#so um. guess what i saw at Westside!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[mesopelagos]

i'll make it worth your while~

[restapesta]

Gallavich + nervous

Mickey doesn't hear him coming.

Albeit making an abundance of noise—or so Ian thinks—Mickey doesn't come to the door to greet him. Usually he does, getting up from wherever he's sitting and leaving whatever he's doing, just so he could welcome Ian back home with a gentle kiss to his lips, followed by s small smile that Mickey probably thinks means nothing but makes Ian's belly fill with warmth.

It wasn't as if Ian was gone for long; a mere couple of hours out at the Alibi with Lip and Carl, trying to enjoy the last few days they had there before Kev and V hand over the keys to the new owners. Mickey didn't want to come despite Ian expecting him to be by his side, like always.

Got some stuff I need to take care of, he'd said.

Ian didn't ask, not wanting to seem so obsessed with his husband that he couldn't fathom leaving him alone for a couple of hours. He trusts him, no doubt—Ian is just curious. What was Mickey even doing these past few hours alone at their new home? Is he even in the apartment?

"Mickey?" Ian calls out, and, immediately, he hears shuffling from the bedroom—the one with the closed door—accompanied by copious amounts of the cuss words shit and fuck that were obviously escaping his husband's lips.

"What the fuck?" Ian whispers to himself. Why was Mickey in their bedroom with the door closed? Why was he cursing at Ian being back home?

There was no fucking way anybody was in the room besides Mickey. It wasn't like Mickey was using up the time Ian was gone to fuck somebody else on the bed they slept on each night together.

Ian gulps, feeling sweat run down his back. He fucking feels his body trying to cool itself down from the spike of heat that had followed the preposterous idea that Mickey was fucking someone else.

Of course he fucking isn't.

With a crease in his forehead and a lump stuck in his throat, Ian inches towards the door and throws it wide open. He doesn't hesitate a single second, and his breath hitches as the contents of the room are revealed.

Mickey's sitting on the made bed, panting. Ian runs his gaze over him and first notes that he's fully clothed. After that—once his heart slowed down enought to be able to breathe normally again—he notices the notebook peeking out from underneath Mickey's ass. There's also a pack of pencils scattered on the floor next to the mattress, as if they were thrown down to be hidden, but rolled out of the packet instead.

"The fuck are you doing home so early?" Mickey asks, and then places his hands beside him tightly so they cover the part of the notebook—no sketchbook—that was peeking out. "And why don't you knock?"

In the blink of an eye, the dots connect in his head. The sketchbook, the scattered pencils thrown haphazardly onto the laminated floor.

Ian smiles despite the fucking anxiety that was coursing through his body mere second ago. "Um, I've been gone for hours." He looks back at Mickey who's still breathing raggedly, red in the cheeks. "What are you doing?"

"I, uh," He stammers. "None of your fucking business."

"Why was the door closed?"

"Um, I was, I don't know, jerking off?"

Ian quirks an eyebrow. "Why is that a question?"

Mickey suddenly blows out air through his nose, and grimaces as if caught in an act. Ian licks his lips, then takes his lower one in between his teeth. He knows he's got him.

"Fuck you, I was drawing, okay?"

Ian can't help the wide grin that settles on his face. The one that comes from the knowledge that his husband is finally allowing himself to do the thing he has loved for years.

Drawing was another hobby Mickey was forced to keep to himself, shielded away, just because Terry and company considered it for pussies. Mickey only started exploring it again in prison, but he never even touched the tools Ian had gotten him for their anniversary.

The ones that are scattered across the room and underneath Mickey's buttcheeks, at the moment.

"What you drawing, baby?" Ian asks as he watches Mickey pull out the sketchbook from underneath him, a look of resignation on his face as if he was revealing a big secret. He scowls at it, then at Ian.

"Stuff." Mickey answers simply.

"What stuff?" Ian chuckles as he starts listing his first guesses off. He feels giddy knowing that Mickey is drawing. That he is finally letting himself do that. "The nature? Hm, not really your style. The apartment? No, not this bare. The Westside assholes? That you might like—,"

"You, you fucking dumbass." Mickey interrupts. "I was drawing you."

And... Oh.

"Me?" Ian asks and he fucking hears how soft his voice is, but he can't help it. Out of all the things he had been expecting... Ian? Mickey was drawing him? "Why are you drawing me?"

Mickey fiddles with the pages of the sketchbook before opening it up to reveal the drawing he'd been working on.

It's a drawing of Ian, leaning against a wall and smiling.

The detail of it is so fucking good that Ian just stares in aw for a few seconds.

"It's fucking amazing, Mick." He says, unable to tear his gaze away, feeling tears well up in his eyes.

Mickey shrugs. "Been wanting to draw this for a while now. I saw you leaning against the wall like this at that party at the Gallagher house last week, and I just," He sighs, stopping for a few moments. "You looked beautiful."

Ian swallows and then locks eyes with Mickey. In a second, their lips are pressed together in a searing kiss, and Mickey's gripping Ian's cheeks as they move their mouths languidly against one another.

"Fuck," Ian breathes as they pull away, eyes still closed. "I thought you were fucking someone else in here. I got pretty nervous."

He feels Mickey's palm—the one that was holding the side of his face so gently—slap against his cheek. His eyes widen immediately.

"Ow! The fuck was that for?"

Mickey pushes him away lightly. "Fucking somebody else? You bitch."

"You're the bitch!"

He lets Mickey tackle him down onto the bed. They scuffle for a few moments, clawing at each other's clothes, and lightly pushing against each other's bodies.

They both still as Mickey climbs on top of Ian and pins his arms above his head. They stare at each other.

"I love drawing you." Mickey leans down to press a kiss to Ian's neck.

Ian relaxes and let's himself smile for the umpteenth time that night. "I love your drawings."

Mickey moves up to press another slow kiss to Ian's lips, and Ian feels the butterflies awaken again, along with the warmth pooling in his belly.

The next time Ian sees the bedroom door closed, he just smiles.

[hailhydra920]

Branded For Ruin Pt.3

Chapter 3: Therapy Buddies

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Summary:  Bucky Barnes just wants to be a better person by living alone and eating ramen. Too bad court mandated therapy and the girl he met in the waiting room have other plans.

Warnings: None

Part 1 Part 2

           Keen blue eyes searched the hall, darting toward every doorway. Once satisfied, Bucky exited his apartment, his basket full of clothing held close to him, Alpine walking beside him. He snuck off to the laundry room, hoping Dot wouldn’t pop out and start up a conversation with him. Worst case scenario, he could toss Alpine onto her face act like it was an accident. Or maybe that was best case scenario. He shook his head and kept walking. His red and blue clothes were drowned by his black and gray clothing, helping him blend into the shadows easier. Finally making it to the laundry room, he let out a soft breath of relief. The only other person in there was Mrs. Kalright, and she was one of the few people Bucky didn’t mind talking with.

He greeted her and walked over to the washing machine. Alpine curled on top of the dryer that has Mrs. Kalright’s clothes in it, his soft body reveling in the warmth it brought. Bucky messed with the buttons on the washer for a while, wondering why Westside Apartments could buy the fanciest washers and dryers on the face of the earth, but couldn’t fix the railing on the stairs. Why did the darned washer need so many buttons anyway? He wanted clean clothes without trying to program it. He saw Mrs. Kalright struggling to carry all her items.

“Do you need any help?�� Bucky asked softly.

“You’re such a dear. I would deeply appreciate it.” She said as Bucky took the laundry soap from her hands.

Bucky walked with her back to her apartment. He listened to her sweet old voice as she talked about how her husband hid her favorite mug again, and she hates it, but he thinks it’s funny. Bucky smiles as she talks about her relationship with her husband. Maybe if he hadn’t been drafted, he would have had a life full of love and happiness.

“That Dot woman get you to go out with her yet?” Mrs. Kalright asked with a smile.

Bucky sucked in a breath and shook his head. “No ma’am. I, uh, don’t think she’s my type.”

She laughed. “I don’t think so either.”

They eventually got to her apartment and Bucky helped put her stuff away.

“Thank you for your help, James. Therapy today?”

Bucky sighed as he ran his hand through his hair. “Unfortunately, but I guess it’s part of life.”

“Well, do take care, James.”

“Thank you. I will.” Bucky replied before he left.

~~~~~

           “We’re going down! Everyone in the cockpit disappeared! Does anyone know how to fly a plane?!” A flight attendant nearly screamed.

           People were screaming in terror as they watched loved ones and friends dust away in front of their eyes. You were breathing fast, what in the world was happening?! The plane was descending fast, and you quickly unbuckled yourself before going up to the frightened attendant.

           “I have experience.” You said before siting in the pilot’s seat.

           You struggled to get the plane back on course, a layer of sweat was starting to cover your skin. You pulled up with fearful force. You tried to connect to a nearby station but got only static. You cursed as another plane was headed toward you guys. Maneuvering the best you could, you prayed for the best. The opposite plane harshly crashed into the left wing of the plane, and a horrid groan was heard throughout the sky. A forest was coming closer and closer into view as the plane toppled toward the earth. You tried to steady it the best you could, but it looked like the end.

           “Brace yourselves!!!” You screamed into the earpiece as the plane crashed into the thick brush of the forest.

           You woke up in a cold sweat, your breaths uneven. You threw the covers off of you and set your feet on the cold floor. That was five years ago, when the world was thrown into chaos by Thanos. Only five people other than you survived on the plane that day. You took a deep breath as you remembered. Deciding a warm shower would help ease some of the tension in your body, you ambled toward the bathroom. Therapy was going to be horrible today.

~~~~~

           Bucky looked at the stairs like he was looking at Mt. Everest. Therapy was on the sixth floor, and here he was on the first. Taking a deep breath, he started his long journey up the carpeted stairs. He thought about using the railing but saw a few pieces of gum stuck to it and thought better of it. Weren’t people supposed to clean those things? Humming an old 40s tune, he picked up his pace a little. He was looking at some of the pictures that decorated the wall before he stepped wrong and fell. Cursing, he stood up.

           “I hate stairs. I hate life. And I especially hate that worker at Starbucks that gets my order wrong on purpose.” Bucky grumbled as he kept trekking his way up.

           About halfway there he noticed someone sitting on one of the steps. As he got closer, he recognized the person.

           “It’s you.” He spoke gruffly.

           Your head jerked up quickly, then you relaxed when you noticed who it was. “Yeah. I’m, uh, Y/n, by the way.”

           “Bucky.” He said stretching out his hand.

           You shook it with a weak smile.

           Bucky stood there awkwardly for a few moments before speaking. “So…therapy, huh?”

           He winced as he registered the words he had just said. Had it really been this long since he has had a normal conversation with a stranger?

           “Not that therapy is bad.” Bucky said quickly. “But, uh, what’s wrong with you? No, sorry. I haven’t had a decent conversation with people in a while. Um…”

           You smiled as he rambled, and you found it cute. He was trying so hard not to seem rude and though you usually didn’t talk to people, you found an odd comfort with him.

           “It’s okay.” You replied. “I have court mandated therapy, because of some, um, issues. What about you.”

           Bucky rubbed the back of his neck and breathed out. “Pretty much the same as you. Do you, uh, want to walk the rest of the way with me? You don’t have to of course, I just thought—”

           You laughed. “Sure.”

           He let out a sigh of relief. You stood up and walked beside Bucky up the stairs. You walked in silence, but it was a silence you could be calm with. It was a peace you hadn’t felt in a long time. And you may have found yourself a therapy buddy.

Perm Tags:  @sleep-i-ness​​​ @thefridgeismybestie

[restapesta]

The Tomato Thief

Enjoy this little something I wrote based on a prompt here on Tumblr. Feedback is always appreciated.

Words: 4.3k

_________________

The first time Ian noticed his tomatoes half-gone, half-squashed from the small vegetable patch he had started working on when he and Mickey moved into the apartment complex, he chose to ignore it. Pretending as if the loss of his small, barely ripe cherry tomatoes was insignificant, he mentioned no word of it to anyone, making a conscious decision to simply start the planting process once again. So, in the past month, Ian, choosing not to get frustrated, but rather improve his skills, was trailing along the edge of a nervous breakdown, trying to get his little patch of land replenished. When he realized that the second time doing something he initially started as a hobby would be much more difficult than the first, he feared that what he intended to be relaxing would turn into aggravating. If it wasn't for the security business, he probably would've had a meltdown, very much hurt by the fact his poor tomatoes were gone, but somehow, he managed to power through it, luck being somewhat on his side, making the tomato-growing process faster than before. It was a long excruciating process, living with the secret that all of his previous hard work was now replaced by even harder work and determination, but the sight of his vegetable patch replenishing itself as if it were never ruined, along with the Westside growing even fonder to both him and Mickey, almost starting to feel like home, made it all sort-of worth it for Ian. His husband was happy, his home was beautiful, his business was expanding, and his tomatoes were finally turning a deeper shade of red, after being torn out the first time while they were mostly green. Ian was truly very much happy.

Until he woke up one Saturday morning, excited to start his weekend off by gardening, his way to relax from the crammed-up week he and Mickey had, both enjoying the little separate bubbles they created, together yet apart, Mickey with the pool he grew to love, and Ian with his veggies, working away in the Sun -- and found every single one of his tomatoes gone, neatly picked from their stems, as if done by a professional.

First, Ian had paled, his complexion turning impossibly whiter in the bask of the afternoon glow. Then, his left eye began twitching. Anger bubbled inside of his chest, and he finally understood his husband's urges to break chairs and signs, and throw tantrums -- Ian felt like murdering somebody. Wrapping his hands so tight around the neck of the person who took his tomatoes which weren't even ripe for taking yet, and squeezing until he saw the life leave their eyes. Scaring himself at the thought, he took a deep breath and then held it for a long period of time -- a questionable, dangerous, life-threatening period of time. He was sure that his neck and cheeks were even redder than his poor tomatoes were when he had last seen them. Exhaling quickly, he balled his hands into fists and made his way quickly to the vegetable patch to examine it better.

Crouching down, as if he were in a detective movie, he observed the soil, in case the culprit left footprints or accidentally dropped a valuable item Ian could use to identify them with. When he saw nothing helpful, but rather just his regular garden -- sans the lost reds -- he rolled over all of his options in his head. 

It could've been an animal the last time -- a squirrel or a bird, considering how a lot of the tomatoes were simply just squashed -- but now, the precision the tomatoes were picked with... there was no other possibility. It was one of the other tenants, somebody who deliberately wanted to either get revenge on Ian or simply to eat the vegetables Ian had worked so hard on for himself and his husband. It was ironic how he saw red.

Breathing deeply, composing himself more with each inhale and exhale -- a technique he had been forced to learn in court-mandated therapy -- the ginger made his way from the garden to the manager's office, strides quick. Melanie, the on-sight manager, was in the room, along with her poodle when Ian knocked on the door.

"Hi." She chirped in greeting. "How may I help you?"

Ian forced a smile. "I was wondering if you perhaps had cameras in the garden area? I think someone stole something I left there, by accident." He lied, not wanting the woman to think of him as even a bigger fag for caring about dumbass vegetable-fruits. Much to his dismay, she shook her head apologetically. 

"Sorry, no. Was it valuable?"

Yes, Ian thought sadly. "Nah. Probably just misplaced it. Thank you anyway."

She smiled again, "You're welcome. Say hi to your husband for me."

"I will." He waved goodbye and exited the office, closing the door behind him.

No cameras, no clues. He had no fucking idea how he could possibly catch the asshole who had the nerves to fuck with him. Suddenly, he understood what he needed to do. 

Mickey was lounging by the pool, sunglasses on, looking hot as fuck, enjoying the day when Ian found him. Stepping in front of the chair Mickey was sitting on, Ian blocked the beams of light which were hitting Mickey's body, slowly giving him a nice tan. Mickey begrudgingly opened his eyes to stare at Ian, pushing his sunglasses down slightly, as if wanting to give Ian a better look of his 'why the fuck are you blocking the Sun' expression. 

"What?" He finally asked, pushing his RayBans back up.

"Baby, I need your help killing someone."

Mickey's eyebrows scrunched up in confusion, assessing Ian's face for any sign of humor. When he found none, he blew out an exasperated sigh. "Why?"

"Someone stole my fucking tomatoes."

Ian could see Mickey's eyes close again behind the black glass. "Who?"

"I have no fucking idea. If I did, they'd already be dead. This is the second time, Mick!" He shook his head in disbelief. "First time, I let it slide. Thought it was a bird or some shit. So, I did everything again this past month, made sure everything was better than before, had a near fucking episode over the stress that shit caused me, and now, they get fucking stolen, again!" He was breathing raggedly now, even angrier than before. His shrink's anger controlling methods only worked for a short period of time, he guessed. "We need to kill them."

Ian sat himself down on the chair next to Mickey's, slouching back in defeat. His poor tomatoes. He felt his fingers intertwine with soft, warm ones, Mickey's thumb rubbing soothing circles over Ian's. "We can't kill them," Mickey started. Ian was about to respond how he knew that, how it still made him really fucking angry, but Mickey continued, softly, "without knowing who they are. Once we know who they are, we can slip rat poison into the tomatoes, and have 'em dead in a heartbeat. Can't even pin it on us, 'cause then they'd have to admit they stole it."

Ian's eyes widened slightly, amazed and terrified by his partner at the same time. "I forgot you were a murderer here for a second."

Mickey smirked at Ian's growing smile. "Parole for attempted murder, Red. Need I remind you? Did you forget how much that turned you on?" He was now inching closer to his husband, chin jutting out, seeking out a kiss. Ian complied, even in his angriest moments still horny for his worse half, moving his lips against Mickey's slowly and teasingly. 

"We can't kill them." Ian voiced out after they broke apart, now much calmer.

Mickey snorted, settling back in his chair. "No shit."

"We can find out who the fuck it is, though."

"How the fuck you gonna do that? All your tomatoes are gone, right? 'S not like you can just make new ones appear."

Ian thought about it for a second, "Who says I can't? I have my ways."

Mickey nodded mockingly. "Sure, tough guy. Is this the moment I find out I've been married to a wizard?"

"Store-bought tomatoes, Mickey." Ian deadpanned.

"Oh."

"We plant those, and then go on a stakeout." He was already devising a master plan in his head. How they would buy the tomatoes at WholeFoods -- get the expensive ones so the bait was even more tempting, make it look as if Ian grew them himself (even though that was impossible by the rules of time -- but the person had to be stupid enough to steal from a Gallagher after all, so it had to work), and then, wait tonight in the garden, considering how his tomatoes couldn't have been stolen at any other time of day, and try to catch the thief. It was a good fucking plan.

"Why do you keep saying we?"

The voice interrupted his daydream. Confused, Ian looked at Mickey. "You're not gonna help me?"

"Not my problem, man. They're your tomatoes. I'm only here for the murder part, but you backed out of that, so... good luck."

Ian was about to argue, but he thought better of it. Maybe it would be easier to do this alone anyway. Leaning forward, he pressed one last chaste kiss on Mickey's lips, then swiftly got up. "Okay, then. Text me if you need anything. I'm going out."

"Where are you going?" Mickey straightened up for the first time since Ian got there. Ian felt a smile form on his face. His husband was very easy to read.

"Tomatoes, Mick. But, um, not your problem, right?" His voice was teasing and he knew his eyes were glinting with an unspoken challenge. "Don't know if I'll be home tonight. The stakeout might last a while. Guess I'll see you tomorrow. Keep the bed warm for me, would ya'?"

He turned to leave, but Mickey's hurried voice stopped him. "Hey, wait -- hold on a minute."

"Hmm?" So, so easy to read.

Scoffing, Mickey got up. "Let me get changed first. Then, we'll go catch the fucking tomato thief."

The smile Ian gave him was blinding.

----

"Tell me the plan again?"

Mickey was currently observing the expensive as fuck organic fruit in the WholeFoods store, gawking at the prices, but also simultaneously observing his husband as he picked through the best, reddest tomatoes he could find. Between the bitching and the sadness, Ian was all over the place -- it was hard for Mickey to understand why Ian was going so crazy over stolen tomatoes, but the thought of having Ian spend the day doing God-knows what kind of legal and illegal shit made him almost break out in hives. He would rather come along to control the hot mess than "warm the bed" as Ian had so casually put it. Fuck if he was gonna keep anything warm but Ian's dick in his ass.

Ian ignored Mickey's question and shoved a tomato at his face. "Do these look good enough? I want them to look natural, but also really good. What do you think?"

Mickey gave Ian an incredulous look, "Um... those look great... man, just pick whatever the fuck you want. This guy probably isn't very picky if he stole a ripe tomato."

Ian rolled his eyes. "It was a high quality tomato, Mickey." As an afterthought, he added, "Also, it could be a she."

"Maybe it's that fag with the big muscles? Maybe he has a thing for your tomatoes?" Mickey teased, only slightly bothered by the crush the blond guy in apartment 243 had on his tall redhead. It wasn't hard to glance over the sultry looks he gave Ian, or the flirtatious tone. Mickey liked giving Ian endless shit for it, just because of how defensive and uncomfortable Ian got when it was mentioned. It was pretty funny.

"Ugh, God Mickey. Seriously?"

"What? Am I wrong?"

Ian rolled his eyes so hard, Mickey was afraid he'd be shocked by the emptiness he found back there in a moment. Instead, Ian simply grimaced. "That guy really needs to back off. I literally couldn't have flashed the ring in his face more bluntly."

Mickey, using Ian being distracted by the guy, tied the bag Ian had been filling with tomatoes, discreetly moving them away from the spot they'd been standing in the past hour and a half, and towards the cash register.

"If he continues with that shit, I'll just start making out with you in front of him. Should get the point across."

Mickey only hummed in acknowledgment, content with the plan. He hated PDA but Ian made it so natural at times, there was no way he could say no to it.

"Wait, how did we end up here?" Ian glanced around him, only now noticing they were standing in line for the check-out. Mickey shook his head at his husband, who he had to admit was a himbo through and through. "Well, at least we got the tomatoes. The rest is easy."

"What is the plan, anyway?" Mickey repeated the question from before. Now, Ian didn't ignore him. He smirked at Mickey and told him not to worry about it.

"Not to --?" Mickey stuttered. "Ian, your ideas are not top-notch ideas. If I'm gonna try and catch a vegetable thief with you -- which may be the faggest thing I've ever said -- then I need to know the plan."

"Okay, fine." Ian huffed out a breath. "In short, we put these as bait, lure the asshole in, and wait to catch them in the act."

They stared at each other for a moment.

"...that's it?"

"What do you mean?" Ian smiled at the cashier as he took out a ten dollar bill from his pocket, paying for the overpriced vegetables -- or was it fruit? Mickey didn't really give a fuck.

"What do I mean? I mean, this may be the dumbest pan I've ever heard. I mean, sure, the tomatoes are good, but what, you just wanna have a stakeout the entire night? You do know the guy probably won't steal them straight away? We need to give it some time. Work out the suspect list, make sure we know who we're looking for."

Making it out onto the streets of Westside, Mickey was pleasantly greeted by the spring air -- he wouldn't admit it yet, but the Westside was something he was adapting to quite quickly. What used to make him uncomfortable when they first signed the lease changed completely in the past couple of months they'd been living here. It wasn't easy, but as the furniture rolled in, and as the apartment started feeling more like home, the whole "middle-class" life sort of followed. Both Mickey and Ian were still major fucking Southside trash. But now, they were Southside trash that lived in a pretty nice place that didn't have too many murders and attacks per day. That way, when they did happen, it felt nostalgic for Mickey. More special.

"I keep forgetting who you are. Takes a thief to catch a thief, I guess."

"I love how high of an opinion you have of me, Gallagher." Mickey replied teasingly, choosing to take it as a compliment.

Ian smiled, wrapping an arm around Mickey's shoulders, "The highest, baby."

Endeared by the nickname, Mickey blushed slightly. "C'mon man. Let's get back to the apartment. We got a stakeout that needs planning."

Ian nodded, but the arm stayed put the entire way home. Mickey didn't mind one bit.

----

"What about the lady from apartment 193? The one with the weird-ass dog?"

"Ian, she's, like, a hundred years old."

"I don't know, Mick. Seems kinda suspicious."

They were sitting on their newly-bought sofa in the living room, beers in hand, discussing the potential suspect list. Ian had his phone out, writing the names of the possible culprits down, attempting to uncover the thief by the way the crime was executed. It wasn't going that well.

Ian's suspect list was a mile long, all ranging from old women who had complimented his tomatoes months ago, to the weird guy who gave him the stink eye when they first moved in for no apparent reason. "He's out to get me, Mick. I know it." Mickey had told him to shut the fuck up, and presented his own suspect list.

His was a little more realistic, containing names such as Alan who most certainly didn't like the couple -- "maybe the reason for that is the tantrum, Mickey." "shut the fuck up, Ian." -- and the chick whose daughter had a massive crush on Mickey.

"Maybe she thinks I'm some sort of pedo. Not cool, man."

"She would have called the cops, Mickey, not stolen my tomatoes. Also, the whole thing is pretty cute."

Mickey blanched. "She's fifteen! And has a crush on me."

"She's cute, acting all flustered when you casually say "good morning" to her. She probably doesn't even know we're gay."

The girl, Courtney, lived in the apartment a couple doors down from theirs, and her apparent crush on Mickey was beyond adorable to Ian. She was amazed by his thug appearance, and she made it clear in the way she greeted him whenever she passed by the couple, ignoring Ian wholeheartedly. Mickey hadn't even noticed it until Ian pointed it out one night, and when he did, Mickey grimaced and groaned, muttering about how he really didn't need to be the cause of some kid's daydreams.

"Her mother is out to get me. And the way to get me is through you -- everybody knows that."

Ian's chest swelled at the probably insignificant sentence in Mickey's mind. "Aww, Mick. That's really sweet."

"I am sweet."

"It's not the mother. We have to come up with something else."

"Ugh." Mickey groaned. "Why can't we just do this the old-fashioned way?"

Ian simply raised an eyebrow.

"Listen, you already planted the bait when we got back, we have somewhat of a suspect list -- now, we just set up the camera."

"Camera?"

"Yes, Ian. A fucking camera."

"Where the fuck are we gonna get a camera?"

Mickey rolled his eyes. "Carl? He's probably got access to those hidden camera thingies at work, right? We just have him snatch one for us. We'll give it back." He then added as an afterthought, "Maybe."

Ian thought about it for a second and then sighed. "Fine, we'll do it your way."

"Better than crouching in a bush of roses in the middle of the night, Ginger."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Ian agreed, texting Carl simultaneously asking for the 'camera thingy'.

"Also, I'd probably never, under any circumstances, do that shit. Doesn't matter how much I love you."

"Uh-huh." Ian smiled at Mickey, amused.

"I'm serious." He affirmed. "Never. No fucking way."

---

"I can't believe you made me do this shit." Mickey grunted as he crouched behind a rose bush, eyes trained on Ian's vegetable patch.

"Your plan didn't work, so we're doing it my way."

"Well, I didn't really plan for the camera to get fucking broken!"

Their thief was way more skilled than they had initially thought. After they got the camera from Carl, Ian hid it well, making sure it caught the asshole on tape once they attempted to steal his goods again. And when, a couple days later, his store-bought tomatoes were ruined again, this time, squashed deliberately in the garden, he was so happy Mickey had the bright idea to record it.

Until he found the camera squashed along with the tomatoes. It still worked somewhat, and when Ian saw there was a video on it, his hopes had immediately risen, only to be squashed like the poor tomatoes when he saw the video got cut off in the middle of the night, right before the murder had taken place.

"We are gonna do this my way. And then, we'll kill them." He had told his husband.

"Sure, man. The red blood will fit right in with the tomatoes."

"Stakeout."

"No, Ian."

"The sex you'll get if you do this with me will be nothing like you'd ever experienced."

Mickey scoffed, "Sure."

Ian gave him a look full of mischief, and leaned into his ear to whisper his intentions. "Three words, baby: handcuffs, blindfold, tongue. As someone who claims he doesn't like ass-licking, you sure as fuck make some sexy, loud noises when I try it."

And that's how Mickey was there in the garden, at three in the morning with Ian, his dumbass husband, waiting for the thief to appear. Ian had planted another bait, and decided to have a stakeout that night, after loudly flaunting to the other gardeners how good his tomatoes had grown -- "They'll take the bait, Mikhailo, stop giving me that look."

"The ground is really fucking cold, man. Can't believe you convinced me to do this shit. No sex is worth this."

Ian, in response, pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Mickey's neck. "You sure about that?"

"Yeah..." Mickey sighed in content. When Ian tried pulling away, he muttered, "No. Don't stop."

"Eyes on the tomatoes. You'll get your prize later."

Just as Mickey was about to protest, a figure appeared, inching towards Ian's vegetable patch. The couple stilled, eyes squinting, trying to see who the thief was -- who the fuck was it that had so easily crushed Ian's dreams of becoming a gardener, and had forced them to sacrifice their Friday night, crouching in the bushes instead of loudly fucking in their bed.

When the figure stepped even closer, Ian gasped. The culprit's face wasn't even covered and when Mickey saw who it was, he couldn't help it.

He laughed.

He laughed so hard, tears streamed down his face -- he wheezed at the sight they were greeted with. Ian hit his bicep roughly, but it was too late.

The girl had noticed them. She jumped in fear at the noise and her eyes zeroed in on the two men. Her young face paled and her eyes widened in fear.

"You!" Ian accused, jumping up to his feet, not as amused as Mickey was.

The girl jutted out her chin in defiance, not scared one bit. "Yeah. Me."

Ian stared at the fifteen-year-old. He had once considered her cute -- the crush she had on Mickey being nothing more but sickly sweet to him, perfect teasing material. But now, as he realized she was deliberately sabotaging his tomatoes because of, what? Jealousy? Oh, he was pissed.

"Why, Courtney? I've been working hard on those vegetables."

"Fruits." Courtney replied and Ian gaped at her, as Mickey kept on laughing.

"Not the point. Why? Are you jealous or something?"

"Why would I be jealous?" She asked, still acting tough for a girl who had just been caught in the act.

"Then why are you doing this?"

"Because..." She glanced at Mickey who was still on the wet ground, observing the exchange. "Your tomatoes look better than mine, and I was planning on giving Mr. Milkovich my tomatoes but it wasn't gonna work if yours looked better. So, I took yours."

Mickey busted out laughing again. This time tears were actually streaming down his face, clouding his vision. "Mr." Wheeze. "Milkovich." Wheeze.

Courtney looked down, embarrassed. "Maybe I was a little jealous. I just wanted to be noticed."

"Stealing my husband's tomatoes sure got you on my radar, kid." Mickey muttered, still laughing loudly. Perhaps too loudly for three in the morning.

Courtney stilled. "You guys aren't just... roommates?"

Ian shook his head. "No, married."

Her mouth formed an 'oh' shape, and for a moment they stood in silence. Then she laughed, sheepishly. "Well, in that case... I'm sorry?"

Ian was still on the verge of a mental breakdown, but he chose to remain calm. "Just don't do it again, please."

"I won't. I swear." She raised her hands in the air in surrender.

"Go home, kid. It's three in the fucking morning. You're way past hour bedtime." Mickey pitched in from his seat on the soil.

She nodded once again, muttering a quick "sorry", and then ran out of the garden.

Ian turned to Mickey, still shocked. "The root of all of this has been you."

Mickey just smiled. "Not intentionally."

"She wanted to give you her tomatoes. So she ruined mine."

"Your tomatoes are the only ones I care about."

"This better not be a metaphor for my balls."

"Oh, I like those too."

Ian grinned at his husband. "At least we figured out who it was." He put his hand out towards Mickey. Mickey got the hint and grabbed it, pulling himself up.

"Yeah. It was the little girl all along."

Ian snorted, still a little angry.

"How about now, you and I go back to our warm, comfy bed where you can tie me up and fulfill your promise."

"You're not tired?" Ian raised his eyebrow at Mickey.

The smile Mickey gave him was genuine. "For you? Never."

"Maybe I could fulfill my promise. It'd get my mind of off the tomatoes."

"You can always use me as a distraction." Mickey wrapped his arms around Ian's neck and pulled him down, slotting their lips together.

"I'll show you how to handle your tomatoes properly." Mickey teased and Ian all but shoved him  back to the apartment.

The sex that night was fucking amazing. Mickey realized he wouldn't mind playing detective again if this was the reward he got. Suddenly, Ian's wish to plant thise tomatoes was the best thing that could have happened to Mickey in the long run. He wasn't surprised, though.

Ian really knew how to make the most of everything for Mickey. It was probably why he loved him so much.

This was a night Mickey would probably never forget.