’s in that moment that Min Yoongi, for all that he’d tried to free himself of that cursed name, finally gives in to the bloodline he’d spent his whole life denying.

“Protego diabolica!” The spell is cast like the roar of a dragon awakened, enraged -- the first time he’s spoken an incantation in years. It’s ripped from his lungs against his will, uttered with nothing but the urge to destroy, the need to bring pain down on his enemies so that they may never hurt his family again. That dark magic — so forbidden, so evil — follows the command of his left arm, quite literally brought to life by the malice in his eyes and the sweeping of his hand in an arc around himself. And for the first time in the 7 years Jimin had known the shy, self-loathing Slytherin — so guarded from the vulnerabilities of life — he watches from that hill as Yoongi loses control.

The fire that flows out of his hand like water -- icy and unforgiving -- spreads out around Yoongi like a wall of pitch black rage. It passes right over his friends -- they flinch at the foreign magic and its caster, who seems equally foreign to them now. They watch with awe as Yoongi commands the fire, forming a protective circle around them with ease. It almost seems to feed off of his rage, growing with every breath he takes and shrinking with the fall of his chest. He is a snake no more -- a dragon birthed of fire and blood stands in his place.

Jimin watches in pained silence as one of his closest friends loses himself to the war -- but even now, he can still see that Yoongi’s still there. And it’s Yoongi that will have to deal with consequences later, but right now he’s doing whatever it takes to save them. And that includes exploding with anger the moment he spots Jimin still up on that hill.

“Get your ass in here!” The ring of fire seems to swell with his outrage, and Jimin is in no place to refuse. The Death Eaters are still shocked and disoriented by the wall of fire they’re now faced with, and Jimin uses that to his advantage. Racing down the hill, he leaps into the circle, the cold flames licking at his ankles as they let him pass, recognizing him as a friend to their master.

Having seen Jimin’s success at passing through the ring, two of the Death Eaters rush at the wall, unaware of the nature of this dark magic. The moment they make contact with it, the fire senses their intentions, reacting accordingly. Jimin watches as they dissolve into nothing, shrieks of pain ringing out into the air as the fire consumes them. When he turns, he sees that Yoongi is shaken by this, his eyes conflicted as he watches two of his classmates cease to exist, remembering exactly what kind of magic he’s just brought into the world.

But when one of the last Death Eaters attempts to cast another killing curse into the circle, hoping to get through, the fire seems to act not on Yoongi’s command but on his instinct -- and his instinct is to block it. The flames explode outward, concentrating into a wall of protection and destroying the curse. And then they reach further, snaking out to overpower the boy who’d cast the spell, consuming him and his plea for mercy.

There’s only one Death Eater left, standing just outside the circle. Yoongi locks eyes with him, sees the trembling boy staring back at him with fear. They see each other, remembering simultaneously all the times they’d eaten together at mealtimes and suffered together during exam season. They’d grown up together. Just how they’d ended up here, neither of them can recall in that moment, and it destroys whatever innocence they’d had left.

Yoongi finally looks out to the field, his eyes flicking quickly before returning to the Death Eater. The boy hesitates, eventually stepping back. After another moment, he turns, running for his life and never looking back.

When he’s gone, the ring of fire fades, the wall tumbling down until all that’s left is a ring of earth around them that’s been burned to a crisp. Yoongi crumbles then, falling to his knees and staring at nothing. Jimin and Hoseok rush to him, eyes scanning him in concern. They all remain silent, words unable to express what any of them are feeling. Finally, Yoongi lifts his head, still unable to lock eyes with anyone.

“Is everyone okay?” They don’t answer his question, Jin only scoffing in shell-shocked disbelief.

“Are you okay?” Yoongi looks at his best friend, and he knows Jin can see right through him. They all can. He doesn’t respond, and they fall to silence again. Surrounded by bodies and destruction, unable to comprehend what’s happened. Unable to fathom how inexplicably broken they’ve become.

Just when they’re ready to face each other -- when they’re ready to face the aftermath of this night together -- a howl rings out from the forest, pained and haunting. They all lift their heads to stare in exhaustion at the treeline, outlined perfectly by the light of a moon that isn’t full. Yoongi chuckles darkly, shaking his head as he rises slowly to his feet and dusts off his pants before turning to look at what's left of his home with a long sigh.

“This family’s a fucking mess.”

#bts au #bts smau #bts social media au #bts hogwarts au #park jimin #jimin x reader #AHupdate

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