#the reason behind ian's reaction to lip's question

[wehangout]

Fuck No

AO3

Things get weird the night before the night before. You joke and shove each other on the way to dinner, just like every other night, but then, while you’re eating your beef stroganoff and half a cup of veggies, things get … quiet.

And you’re in jail, for fucks sake. Even in the middle of the night there’s nothing quiet about jail because if there’s not someone jacking off two cells down, or talking to himself in the cell across, then the plumbing is whirring and creaking, pipes groaning under the pressure of flushing hundreds of dudes’ shit away every goddamn day.

But that’s how it gets at dinner. Quiet. Two guys at the other end of the table are going through the alphabet naming movies from the nineties; a couple of guards two tables over are trying to convince Jimmy to stop making idle threats and eat his fucking dinner; and there’s even shitty music playing over the shitty PA system.

That small circle around you and Ian, that bubble that seems to exist day and night, is silent.

It stays silent all the way back to your cell. It stays silent when he grabs a book and climbs onto his bed. It stays silent as you doodle half-heartedly on a piece of paper. He doesn’t come to you that night, and you don’t go to him, but when the lights go out, you can tell by his breathing alone that he’s not asleep.

He’s on you the next morning, hand in your boxers, wrapped expertly around your hard dick. He ruts against your ass, panting into your neck and letting out tiny sounds on every third or fourth thrust, and it’s those that get you. Ian Gallagher likes to hear you when he fucks you, but he’s not stupid enough to get carried away now. Not here.

But he can’t seem to help himself and that sends you over the edge, coming in his hand and on your own belly after nothing more than a quick handie. Ian follows, and you can feel his wetness seep through his own boxers onto your ass. It’s enough to make you want to go again, until –

“I’m staying.”

He whispers it against your shoulder, so quiet that you barely hear him.

“You what?”

“You heard me,” he says, and moves back a little when you struggle out of his grip, turn to face him. “I’m staying.”

“The fuck you are.”

His hand, still sticky with your come, lifts and grasps at your tank, right over your heart. “I want to stay with you.”

And you’re sure as hell he feels the thud-thud-thudding of your heart, the way it goes from a post-orgasm, slowing thump … thump … thump to beating so hard it physically hurts. He says nothing else, though; just grips tighter and kisses you.

His breath is terrible and yours is likely worse, but you kiss him back, thread your fingers into his hair, commit every crevice of his mouth to memory. And when you pull back, he grins like a dope and you smile back.

“You’re leaving,” you say. “Tomorrow morning. And if you fight me on this again, I swear that will be the last time I kiss you while you’re still here.”

His jaw drops, but you ignore it to climb over him and take a leak.

 Breakfast is silent. Not quite as painfully so as dinner, but still silent. You watch Ian and you know he watches you when you’re not watching him. Sometimes your gaze will meet, and he will glare, or you’ll smirk, or mutual soft – sad, they’re fucking sad, okay? – smiles will fill your bubble and you can forget, just for a second, that he’s leaving you.

Again.

Fuck.

He stops you before the turn off to the laundry and there’s this stupid feeling in your chest. He’s leaving. He’s leaving tomorrow and you don’t even get to spend your last day together because you’re in fucking prison and it’s utter bullshit.

“Hey,” he says, and gestures away from the crowd.

“We ain’t talking about this shit again, Ian.”

“No, I … I’m not gonna say that again, all right? It’s something else.”

You look up that tiny bit to meet his gaze and ignore everyone else around you. “What then?”

“I’ll wait.”

His words make you want to vomit so you swallow hard and nod. “Sure. Okay.”

“I mean it, Mick.” His hand brushes your arm in a barely-there touch, the only kind of touch either of you allow outside of the cell. “I mean it.”

“Look, man, let’s not make promises we can’t keep, okay?” You take a step back and avoid his gaze. “I’ll see ya at lunch.”

“Wait!” He reaches for you but doesn’t touch. “You didn’t answer me the other day.”

“What’re you talkin’ about?” you ask, glancing at the guards.

“What are we gonna do when I get out? Long distance? Break up? Marriage –“

“Fuck no.”

He pulls back, eyebrows high on his forehead. “Excuse me?”

“I already had one shitshow of a marriage, Gallagher. I ain’t doing that again.”

“But it wouldn’t be a shitshow –“

“I said fuck no, asswipe. End of discussion.”

 He brings it up again at lunch.

“They can set that kind of shit up here, you know? People get married in prison all the time.”

You stare at him and answer through a mouthful of bread. “Seriously?”

“Yeah! They bring in a – a fucking officiant and legal papers and everything.”

“No, I mean seriously? You’re still going on about this shit?”

He shrugs, but there’s a twinkle in his eye. “Whaddya say?”

“I say fuck no.”

 And it’s not that you don’t want to marry Ian, it’s just …

You gonna marry me? We gonna go down to the courthouse in some tuxes like a couple of old queens?

So, you have trouble forgetting shit, who fucking doesn’t?

Ian had been sick when he said those words, but it didn’t make your initial statement any less true. And he responded by shitting all over it.

 “You know what I’ve always loved?” he asks around a mouthful of orange jello. “Wedding cake.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“Did you have any of the cake at your wedding?” he asks. “I was too fucking shit-faced to do much more than continue o drink, but Mandy said it was good.”

You put down your fork, still piled high with flavourless mashed potatoes. “No, Ian, I didn’t have any fucking cake at my wedding. I was too busy trying to get it up and fuck my wife, so my old man didn’t kill me the following morning.”

A flicker of something painful flashes over his face, but then he grins. “At least we know that won’t be a problem at our wedding, huh?”

“You’re a fucking tool.”

“I’m a sucker for a good chocolate cake,” he continues. “How about you? Fruit?”

“Fuck no.”

“So carrot, then?”

“Shut the fuck up, Gallagher.”

He’s silent while he finishes his jello, but you can’t eat anymore mashed potatoes. You’ve lost your appetite and the texture of that shit doesn’t help. You peel open your own jello and pick up your spoon but make no more to eat any.

You want this with Ian – the teasing and joking – but you want it on the outside, you want it once you’re both out of this shithole. You want every night together – preferably in a bed big enough to share – and you want breakfast, lunch, and dinner together. You want your fucking bubble with him, and you want everything he’ll give you.

You’re just not sure how much that is.

 You’re the last two to leave the shower block. Not because you stuck around to bang, but because you managed to get some purple dye all over you in the laundry and it took for-fucking-ever to wash off.

“Purple looks good on you,” Ian says, dumb smirk on his pretty mouth.

You flip him off and say nothing as you pass the guard, but as soon as you’re around the corner Ian tugs at your hand and pulls you into a linen closet.

“The fuck, man? There’s, like, zero space in here.”

His lips are against your ear. “Don’t need much space for sucking cock, Mick.”

Said cock goes instantly hard, and you watch in the dim light as Ian sinks to his knees and opens the buttons of your jumpsuit. You can barely see him, but his pink lips stand out and you fight a groan when he wickedly smiles at the sight of you.

He noses at your cock and stares up at you. “Marry me?”

“Fuck no.”

He licks a long stripe up the underside and pouts. “You don’t want this forever?”

“Fuck you.”

He swirls his tongue around your head and lowers his voice even more. “Fuck my face, Mick.”

Your knees shake, but you do as he says, and you fuck his face. And after, after you finish and he stands up to kiss you with come-slicked lips, when the bubble surrounds you and squeezes you and everything is Ian, he whispers those two words again.

“I’ll wait.”

 “Corvette?”

“Eh.”

“Mustang?”

“Better.”

“Rolls Royce?”

“You turn fucking North side when I wasn’t lookin’?”

He grins, picks up your discarded 3 of hearts, and throws down a four of clubs. Then he wags his eyebrows. “Limo?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“We could just take the El,” he says. “Catch a ride down to the courthouse –“

“Fuck no.”

“Oh? Too good for the El on your wedding day, huh?”

He’s teasing, but you feel like maybe he’s getting serious, too, and you can’t fucking help yourself.

“Look, it’s a 1967 Black Impala or nothing at all, got it?”

Ian’s silent for a long minute. You take that time to ignore the beating in your chest and pretend like you don’t give a shit. You pick up a new card and throw out your nine of spades.

“You won’t compromise and go with the ’67 Camaro?” he finally asks, and his eyes are nothing but sincere when you look into them.

“Fuck no.”

“Okay. 1967 Black Impala it is then.”

And if your vice shakes when you reply, it’s not your fucking fault. “Okay.”

 “You gonna marry Mickey?” Lip asks the next night.

“Fuck no.”

[anika-ann]

In the Strangest Place (We Just Might Find Love) - Pt.2

Type: two-shot, pretty much canon

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader     Word count: 2750

Summary: You’re hiding from your boss in a supply closet, minding your own business, when a stranger joins you unexpectedly.

Steve is not entirely a stranger anymore; he knows about your troubles and you know about his. And he’s determined to sort out yours this very moment.

Warnings: mention of sexual harassment, a bit of angst, language, something that might be close to a panic attack if you squint

A/N: There we go... hopefully I’ll make mid-week a bit sweeter for some of you ;)

Part 1

“Alright, kids. Let’s have a trip.”

And you just stared.

…what?

“W-what?” you stuttered, suddenly consumed by the familiar feeling of losing the firm ground under your feet at the idea of trying to confront Gregory head-on. Not even Steve at your side was helping at all as the four of you started walking towards the IT department.

“I-I don’t have any prove! I can’t-- he told me he would--- that he would-”

“That he’d twist it around, convince the HR that you were crushing on him and he turned you down, which turned you into a soulless bitch craving revenge?” the billionaire finished for you and you just uselessly opened you mouth, unable to let out a word to deny it. It seemed to amuse him, because he scoffed; and there was something very bitter in that sound too. “Kid, he’s not the first asshole to take advantage of his superior position. I’ve seen the types. Relax. If Cap here believes you, then so do I. Plus, I know a liar when I see one. And you ain’t lying.”

You breathed in shakily, a flicker of hope igniting in your chest. Could it really be so easy? That couldn’t be right…

“T-thank you, Mr. Stark. I-”

“Yeah, yeah, just name your first kid after me,” Mr. Stark uttered, waving it off.

The Falcon next to you chuckled and you shot Steve a confused gaze. Was that how Mr. Stark usually was? You had never met him in person; you had only ever heard him giving a speech on TV and you knew he had a certain reputation, but this was… different.

You were surprised to find Steve watching you; perhaps he worried about your reaction to such bluntness, since he had seen your outburst in the closet. Upon meeting your gaze – probably shy and undeniably surprised – he charmed a tiny smile for you.

“It’s gonna be okay, see?”

“What are you even worried about? You have three Avengers coming with you!” Mr. Wilson questioned lightly and you bit your lower lip as you thought of the source of anxiety indeed.

Yeah, I have three Avengers and they are all men. Sue me for not being sure which side they would take – not until now.

“You’re not a full-time Avenger, Wilson.”

Falcon gasped, clutching at his chest theatrically at Stark’s remark. “Ouch, Tony. My heart.”

You let out a breathy laugh at their banter and felt yourself relax despite your better judgement. You almost let yourself believe it truly would go alright. Well, as much as dealing with such shitty thing could.

“You’re all my heroes,” you whispered timidly, which earned you a bright smile from Sam Wilson.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Cruel, Birdboy. You stole the old man’s line,” Mr. Stark hummed, amused.

“Heh! Sorry, Cap. But I’m sure you have a whole set of other lines to use on her.”

You choked on your own spit as Steve faltered in his steps, his grip on you growing stronger. What the hell did the Falcon just say?

“Oh my God, Wilson, shut up before we get stuck with another harassment report.”

“I don’t think this a subject for joking,” Steve interjected, slightly irritated, and you shot him a grateful look, because he definitely had a point.

Except… once you weren’t in such a sticky situation, you totally wouldn’t mind Steve Rogers using a line on you. Not at all. And his hand around yours felt nice for multiple reasons, the wordless comfort and support only being one of them. It was warm and slightly calloused, a reminder of his physical work, and it was bigger than yours, so sweetly and distractingly enveloping yours…

But now it was so not the time.

Your peculiar group approached the office and you didn’t even have the time to brace yourself as Tony Stark simply threw the door open, not bothering to knock.

“Thomas Ian Gregory, you are fired this very second,” the billionaire exclaimed dramatically.

You would think he was just being a drama queen, except he sounded deadly serious, using your boss’ full name which he must have read out on the door, and his eyes were throwing daggers at the man sitting behind the desk, looking as if he was the fucking king of the world.

Your boss blinked in surprise and eyed all four of you; Falcon with his arms crossed on his chest, Ironman minus his suit with a murderous glare and a hand raised towards him as if he wanted to point a finger and then Gregory’s gaze fell on your hand connected with Steve’s; you wanted to retrieve it quickly, but Steve wouldn’t let you, his grip growing firm. Anger flashed through your boss’ eyes for a second, before he composed himself and rose from his chair with an innocently confused expression.

You wanted to puke and you felt your legs turning into a shaking mess of jello. This was it. Now he would use his slimy words to turn this situation around and you were about to get fired and humiliated so much that jumping under a bus would be the most likeable option for you.

“Mr. Stark, it’s an honour. Captain Rogers, Mr. Wilson. What do I owe the pleasure?”

You couldn’t believe this--- this pig. Seriously. Who the fuck did he think he was?! How could he--- just lie so easily, pretending that everything was perfectly fine?!

But Tony Stark was not fooled by the charade and you mentally sighed in relief, sure they must have heard the weight falling off of your shoulders even in Jersey.

“I’m sure you heard me, Mr. Gregory. You quit and you’ll be hearing from the HR soon. And you’ll be damn lucky if this young lady right here won’t sue you.”

You honestly wished you were invisible when Gregory’s gaze flickered to you, subtle anger with a promise of consequences in his irises – consequences that would come should you not cut this bullshit right now.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Mr. Stark. If this is about the unfortunate feelings my assistant has for me-”

Tears of rage and baseless shame stung in your eyes at his words and you breathed in sharply to defend yourself; before you could, Gregory continued.

“Though I can see they weren’t very… honest. Obviously my inferior seems to be the ‘love them and leave them’ type, which I should warn you about, Capta-”

Breathless at his malicious made-out theories, you did not expect Steve to drop your hand in favour to tower over your boss, making him shut up with one single glare.

Alright, you could see why he had thought that simply appearing at your office would make Gregory tremble in fear. Your boss actually backed off and learnt onto a table, looking as if he was supporting himself under the weight of Steve’s judgement.

“I met this woman for the first time not half an hour ago, hiding from you, too scared of your dirty hands to return to her own workplace. Trust me, it left an impression, just like you are leaving one now,” Steve grunted menacingly, causing your heart to pound in your chest in fright even with his words not aimed on you. “If I can give an advice, you pack your things as fast as you can, apologize to her profusely, begging for her forgiveness and you don’t set a foot in this building or speak to her ever again. Do we have an understanding?”

You weren’t the only one affected. Your boss tried to reciprocate Captain America’s glare, but he failed miserably. He visibly gulped and circled his desk, still watching the soldier as if he was expecting to get hit; then his eyes just dropped to his desk and he frantically started picking random things from it.

You watched the scene in front of you, paralyzed. Your heart was beating its way out of your chest, pulsing in your temples, your breathing alternating between hitching and picking up. Your vision started to swim.

Holy. Shit.

“Cap, I think you broke her.”

Steve spun to you at instant, his eyes roaming your face; or you thought so. He looked worried now; or you thought so. Thinking and frankly evaluating the stimuli your senses were receiving was a bit difficult at the moment.

What the hell had just happened?

Gentle hands took yours, leading you out of the room. You blindly followed, unsure how to put one foot in front of the other, your body running on autopilot.

It was over. Thomas Gregory was no longer your boss and it had happened without you losing your job. And Steve Rogers had scolded him as if he was a five-year old kid – a very pervert one, but a kid nonetheless. Steve put a fucking fear of God into him. All of that happening within three minutes. And you just… couldn’t quite process all that.

You barely registered getting into and out of an elevator, being seated on a couch, having a blanket tossed over your shoulders and a cup of warm liquid pressed into your hands. You automatically brought it to your lips, only to be stopped by a tender fingers curling around your wrist.

“Careful. It might be too hot,” a pleasant voice warned you and you blinked, finally focusing your gaze, finding rather worried and very handsome face staring back.

You glanced at the cup, surprised to identify the drink as Steve’s hand let go of yours.

“Is that… is that hot chocolate?” you stuttered, bewildered. Well, more like… astonished.

“Yeah. You’re not allergic to milk or anything, are you?”

You looked up back to Steve’s face, only to find him with his brows furrowed in concern, lips thoughtfully pursed. It snapped you to action.

“No! No. It’s just… I didn’t have one in years. Thank— thank you.”

His expression cleared, as he was evidently pleased with himself. “Good. You’re welcome.”

The words fell off his lips so easily. As if he just hadn’t… hadn’t saved your career. Or your mental health, really.

You eyed the table by the couch, setting the cup down, only to fully turn to him. He seemed a bit confused at that; but God, you had something important to say and since you didn’t want to give up the blanket just yet, you decided to get rid of the mug at least to look less pathetic.

“No, Steve, I… thank you,” you whispered sincerely, feeling tears in your eyes for like a millionth time that day. His smile widened a little.

“You’re welcome. I’m sorry if I… if I scared you down there. It wasn’t meant for you.”

“You didn’t-” you blurted out in attempt to deny it and make him feel better, only to waver as his eyebrow rose, picture perfect of doubt. It made you chuckle at yourself self-deprecatingly. “It’s not your fault that I was… surprised by your little hulk-out. I guess I just didn’t see it coming.”

“Hulk-out, huh? How do you feel?”

You shrugged, exhaling slowly, thinking hard about your answer.

“Like I just watched my life take a way better turn that I would expect... and I’m still only watching,” you whispered honestly, which led to his face twisting in a grimace.

“Anything I can do?”

You couldn’t help it; you scanned your surroundings, realizing you were in something that looked fancy enough to belong to Tony Stark and was way too big to be part of an actual apartment. You ran your hand down the blanket covering your shoulders, reaching for the abandoned cup to blow on it softly and take a careful sip of chocolate. Steve’s questioning gaze observed you while you did so and you smiled blissfully into the cup as the delicious rich taste caressed your tongue.

“You mean besides comforting me despite being a complete stranger, getting my harassing boss fired and scaring the hell out of him, taking me to--- here, giving me a blanket and making the best cup of hot chocolate I had in years? Give me a second, I’m sure I’ll figure out something else,” you babbled and Steve’s smile grew, tense shoulders relaxing. “Seriously, Steve. This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. I owe you. I- I know you’re a hero and all that, but… yeah. I should be asking you what I could do for you in return.”

“That’s not-- I’m not--- ...you make a pleasant company,” he said in the end as if he realized he couldn't deny any of the things you had listed. You lowered your gaze to the chocolate as his eyes twinkled at the statement.

“Ditto.”

“Does that-” he blurted out and you tilted your head to side, watching him curiously when he stopped talking just as abruptly. “This is a terrible timing, but that’s apparently an infamous quality of mine, because usually I wait too long, and… uhm…”

Your heart skipped a beat at the suddenly embarrassed soldier scratching the back of his neck, peeking at your through his eyelashes. Was that--- was he trying to-? No, it couldn’t be.

“Yeah?” you softly encouraged him to continue.

He wetted his lips, causing your previously tight gut to warm up.

“I understand that it’s the last thing you’re thinking about right now, but… when you settle down again... and things are a bit calmer for you… would you- uhm,  like to… maybe spend some more time with--- with me?”

If he had blurted the sentence in one go, you would have dropped your mug in surprise despite suspecting this incredible thing when he had turned bashful. But he didn’t so your brain had enough time to process the words slowly leaving his lips, one after another, little shy, little hopeful. Your heart was speeding up with each of them, ready to burst when he finished with a tiny nervous smile.

Well. How could you possibly say no to that irresistible creature in front of you? You smiled into your drink.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

His face lit up. “Really?”

You wanted to chuckle at the pure surprise on his face, but it was just too endearing and so you had to fight the urge to make an embarrassing sound like an aww instead.

“Yeah, Steve. I’d really like that,” you repeated, hiding the teasing note in your voice. “But you’ve got to teach me how to make a chocolate that good, because seriously, it tastes amazing.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” you demanded, a bit hurt, rather surprised. “I don’t want you to give up your secret recipe right away! Just… in time.”

He grinned at you boyishly, leaning a bit closer to you. You held your breath in anticipating, a the change. “I could. But then I wouldn’t get to enjoy the process of preparing it for you and your smile in return.”

You stared at him for few moments, taking the statement in, wondering if he was teasing you or was being serious. The corners of his lips were quirked up as if he was indeed joking, but there was a certain spark of honesty in his eyes.

You decided to play along, whether it was a game or not. Perhaps it was the relief of newly found freedom from a sleazy man in your life that plucked up your courage and woke up your jovial side.

“Aww, Steve, that’s so sweet. Is that your way of telling me you’re planning on spoiling me? Because then I would need significantly less time to… settle down.”

His grin widened at your words. “Is that so?”

“Mm.”

“Well then…” he brought up lowly, torturing you with anticipation when he didn’t continue, only to watch you with a mischievous smile.

“...then?”

“What are your plans for Friday evening?”

Oh, you were so glad you were sitting, because otherwise the force of the moment in which Steve Rogers asked you out on Friday night would knock you down.

You tried to think of an answer that wouldn’t sound like an over-enthusiastic YES, but his blue eyes staring into yours made it very difficult for you.

Dammit, it was harder to talk to him when you could actually see--- you smiled smugly at the idea that popped up in your head and raised an eyebrow in silent challenge.

“I’m hiding in a supply closet. Why, you wanna join me?”

Steve burst out laughing, throwing his head back with that sound and the picture armed your heart so thoroughly it was unfair.

“Sure thing. Would you like me to bring muffins and coffee or do you prefer an actual dinner?”

You found yourself laughing too and you suddenly believed that your life would indeed get better. It already had, after all.

S.R. masterlist

Beautiful divider by @whimsicalrogers 

Thank you for the kind feedback on the first part and I hope you liked this one too :))

Thank you for reading!

[apolloloki97]

“Back On Solid Ground” Ian Gallagher x Mickey Milkovich

Summary: After Mickey is released early from prison, he is in no rush to go back into the arms of Ian Gallagher. After unsuccessfully trying to win Mickey back, the rest of the Gallagher siblings and a couple of friends try to help out their favourite Southside couple.

Or when Ian's friends and siblings try to get Mickey to talk to Ian after Mickey gets out.

Word Count: 7302

Warning: Swearing, Mentions of Mental Illness

Song I Wrote To: “I Found" by Amber Run

Note: Now, I am not a lawyer and I usually do research for fics, but just go with me on the legal proceedings for this. I love this story a lot and I always wanted more of Mickey's emotions after he was released. I needed this after the show finale as well.

----------

The last thing Mickey wanted to do was drink alone and so he called his favourite cousin.

Sandy was finally back in town after leaving once she got out of juvie for the last time. Iggy had told Mickey that Sandy was trying to go straight, but the younger Milkovich brother knew that the only straight thing about his cousin was her hair.

Regardless, once he was out of prison, she was his first call. Turns out that when the woman who presses charges on you for attempted murder goes insane and is deemed a pathological liar, the justice system becomes much more lenient. Mickey still remembered the moment the warden told him that he was getting out. He thought it had been some kind of sick joke from Terry or one of the other delinquent Milkoviches. Yet, everything was soon in order and Mickey was released with a few strokes of a pen.

That was a week ago and after crashing on Sandy’s couch and wallowing in his own sorrow over losing the man he loved, he finally ventured out into the world to interact with people. Well, only if you consider the lowlifes at the Alibi Room, people.

Mickey sat across from Sandy as she drank her second beer, very happy to be out with him rather than cooped up watching reruns of some horrible sitcom. Sandy was his favourite Milkovich next to Mandy, but Mickey hadn’t seen his sister in some time and he wasn’t even sure where she was. He got a text or a voicemail every couple of months just to let him know she was still alive, but that was it. He missed Mandy, but he knew she needed to get out of the Southside and he was happy for her.

Mickey glanced around the room, the afternoon sun filtering through the windows as it illuminated the day-drinkers. Mickey was itching to do something other than sitting at a dive bar and trying to dodge questions that he knew Kev and V both had. However, he was happy to be with Sandy who grinned at him from across the table.

“What?” Mickey asked, taking a sip from his beer. “You keep staring.”

“I’m just happy you called,” Sandy said with a shrug. Mickey watched her for a second before snorting.

“Who else would I call?”

“I don’t know. Colin?” Sandy paused for a second before looking at him over the rim of her glass. “Ian?”

“Don’t,” Mickey warned, not willing to talk about Ian, especially not to someone who didn’t even know him. Mickey had been hurt when Ian broke up with him on the stoop of the Gallagher house. Mickey had done everything for Ian. He had come out for him, tried to take care of him when he was at his lowest with his bipolar, and even protected him when the handsy old men would try things when Ian was drugged out of his mind on whatever anyone was willing to give him.

“Have you seen him yet?” Sandy asked.

“Nope,” Mickey said with a dismissive look as he sipped on his beer again.

“Mickey…” Sandy tried again.

“Why should I, huh? Bitch never visited me, did he?” Mickey said. It still hurt that as soon as Svetlana stopped asking him to do jobs for the Russian mob, Ian had essentially blocked him out of his life. Ian hadn't even taken calls from Mickey while he was locked up. He knew that Ian had left him, but he never expected the redhead to completely lock him out of his life, not when Mickey needed him the most.

“I thought you loved him,” Sandy said, folding her arms in front of her on the table.

“Didn’t mean much to him, did it?” Mickey said bitterly.

“He was sick, Mickey,” Sandy said, trying to rationalize.

“You don’t think I don’t know that?” he asked. “I was the one that was there for him. I took care of him and he just threw me away while his bitch of a sister…” Mickey trailed off, not wanting to lose his temper. He had been trying to work on that for a while and now was not the time to come undone. Mickey needed to keep calm for his own sake and Sandy's.

“Have you told anyone you’re back?” Sandy asked. “You know, besides Kev and V?”

“No,” Mickey said as he finished off the glass of beer before him.

“So, we’re here because…” Sandy said, gesturing around the bar that was a Southside staple.

“It’s early,” Mickey said. “Gallaghers don’t get day drunk. Well, Frank does, but fuck Frank.”

“Maybe you should tell someone,” Sandy said, trying to be comforting and supportive. This was one of the many reasons why Sandy and Mandy got along so well. They were always getting into other people’s business and especially Mickey’s. If he was being honest with himself, and he always was, he figured that they were the same person at times.

It was terrifying.

Still, she had a point. Some of the time.

“Who would I tell, hmm?” Mickey asked, leaning forward on the table in front of him. Sandy’s eyes flickered from him to the door over Mickey’s shoulder, trying to predict the reaction that she knew was about to happen. However, she didn’t back down. Mickey had been avoiding it all for too long.

“Start with him,” Sandy said, gesturing over Mickey’s shoulder. Confused, Mickey turned around in the booth to see Ian. The third eldest Gallagher sibling had entered the bar with his older brother Lip and Lip’s boss, Brad. Lip and Brad were more focused on the game on the TV above the bar than Ian was. Ian was staring right at Mickey with a surprised expression.

Their eyes were locked together and Mickey felt as if he couldn’t breathe. As soon as Ian took a step forward, Mickey turned back around and shut his eyes tightly. “No, no, no,” Mickey said under his breath, trying to calm his heart rate.

“Mickey, stay calm,” Sandy tried, reaching for her cousin’s hand. Mickey pulled away as if he had been burned. Shaking out his hand, he got to his feet.

“Please don’t,” Mickey breathed out as Sandy watched him clamor out of the booth. From his pocket, Mickey slammed some bills onto the table.

“Mickey…” Sandy said, her tone almost desperate. Mickey ignored her pleas, pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and then headed through the back of the bar, ignoring the ginger-haired Gallagher that waited behind him. Just as he shrugged into the back room, he ran into Veronica. V stared after him in confusion, watching as her friend disappeared up the stairs that led to the old apartment above the bar.

V then turned to Sandy with a question on her lips. Sandy simply nodded towards Ian who was in the same spot as he had been when Mickey had noticed him. V sighed, understanding immediately. She didn’t know every detail about how the relationship had ended, but she knew enough. Most importantly, she knew how much Mickey loved Ian and how much Ian had hurt the man who had done everything to make sure he was okay.

Veronica turned her attention back to the bar, going to restock the Jameson and whatnot. Sandy added her own bills to the pile that Mickey had left before grabbing her bag and hoisting it over her shoulder. Sliding out of the booth, she approached the front door, trying to avoid the Gallagher brothers when Kevin appeared, stepping into the bar with a large black duffle in his arms. Sandy stopped as he went up to her, stopping just shy of Ian.

“This is all I could get before I heard Terry’s asshole cronies coming back up the street,” Kev said, gesturing to the bag. “Iggy had to hurry me out before anything got too ugly.”

“Thanks, man,” Sandy said, relaxing a bit more knowing that Mickey would have some things of his own for a while before he found something more stable.

“I’ll bring this upstairs for him,” Kev said as he moved past Sandy and headed for the back staircase that led to the apartment. Sandy watched after him for a moment before heading back to the front door. However, Ian moved first. He stepped in front of Sandy, set on intercepting her escape.

“Sandy, right?” Ian asked, recognizing her from the many photos Mandy had shown him years before.

“Yeah,” Sandy said simply.

“I’m–”

“I know,” she said, cutting him off. It wasn’t hostile or anything, but Sandy didn’t think she should be talking to him right now. Mickey should have been the one to build back the bridge between the Milkovich and Gallagher family, not her.

“I didn’t know he was out,” Ian said, his eyes on the door that Mickey had escaped through.

“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when the charges are dropped,” Sandy said. However, she elaborated after a flash of confusion overtook Ian’s face. “Your half-sister had some sort of meltdown in lock up,” Sandy said. “I’m not exactly sure what happened, but it was enough for her to be deemed mentally unstable. The judge figured if she was lying about most things, then she was lying about Mickey trying to kill her,” Sandy said with a shrug. “I picked him up about a week ago.”

“Shit,” Ian said, not surprised that Sammi was unstable, but that the judge had actually approved Mickey’s release.

“Yeah,” she said, just as amused and surprised.

“So, he’s staying here?” Ian asked.

“He can’t go home,” Sandy said with a sigh. “Terry has been on a warpath since Mickey came out. He never got over it and I guess he figured Mickey being in prison was punishment enough. He didn’t like when I came out either so I’m not surprised. Kev and V are letting him stay upstairs until he finds a better place.” Sandy hiked her bag higher up on her shoulder as she shifted on her feet. “Look, I gotta go, but try to talk to him, will ya?”

“It didn’t look like he wanted to talk to me,” Ian said with a frown.

“He’s hurt, Ian,” she said, “but he’s still in love with you. Mickey thought he’d be in there for almost a decade and regardless of who his family is, that isn’t easy. He doesn’t know what to do right now. Please, just give him something to hold onto.”

Ian frowned at that, trying to wrap his head around the fact that Mickey was feeling lost. It wasn’t something he was used to witnessing. Mickey was a rock, his rock and he never thought that something like a quick stint in prison would get to him. Then again, as Sandy said, he had thought he would be locked up for a good chunk of his life and Ian knew how Mickey felt about being isolated.

Mickey needed to be free in every sense of the word and Ian would always try to make that happen for the man who had always loved him unconditionally. However, that meant working through their differences and of course, Ian making up for everything he had said when he was off his medication.

“I’ll try,” he promised Sandy. Satisfied with the answer, Sandy moved past him and shoved out into the warm Southside air, leaving the Alibi behind her.

Lip, who was sipping on a Coke at Ian’s side, moved closer to his younger brother. “Are you going to talk to him?” Lip asked.

Ian sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m going to try,” Ian decided, letting his eyes drift up towards where Mickey was staying, needing to see him.

--------

IAN

Ian waited until the next day before going to speak to Mickey.

He had been up all night trying to figure out what he was going to say. There was a part of him that was angry that Mickey hadn’t called him the second he got out, but he also knew that he had broken up with him and that he didn’t have the right to ask about him anymore. Yet, Ian still loved Mickey with everything he had. He just hoped that Mickey’s feelings hadn’t changed in the short time that he had been locked up.

Even after the few relationships he had been in since Mickey got arrested, none of them would ever compare to Mickey. It didn’t matter who Ian was with or where he was, Mickey was always going to be it. Which is why Ian found himself outside the small apartment above the Alibi just as morning turned to noon. The sound of the old pipes in the cracked walls was only making the rising anxiety in Ian’s chest worse. His hands clenched and flexed at his sides as he forced himself to raise his fist and knock twice on the wooden door.

It was quiet on the other side and Ian was worried that he may have missed him after all. Ian knocked again and then finally heard the sound of footsteps inside the apartment. “Dammit, Kev!” Mickey yelled as he approached the door. “I told you I wasn’t going to bartend for your shitty customers. For fuck’s sa–” Mickey’s sentence cut off as he tore open the door and realized it wasn’t Kev standing in the hallway at all. “Ian,” he said as he stared at the taller man in front of him.

Ian was looking back and he had to take a minute to take Mickey in. He was just as beautiful as the last time Ian had seen him, but he looked stronger. Clearly, Mickey had been taking advantage of the gym in the prison yard. His arms were more defined underneath the long sleeve t-shirt he wore and Ian could even tell that his back and shoulders had more muscle on them than before. Ian couldn’t help but look at Mickey’s chest, knowing the mangled tattoo of his name was just below the thin fabric.

“Hey, Mick,” Ian said, finally finding his voice. He offered Mickey a small smile, but the latter just stared back, breaking out his shock and slipping into a mood that told Ian that something was very wrong.

“The fuck do you want?” Mickey asked. Ian stammered for a second. He knew that Mickey was upset, but they usually always started off as pissed at each other before the reunion turned into a flurry of removing clothes and hands gripping at hair. However, he was realizing that wasn’t how this one was going to go at all.

“You’re out,” Ian observed and Mickey just raised one of his eyebrows at him.

“No shit,” Mickey bit back.

“I just, uh, I wanted to say…” Ian tried, still not sure where he was going with any of it. He had been prepared to speak to Mickey, but he had figured Milkovich was going to be a bit more willing to hear him out. The Mickey before him looked as if he’d rather be throwing his head against a wall than standing in that doorway.

“What?” Mickey asked.

“I don’t know how to put this…” Ian said, the anxious feeling returning to his hands.

“Spit it out, Gallagher,” Mickey said, “I got shit to do. Prison took up a lot of my time.”

“Right,” Ian said. “Well, uh, maybe…”

“Yes?” Mickey urged, shifting on his feet. Ian was looking at him and then he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t say any of the things he had wanted to because Mickey had never looked at him like this. Ian was used to the glares, the smiles, the annoyed little glances whenever Ian would make some dumb joke that Mickey pretended to not find funny. However, now, it was as if Mickey was looking at him, but he had no idea who he was. Ian switched gears quickly.

“Fiona’s gone,” Ian blurted out causing Mickey to narrow his eyes.

“What?”

“Yeah, guess she finally got out of the Southside,” Ian went on. “Looks like she’s one of the lucky few,” Ian said with an attempt at a laugh, but Mickey was not amused. In fact, he seemed even angrier.

“Seriously?” Mickey said with a roll of his eyes. “Damn Gallagher, well I am so glad your life is so fucking interesting,” he said before he slammed the door in Ian’s face. Ian stood there for a second, stunned before he took a few steps back and pushed his hands into his hair.

“Fuck.”

-------

LIP

The next time a Gallagher brother knocked on Mickey’s door, it was not the one that Mickey had been expecting.

“Oh, what the fuck do you want?” Mickey said as he beheld Lip Gallagher at his threshold. Lip was standing there, an unlit cigarette behind his ear which only made Mickey want to punch him even more. He never liked Lip and he had liked him even less after Lip had constantly expressed his dislike of Ian and Mickey’s relationship.

“Ian’s been trying to call you,” Lip said with a pointed look. Mickey knew that and he had been purposely ignoring every call and text for a reason.

“And?” Mickey asked.

“You’re really going to be a dick about this?” Lip challenged.

“About what, Philip?” Mickey asked, using his full name just to annoy him further. “About how I got locked up after trying to stop your crazy bitch of sister with the help of your other crazy bitch of a sister? Who, by the way, never got picked up for helping me shove Sammi in that box. You’re welcome for that considering I could have rolled on her at any moment but I fucking didn’t.”

“You want me to thank you for not ratting out Debbie?” Lip asked, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Nah, I don’t want shit from you,” Mickey said. “Your brother dumped me before I got my ass shackled so he and I are nothing and you and I don’t owe each other shit.”

“I never liked you,” Lip said, already hating that he had agreed to go and speak to Mickey after Ian had begged him for two days. The only reason he was even standing in that hallway was because of Ian, but even Lip had his limits when it came to Mickey Milkovich.

“Wow, thanks,” Mickey deadpanned.

“But my brother loves you,” Lip went on. “And you make him happy so I need you to call him because whether or not you see it, you’re probably the only person for him and I think I've known that for a while."

“Right,” Mickey scoffed, “so you never said that Ian could always find someone better?” Mickey challenged.

“He told you about that?” Lip asked, surprised, remembering back to that conversation he had with his brother.

“He did,” said Mickey.

“I didn’t get it back then,” Lip said.

“You clearly don’t get it now.”

“He cares about you for some fucking reason, Mickey,” Lip said, trying again for the man in front of him to see some reason.

“Then maybe he should fucking figure it out,” Mickey shot back. “Now, don’t you have some think tank to go smoke some fancy weed in or some shit? Get the fuck out of here.” Mickey slammed the door in Lip’s face just as he had with Ian.

“Dammit,” Lip muttered as he pulled the cigarette from behind his ear and lit it. Placing it between his teeth, he pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to Ian letting him know he had hit and missed with Mickey. He didn’t wait for a reply as he headed back downstairs and out into the cool air of Chicago in search of a meeting for the afternoon.

-----------

DEBBIE

Debbie found Mickey a day later playing pool in the Alibi.

He was just finishing up hustling some drunk hipster when Debbie approached him with Franny at her side. Mickey looked up as the two walked up to him. “Jesus,” he said with a look at Franny, “what are you feedin’ that kid?” he asked.

“Kids grow, Mickey. That’s how it works,” Debbie said with a roll of her eyes.

“Whatever,” Mickey said, turning back to the game. Debbie remained where she was, giving him a pointed look as she kept hold of her daughter. “Can I help you?” Mickey asked, turning back towards her, already tired of the Gallagher bullshit. He already had to stop Frank from breaking into the apartment in the early hours of the morning. He didn’t need Fiona Jr. bothering him right now.

“Why won’t you take Ian’s calls?” she asked.

“Jesus Christ,” Mickey swore, running a hand over his face.

“He needs to talk to you,” Debbie said.

“I’m sure he’ll live,” Mickey said, grabbing his beer from the bar behind him and taking a deep drink.

“I don’t know about that,” she said. “He’s pretty upset.” That made Mickey pause. He set his beer down.

“He taking his meds?” he asked her.

“Do you care?” Debbie challenged which was the wrong thing to do. Mickey glared at her.

“Don’t pull that shit with me,” he warned her. “Answer the fucking question.”

“Yes, he’s on his meds, but he’s still upset you’re ignoring him,” she said.

“Well, he ignored me so now he knows what it feels like to go AWOL,” Mickey said.

“Call him,” Debbie urged.

“No.”

“Mickey.”

“Debbie.” Mickey crossed his arms, staring her down. Franny was silent as she stood next to her mother, confused as to why they were talking to the man in front of her. Debbie glared at him for another moment before scoffing.

“I don’t know what he sees in you,” she shot at him before tugging her daughter away. Mickey watched them leave and Debbie’s words remained in the air around him.

“I don’t know either…” Mickey said quietly to himself before returning his attention to the game and his own thoughts.

---------

CARL

Mickey was out in the alley behind the Alibi when Carl Gallagher showed up dressed in a police cadet uniform.

“You’re a fucking cop now?” Mickey asked as he looked up, taking the cigarette he was smoking from his mouth.

“Almost,” Carl said, stopping in front of Mickey. The last time Mickey had even thought about Carl, the kid was going to some fancy military school or something. If he really thought about it, Mickey never really knew what Carl was up to half the time. There was a time that Mickey thought the kid was going to end up in the joint with him rather than trying to get a badge and service glock.

“Weren’t you supposed to grow up to be a serial killer or some shit?” Mickey asked.

“Things change,” Carl said with a shrug. Mickey nodded at that, returning his attention to his smoke. “You talk to Ian?”

“Nope,” Mickey said.

“Are you going to?” Carl asked.

“Nope,” Mickey repeated. Carl nodded, weighing his options before settling on a new tactic.

“If I handcuffed you and dragged you to the house, would you do it then?” Carl asked nonchalantly.

“You try to put those fucking bracelets on me and I’ll break every bone in your hand,” Mickey said without missing a beat. Carl didn’t retort, he just smiled. Mickey never liked when the Gallaghers smiled, it always meant they were up to something or drunk or both. “What?”

“Nothing,” Carl said with a shrug. “I just missed that Milkovich snark.”

“Whatever,” Mickey said dismissively. Suddenly, Carl’s phone chimed, drawing his attention. Seeing who it was, Carl pocketed it again before turning back to Mickey.

“I gotta go,” he said and Mickey just nodded. “Hey, stop being an asshole and call my brother before he runs out of love ballads to annoy us with.” Carl then left Mickey standing there, more confused than ever.

“Love ballads,” Mickey repeated. “What the fuck?”

-------

KEV AND V

The next ambush came when Mickey was sitting at the bar in the Alibi looking over the books for the Southside establishment.

V set a drink in front of him as she wiped off the bar. “Thanks again, Mickey,” V said. “Since Lana left, we’ve needed someone who’s good with numbers.”

“Not a problem,” Mickey said. “Least I can do considering I’m staying here rent-free, right?” Mickey continued to tap away at the calculator, but soon realized he was being stared at. Glancing up, he saw that Kev and V were both looking at him with innocent expressions on their faces. “What?” Mickey asked, already regretting doing so.

“Ian called us,” V said with a grimace as she set down the rag in her hands.

“Of course he did,” Mickey sighed. “Alright, lay it on me. At this point, I’m waiting for fucking Frank or Kermit to show up at my door at the ginger’s request.”

“What about me?” Kermit said, turning away from Tommy.

“Fuck you, Kermit,” Mickey said as he flipped him off. Kermit just frowned and turned back to his friend. Mickey looked back at the Balls and waited.

“I’m not gonna tell you what to do,” Veronica began.

“Good,” said Mickey, picking up his pen again.

“But,” she went on, “he has been going through a lot.”

“Right, like the two boyfriends and the fancy EMT job?” Mickey scoffed. “Yeah real tough.” V frowned.

“You know that he puts on a façade. Always has,” V reminded him.

“Yeah man,” Kev interjected. “Ian may be smiling with those pearly whites of his, but his heart is actually blue beneath that ugly uniform he wears.”

“That was beautiful,” Tommy added as he eavesdropped. Kev nodded to him in thanks.

“Thank you,” he said with gratitude.

“Kevin,” V said, her tone full of warning. Kev then ducked away, leaving his wife alone with his former business partner. V leaned in then, resting her forearms on the bar. “Maybe just hear him out,” she tried.

“I tried that,” Mickey admitted, grateful to have someone to talk to that wasn’t a Gallagher. “He doesn’t seem to know what the fuck he wants.”

“Do you?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Mickey said softly. Veronica gave him a soft smile as she laid her hand on his arm, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Maybe you should figure that out first.”

---------

LIAM

Mickey was tired and all he wanted was a hot shower and then maybe some free beer from downstairs.

However, like always, he never got what he wanted. Opening the door to the apartment, he nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight of the youngest Gallagher sibling sitting on the couch in the small living room.

“Jesus,” Mickey swore, trying to catch his breath. “How the fuck you get in here?” Mickey asked as he shut the door behind him and took off his coat.

“Veronica let me in,” Liam said patiently.

“Why?” Mickey asked though he could guess why Liam was there. After the rest of his siblings had shown up, it wasn’t a long shot to figure out he would be next.

“I think we should talk,” Liam said, gesturing for Mickey to sit in the chair across from the couch. Mickey, amused, decided to humor the kid and took the seat Liam was offering even though it was Mickey’s house the kid was invading.

“I can’t remember us ever doing that but go on,” Mickey said as he settled in the frayed cushions. Liam was quiet for a moment before he finally nodded and folded his hands in front of him like a grown man in a kid’s body. Mickey still had no idea how he was related to Frank.

“I remember when Ian was going through the worst of his bipolar,” Liam began. “You looked out for me.” Mickey was surprised to know that Liam actually remembered all the things Mickey had done for him when Fiona was too stressed over Ian to look after her baby brother. Mickey would take Liam to the clinic for checkups, always carried him into the house when the boy was too tired to walk, and even made sure he always had something to eat whenever Lip or Fiona forgot to go grocery shopping. He had a soft spot for the smallest Gallagher sibling and he was never too proud to admit it.

“So?” Mickey asked.

“So,” Liam continued, “I’m going to do the same for you.” Liam seemed proud of himself for being the one to actually want to talk to Mickey rather than at him and the latter appreciated that. Mickey paused, eyeing Liam for a second before furrowing his brow.

“Are you sure you’re Frank’s son?” he asked

“Seem to be,” Liam said with a shrug.

“That’s unfortunate,” Mickey said, leaning his forearms on his knees as he leaned forward a bit.

“It’s not so bad,” Liam said. “I got great brothers and sisters out of it.”

“Right,” said Mickey.

“Ian told me about the time you were shot by his old boss,” Liam said suddenly.

“Kash and Grab?” Mickey asked and Liam nodded. Mickey hadn’t thought about that man in years because if he did, all he felt was rage. Lip and Mickey both knew what Kash had been doing to Ian, essentially grooming him, and they both hated it. If anything, it was the one thing that they agreed on.

“Yeah,” Liam nodded. “He was really worried about you.”

“I think he was just worried about getting fired by his viagroid boyfriend’s pissed-off wife,” Mickey rationalized, but Liam disagreed.

“I don’t think so. Other people he’s dated have been hurt or upset and Ian’s never reacted like that with them,” said Liam.

“How are you so observant?” Mickey asked, trying to gauge where Liam’s head was at.

“It’s a big house,” Liam said with another shrug. “People tend to forget that I’m around most of the time.”

“That’s rough,” Mickey said.

“Rough like being ignored by the person you love?” Liam asked and Mickey’s brows ascended towards his hair.

“I needed time,” he said, unsure of why he was having this conversation with a ten-year-old.

“Did you tell him that?” Liam asked.

“I was pretty clear, kid,” Mickey said, leaning back into the chair and propping his leg up on top of the other.

“That might work for other people, but Ian needs a bit more,” Liam explained. “He’s smart, but he doesn’t always pick up on things like the rest of us.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Mickey said, knowing very well how unobservant Ian could be at times.

“I always knew Ian was gay, you know?” Liam continued on.

“Yeah?” Mickey asked.

“Yeah, I mean by the time I was old enough to realize what was going on, he was already out and telling people. Then when you were together, I just figured it was normal for you to be around, and then… then you weren’t,” Liam said with a small frown.

“I was in prison,” Mickey reminded him.

“No, before that,” Liam said. “You would come and go and then just show back up and Ian would be happy again and I liked that for however long it lasted. I know he feels bad for what happened with Sammi. I know he blames himself.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” Mickey said and he meant it. Ian hadn’t asked Mickey to drug Sammi or lock her up in the crate, he had purely done it to protect Ian.

“To him, it was,” Liam divulged. “You brought back his happiness and then you got taken away because Sammi called the police on Ian for something he did. He got better when he got the new job but there was still something missing.”

“Which was what?” Mickey asked as he tugged on his fingers, trying to ignore the hammering in his chest.

“You, Mickey,” Liam said. “You were missing.” Mickey was silent then, letting Liam’s words crash over him like rolling waves. He had always figured that whenever he was in Ian’s life, it was doing more harm than good. Ian made Mickey’s life better, brighter, but Mickey had never realized what his presence had done for Ian’s. Liam, however, had a pretty good idea of what it looked like.

“How are you so damn wise?” Mickey asked him after another moment of silence.

“Must be a Gallagher thing,” Liam said with yet another shrug. Mickey was starting to think that was his go-to thing when he spoke his mind.

“Gallaghers are wise?” Mickey asked, not buying it.

“When we want to be,” Liam said as he got to his feet. He looked down at Mickey and gave him a tight-lipped smile. “I missed you when you went away,” he admitted. “You were one of the only people who took the time to talk to me and I know that Ian missed you too.” Mickey couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride at that.

“So, you’re saying that I should call him?” Mickey asked.

“No,” Liam said with a shake of his head. “You should go see him. After living with my siblings my whole life and seeing all their failed relationships, I’ve realized that these things are better-said face to face.” Liam then approached Mickey and patted him on the shoulder. “Ian has a late shift tonight so he’ll be home all day tomorrow. I’ll try to make sure nobody else needs to be home so you guys can talk.”

Mickey just stared after Liam as he made his way to the door. Just before he turned the handle, Mickey stopped him. “Liam,” he said, gaining the kid’s attention.

“Yeah?” Liam asked with another patient look on his face.

“I never forget you’re there,” Mickey admitted, letting out a breath. Liam simply smiled at him before leaving the apartment and leaving Mickey to his thoughts.

Sitting back in the chair, Mickey ran his hands over his face. “Ian Gallagher, you sneaky son of a bitch.”

---------

The next day, Ian was finally up after sleeping for most of the morning.

The quiet of the house was a nice change of pace, but that meant he was alone with his thoughts and that was not a comforting thought. Just as he was about to find coffee, there was a knock at the door. Hoping it wasn’t Frank, Ian sauntered over and pulled it open.

“That was low, calling in the little brother,” Mickey said in greeting as he beheld a surprised Ian. “That kid is convincing as fuck.” Ian took a step to the side as Mickey pushed past him and into the Gallagher house. He looked around and was thankful that Liam had come through and nobody else was home.

“I had to try something,” Ian said as he shut the door and followed Mickey into the living room. Mickey turned to look at him, trying to figure out how to start. Ian beat him to it though. “I’m so sorry, Mick,” Ian began. “I just left you alone and I never thought about what that would mean besides just breaking up with you.”

“You can’t…” Mickey paused, trying to keep his emotions in check. “You can’t just play with my feelings like that. You can’t just choose when you want to be in love with me or whether I’m worth it or not,” he said, finally getting the words out that he had been mulling over since he saw Ian walk into the Alibi with Lip and Brad.

“I know,” Ian said.

“Do you?” Mickey asked. “Cause I get it. I was an asshole to you when we were just starting out and fuck, I know I fucked up and did some horrible shit.”

“Which I forgave you for,” Ian reminded him. Mickey knew what he was referring to. All the comments about him not caring about Ian, the “warm mouth” moment in the store, and especially when Mickey had beaten Ian up after Terry’s attempt at forced conversion therapy.

“And we worked through it,” Mickey went on. “I came out, I told you that I loved you, and then…”

“And then I got sick,” Ian finished, but Mickey was shaking his head.

“It wasn’t just that," Mickey said. “I felt like because I was trying, you didn’t want me anymore. It was like you preferred it when I was an asshole to you and only using you for sex.”

“I didn’t,” Ian said, taking a step forward. Mickey took one back.

“I don’t believe you,” Mickey said, his voice cracking slightly as his emotions began to win.

“I remember the exact moment I found out about you marrying Svetlana,” Ian began, shifting gears. “Mandy had casually mentioned it at school one day. She didn’t know about us and I had tried not to react, but it broke me to hear that you were marrying the woman who did...that to you. It made me sick. All I wanted to do was run away and take you with me.”

“That’s not how life works,” Mickey said.

“I know, but I still wanted to try,” said Ian. “I tried everything I could to keep you out of my head the second you had me pinned in your room that day but I couldn’t do it. I tried to be with other men, brush you off when it was too hard to keep my hands off you, but you always roped me back in. The day at Ned’s when you kissed me for the first time… Man, I felt like I was on fire. Then after what happened with your dad, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to stay away, but I also knew you were going to shut me out.”

“I had my reasons,” Mickey said, trying to get Ian to understand why he had shut him out.

“I know,” said Ian. “You were doing it to protect me from Terry.” Mickey nodded. “Still, it didn’t stop me from falling in love with you. You never gave up on me even when you wanted nothing to do with me. The night you found me passed outside the Fairytale, on the way home you told me that you’d always be there to pick my ass off the street and you always kept that promise.”

“You remember that?” Mickey asked, surprised Ian could remember anything about his club days. Mickey had said a lot of things in the Uber on the way home, but he didn’t think Ian was even conscious half the time.

“I remember everything you’ve said to me,” Ian said, taking another step and was glad to see that Mickey didn’t retreat this time. “I should have been there when you were locked up.” Mickey nodded, running a hand through his hair.

“I didn’t expect you to fucking live behind that glass wall, but I needed… I needed you and I needed to know if you were okay, Ian,” Mickey admitted, looking at the man in front of him with a near pleading expression. “I had nightmares that you were in a ditch somewhere, out of your mind, while full bottles of pills were still in your room.” Ian grimaced, hating how Mickey had worried about him.

“I didn’t want you to worry, Mick,” he said.

“Tough shit,” Mickey shot back. “That’s what you do when you’re in love.” Ian was startled by that.

“You still love me?” he asked.

“What the fuck do you think?” Mickey asked, incredulously.

“You seemed so angry,” Ian said, reminding him of their last conversation.

“I was,” Mickey said, “and I needed a minute to breathe. Contrary to popular belief, I do care about being in prison and I don’t want to get familiar with those fucking concrete walls. I’d rather not be another frequent flyer Milkovich,” Mickey admitted. “You always say that you need to get your shit together, well it was my turn, Ian.”

“I get that,” Ian said.

“My life ain’t gonna be a carbon copy of Terry’s. I’m gonna be better, I have to be the better man,” Mickey said, unable to stop himself now that he was letting it all out.

“You already are,” Ian said, walking right up to him.

“I can’t go back,” Mickey said, looking up into Ian’s bright and attentive green eyes. “I have to think straight and when I’m with you or not with you… I ain’t gonna survive if you suddenly decide I’m not worth it again.” Ian reached up and took Mickey's face in his hands. Mickey had never outwardly expressed his desire to break the Milkovich mold like this. Ian could hear the fear behind every word and it hurt him to see Mickey like that. He was the strongest man Ian had ever known, but he always admired the strength it took to tell Ian all of this.

“I won’t,” Ian told him. “You are always worth it. Always. I love you, Mickey, and I don’t want to lose you.” Mickey was shaking his head as he placed his hands over Ian’s.

“You never lost me,” Mickey said softly, relaxing under Ian’s touch. “You may have wanted to end things, but I never got rid of us.” He then took Ian’s hand and lowered it to his chest, right on top of the tattoo that remained on Mickey’s heart.

“I’m so sorry,” Ian said again and he was willing to say it as many times as it took for Mickey to hear him. Ian looked into Mickey’s eyes then and saw something that reminded him of something Mandy had once said to him. That look in Mickey’s eyes finally made him relax.

“I’m sorry, too,” Mickey said, reaching up to run his thumb along Ian’s cheekbone.

“For what?” Ian asked, his brow furrowed. Mickey smoothed out the crease between his brows, not letting Ian stress about anything else.

“For not letting you in sooner,” Mickey said. “We could have more, so much more. Fuck, I missed you,” Mickey breathed out as he tugged Ian into him. Their lips met with a warm and firm kiss. Ian threw his arms around Mickey’s pulling him even closer. Mickey savored the feel of Ian Gallagher’s lips on his own as he sighed into the kiss.

Shoving his hands into Ian’s hair, he tugged on it, eliciting a moan from the taller man much to Mickey’s satisfaction. Ian kissed him a few more times before he pulled back, letting his forehead rest against Mickey’s so they could catch their breath. “Tell your family to back off now,” Mickey said with a smile.

“Tell them yourself,” Ian said. “You're moving in with me.”

“Is that so?” Mickey asked as he pushed back a bit so he could see Ian’s face.

“Don’t argue with me, Mr. Milkovich,” Ian said, his fingers playing with the hair at the nape of Mickey’s neck.

“You know I don’t like taking orders. I had enough of that shit in the joint,” Mickey said.

“You never complained before,” Ian said seductively as he ran his hand down Mickey’s stomach and towards his hips. Mickey raised his brows then, leaning into Ian’s hands.

“You are something else, Gallagher,” Mickey said, grateful to be with him once again, “but fuck I love you.”

“Then come here,” Ian urged as he reached for Mickey’s belt. Looking at Ian’s face, his expression filled with not just lust but love as well, Mickey melted beneath Ian’s gaze and finally felt as if he was free for the first time since getting out.

“Fuck it,” he swore as he tugged Ian in close. “Yes, Sir.” Ian grinned as he wrapped himself around Mickey again, letting everything between them solidify as they had found their way back to each other once again.

[cakesunflower]

Two’s A Party [C.H. One Shot]

A/N: So basically I read this sentence prompt that went “If you don’t get turned on by having your neck kissed, something’s wrong with you” and instantly thought of Calum and viola this was born. Funny how I was legit talking to @5sosnsfw last night about how writing smut is so bleh and then I wrote this about 24 hours later. Calum just does it to me, man.

This is written in 2nd person which I rarely ever do in a proper one shot so enjoy it while it lasts LMAO. This is all just smut/situations leading up to it. 

It’s only about 4k words so...... Happy reading!

The party had died down around two-thirty in the morning, your apartment engulfed in a pleasant, calm lul as opposed to the enjoyable rowdiness your friends brought with them. Besides, it wasn’t even a party, per se. More so a get together with your closest friends where you watched movies, ate lots of food, played board games, and drank even more alcohol. It was a fun way of winding down from the week and getting ready for the weekend, jobs and other adulting commitments making it difficult for you to see your friends as often as you’d like.

Especially those who didn’t stick around for too long, given their lifestyle, vastly different from your own, had them constantly traveling.

“Are you still going?”

Your eyes flickered away from the TV, which was playing an episode of Vampire Diaries—you weren’t sure why; you vaguely remembered one of your friends wanting to watch an episode just for Ian Somerhalder—and you looked up at Calum emerging from the hallway. He was eyeing the glass of wine you were sipping from, his own eyes a bit glassy from the hits he’d taken, curls ruffled a top his head as he slowly made his way over to you.

He was the last one still at your place, the rest of your friends having climbed into their Ubers after bidding goodnight, and you didn’t mind at all. You loved Calum’s company, sober or otherwise, and you didn’t have to tell him he was welcome to stay over for him to know.

You lowered the glass after swallowing the bittersweet sip, a lazy, tipsied smile gracing your lips. It was your second glass of wine—thought that was after a round of ill advised shots Luke wanted to take and a couple of hits from one of your other friend’s pen. You weren’t drunk, but a pleasant, enjoyable buzz hummed through your veins and tickled your skin. Your head kind of felt heavy on your shoulders, nothing you weren’t used to, but it was a welcome feeling.

“Don’t judge me in my own home,” you responded, watching as Calum snorted as he stepped over you. You were sitting on the ground, on a floor cushion that was softer than your couch, back against it as you absently watched the show with a throw blanket on your lap.

You felt the couch subtly move behind you, hearing Calum grunt gently as he laid down, legs dangling over one side of the arm rest as his head rested on the couch near where yours was as you remained seated. “Why’re you sitting on the floor?” Calum asked, voice raspy and just a little bit muffled due to his cheek pressed against the couch.

You licked your lips, tasting the wine, wondering if you should pour some more as you drawled, “Why are you asking so many questions?”

You knew why, of course. He wasn’t entirely sober, and whether he was drunk or high—especially high—it was when every question that ran through Calum’s mind was voiced. His need to know things always took over, asking, asking, asking. And you were always patient with him, always answering, wanting to do your best to feed his hunger of knowing. That’s how it also worked when you told him about the classes you were currently taking in grad school, and he asked you about the lectures and readings. He couldn’t go back to school like he wanted, not yet anyway, so you let him live vicariously through you. Calum always did the same when you asked about his life on the road, the wanderess in you never silenced.. Give and take, always.

Calum was silent for a few moments, the only sound in your apartment coming from the TV as the show continued on. You watched with slightly hooded eyes, unable to truly focus. At this point, you may be more tired than high. But you wanted to enjoy Calum’s company for as long as you could.

“Can I ask you another question?” he finally spoke up, the lazy drawl in his deep voice enticing. When you hummed in response, Calum asked, “What the fuck is sexual abandonment?”

You let out a groan, throwing your head back, just barely grazing Calum’s side where he lay as you felt and heard him chuckle at your reaction. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as thoughts of your ex flashed through your mind, more annoyed than pained. There was no love lost, but Calum was really blowing her shit right now. “Listen, shut up. I can’t believe I dated someone who used that as a reason to break up,” you huffed, straightening your head with a shake of it. Calum’s chuckles were deep behind you, all too amused, as your face scrunched up at the mere thought of your ex-boyfriend. He really had said he was dumping you because of sexual abandonment. You figured that’s why you’d never date a law student again. Or someone named Greg. You snorted as you raised your glass of wine. “I’m surprised he didn’t sue me.”

That only had Calum laughing harder, your smile growing as you swallowed your wine and looked over your shoulder. He was pressing his face on the couch cushion, shoulders shaking from his raspy laughter, and you could see the crinkles by his eyes as he did so. He was fucking adorable.

You bit your smiling lower lip, forcing yourself to look away from him and back at the TV screen, face scrunching up once again in distaste as you sounded disapprovingly, “Ugh.”

“What?” Calum questioned through a somewhat squeaky and endearing voice as his laughter dissolved into chuckles, taking a breath to calm himself down.

“That,” you answered, pouting at the TV as you watched one of the characters kiss the other’s neck, the recipient of it looking far too much like she was enjoying it. You couldn’t relate. “Not fun. Does absolutely nothing.”

From behind you, you heard Calum let out a disbelieving scoff, and without even looking at him you could hear the frown he wore as he said, “If you don’t get turned on by having your neck kissed, something’s wrong with you, doll.”

You finished off your wine with a roll of your eyes, putting the glass on the coffee table and blinking back some focus as you realized you put it a bit too close to the edge and pushed it further to the center of the table. Settling back against the couch, you informed your Australian friend, “No one I’ve ever been with has turned me on by kissing my neck. Either they just suck at it, or something really is wrong with me.”

Calum clicked his tongue in disapproval, and you felt his right arm wind around you, settling across your collarbones as he remained behind you. You enjoyed his warmth, the closeness not unfamiliar, until he shifted and you felt his lips brush along the shell of your ear as he murmured lowly, “They didn’t know what they were doin’. You need someone who does.”

Either you were drunker than you initially thought, or this was starting to take a turn you hadn’t been prepared for. Still, the sound of his husky voice sent a shiver down your spine, stomach flipping excitedly as you played with him for a brief moment, perhaps as a way of testing to see if you were right about the direction this was headed in. “Let me know if you find anyone willing.”

The hand that was wrapped around you was settled near the nape of your neck, throat working when Calum dragged a finger along the side of it in a featherlight touch. “Already have.”

Yeah. This was definitely going where you realized you desperately wanted it to go.

You inhaled deeply, the anticipation suddenly buzzing your veins more than any of the drinks had, biting the inside of your lower lip as Calum hummed, “Come up here, yeah?”

You moved without much thought, getting up from the floor to scoot up to the couch as Calum had moved, the blanket falling to the floor. Without having you face him, he had you settled between his legs, relaxed, hands settling at the juncture of your thighs where the heat of his touch seeped through the thin material of your leggings. Your heart was thundering your chest, in overdrive as you breathed in the scent of his familiar cologne deliciously mixed with the faint scent of weed, feeling Calum sit up behind you as his chest pressed against your back.

“Relax, doll,” he murmured, voice all too enticing, “just watch your show.”

It had been challenging to focus on the damn show before; did he really think you’d be able to now?

Still, you did as he said, ridding of any tension built from anticipation as you leaned into his sturdy chest, gaze on the show playing on the TV as you felt the first soft pressure of Calum’s lips. He started on your left side, where your neck met your shoulder, and you reveled in the coincidence of your decision to wear a tank top tonight.

Calum’s movements were slow, purposeful, as he pressed close mouthed kisses, starting a trail leading up the side of your neck, and each touch of his soft lips against your skin had you lightly biting your bottom lip. It was embarrassing how the sensation of his lips already had you realizing that, yeah, this was better than anyone else who’d ever tried this on you.

His hands were on your hips, teasingly sliding to the juncture of your thighs, the brush of his fingers flipping your stomach desirably. You weren’t oblivious to the way your heart was picking up its pace, already starting to find it difficult to focus on a bunch of vampires on the TV screen as Calum’s lips reached the spot where your jaw and neck met. The added sensation of his stubble scratching gently against the previous kissed spots, along with the tickling brush of his curls, had you biting your tongue as you tried to keep your breaths steady.

The wine that buzzed in your veins only heightened everything you were feeling, taking in a soft breath when Calum teased your skin with a nibble. Your eyes fluttered as his kisses trailing down started slowly becoming more intense, more playing with your skin with the use of his teeth and tongue, heart leaping in your throat when he chuckled against you. You felt his deep, quiet laughter in his chest against your back. With a squeeze of your hips, Calum murmured, “I can tell you’re already enjoying this.”

You didn’t want to give in too easily—give into what, you weren’t sure—despite leaning your head back just a little against his shoulder, hooded eyes still on the TV as you breathed, “Only a little.”

Calum, of course, took that as a challenge.

He scoffed lightly, bringing his left hand up to cup your right jaw, turning your face towards his as he lifted his head to look at you. The distance between you two was practically nonexistent, and you wondered if his dark, blown out pupils were because of whatever high he may be riding or because of what he was doing to you. You knew yours damn well had to do with him.

There was a boyish, wicked smirk growing on his lips, his hand warm against your cheek, thumb brushing along your lower lip as he leaned in close. You tried to ignore the way your heart jumped when Calum’s lips brushed against yours, just barely, so close but not entirely, as he whispered arrogantly, “You’re a shit liar.”

And then his head was ducking once more, and this time as his lips trailed to your collarbone, you felt the newfound passion behind his kisses—one that you welcomed wholeheartedly.  

The enticing burn of his stubble was soothed by the warm press of his lips, only to be teased unforgivingly with his teeth and tongue as he bit and sucked at your skin, determined to leave marks you both knew you’d wear proudly. Your breath caught in your throat, eyes still on the TV but not at all in focus, head leaned back to willingly give Calum access. Your right hand gripped the edge of the couch, digging into the soft material, while the other had a mind of its own and reached up to bury your fingers in the back of Calum’s head, lost in the strands of his curls.

He took his time with the kisses, never dialing back on the fervor, knowing just how much he was picking up your heart rate as he felt your body react to him. It drove him crazy, hearing the small gasps and sharp inhales you sounded every time he added a new mark to paint your skin with, wondering if you could feel just what you were doing to him, too. You could.

Calum’s hand that was gripping your jaw shifted, just a fraction, enough to allow for his thumb to slip past your lips, grip on your thigh tightened when you, without hesitation, wrapped your lips around the thumb and sucked. “Fuck,” Calum groaned breathily, lips dragging on your skin as you didn’t even try to hide the smirk that threatened to grow.

He kissed another mark he left on you before lifting his head, lips no longer on your skin and thumb no longer in your mouth. Your eyes met his dark ones, his no longer glazed from the weed but solely because of you, barely giving you a chance to let out a breath as Calum used the hand that held your jaw to turn you towards him more, closing the gap as his lips that had been teasing your neck for God knows how long finally met yours in a searing, toe curling kiss.

The two of you moved, lips never leaving one anothers as you turned to straddle Calum where he sat, the TV in the background drowned out by the sounds of your sharp breathing as you kissed, suddenly feeling a bit too constrained by the clothes that you both wore. You felt yourself easily getting lost in the feel of Calum’s lips against yours, working perfectly as the kiss deepened and the tongue that had been teasing your neck effortlessly slid against yours. Your fingers gripped the hem of Calum’s shirt, and he easily got the message as he reached behind to grip the material off his back and lift it off of himself completely, the kiss breaking for a brief moment that you used to take off your own tank top.

You grinned lazily at the sight of his unruly curls, messed up by your own fingers and the act of taking off his shirt, biting down on your lower lip as you noticed Calum watching you watch him. The incredulity of this whole situation wasn’t lost on either of you, but it wasn’t something you wanted to think about. That would come later.

So for now, Calum wrapped his arms around your waist before getting up effortlessly with your legs around him, smirking at the startled exclaim that fell past your lips as Calum lowered you onto your back on the couch, getting on his knees above you. Reaching your hand forward, you gripped the pendant of the necklace he wore, tugging him down to connect your lips once more, mouth craving to slant against his as Calum eagerly returned the kiss. He used one hand to plant by your head to keep himself above you, the fingers of the other digging under the band of your leggings and panties and giving them a quick tug downwards.

You couldn’t help the giggle that fell past your lips as you helped him in taking off the offending materials, the kiss breaking as he sat up to rid himself of his own pants. Both of your movements weren’t as frenzy as the pace of your heats, taking your time in ridding the clothes despite the pressing urge to once again close the gap between the two of you.

You looked up at Calum, your breathing heavy, as he sat on his knees between your legs, gaze never leaving yours as he rolled on the condom he’d taken out from his wallet. You wondered if his lips once again craved yours, wondered if his felt electric from the kisses shared while yearning for more, admiring the pinkness of his mouth from treating you so well.

There was a heat firing up your body as Calum openly admired you as well, laying bare all for him. Did he also find this turn of events unexpected? Was he also grateful things had taken this path, just like you were? Because fuck it if you never imagined getting to be with him like this, savoring every piece of him for as long as you could.

He leaned down to kiss you again, your eyes fluttering shut as you felt his chest press against yours, gasping into his mouth when his finger teased your slick folds. Calum’s lips curled into a smirk, the rasp of his voice chilling as he groaned at your wetness and mused, “No one could’ve turned you on like this except for me, doll.” Your fingers dug into his shoulders, nails sensually dragging across his skin as he added another finger into you. “Always remember that.”

As if you could ever forget.

You were lucky that Calum took mercy on you, hearing the whimper you released and he swallowed amidst your kiss, pumping his fingers a few times, dragging them against your walls, admiring your tightness before pulling them out and teasing your entrance with the tip of his cock. Being verbal wasn’t something you found yourself capable of, all of the sensations starting from the second Calum had pressed his lips to your neck to now overwhelming you, but you knew Calum and you knew he would wait until you gave him the go ahead.

So you kissed him, tugging at his lower lip with your teeth, the press of his chest against yours syncing your heartbeats, as you begged, “Please, Cal.”

He reveled in the moan you let out as he buried himself inside of you, the kiss breaking as your eyes shut and head tilted back at the sensation of him filling you. Calum dropped his lips to your throat, curls and eyelashes brushing against your skin as he squeezed his own eyes shut at the feel of you around him, snug and right. He cursed under his breath, guttural and blissed, feeling the confirming squeeze you gave his bicep a moment later that allowed him to create a pace that effortlessly drove you both crazy.

One leg on the couch while the foot of the other planted itself on the ground, Calum so easily hit that spot that had your heart jumping and head dizzying. You were overwhelmed by him; by him filling you up so well, by his lips on your throat, by the hand that wasn’t holding him up reaching between the two of you so his thumb could toy with your clit.

Calum lifted his head, taking in the flush of your cheeks and blissed out look in your eyes as you looked up at him through a hooded gaze, and he couldn’t be more entranced if he tried. He smirked breathlessly, nipping at your lower lip, grunts falling past his throat as he praised, “Take me so well, baby. How’s it feel knowin’ only I can get you like this?”

You let out a sharp breath, the urge to feel his lips against you strong as you confirmed breathlessly, “So good,” before kissing him like your life depended on it because, honestly, it felt as though it did.

The familiar coil in the pit of your stomach tightened as Calum kept his pace, thumb still circling your clit, and you knew that Calum knew you well enough at this point. You didn’t realize how well until he urged, “Let go, baby.”

Stars exploded behind your eyelids as you felt yourself do just that, the satisfied, blissed out sounds you let out music to Calum’s ears as his own release soon followed, burying his head in the crook of your neck so you could feel the press of his lips and scratch of his stubble. Even the pendant of his necklace dragging across your skin sent shivers down your spine, the mix of all these heavenly sensations taking over in the best way possible.

Your breathing was labored, as was Calum’s, whimpering softly as he pulled out of you and rid of the condom in the makeshift garbage bag made from one of the empty takeout bags. Calum then picked up the blanket and you lazily shifted over as much as you could towards the back of the couch, letting Calum settle next to you—though you ended up a bit on top of him. Neither of you minded.

You stared up at the ceiling, willing your heart to calm down as you reveled in the warmth of Calum’s bare body against yours in the minimal space your couch offered. The blanket reached up far enough to cover your chest, Calum’s toes just barely peeking out from the other end. He’d propped his head on the armrest, your own laying against his chest as his fingers lightly trailed up and down your arm as his own stayed wrapped around your shoulders. The TV was still on, as was that damned show, though neither of you paid it any attention. How could you, when you’d just done what you did?

Your stomach was still fluttering, lips electric, biting them before breaking the silence between you two. “So I guess nothing was wrong with me. Everyone else just sucked.”

Calum let out a deep chuckle at that as his fingers that had been dancing on your arm trailed over to your neck, brushing against the sensitive spots that were blooming into the bruises he’d intentionally left. Voice a low murmur, the smirk ever present, he responded smugly, “I know.”

You scoffed, lightly smacking his chest with the back of your hand, earning another laugh from him. Reaching your hand up, you took Calum’s that was trailing along your neck and played with his fingers, a thought popping in your head as you bit the inside of your cheek. Watching your fingers play with his, you dared yourself to hum, “Know what I’ve been wondering?”

He allowed you to pull off one of his silver rings before taking it between his fingers and sliding it over your thumb, the only place it’d fit. “What’s that?”

You took a silent breath, preparing yourself as the anticipation started building up without much doing. Tilting your head, you looked up to meet Calum’s curious gaze, his eyebrows quirking at the not-so-innocent smirk tilting at your lips. “If the rumors about your head game are true.”

His eyes darkened and you knew you had his attention—not that you’d ever lost it. And when your smirk widened, biting your lip, Calum’s own wicked one came out to play, already pulling off the blanket to make his way towards your sensitive heat. Your heart jumped, gasping as he got to his knees on the floor and gripped your hips to turn your body towards him, smirking up at you from between your legs as he taunted, “Only one way to find out.”  

--

tags: @irwinkitten @sweetcherrymike @meetashthere @loveroflrh @softforcal @astroashtonio @hereforlukescruff @novacanecalum @captain-what-is-going-on @angelbbycal @singt0mecalum @hopelessxcynic @lfwallscouldtalk @bodhi-black @findingliam-o @softlrh @calntynes @calumsmermaid @erikamarie41 @quintodosuniversos @longlastingdaydream @babylon-corgis @lukehemmingsunflower @spideyseavey @imfuckin10plybud @pastelpapermoons @conquerwhatliesahead92 @rotten-kandy @metangi @neigcthood @ohhmuke @old-zeppelin-shirt @5sos-and-hessa @trustmeimawhalebiologist @vxlentinecal @pettybassists @vaporshawn @lu-my-golden-boi @visualm3nte @isabella-mae13 @dontjinx-it @lifeakaharry @neonweeknds @antisocialbandmate @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave @calpalbby @grreatgooglymoogly @sunnysidesblog @cocktail-calum @miahelizaaabeth @madelynerin @dramallamawithsparkles @theagenderwhocriedwolf @kaytiebug14 @hoodskillerqueen @bitchinbabylon @empathycth @xhaileyreneex​ @inlovehoodx​ @calistheloml @aestheticrelated​ @bloodlinecal​ @sublimehood​ @madbomb​ @raabiac @britnicole11​ @outofmylimitcal​ @wildflower-cth​ @bloodmoonashton​ @vxidhood​ @tea4sykes @wildflowergrae​ 

[marvelousell]

My dearest

Pairing: Harrison Osterfield x Female reader

Summary: Harrison realises how his past actions were wrong after seeing you in a wedding dress

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: Angst, swearing

A/N: Thanks to @harrysleftchelseaboot for tagging me in her challenge I love it and I enjoyed writing this so much! “Don’t you love me?” & “Letting you go was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.” were the prompts I used. Hope y’all enjoy this:)

Masterlist || Add yourself to my tag list

*

“You’re getting married.”

A lovely sunny day, the warm weather that wasn’t usual for the beginning of May was a big irony for Harrison. Everyone was loud, chirpy and hyped about today. He didn’t want to come here, he tried to convince his girlfriend to stay home but the whole thing fell in the water. Everything was bright, even his shirt that his girlfriend chose for him to wear was but he sure wasn’t. Harrison was sure that the whole ceremony, people and the weather were harmonised just so he could feel worse.

It was all too much, the flowers that he knew you loved endlessly, the soft white and beige theme with the small details were your choice. He knew how you would always go through those magazines to daydream about your wedding, how you always bragged about having white roses so they could match your dress. 5 years passed and he still knew every single detail about you and your thoughts.

“You alright?” The low voice that belonged to his girlfriend made him sigh, questioning if he really was.

“Absolutely.” The small smile and hand on her lower back was enough for her to believe him. Harrison loved June so much. Her kind heart and open mind was something that made his heart so warm when he met her, however he couldn’t stop thinking about you. He couldn’t stop thinking about that night and how he messed up and how your bitter words after his actions stung.

“I would be nervous if I was the groom’s best man as well. Go look for Ian and help him out it’s a big day for him. I’m going to catch up with Bianca there.” June was a ray of sunshine, she was always here no matter what. Her heart was too big, her kindness and patience were Harrison’s weakness.

“Love you.” The small giggles that escaped past her lips after he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, sent nervous chills down his spine.

Harrison was doing just fine, he had a lovely partner, an apartment, a dog. He had absolutely everything he wanted but somehow he still missed something from time to time and this wedding wasn’t helping him to push that feeling away. He swallowed thickly as his feet brought him to a door which was half open. Harrison wanted to help Ian, be the best friend he could to him on this day and then go home and forget everything. Somehow he knew that his plan was ruined after he saw your figure through the door, cursing silently. Harrison wasn’t sure what it was that dragged his feet closer to that door, eyes never leaving your body.

You looked astonishing and breathtaking. The dress wasn’t dramatic, it hugged your body perfectly and the details in your hair made you look like an angel. You were cursing about your heels still unaware about the man behind the door. Harrison’s throat got dry, breathing was an unknown term at that moment, the heartbeat in his chest was getting more and more hectic after every second. This wasn’t happening. He tried to squeeze his eyes shut and stop whatever was happening but you were always there after he opened them again looking more beautiful after every try.

Was he supposed to talk to you? You two were fine, for your, his and Ian’s sake. June and Ian didn’t know about your past, maybe it was for the best but he still doubted if it this was good for you two. Harrison didn’t want to stand here for the whole time, he didn’t want to feel like this, he didn’t want to look at you in that dress knowing that the last hope he hold onto is going to be gone in a few hours after you say yes.

He was still silent, he got inside without you noticing since you were focused on something else. The accelerated breathing and his stomach churning from the sight of you made the whole room smaller for him.

“You’re getting married.” His husky and low voice was the best he got for you. The lump in his throat was an obstacle so this statement was the only thing he could spit out.

“What are you doing here?” Your fast reaction and words were what Harrison expected. You didn’t see each other for a long time but after Ian came back to his home town and wanted him to meet the girl he met and went crazy about, you two reunited. After it you were always around each other but you stayed silent about your past.

“The d-door was open.” Harrison took a big breath, clenching his jaw from the nervousness. He couldn’t do this.

“You can’t see me before the wedding starts.” You avoided his gaze, gripping the edges of the chair you were sitting on. You weren’t ready either. You weren’t ready for him to be here and you weren’t ready to be Ian’s when the good part of you belonged to another person.

“I’m not the groom it’s fine.” It came out more bitter than he wanted it to be. After it he couldn’t stop imagining if he would be in the room downstairs getting ready for you and your life together if his actions were different years ago. The silence and your gaze shifting to everything but him was killing him he needed you to look at him once more before you say your vows.

“What do you want Harrison.” The words weren’t harsh as before, they were filled with sadness and tiredness. You should be happy, beaming right now yet you looked like a total catastrophe. You didn’t want him to see it but he was too good. He knew you like the back of his hand, he read you like an open book, you just couldn’t hide it from him.

“Nothing. Wanted to see you one last time and have the conversation we avoided for so long.” It was the truth, he wanted to know how you were. He wanted to see his girl one last time before she stopped being his.

“It’s not like I’m going to disappear after the wedding so we won’t be able to see each other.” Although you knew what he meant with his words you wanted to hear it from him. His hair was styled perfectly, the pinkish shirt was a novelty since he didn’t love colours, he was still the most handsome guy ever.

“You won’t but everything we had will.” He still hoped that your feelings didn’t fade for him. Harrison’s heart tightened every time he looked at your rosy cheeks and eyes that were full of tears now. He wished for another chance, another one so he could go back and do the right thing, he wished for a happy end here with you.

“Please Harrison.” You stood up, letting the dress fall down, giving him a harder time after his eyes landed on your figure and the damn white dress.

“Don’t. I just want to know..” He couldn’t even finish, lowering his eyes down on the floor squeezing his fist to stop this feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“What?” Your voices were so fragile, you couldn’t look into each other’s eyes like you used to.

“Don’t you love me?” Harrison throat was burning, burning from those words that he hoped he wouldn’t have to say to you.

“Are you serious Harrison?” Was he really asking you that? Was he really here after everything?

“Please Y/N.” He was begging, he couldn’t continue without you. He was being selfish he knew that but the love he had for you was stronger than every possible feeling he had for June and Ian combined.

“You’re asking me this after you left?” Your eyes were now focused on his, both of your visions blurry from the tears that formed non stop.

Harrison left, he didn’t need a reminder, the constant guilt he was battling with was enough. Was he being unbelievable now? Absolutely. Harrison was the one who exploded, the one who thought that space was what you needed but now he was the one begging for closure. Irony at it’s best.

“Letting you go was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I’m a complicated person I agree. I agree with everything you’ve said that night, I fucking agree Y/N. I was an idiot I still am but believe me I can’t do this without you. I-I won’t be able to do it.” His thumb rushed to your cheeks, brushing the tears away constantly so your makeup doesn’t get smudged. You were still beautiful, you always were in and out.

“Why are you doing this today? Why today? You had 5 years to tell me that and you chose this one? Are you trying to make fun of me Harrison?” Your feelings were sure mixed but right now they were a mess. A mess that you won’t be able to get rid of.

“Because I’m a coward. Someone who thought that you deserved better before. You still do but I can’t help myself. You are the one. You are the one I need Y/N.” He was glad that you didn’t reject his touch, that you didn’t reject his closeness after he pressed his forehead against yours. You were both breathing rapidly, unsure where this will go now.

“June, Ian, you. I c-can’t.” Your head moved slowly. The sobs were stuck in your mouth as you turned away from him not wanting to deal with his blue eyes that made you weak instantly.

“Love.” He tried to touch you, get you to relax in his arms that seemed foreign after a long time.

“Stop it please.”

“Stop what?” Harrison assumed what you were thinking, his voice shaky, afraid to hear the answer you were going to give him.

“This. Us. We’re both happy. We have someone, for God’s sake I-I’m getting married to your best friend. It is a bit too late for us Harrison. I forgive you, I actually forgave you a long time ago b-but I can’t. I’m s-sorry.” Was that the decision you wanted? No, definitely not what you wanted. However it was the decision you needed, both of you needed it.

Harrison knew that, he knew how you weren’t a girl like that. Always putting others and their feelings before you and your priorities, one reason out of many why he fell in love with you.

“I’m sorry that I left that night.” He was whispering, voice barely audible. You said what you needed and now he needed to say at least that.

“I’m sorry too.” Harrison wanted to fight, stay here and not leave like he did once. Still your happiness was the only thing that mattered. The room was getting smaller, he felt the walls swallowing him completely. He moved but he didn’t want to.

“You asked me if I love you.” You started before he left, playing with your fingers nervously. Silence filled the room once again after you took a pause before continuing. Harrison stood near the door, his back facing you as he waited for your words.

“You’re an idiot for even asking. I loved you so much.”

“And I still do.” The corner of his mouth quirked up, relieved that you didn’t stay on the past tense. You were an angel, a true one. He glanced at you before leaving, smiling through the tears just like you did. You were both aware that if he wasn’t late, if you both weren’t silent until now this wouldn’t be happening and he wouldn’t leave again like he once did. Still Harrison knew deep down that his heart belonged to you and so did yours belong to him and it was enough for him, even if he didn’t deserve it.

[frogocado]

Tension Intervention (Shayne Topp x Reader)

anonymous asked: Could you do a Shayne x reader where maybe they’re dating or fwb and they don’t tell their friends at the office yet cause they want to keep it lowkey, and the next day after they have hook up the games crew which you’re a part of is doing a video with the squad and while setting up they notice little things about both of you separately (like reader can’t sit properly, Shayne has scratches on his back, hickies) and they all slowly put it together? Sorry if that’s too specific xxx

I’ve been having a really rough couple of weeks and here’s some good old chaos office fluff that all of you have learned to expect from me because I need it so I don’t fall apart. This is a little over 2k words and has mentions of nsfw. 

“We gotta stop meeting like this,” Shayne sighed against your shoulder, your hips finally falling away. You untangled from his arms, rolling your eyes as he looked at you in the dull light of the parking garage. He looked so damn smug in the warm yellow.

“This was your idea, dummy.” He laughed at your jest and you cut him off with a kiss, much preferring other noises come out of his mouth than that insane cackle in an echoing chamber of concrete. He dissolved from giggles into teasing kisses, pulling away each time so his breath could mix with yours. He called it “the in between-er” one day at your apartment, saying that it was a way for him to feel close to you without the true physical touch. It was nearly routine now, but each time, heat fluttered from your chest and into your stomach and you wondered if he knew how much you loved him.

Your watch buzzed and you glanced at the LED screen. “Shit,” you mumbled, collecting Shayne’s hands in yours to pull them away from your ass. “My call time is in fifteen minutes.”

You saw a glint of disappointment line his features and you smiled, thumb ghosting over his jaw. “Don’t look so sad, it makes you look like a kicked puppy.”

“Maybe I feel like one.” He grinned devilishly, pushing you back against the wall again. “C’mon, five more minutes and then I’ll walk you there.”

Although there was nothing you wanted more than to let your hips melt back against his, you shook your head, biting your lip. “We have to go, Shayne,” you encouraged gently. “If we don’t want to answer any questions about this, then it needs to be business as usual at work. You’ve already pushed it enough today,” you mumbled shyly as you recalled Chef Josh’s look of amusement upon seeing the two of you this morning.

Shayne was sitting on top of the counter as he playfully berated you about not making coffee fast enough. While there was nothing sexual about the encounter, the two of you knew the grumble and breathy whine you had gave him in return was far beyond anything coworker friends would execute. He had cleared his throat and a silence fell in the room, as if someone had ripped down a curtain. You and Shayne were frozen, stiff in place, like maybe Josh wouldn’t see you if you held your breath and didn’t blink. His features were calm as he hummed, getting his own cup of coffee and a bit of creamer from the fridge. As he put things away, he looked directly at Shayne. “Mythical has an early shoot this morning. You might not have as much time as you thought.” Without waiting for a response, he left.

“You’re right, I know,” Shayne sighed in response, hands falling away from you. “But I do love to push things in you.” He attempted to sneak another devilish look before you pushed his face away, heading back towards the office.

Matt was waiting as soon as you opened the door to the lobby. “I know you have something scheduled today, but Keith came down with a stomach virus and we really need someone else for a Try Not to Laugh.”

“I think it’s okay, but let me see if there’s any writer’s meetings or anything that I’m forgetting...” You stopped walking, pausing to check your schedule. The door behind you opened and closed a second time. Matt greeted Shayne with a note of confusion in his voice. “I thought you were upstairs already?” He asked. 

Your eyes glanced toward the blonde without lifting up your head. His eyes shifted from you and then back to Matt. “Yeah, I needed to uh... get my charger from my car,” Shayne said before rigidly entering the elevator.

Matt was still for a moment before he followed you to the stairwell. “He’s been so weird lately, have you noticed?” Matt asked you as the two of you took the stairs together.

“Nope,” you responded, pocketing your phone. The sooner you could get out of the conversation and play things off like normal the better. “I hadn’t noticed. My schedule is clear this afternoon, by the way.”

“Alright, good. I’ll let Ryan and Garrett know.” Matt held the door open for you and as you entered the office space, you heard him wonder to himself, “maybe Shayne’s on drugs.”

Your steps hesitated for a moment and wondered if anyone else had noticed the change before Ian called your name and you were whisked back into the working fray.

 Later, you found yourself perched on top of a stool, about to participate in your first Try not to Laugh session with Noah, Courtney, Olivia, and Shayne.

You winced as you adjusted on the stool. “You okay?” Garrett asked off camera as you involuntarily spit out your water.

“Yeah, I just… sat weird,” you replied. “I’m good.” From the monitor, you could see Shayne peeking at you from around the screen.

He nodded before prompting, “Alright, are we all set now?”

“Yes!” Courtney and Noah both called from behind the screened divider.

“Shayne, you go!”

You filled your mouth with water again and tried not to wiggle your position out of comfortable territory. You could hear your friends and coworkers trying to be quiet as they got their bits ready until--

“What the hell is that?” You heard Noah first, his voice edging the way it did when he was surprised and about to shriek.

“What?” Shayne returned the question, his voice moving to a coy innocence that you knew far too well.

Then, just as quickly, Courtney was yelling. “He’s got a hickey on his tummy!”

The water burst from your mouth before you could even think of a reaction. Your eyes went wide as the chiding continued behind the screen. All of the crew was laughing and your blush began to creep across your features as Garrett spoke up. “Y/N already lost. Who’s got somethin’ ready?”

Olivia’s small hand reached out and gave a thumbs up. All of the crew reset and, feeling like you were on the edge of passing out from panic, you filled your mouth with water once again. Silently, Olivia stepped into frame. She stood next to you and made eye contact with the camera for a long minute. Then, she turned to meet your eyes. The seriousness of the moment had lured you into a trance, following all of her movements precisely. She never broke into a smile, her eyes even and her mouth a straight line. Then, she spoke.

“Okay, I just wanna know. Was that the first time Shayne’s ever made you spit?”

Your eyes went wide and you made a small noise, the water once again escaping your lips. “Olivia, no!” Shayne was shouting behind the screen.

The entire set had dissolved into uncontrollable giggles as Olivia turned back to the camera, raising her arms. “No further questions, your honor.” She gave a pose as if she were a confident lawyer and then sauntered behind the screen once again.

“All of you are so unprofessional!” You gasped, holding your burning chest. Your eyebrows were pressed so high against your forehead you were scared that the next comment would have you keeled over and dead. You weren’t sure if it was the water, your sheer panic and embarrassment, or a deadly combination.

“Okay, okay, wait, please,” Shayne’s voice was loud and airing on manic. He walked out, staggering at first as the rest of the squad pushed him out from behind the screen. His face was as red as it was the first time you had told him you thought he looked beautiful naked.

To your horror, he was still shirtless and now that his collar bones were under the fluorescents and set lights, the devilish purple marks from the day before looked especially dark against his skin. You were used to seeing him in all sorts of light, but never so exposed while so well lit. Older bruises were visible as well, smaller patches of yellow on his throat and hips. He began to open his mouth to speak when Olivia and Courtney were shrieking. Neither of you had noticed your friends now inspecting the two of you. “Your back is so scratched dude!” Noah exclaimed.

Shayne closed his mouth before opening it again. No sound came out. Noah continued, “okay, I have two theories and both are very reasonable. Either Y/N and Shayne are fucking or Shayne has a demonic attachment.”

Even though everyone on set was damn near shrieking, there was somehow a perfect breach to pause for breath, as if the room was having its own in-betweener. “Both are correct, sir,” Shayne answered. All of your coworkers and friends were now shouting and, instinctively, you turned your head away from the sound to curl against Shayne’s chest.

“I literally don’t know if I’m more upset that this entire twenty-ish minute shoot is unusable or that you just dumbly exposed both of us to all of our coworkers,” you mumbled against his skin as his arms wrapped around you.

Olivia stepped in front of everyone, pointing towards a camera, carrying on her lawyer bit once again. “The jury finds these two guilty of being the two grossest people ever!”

“Alright, alright, it’s scrapped!” Matt rumbled, his voice carrying like a thunder cloud. As if it were a classroom listening to a teacher, everyone fell into softer and quieter giggles. “We’ll do a different shoot and the writers can go brainstorm somethin’ else!”

The squad and crew began to slowly leave the set, heading in separate directions. You, Shayne, Matt, and Garrett remained. Shayne began to open his mouth to speak, but Garrett’s voice found the air first. He spoke quietly and his eyes glinted like a proud parent. “We’re glad you two are happy but we also think it’s time to tell you that the parking garage downstairs has cameras and security wrote us a report.” Matt held up three sheets of paper, waving them in your direction.

Shayne made a noise that sounded like a sob and your hand smashed over your mouth as you gasped. “Oh my god,” your boyfriend whispered as if the wind had been knocked out of him. “Isn’t this the kind of thing an HR department should handle?”

“Probably, yes, but how else were we going to have a Tension Intervention?” Matt asked.

“Excuse me?” You asked. “A what?”

Garrett and Matt were both giggling now and Shayne was wandering to behind the screen to retrieve his shirt. He was mumbling as he went. “This is it, I guess. This is how I die. I’m going to have a fucking heart attack in this office and then I’ll be stuck here as a ghost forever.”

Matt was talking over him, “That’s what the Squad started to call it. We all sort of put it together. You guys disappear for lengths of time and when Shayne returns, his hair is somehow neater than before, as if someone were fixing it to not be so suspicious. Not to mention you always eye fuck each other whenever you think no one is looking. That was the biggest thing, really. And since we don’t have access to the court house anymore, we thought this would be the best way.” He and Garrett began to collect their things as you sat in stunned silence. “We’ll give you two a minute and then we’ll meet you at HR.”

They left and you sat still on the stool, staring into the cameras as if they were remaining eyes. You turned toward the screened divider and found Shayne, lying flat on his back, his t-shirt covering his face. His hands were pressed over his features, as if he were attempting to suffocate himself. “Hey, Shayne?” You offered gently.

“Yeah.”

“I really love you, dummy. Even though you called me a demon.”

His fingers collected the fabric and pulled it down. He sat up, giving you a soft smile in return. “I know. I really love you too.”

[gallavictorious]

Fic: Foreign Country

For fuck’s sake... So I got an ask in response to this comment, wherein the lovely nonnie suggested that Ian and Mickey’s reaction to the Kash and Grab would be a reverse sort of situation, with that place holding very happy memories in spite of being a site of trauma (because Kash shot Mickey there). I’m paraphrasing here, obviously... And I spent over a week trying to write the fic that this ask (unintentionally) inspired and now when I posted it Tumblr was messing with the ‘Read more’ so I, stupid and/or tired bastard that I am, deleted the thing to repost it but of course that means the ask is gone aaaaand yeah. I AM SO SORRY NONNIE! :( Hope this one finds you all the same.

Anyway, here’s my resonse:

Ah, yes. Yes! Nonnie, I applaud your dedication to sparking joy and thank you for sharing this delightful reflection! <3 And, uh, it got me thinking about the Kash and Grab and its role as the site of so much that went down with Ian and Mickey in the early years, and yeah, now there’s a ficlet. It involves a trip down memory lane, some angst, some fluff, and a rather startling number of I love you:s. It’s also the reason why it took me so damned long to get back to you… Sorry about that!

Did you ask me to write this? No. Does it stay completely true to your observation rather than carelessly running with it? Also no, but with slightly more regret.  

---

Never returning had not been a conscious choice. Neither was going back.

---

Chicago, on a Thursday afternoon in early October, and the air is unusually crisp when Ian steps out from the ambulance station. He's been working the early shift and now he pauses on the sidewalk and turns his face towards the sun, considering. No one's expecting him for another few hours, and it's a fine day: maybe he needn't rush home. Maybe he could walk for a bit.

It's an idea. He's feeling restless, though not the sort of restless that heralds the on-set of a manic episode (or so he thinks, but he makes a mental note to keep an eye out for other signs, and maybe mention it to Mickey). But yeah. He could walk for a bit, then maybe find a station for the L when he tires.

So he walks. Walks and walks and doesn’t tire, and eventually he finds himself on a familiar street and outside a familiar store and he realizes with a start that he hasn't been here in years. Hadn't even known the store was still open, but the sign on the door proudly proclaims it so, and above it the name remains the same, white letters on red: Kash and Grab.

Huh. Without making a conscious decision to, he's stopped walking and is just standing there, staring at the store. The sight of it brings a strange jumble of emotions, and the quietly jarring mingle of familiarty and distance that comes from returning to a place where once you did belong, but belong no longer.

The last time he stood here was the day before he ran off to join the Army, leaving Linda with nothing more than a short message on her phone. That’s more than what his family got, so he hopes she wasn’t too upset. He never asked; never came back; never really thought back – until now.

He hesitates for a moment, then walks up to the door and steps inside. He’s running low on smokes anyway.

It's the smell that hits him first. It hasn't changed, and brings him back to the days when it would cling to his clothes and follow him home, a not unpleasant but distinctive whiff of frozen food and sweet spices.

The interior hasn't changed much either. There’s a kid behind the counter that looks to be in his early teens, and Ian wonders if it’s one of Kash’s sons, if Linda's still running the store. He could ask, but who knows what Linda's told her kids about the teenager who fucked their closeted father before he ran off?

He glances at the boy again – and yeah, he could be Kash's, there's something about the eyes and the chin – and wonders if he ever looked that young when he manned the register. Wonders if that's what he looked like to Mickey, when he'd come into the store to just take whatever the hell he wanted, wether it was chips or, later, Ian's fucking breath away.

Ian Gallagher. You messed with the wrong girl.

And just like that, it's like no time's passed, and he's 15 and 16 and 17 again; he's doing it with Kash and he thinks he loves him; he excels at ROTC and dreams of Westpoint; his mother is alive and he doesn’t yet know that Frank isn’t his father at all – it hardly matters anyhow, because Fiona is there, as she has always been there, as he still thinks she will always be.

She got out and good for her. If she'd stayed here, she'd never been free of her role as sister-mother – never free to be Fiona. And as for him... he'd mourned the army dream when it died, but knows now that it was an uninformed dream, one he would not have cared to live even if  given the opportunity.

Glancing at the counter where he used to open his trigonomy textbook he feels no regret, though perhaps a twinge of sadness for the loss of that optimistic, determined kid, who had not had an easy life by any means, but who had yet to take any real blows, any blows that truly mattered. Those had come later (had come in this very store, some of them) and standing here, where he'd spent so much time as a child and none as a man, he feels something of that kid returning. Remembers the weight of the hundreth can put on a shelf; feels the ghost of a (too) easy smile on his lips; sees himself as he moves between the backroom and counter and fridge.

And everywhere he looks, there is Mickey. Mickey, in a dirty coat or a security west, angry and rough and funny and sometimes with the briefest flash of something softer, sweeter. He is stealing and scaring of thieving kids and restocking the shelves and plotting to murder Frank and moaning as Ian pushes into him.

He is on the floor, too, cursing Kash but otherwise strangely unaffected by having been shot. Ian thinks he might have been more scared and upset than Mickey. It strikes him now as a moment of innocence lost; your lover shot by a jealous ex, a real gun and real blood and what if Kash had had better aim? This was a thing that happened in the world, and if that could happen – anything could.

It strikes him, too, as a turning point: Mickey going away could easily have spelled the end of their intense but brief affair. For all they knew each other's bodies they hadn't really know each other back then, and while Ian had been crushing hard he had not yet loved Mickey. Perhaps they might both have moved on, found other lives and loves. Perhaps that had still been possible, then.

Or perhaps not. It was the first time they were separated and the first time they found their way back to one another, but not the last. It's a dance of coming together and coming apart and coming together, again and again, and they've traced its steps for close to a decade, never once stopping, not truly.

Because even in the absences, Mickey had been, is; there, always, in the stretches of time when he was locked up in juvie; in the eager hours of wating for him to show up at the store; in the exact distance between them at any given time.

Ian can still feel the jolt, like a punch to his gut, like electricity, of looking up from stacking oranges and finding blue eyes staring straight into his.

He remembers the last time they were in here together, when him and his siblings had been taken away by the CPS and Mickey invited him to crash at his place. He remembers his giddy delight at the question, his excitement at the realization that Mickey wanted to spend time with him. He had been so nervous, and looking back, knowing what he now knows, he thinks that Mickey might have been fucking terrified, but there'd been such ease to that evening and night; such familiarty and tenderness. And oh, the sex had been fantastic.

He tries to remember only this, not what came after with the morning light and a door suddenly slammed open –

Mickey had never returned to the store after that, and a few months later Ian had left for the army. Not really for the army, though; what he'd been moving towards had not been nearly as important as what he was moving away from.

Stings, still, that memory; but less than it once did, and as he strolls down the aisles, noting where the pickled cucumber jars have been replaced with tins of tuna and where the small bottles of cheap olive oil still remain, he is surprised to find himself... okay. For a long time, so much of his past had been a painful, tangled thing he did his best to forget, and even after he made his peace with it, he made a point of looking forward rather than back. Now he thinks that maybe, if you're happy with where you ended up, the hardships of the road which led you there are easier to bear.

Doesn't make everything that happened right; just... yeah. Easier to bear.

He buys a pack of cigarettes. The kid behind the counter is eyeing him suspiciously, but Ian thinks that has more to do with him walking around the store and staring at random things rather than with the boy recognizing him from some lurid tale of Linda's. Ian almost asks him to say hello to her from him, but nah. Let old dogs lie.

Outside, twilight is coming on, and there's a slight chill to the air now that the sun is sinking. Ian lights a cigarette and sucks the smoke deep into his lungs. This, too, is familiar, and for a moment he feels unthethered, unsure of when he is, who he is.

Without really thinking about it, he picks up his phone. Mickey's still working but can't be too busy because he answers on the second signal: “Hey.”

“Hey,” Ian says, and then he doesn't say anything else for long enough that Mickey asks him if he fucking wanted something or he's just being a creepy ass phone stalker.

It makes Ian smile. Grounds him. “I love you,” he says.

A beat. “You called me at fucking work to tell me that?” And Ian knows that the gruff disbelief is partially an attempt to cover Mickey's surprised delight at the proclamation.

“Yeah, I guess I did,” he says. Waits for a moment, but Mickey is silent. “You gonna say it back?”

“You fucking serious?”

“Kinda need to hear it.” Because he gets to say that; gets to ask for that. They're not kids not anymore and they don't need to hide. They’re fucking married.

That is real. That is now.

“Jesus Christ, Ian.” But then Mickey, as Ian knew he would, relents. “I love you,” he says, and Ian doesn't know if he's already alone or if he just doesn't care who overhears him, because he doesn't lower his voice or take the time to move somewhere more private.

A brief silence as neither of them speak, but simply rest in the warmth of the words, the truth of them.

Then: “Are you okay?” There's a trace of real worry in Mickey's voice now, and there's a part of Ian's that immediately annoyed because he hates that people worry about him so easily – but a larger part of him has made his peace with it; knows and accepts the reason for it; loves that Mickey loves him enough to worry.

So he offers a brief smile, even though Mickey cannot see it. Hopes it translates into his voice.  “Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine, I promise, it's just... I'll tell you when you get home, okay?”

“Okay.” And maybe Mickey isn't convinced but he takes Ian's word for it. Trust. That's another thing they've been doing better with. “I'll see you in maybe an hour then? I get off at five.”

”Yeah, I'll see you then.” And, because he can, because it's true: ”I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you fucking said that already.” A brief pause, then quietly: “I love you, too.”

They hang up. Throwing one last look at Kash and Grab before he walks off, Ian is pleased to realize that he feels nothing but a vague sense of affection for the place. Some things withered and was left here, sure, youthful dreams and ambitions and most of his naivite – but the best thing about it he kept, and Ian will see him soon and hold him soon, and this time he will neither leave nor let him go. Their new dance will move to a different beat.

[angelic-holland]

TMO Alternative Epilogue

“Love, that is the only thing that can occupy and fill eternity. In the infinite, the inexhaustible is requisite.” - Victor Hugo

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: mild angst but also plenty of fluff and a few doubts

Summary: You and Harrison create a life together.

A/N: thank you all for the love on this series, can’t wait to hear your reactions!! this series meant a lot to me and I put a lot of work into it psychologically and all, im geniunely super proud of the story as a whole even though it ended up ending very different than how I originally intended! <3

The Birth

***

“There you go darling! Squeeze my hand as hard as you need to,” Harrison murmurs, pushing hair out of your eyes.

“Haz, I-, ow! This baby wants to kill me,” you cry, afraid you might break his hand as you squeeze it.

Your doctor, the one you met with the moment you arrived in Boston 5 months ago, Dr. Glenn, is encouraging you, telling you she sees the head. 

You can hear the baby’s cries and the sound brings tears to your eyes, happy tears.

“Almost there, excellent work Adeline,” Dr. Glenn praises you, and all of a sudden a huge weight lifts off your shoulders as you give birth. 

Harrison kisses your cheek as you let go of his hand, “Can I see him?” you ask, wiping the tears from your eyes as you watch Dr. Glenn clean your baby off and wrap him in a blue blanket.

“Happy, healthy, this little guy looks great,” Dr. Glenn helps position your child in your arms and you swallow down a sob, because he has Tom’s nose. And Tom is-

“Have you decided on a name yet?” one of the nurses asks as your baby coos and cries in your arms. 

“I uh, I was thinking Phillip, Phil for short, like your mom,” you looked anxiously up at Harrison, hoping he liked the idea.

His face lit up brighter than Christmas tree and you felt your heart fill with warmth as he nods.

“Hey there Phillip, you’ve got the best mommy in the entire world,” Harrison smiles, reaching his hand out to rest on your shoulder. 

***

8 Months Old

“No! I, I don’t deserve to be his mother!” you shout, sitting down on the couch as Harrison paces the room.

“When are you going to- Y/N, I thought we got through this! I thought you- when you left to go back with Tom-,” 

“Don’t say his name.”

“When you left with him all that time ago, you were better! You were happy! I thought you were ready to be a mom! With me,” Harrison stops, turning toward you. Pleading with wide blue eyes, begging you to see you the way he sees you.

“I-,”

“I mean, what could have happened in four days that changed that? Is this because you-,”

“I killed him! Harrison, I killed the father of my child and now-,”

“Harrison! Y/N! Come quick!” Ian shouts from the kitchen and both of your eyes nearly bug out of your skulls, terrified something happened to Phillip.

By the time you and Harrison make it to the kitchen, Ian is sitting up against the fridge, clapping excitedly with a huge smile on his face.

“Where’s Phillip? Is something wrong?” You ask, looking around for your son when you hear him babbling from behind the center island.

You watch him, gasping as he struggles to stand on two feet, clapping his chubby hands together. 

“Mama!” He cries out, your mouth falling open in awe.

“Phillip, oh my goodness, look at you!” You praise, kneeling down on the floor next to Ian, opening your arms to encourage him to keep moving.

“His first steps, look at him, practically running already,” Harrison chuckles, sitting next to you, the fight from earlier practically forgotten about.

“Come to mama,” you encourage, smiling widely as Phillip’s feet start to move faster, wanting to be wrapped in your arms.

“Da-da!” Phillip shouts instead, falling right onto Harrison’s lap.

His hand curls around Harrison’s thumb, snuggling against his chest as you brush a dark brown curl behind Phillip’s ear.

“Always knew he’d be a daddy’s boy,” you chuckle, “he did say your name first.”

“No! He was laughing, his speech slurred a little, that’s why it sounded like Haz, but his first word was loud and clear, mama, he loves his mama,” Harrison says, kissing your cheek.

As if to echo his words, Phillip wordlessly crawled from Harrison’s lap to yours, snuggling against your stomach as you hold him close. You could get used to this, you definitely could get used to this.

***

3 Years Old

“We need our own place,” Harrison reasons, “it isn’t safe to raise Phillip here. Bless Ian and the rest of the guys for helping us out these past few years, but I want to keep him away from the mob, from danger.”

“This place is like a built in babysitter though, there’s always someone here to help look after him when we want to go on a date night or we’re both working…”

“Well, that’s what babysitters are for, and besides, you’re almost never away from him for more than a few hours at a time. I found a beautiful townhouse for rent in the North End. Three bedrooms, two floors, even has a small backyard. Don’t you think Phillip would love to run around and play in a backyard someday?”

You nod, resting your head on Harrison’s chest as you think it through. Logically, there was no reason that you shouldn’t move into your own space. Sometimes the men got too excited during meetings, shouting and cheering when Phillip was trying to sleep. Plus, sharing a room with Harrison and your ever growing son is getting exhausting. 

“Three bedrooms,” you muse, smiling at the idea of Phillip having a younger sibling to run around with.

“Yeah, you know, our room, Phillip’s room…” Harrison’s sentence tapers off so you can fill in the blank.

“Maybe a little brother or sister for him?” You smile, gently kissing Harrison’s jaw.

“Really?” Harrison sounds like a kid in a candy shop as you trail your lips along his jaw and down his neck.

“Really, I was an only child, it sucked, so Phillip deserves more than that,” You close your eyes and imagine having another kid, a kid of Harrison’s, a kid of yours.

“I would love for Phillip to have a little brother or sister,” Harrison sighs as you straddle his hips, “maybe both.”

“Oh no, we do not want a 19 kids and counting situation, mister,” you giggle as his hands curl around your sides.

“Who said 19? I just want three, darling, three cute little kids to run around and play with.”

“You’re a great dad, you know that, right?” You smile, tracing your finger along the curve of his nose. 

“And you, Y/N, are the best mom Phillip could ever ask for.”

As if on cue, just to interrupt your moment, Phillip wakes up, “mama? Daddy?”

“Maybe we can make those babies when we have a room of our own,” you laugh, getting up out of your bed.

“Great plan,” Harrison sighs, watching you pick Phillip up to bring him to cuddle. He couldn’t imagine his life happening any differently. And neither could you.

***

4 Years Old

You just got Phillip to sleep in his new bedroom and you’re exhausted after moving into the new townhouse all day.

You all but collapse on your new bed next to Harrison, “finally got our little boy down,” you curl up with your head on Harrison’s chest. 

“Are you talking about Phillip or me?” Harrison chuckles, his eyelids drooping.

“Hmmm both, but I have to ask you something, need to ask something of you.”

“Anything,” Harrison says, suddenly wide awake as you tap your fingers against his chest.

“If they finally catch up to me, if the FBI come snooping around asking you questions…”

Harrison’s breathing stops for a moment as his arm tightens around your side, “they haven’t in almost five years…”

“If they do,” you continue, “if they do, I need you to promise to kill me, to take me out, I-,”

Harrison sits up immediately, pulling you up with him, “no, absolutely not. Your case is cold, there’s been no activity on it according to my sources on the inside, we’re fine, you’re fine,” he sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than you. 

“Harrison,” you turn, cupping his cheeks, “it’s a precaution, me asking you this. But I have some leftover needles from back in the day, they’re locked away in the safe. If, and it’s a huge if, if something happens to me and they’re seconds away from catching me, then you use that needle on me. Simple jab to my neck.”

“Why would I- you know I could never kill you-,”

“Don’t think of it as killing me, okay?”

“How would it not be-,”

You press your forehead to his, forcing his eyes to meet yours, “it would be saving our child from the horror of finding out his mother is a-, was a serial killer, he can’t know that I- that I used to kill people. So you would have to kill me.”

“I can’t-,”

“Harrison,” your voice is final and you don’t give him a chance to speak, “babe, I- I wouldn’t ask this of you if I wasn’t thinking of Phillip, of our kid, of his future. It may never come up, you might be right, maybe the FBI has forgotten about the Scooby gang,” you shake your head, “but if they haven’t, please don’t hesitate to make sure Phillip has the best life possible, please take care of our baby.”

Tears well in his eyes as he kisses you slowly, “for Phillip,” he says through gritted teeth.

You nod, kissing him again, “for Phillip.”

***

5 Years Old

“Hey, Phillip, wave for daddy!” You laugh, holding onto Phillip’s arms in the wading pool.

Harrison was kneeling at the edge, video taping you and Phillip, his introduction to the public wade pool in Boston Common. It’s a hot day, probably in the mid 80’s and humid as hell. Your baby bump is peeking through your T-shirt, due in October.

Phillip waves, “hi dad!”

You wave as well before Phillip jumps in your arms, resting his head on your stomach.

“I think I can hear her, she’s my little sister, right? Can we name her Matilda?” Phillip giggles. He’s recently been on a Matilda binge, watching the movie over and over again when you and Harrison allow it. 

“Matilda?” You giggle, feeling her kick once again, Phillip backing away with wide eyes.

“Was that her?” He squeals, reaching up on his tiptoes to press his hand against your stomach.

“That was, that’s your little sister,” you grin, resting your hand over his smaller one, feeling her little feet pressing right against your belly.

“Matilda?” He looks up at you with wide eyes, dark brown eyes that remind you of Tom’s. 

“Why do you want her to be named Matilda, sweetie?” You smile, crouching down to tickle him slightly.

“Because mama! If she’s Matilda, she can use her super magic powers, and steal me cookies from the jar above the fridge before dinner!”

“Oh, so you just want a little sister so she can be your little cookie stealer?” You joke, picking Phillip up and resting him against your hip.

“Noooo,” Phillip insists, “I want a little sister because I know I would be the best big brother!”

“Alright, well since Matilda isn’t born yet and can’t steal cookies for you, how does a snow cone sound?”

“Yay! Snowcone! Come on mommy!” Phillip tugs at the sleeve of your shirt as you meet Harrison at the edge of the pool.

“How was it in there bud?” Harrison asks, draping a towel over your shoulders and kissing your cheek.

“My turn,” Phillip giggles before kissing your other cheek.

“Alright boys, there are plenty cheek kisses to go around, but I heard a little guy would like a snowcone,” you smile as Phillip rests his head on your shoulder.

Once you get to the stand, you squeeze your eyes shut when the sickly sweet smell of cherries hits your nose.

You’re not a kid. You’re not in your parent’s station wagon waiting for them to come out of their friends house, the now sour taste of a cherry ice pop lingering on your lips.

“Mommy! Open your eyes silly!” Phillip laughs, tugging at your shirt sleeve.

Harrison gently squeezes your hip, mildly concerned at the glazed over look in your eye.

“what flavor do you want bubs?”

“Could I get blue raspberry?” Phillip asks, “pleaseeee.”

“Of course, nice job using your manners, bubs.”

By the time you get Phillip home for his nap and the blue raspberry snowcone stain cleaned off his chin, you’re exhausted.

“C’mere, lemme give you a little massage,” Harrison says, patting the bed in front of him.

“What would I do without you?” You smile, stripping off your shirt and sitting in front of him, your hand resting on your baby bump.

“Well, you’ll never have to find out. Hey, do you think our baby, who Phil has very aptly named Matilda will have my eyes?”

You think for a moment, “I mean, I hope so, you have very beautiful eyes.”

Harrison’s hands start massaging your shoulders, “Do we tell Phillip?” 

You raise an eyebrow, unsure of what he means, “tell Phillip what? That we aren’t naming our daughter Matilda?”

“Hey! Why not? Matilda is a cute name,” Harrison brushes your hair off your neck, pressing his lips to your skin.

“Okay, maybe we can call her Matilda, I feel like we have to get a good look at her first, like, what if she doesn’t look like a Matilda?”

“How do you mean?” Harrison asks, running his arms down your own, intertwining your hands together as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“You know, I look like a Y/N, and an Adeline if I want to,” you laugh, “you look like a Harrison, Phillip looks like a Phillip. Was that what you were thinking of telling him?’’

“No, I was wondering if we should tell Phillip about his dad…”

You and Harrison haven’t talked about Tom, almost ever. From the day you came back to Boston and damn near collapsed in his arms. 

“I- Harrison,” you smile weakly as he hugs you, “I took care of the things I needed to in Idaho.”

“Are you okay? What happened to-,”

“I’m fine,” you choke back a sob, “he’s dead.” 

They seem like very contradictory statements. 

You killed Tom. You killed him because the FBI was seconds away from catching both of you. In your mind, the only way he could- the only way either of you could escape the police was death. 

When you first made the decision to kill Tom along with the rest of the men from your safe house away from home five months ago, you didn’t expect to be pregnant. When you fell in love with Tom Holland and you still had it set in your mind that you’d kill him, you figured you’d put yourself out of your misery shortly after. But if your life taught you anything, you had to clean up your messes. What happened between Tom and you was a mess, no doubt about it. And if you wanted to give your kid a life, more of a life than being known as the kid born from two serial killer, you had to stick with your original plan, no matter how horrible it made you feel. You couldn’t leave your baby parentless, and you certainly couldn’t kill him just because you wanted to die.

You turn around on the bed, cupping Harrison’s cheeks in your hands, “you, for all intents and purposes, have been Phillip’s dad since I found out I was pregnant.”

“I love you,” Harrison sighs, “I love Phillip, and I love Matilda or Julia or Elaina, whatever our baby’s name will be, I love our little family.”

“I love you too,” you smile, kissing him gently, “Thank you for being my sunshine.” 

Harrison chuckles as he lays back, pulling you right down with him, your head resting on his chest as he curls the sun necklace in his palm.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” he begins to sing, nudging you to sing along with him. 

“You make me happy, when skies are grey,” you sing along, smiling as he kisses the top of your head.

“You know, this song puts Phillip to sleep, just like it puts you to sleep,” Harrison smiles, reminiscing on all the times you’ve sung to Phillip with him and ended up almost drooling on his shoulder.

You’ve fallen asleep again, snoring lightly on Harrison’s chest as he rubs your shoulder and kisses the top of your head again.

“Goodnight darling, don’t forget that you’re my sunshine,” Harrison closes his eyes, quickly falling asleep with you.

***

8 Years Old

“Hey! We need to write Santa a letter!” Phillip jumps up, running around with his toy airplane, plopping down next to you.

“Is that so?” You grin, turning to wiggle an eyebrow at Harrison.

“Yes! Because he got Mattie the doll she wanted! And I got my airplane!” 

Harrison holds Matilda close to him, snuggling her into his chest as she giggles and squeezes her plush doll.

“That’s very nice of you Phillip, why don’t we write the letter tomorrow?” You smile, picking up your mug of eggnog right as his foot collided with it, nearly knocking it over.

Suddenly you’re a little kid again, sitting through Christmas with parents who weren’t actually present as you accidentally knocked over your mom’s cup of coffee. 

“When you make a mess you have to clean it up!”

“Y/N…”

And it’s not your dad’s biting voice and it’s not your mom’s was withdrawn one.

It’s Harrison and your parents are nowhere in sight, your stomach isn’t covered in coffee and you aren’t getting sent up to your room to spend Christmas alone.

You blink your eyes open and ruffle Phillip’s hair that looks all too much like his dad’s, grounding yourself in reality.

“Merry Christmas,” you smile at him, looking back to Harrison and nodding, a silent gesture that you’re okay.

“Nice save, darling,” Harrison chuckles, watching Matilda reach her arm out and make grabby hands at you.

“Want to come to mama?” You ask, holding your arms out.

“Mama,” Matilda giggles, tossing her doll to the side and crawling out of Harrison’s lap.

She walks over to you, stumbling a few times but ultimately climbing into your lap to snuggle into your body. 

Last night Harrison and you exchanged gifts. For a while you’ve just been each other’s partners, that’s how you introduced yourself to Phillip’s friends parents at school and to the parents at Matilda’s play group. 

“I got you something,” Harrison says, handing you a small bag as you settle into bed next to him.

You look at the red shiny material of the bag and smile, “thought you said we weren’t going to exchange gifts.”

He shrugs, slinging an arm around your shoulder, “I know but I saw this in the store the other day and couldn’t resist.”

“Well good because I got you something too, it might be stupid so like tell me and I’ll get you something else,” you sigh, turning your grab your small box off the nightstand. You had it specially made in a jewelry shop in the North End, you came across the idea one day while out walking with Matilda, she would tug on your sunshine necklace and remind you of all that time ago when Harrison bought it for you.

You hand him the ring box, resting your head on his shoulder, snuggling into the warmth of his white T-shirt. 

“Oh my god,” Harrison chuckles, “open yours too.”

You open up the bag, pulling out a similar ring box.

“You didn’t, Haz…” you break into a huge grin, opening your box as he opens his.

You bought him a ring, in the center was a golden sun.

“You’re my sunshine,” you choke out, catching the glimmering diamond inside your box. 

“I know you said we can’t get married, that we can’t legally be husband and wife but I feel, I know that we’re basically husband and wife and we’ve got two lovely kids and, wow I just am obsessed with the idea of calling you my wife.”

You smile through tears as he helps you put the diamond ring on your finger, “I like the idea of calling you hubby I guess.”

“Alright! Family picture! Squish together and I’ll try to get a timer on the camera,” Harrison sets his Polaroid on the fireplace, turning the self timer on for 10 seconds. He jogs over to you, kneeling behind you as Matilda claps her hands.

The camera clicks and you’re positive none of you are looking at it, but you’re going to cherish the photo. Phillip is sticking his tongue out and trying to do bunny ears with his fingers behind Matilda’s head. Matilda is half-turned to you, giggling with her eyes crinkled, she does, in fact, have Harrison’s eyes. Harrison and you are grinning as he rests a gentle hand on your shoulder. You’re a little mismatched family but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

***

Taglist:   @gioandreolli   @honeymoonparker @itsjusttor @averyfosterthoughts @worldoftom @angelhaz11 @rebekkah4766  @murdermornings

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

A Hallmark Secret

Day 4 of 2020′s 31 Days of Ficmas.  Thanks to @doctorroseprompts for the list!

Prompt: Holiday movies

Rating: G

Pairing: 12xRose AU; part of the Queen of Hearts universe

Summary: Even after seven months of marriage, Rose and Ian still have a lot to learn about each other.  A secret from Ian’s past brings back bad memories from Rose’s.

2020 31 Days of Ficmas masterlist  |  Queen of Hearts masterlist

AO3

---

Humming a vague Christmas tune to herself, Rose meandered her way through the palace hallways.  The decorations had started going up a few days earlier, and just that afternoon she’d overseen the last wreath being mounted in the ballroom, over the thrones.  The gigantic “official” tree in the foyer would have a ceremonial lighting ceremony the next evening, the one in the town square several days after, but the more reasonable-sized (but still large) one in their bedroom was already fully lit and decorated, giving the season a magical air none had had since she was a small child.

Without really planning it her feet followed her heart, and she ended up heading down the hallway where Ian’s public office was located.  She felt terrible for her poor husband; this was apparently a busy time of year, for nearly every night he’d have to return to work after dinner and an hour or so of relaxing with her.  She’d offered multiple times to help, to ease his burden, but he gently, kindly rebuffed her.

Approaching the door, she considered knocking – all she wanted was to help, to support him, considering how patient and supportive he’d been of her as she navigated her new life – and froze, as the distinctive peal of a woman’s laugh echoed through the door.

Oh, no.  Her heart dropped to her stomach, the previous decade vanishing and returning her to the stupid, prideful eighteen-year-old she’d been, so desperate to prove her mother (and Mickey) wrong that she’d put up with Jimmy Stone’s lying and cheating for longer than she cared to remember. No, no, no…

She stood frozen in the hallway, unable to make a decision – confront him, or run away?  I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation, her optimistic side encouraged, but the sinking feeling in her gut disagreed.  We’ve been here before, and it never ended well.

But Ian’s not Jimmy or Mickey, the optimism countered.  Ian is different – Ian is better.  That’s why we’re married.

Decision made, Rose took a deep breath for courage before moving forward, pushing the door open. She gave it more force than necessary, but didn’t wince as it banged against the wall, too focused on Ian’s guilty expression.  He was alone in the room, his laptop newly shut in front of him, and her stomach turned as he just stared at her.

“I heard laughter,” she said stiffly, fighting back the urge to start accusing, or shrieking – neither would help her now, not with him.  Not that they’d ever worked before.  “Meeting going well?”

Another flash of guilt made her stomach turn, before his brow furrowed.  “Wait, do you think-”

“I don’t know what I think,” Rose cut him off, “except that you’ve been lying to me.”

He watched her with a curious expression, before looking down at his laptop and sighing.  “All right, come here.”

She did, moving stiffly as he opened the lid, stopping at his side and glaring at the screen.  The image was generic Christmas, a tall decorated tree lit up with colorful lights, the dark night sky behind it. Then he clicked the screen and the image came to life, panning down and around to focus on a couple standing next to it.

“I’m sorry I made you doubt me,” Ian started, pausing the video again and rolling his chair back to make room for her, tugging her down onto his lap; she didn’t resist, but didn’t relent either, perching on his knee with her arms crossed, feeling vaguely guilty and somewhat silly, though the fears beating through her brain were not subdued.  “How do I explain?  When I was studying at Johns Hopkins, I lived with Grace – we were more roommates with benefits than anything else, as you know.  Well, when we would be overwhelmed with work and school, she liked to watch these movies that had started airing – Hallmark?  It’s a… thing over in the States, and it’s only grown over the last twenty years, but these were the early days.  They were cheesy and predictable, but… mindless.  A distraction.  I grew to enjoy them as well, because they were light and hopeful, and I needed that.”

Rose arched an eyebrow. “Are you telling me all your ‘late meetings’ were just you, in here, watching… Christmas movies?”

He nodded.  “I thought��� I’m sorry, but I thought you’d laugh. No one knows.  Well, Grace, and we’ll occasionally discuss them in there’s a particularly good one, but- I was embarrassed.  I didn’t want you to think less of me.”

As his words processed, Rose didn’t know whether to cry or laugh.  Sinking into him, she buried her face in his neck, hating his hesitation before tightening his arms around her waist.  Emotion bubbled up her chest, and they were both surprised when it erupted as laughter.  Clinging to him, she gasped for breath amongst her howls, all of her worry being expelled until love tinged with shame remained, and she calmed.

Eventually she sat upright again so she could see his face, smiling as she wiped at her eyes.  “To be clear,” she started, voice hoarse, “I’m not laughing at you watching Hallmark movies.  I’m laughing because how I’ve entertained myself while waiting for you is by watching the same sort of cheese on Netflix.  And in fact, I’ve watched so many of them that I’ve gone through all the non-royalty ones and have resorted to watching those against my better judgement.  And let me tell you, this whole suddenly a queen thing looks a lot easier in the movies.”

Ian laughed as well, expression lightening.  “Sounds like we still need to work on being open and honest with each other,” he said easily.  “Why don’t we go back to our bedroom, make a cuppa, put on some seasonal pajamas, and curl up and watch a movie together?”

“I would love that.” She kissed him, deep and lingering. “And then maybe we’ll go to bed early.”

“Deal.”

-

Once settled on the couch, movie queued on the screen in front of them, Ian allowed himself to relax. It had felt good, sharing this aspect of himself with her, and he was gratified to know that not only had she not made fun of him, but she actually enjoyed the same sort of guilty pleasure.

He couldn’t help but be a little hurt at her initial reaction though, her suspicion and veiled accusations, wondering what he’d done to have that be what she jumped to, rather than planning a surprise (which he was, to be fair).

“Ready?”  Rose flopped onto the couch before curling into him, one arm firmly wrapped around the large bowl of popcorn fresh from the microwave. “Let’s start, so we can call it a night.”

“Sure,” he agreed, hitting play on the remote as they snuggled together.

He tried to focus on the plot, but his thoughts kept running away from him, and by the time the leads had ‘re-met’ as more than passing characters, he was consumed with questions. Hitting pause, he struggled to sit up as Rose protested the change.

“Hey!”  Putting the bowl on the coffee table in front of her, she turned around.  “What’s wrong?”

Ian licked his lips, trying to marshal his thoughts into coherence.  “Can we talk?”

Expression faltering, she nodded, crossing her legs and facing him.  “I guess you wanna know why I sort of overreacted?”

“I wouldn’t have put it that way, but, yes.  I… didn’t realize we had, well, trust issues.”

“We don’t.”  She sighed, not sounding particularly convinced. “At least, we don’t, and it’s honestly got nothing to do with you.”

He kept silent, watching her.  She seemed to have something on her mind, something from her past, he suspected, and tried to keep his features arranged in an open and inviting manner.  The fireplace crackling was the only sound, the light from the flames making her seem to glow.

“When I was sixteen, I had this shitty boyfriend,” she said haltingly, staring down at her hands and twirling her ring.  “He was a musician who thought he’d make it big, so it was the usual story – I dropped out of school to support him, and he thanked me by getting drunk and being abusive. Verbally, mostly, but- well, mostly. He also cheated.  A lot.  In our- in my bed.  The one that I paid for.  Long story short I eventually went home with my tail tucked between my legs, and you know the rest of that, but…  And then Mickey- don’t tell Martha, he was different then- well, he wasn’t much more inclined to be exclusive, but he wasn’t cruel about it, and to be honest I kept one foot out the door the whole time anyway.  The point is-” she took a deep breath, placing her hand over his, “the point is those scars are deep.  I thought they’d healed- I put a lot of effort into it- but when I stood outside your door, just wanting to be with you and help you, worrying about how much more you’d been working lately- and I heard a woman laugh… it just brought it all back.  Like getting slammed with a rogue wave, just instant- and I know you’re not like that, and I do trust you, I just-”

“Old wounds pull,” he murmured, when it was clear she wouldn’t continue.  “Instinct.”

“Yeah.”  She gave him a soft, tentative smile.  “So, really, I’m sorry for coming on so strong.  I just… I love you so much, I couldn’t do that again. Be the fool again.”

For the first time the conversation made him angry, but not at her.  “You are not a fool,” he told her fiercely, bringing both hands up to cradle her face and make her meet his eye, so she could see the sincerity there. “You are wonderful, and smart, and talented, and brave.  I’m sorry I was a prat sneaking around, I didn’t mean to make you worry.  And I won’t do it again.  I absolutely forgive you, not that there’s anything to forgive.”

“Thanks.”  She sniffled.  “And I forgive you.”

They kissed, a warm, buttery meeting of lips, just a joyful expression of love and happiness.

“Now, what say you we finish this movie?” he asked, tucking her hair behind her ears and making her smile. “I want to share this with you.”

Rose bit her lip, looking between the screen and his face, before shrugging one shoulder.  “Dunno, are you sure we’ve made up enough?”

His brow furrowed, her smile morphing into a cheeky grin and she tilted her head in the direction of their bed.  Finally understanding her meaning, he laughed, reaching for the remote and shutting off the telly without a second thought.

“An excellent idea,” he stood, offering her his hands.  “I think I have some making up to you to do.”

“Well, if you insist.”

And just like that, a new holiday tradition was born.

[userlando]

in a bubble (alex turner)

summary: alex has been stressed lately so you surprise him with a bubble bath wordcount: 2.8k warnings: swear words, fluff and implied sexual content a/n: hi! i’m back with a new fic and it’s pretty much very self-indulgent because bubble baths and alex are my weaknesses apparently. thank you so much for all the love on my last fic, it was a massive confidence booster and it made my heart very happy. so i hope you enjoy this and don’t hesitate to lob some feedback my way <3

** this is on ao3!! **

* * * *

When Alex walks through the door of your two bedroom apartment, the only thing on his mind is maybe a quick shower and snuggling beneath toasty sheets so he could sleep the rest of the night away.

What he doesn’t expect, however, is to find you in the hallway. You’d greeted him plenty of times before by the door, always with a soft kiss and a stroke to the cheek with your hand before you asked him about his day. But something was oddly different today, and he’d probably have figured it out just by reading your facial expression if he hadn’t just spent eight hours in the studio with Miles; Brain fried and eyes droopy.

You had clasped your hands together behind your back, almost bouncing on the balls of your bare feet and the triumphant smile on your face made Alex smile, despite himself. You looked happy, dressed in an oversized t-shirt that he wasn’t sure was yours or his, your bare legs on display and hair messily thrown up into a ponytail. He tried to calm his racing heart down, shooting you an amused look as he peeled his jacket off to hang, toeing his shoes off in the process.

“Wha’s got you so smiley, my darlin’?” He asked curiously, walking towards you with his hands already outstretched.

It had been nine hours since he saw you and his fingers were aching to touch you, especially when you were standing right in front of him, looking the way you did. So effortlessly beautiful even when you weren’t trying.

“I’ve got a surprise for you.” You mumbled right into his chest as he pulled you in for a squeeze, the smell of cigarette smoke and eau de toilette making your head spin in the best way possible.

“Oh?” He sounded intrigued and it made you pull away with your arms still around him to assess the expression on his face.

He gazed at you with his pretty brown eyes and you immediately felt the familiar flutter in your stomach. Sometimes you envied the way he could floor any person with those eyes, whether it was with a disapproving furrow of his eyebrow or a teasing smirk on his lips. His face had seemed so aloof the first time you’d met, and sure there were sparks flying between the two of you and he wasn’t afraid of showing any kind of affection. But you’d found it hard to read his face the first few weeks and it took quite a while before you could read the expressions on his face and detect the emotion he was feeling judging by the tone of his voice.

And now? Now you could read him like an open book, and you considered it a blessing for many reasons.

“Still with me, love?” His voice brought you back and you blinked, realizing that you’d been staring at his face and he was now smirking amusedly at you.

“Shut up and close your eyes,” You laughed, reaching for his hand so you could tangle his fingers together with yours, pulling him down the hallway which proved to be difficult because he was reluctant to let you guide him blindly. “Follow me.”

“Are you goin’ to guide me into a wall or summat?” He frowned, looking over your shoulder as if to see if he could spot your surprise down the hall.

You couldn’t help but giggle and felt him squeeze your hand in his.

“Just close them, Al. And no peeking!” You wagged a finger at him and he sighed, shooting you a wary look before covering his eyes with his free hand.

“Beginnin’ to feel like our fourth date.” He muttered with a teasing tone in his voice.

The memory of your second date made your cheeks warm as you understood what he was referring to, your brain taking you back to your fourth date when Alex had insisted on the two of you breaking into the hotel pool after hours. He’d invited you to tag along to one of his concerts with Miles in Manchester and had even booked you a suite, reassuring you over and over that he wasn’t expecting anything from you but cuddles since you’d still not gone beyond the stages of snogging and groping. (”I’ll even have two separate beds if that’ll make yeh feel betta’”)

That night had ended in skinny dipping - hence the no peeking situation - and the both of you sleeping together for the first time. It truly was a night to cherish, even though Miles had caught the unfortunate love bite on your neck the next day at breakfast and had a good cackle about it. He’d been so loud that he’d drawn the unwanted attention of a whole restaurant.

“It smells vanilla-ey.” Alex remarked as you entered your bathroom, sniffing the air with his lips pursed in concentration. “Wha’ you up to, me love?”

“Okay, I know you’ve been stressed this week and haven’t been sleeping very well - “

“I always sleep well with ya.” He interrupted and you would’ve glared at him for it if he wasn’t so damn adorable. “Now am I allowed to look or are you gonna slap me up the head?”

You scanned the dimly lit bathroom with a nervous sigh before letting go of his hand. It prompted him to look and you watched him silently as he removed his hand from his face, eyes blinking as he adjusted to the low light and what was before him.

It was yet again hard to read his face as he took in the bathtub filled with rose petals and the candles scattered around the place. He silently stepped forward, making a noise in his throat as he discovered the pinkness of the water between the gaps of the bubbles.

“Is it... Okay?” You hesitantly asked, looking at the long expanse of his back until he turned around.

His eyes were wide as saucers and it would’ve made you laugh any other time.

“Okay? Baby, the water is pink! This is bloody great.” He gestured wildly to the bathtub as if you yourself hadn’t plopped that bath bomb in there. “You’re bloody amazing, I love you.”

He reached you in two strides, cupping your face in his hands and bringing your mouth to his in a hasty kiss. You couldn’t help but laugh into it, pleased with his reaction as he pulled back to undo the zipper on his jeans.

“Are you joinin’ me?” He nodded backwards, eyes bright even in the dim light.

“I wasn’t planning to...” You trailed off when his eyebrows raised. “I’ll get in there if you want me to.”

It wasn’t long before he’d sunk his naked body into the tub, beckoning you to do the same on the opposite side. The water was still warm, warmer than you’d expected and it sent shivers down your spine as you lowered yourself. Alex was bringing a wet hand up to run through his long hair, successfully dampening his strands and it made you smile in amusement.

“I hope you’re not too tired for this,” You said quietly. “You just sounded so stressed on the phone and so I scrounged up everything I could find to make it as relaxing as possible for you.”

Alex was watching you the whole time, eyes softening when you finished speaking and it made your heart thump in your chest. You never questioned his love for you because he’d always made it his number one priority to make you feel loved, since day one. That didn’t stop unnecessary doubt to creep up in the back of your mind sometimes but it never failed to evaporate when he was looking at you like this. With love and adoration written all over his face. A look reserved solely for you and no one else.

You felt your heart race when he reached out a hand to circle his fingers around your wrist, gently tugging you close to him so your legs went on either side of his hips. It was a little uncomfortable but that was the least of your concerns when he circled both his hands around your back.

“I’m so lucky, tha knows?” He murmured, tilting his head. “Couldn’t ask for a better night.”

You grinned and leaned forward to steal a kiss from him, feeling your cheeks ache as he hummed against your lips. The pads of his fingers dug into your back softly, keeping you close to him as he rubbed his nose against yours.

“Besides, you ‘ave got the sex playlist and everythin’.” His lips stretched into a shit-eating grin and you let out a startled gasp, slapping his shoulder.

“It’s not a sex playlist!” You exclaimed, referring to the Bluetooth speakers you had on in the background, the sound of Ian Brown’s voice crooning softly.

When you’d first started dating, you’d created a playlist for the both of you where you could add songs that reminded you of each other. It had quickly grown to over three hundred songs of various artists and bands. It wasn’t until one fateful night when you were on tour with the Arctic Monkeys and you’d gotten back from a night at the pub in Paris with the band that Alex had put the playlist on shuffle and proceeded to defile you on every available surface in your hotel room. He’d renamed the playlist to “The Lovely Sex Playlist” the day after, cackling when you’d smacked him up the head for it, pointing out the fact that the acronyms spelled out TLSP. Miles had loved it and you’d gone through the five stages of grief when he’d teased you endlessly for it, going as far as hinting at it during their shows, Alex’s face lighting up.

You never changed the name though.

“Love, let me remind you of the three orgasms I gave ya during this song.” He knocked his forehead with yours gently, pulling back to laugh at your face.

You fish mouthed for a good five seconds, warmth creeping up your neck at the memory he’d happily reminded you of. Then, for a lack of better response, you splashed him gently with the bath water.

“Aye!” He giggled, hands coming up to rub the water out of his eyes with some vigorous rubbing. “Don’t start anythin’ you don’t wanna finish.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, sinking your hands into the warm water as Alex settled his hands around your waist again, pulling you in even closer. He looked beautiful, serene even as he closed his eyes and tilted his head back with a low hum. It was with a startled giggle that you realized the specks of bubbles on his chin and nose, making him peek an eye open. He looked confused and amused as he raised an eyebrow at your outburst.

“Sorry, love.” You leaned forward to brush the bubbles away from his face. “Was lookin’ like Father Christmas.”

Alex grinned, letting go of your body with one hand so he could scoop up some bubbles to artfully place on his chin. He managed to cover his goatee and it should’ve made you pout because you secretly adored the look on him, but the look of a smiling Al with bubbles on his face replicating a bubbly beard made you giggle.

“’ow do I look?” He waggled his eyebrows, looking like the perfect picture of a mad man.

“Horrendous.” You nodded with a straight face. “What - Alex!”

In no time at all, he’d managed to catch you off guard by sliding forward, pulling you fully into his lap and sending lukewarm water spilling over the edge with an audible splash. You gasped, laughter turning into squeals when he attacked your face with kisses, bubbles be damned.

“You taste like roses.” You managed to get out when he’d paused long enough for you to catch your breath, wrinkling your nose in a way that had him smiling softly at you. “You nutter.”

“Only crazy for you, me darling.” He sing-songed, pressing a sloppy kiss to your mouth before pulling back to shoot you a smile. “Now, can this nutter get his hair washed or do I have to beg?”

The way he pouted made you shake your head with a laugh, successfully sliding off his lap without injuring yourself or him. You twirled your finger around in the air to signal that he should turn his back to you, to which he complied with a small squee of delight.

You located your bottle of shampoo, squeezing a fair amount because you knew how much he secretly adored the scent of it. He hadn’t said it out loud, but your shampoo had started running out much faster than his was, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that he used it whenever he washed his hair. That, and it was clear as day whenever you’d bury your face in his hair in an embrace.

A sigh left his lips as you slid your soapy fingers through his hair, digging your fingers into his scalp in a way that had him purring like a kitten. You suppressed a laugh, opting for a secretive smile instead as you worked the lotion into his hair, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder before turning on the shower head to wash it all off.

You repeated the process with the conditioner and it wasn’t long before he was turning around, rather ungracefully with his gangly legs.

“Turn ‘round, I’ll do you.” The words sounded drunk coming from his mouth, eyes drooping in a way that suggested that he’d loved being taken care of. That’s probably why he didn’t realize how suggestive he’d sounded, gazing at you in confusion when you giggled childishly.

“You’ll do me, aye?” You turned around, looking over your shoulder when you heard him chuckle.

“I’ve been at half-mast for the past hour babeh. I’ll definitely do you when we finish up in here.” He promised you with a wicked glint in his eyes and a firm nod.

You shivered at the suggestion in his tone of voice, turning your head back so he wouldn’t see how flustered he’d made you. It didn’t go unnoticed by him judging by the chuckle he emitted, the snip of the lid of the bottle echoing in the bathroom before you felt him sliding his fingers through your hair.

“Mmm,” You couldn’t help but sigh, inclining your head back so he could dig his fingers deeper, scratching your scalp in a way that had you moaning and purring. “That feels so good.”

Alex made a noise in the back of his throat, scooting closer to your back so he could press a kiss against your throat before going back to massaging your scalp.

“Keep moanin’ like tha’ and I’ll have to spread your legs right here, baby.” He drawled, voice dangerously low and it made you snap your mouth closed as you realized the sounds you’d been making had been anything but innocent.

He finished up rather quickly, conditioning your hair before rinsing it out with careful moves. And after a quick wash down with the shower head, he bent down to drain the tub; Letting you step out before he moved to do the same. You were just about to reach for a fluffy towel when he tutted.

“You won’t be needin’ tha’.” He said and you cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Al, we’ve got to dry off or we’ll drench the bed.”

“We’re gunna find a way to fucking drench it anyway.” He rolled his eyes and you mimicked him teasingly.

“Oh, is that your way of saying you’ll actually get me wet tonight?” You cocked your hip to the side, watching his eyes catch the movement before he dragged his gaze up your body to settle on your eyes.

“Are you feelin’ cheeky, me love?” He took a step toward you and you automatically took a step backward, eyes never leaving his as his lips stretched into a lazy smirk. “Maybe you need a good spankin’, hmm?”

You almost let your mouth drop into an O, catching yourself in the last second and daring him with a cocked eyebrow. He licked his lower lip, pulling it in between his teeth as he took two steps to you, catching your wrist before you could make a run for it.

“You’re kiddin’ yourself if you think you could make me come tonight.” You were lying, they were all lies but it was fun to watch his face morph into shock, a thrill in the way he grabbed your throat in a loose circle.

A gasp left your lips as he pulled your head in for a sloppy kiss, and you moaned as your noses knocked together. It took everything in you not to groan in agony as he pulled back too soon, leaving you wanting more. Always leaving you wanting more.

“Go on then, off to bed you go,” He let go of your throat, turning you around and giving your bottom a slap that had you stumbling with a startled squeal. “I’ve got more than one way to put tha’ pretty mouth to good use.”

[a-singleboat]

Smosh Family Feud

WORD COUNT: 1805

A/N: so, i’m uploading this from mobile and will get back to format it asap when i get home on Tuesday morning!

You glared into the sun from your post next to Noah and Lasercorn. It was getting cooler as the hours clicked on, but the setting sun seemed to be taunting you. It was saying that this day would end and another would have to take its place. On any other day, you’d be fine with it. Today, however, the sun was a timer and it was ticking down how much longer you guys had outside before you had to wrap filming for the day.

You forced your gaze away from the sun in time to see Sarah bounce over to stand in the middle between the two groups. You refocused on your podium and took note of the person counting down behind the camera.

“Smosh Summer Games: Apocalypse!”

Lasercorn made a comment loud enough for his mic to pick it up, sending you into a small fit of giggles. You poked his cheek, a smile gracing your lips, “Old man Corn.”

He swatted your hand away, sounds of protest coming from his mouth.

“Today, we are playing Smosh Family Feud,” Sarah announced, pausing for the several whoops that were let out by the cast. “It’s gonna get nasty, it’s gonna get a little shady and we’re gonna spill all the tea.”

Sarah explained the rules of the game, which was more for the viewers than it was for us. You looked off to Toxicitea’s side, furrowing your eyebrows at what Ian and Joven were up to. They both had their foreheads pressed together while making running movements but moving nowhere.

Sarah explained the punishment, a Holi Powder Slap to the face from the opposite team. You squished your face between your two hands and pouted. A Holi Powder Slap was the last thing you needed.

Soon enough, the first question was asked. Sarah turned to us and proclaimed that we would receive the first question.

“Don’t let us down, Court!” you called, shooting her a supportive thumbs up. “You got this, I love you!”

She glared at you before dropping the mean look and giving you a cheesy grin. “Love you too!”

“My first question to team Mushroom Clout is, we’re gonna start out a little soft,” Sarah glanced down at her cards. “Who on your team would die first during the apocalypse?”

You bit your thumb before scribbling down your answer and flipping your board over.

Sarah asked for Damien’s answer first.

“Love you, Courtney, but Court!”

Courtney took offense to that, playing up her reactions for the camera. She threw her hands up and fell onto her podium in semi-defeat.

Keith’s answer came next, working down the line until it reached you.

“I’m so sorry, but I put Damien,” you flipped your board for the camera to see. You put up your hands in self-defense, rocking back slightly, “But only because I feel like he’d go back for someone or he’d make the sacrifice play for his friends!”

“No yeah, that makes sense,” Shayne shouted from the opposite end of the line. “Damien would one-hundred percent make the sacrifice play.”

The votes were tallied up as one for Courtney, one for Keith, one for Damien, and two for Noah.

“So, Courtney, who did you think would die first in an apocalypse?”

Courtney whipped around to look at Damien. “First of all,” she started, “Damien, I am hurt. I would kill it in the apocalypse. But, you know I picked the person, the only person who doesn’t have a driver’s license.”

She flipped her board to reveal Keith’s name written down. You clapped politely and stood quietly for the opposing team to take their turn. By now, the sun was on a steady decline downwards and you could see the golden hour coming into play.

The next question for your team was, “Who on your team has the worst style?”

You looked at each person individually before your eyes settled on Lasercorn. You sent him an apologetic look before quickly jotting his name down. The votes for this round ended up being five votes for Lasercorn.

“I’m sorry, dad, but have you seen what you’ve decided to wear today?”

Lasercorn looked down at his outfit and motioned wide. “What’s wrong with my outfit?”

You turned and pointed at the camera, “Nothing! Hashtag Rep Mushroom Clout!”

“Wait, no, don’t change the subject. What’s wrong with my outfit?”

“I don’t know, dad. You tell me!” You used that bit to garner a few laughs before hugging it out with your Smosh dad. You both refocused on Damien at the guessing booth and crossed your fingers in anticipation for Damien’s answer.

“Real quick,” Damien said. “Noah, your style is wacky weird. And like good is subjective, you know? And Lasercorn wears a lot of video game shirts, I wear a lot of video game shirts.”

Your eyes widened at what Damien was implying. “Damien, tell me you didn’t!”

“No, you’re right I didn’t. But I did put Lasercorn down.”

The whole group came together at Damien’s words, screaming and generally being crazy. Courtney beelined for you and snuck a kiss onto your cheek. You instantly felt your face heat up at the content and hid bashfully behind your hands.

You watched Wes get voted as least funniest for their group, though he was okay with that. The round wrapped up with Toxicitea in the lead, ten to six. The odds were not looking so good for Lasercorn’s streak.

“Alright, Mushroom Clout’s turn,” Sarah whipped out her cards again and flipped to the next question. “Who on your team would ditch you guys to hang out with a celebrity?”

“Well, you know he’s really just one of my best friends but I feel like sometimes he’s just way too cool for me,” you flipped your board to reveal Keith’s name. “Keith, I love you and I know you would never intentionally hurt me or anyone else like that, but if Michael Jackson came back to life specifically for you, you wouldn’t say no.”

By the end of the voting, the points had rallied up as four for Keith and one for Courtney.

“This has really given me some time to self reflect, but at the same time,” Keith pointed at you. “My homegirl, Y/n knows me too well, I would leave y’all motherfuckers in a heartbeat to hang at the Jackson’s house.”

The way that the votes swung put both teams on equal ground, and it stayed like that for basically the whole time, forcing a tiebreaker round to be played.

“It’s time for the tiebreaker,” Sarah announced. “This question is for everyone on the cast. Who out of everyone-two people-do you think has the best ship?”

You contemplated for a moment before jotting down Shayne and Courtney’s names, thinking that besides from you and Courtney, those two would be an obvious choice. The only reason you didn’t put yourself was that you and Courtney haven’t really told the fans about your relationship, wanting to let it flourish without any outside input.

Courtney’s final answer proved your thinking right she revealed her answer to be herself and Shayne.

Toxicitea all voted, two for Iancorn, Two for Shourtney, and one for Ian and Anthony. Ian flipped his own board, revealing Shourtney as his answer. As Toxicitea celebrated their win, Matt Raub called you off to the side. He handed you the box that you had asked him to hold onto before this video’s shooting and gave you a thumbs up. “We’ve stopped shooting for now so you could do this.”

You thanked Matt before slowly walking back over to your podium. If you did this, there would be no going back, no matter the answer though you hoped it to be yes. You blinked, running your fingers over the soft velvet of the case and making up your mind. You put the box behind you, tucking it into your waistband, and marched over to where Sarah stood.

“Okay, while Shayne and Courtney was the winning choice, I have something to say.” Celebrations stopped in their place as curiosity overtook the group.

“Listen, Courtney and I have been together for a little over a year and a half but we’ve known each other since we were both Smosh babies.” You held out your hand to your girlfriend and she walked over and took it. You squeezed her hand tightly in your own. “We may both just be two women of Smosh, but right now, I am a woman about to ask the love of her life a very important question.”

You bent down on one knee and pulled the box out from your waistband. “My grandmother gave me this ring right before she passed and told me that I’d know what to do with it. And now that I’m on my knees in front of you, I know I’ve made the right choice.”

Courtney started to cry, all attempts to stop the tears failed as more kept coming. 

“Courtney Ruth Miller, will you marry me?”

“Yes!” She pulled you up from your kneeling position and pulled you in for a kiss. The two of you separated long enough for you to slide the ring onto her finger before you were kissing again. All your friends cheered in the background, Joven going as far as to shout, “Get it, Y/n!”

Courtney laughed and pulled away and walked over to Ian, pulling him up to you. “So, get this though, Y/n,” Courtney held out her hand to Ian who had pulled out a near-identical box that was the same save for the color.

You watched as she got down on one knee. “I’ll only be accepting your proposal if you accept mine!”

Your friends started to scream in excitement, the two teams merging together. You laughed at the hilarity of it all before pulling her up and kissing her once more. “Of course, I’ll marry you.”

Courtney slipped the ring onto your finger and you both held up your hands, showing off the rings to your friends.

Eventually, Matt Raub had to intervene so that the punishment could be filmed while there was still sunlight out. After getting slapped by Olivia, you stumbled off to the side to blink out any holi powder that may have gotten into your eye, even if you were told it was safe.

Once everyone had been slapped, you found your way to Courtney’s side to watch Lasercorn tackle Ian after his slap.

“You know, people are gonna comment on our rings and we haven’t been public at all with our relationship.”

“Well then, I think it’s time we were.” Courtney kissed the side of your head. “Maybe a wedding planning video or a wedding dress shopping vlog.”

“I think that that would be an amazing idea.”

A /N: part two is a possibility with the “wedding footage”

ALSO; reminder that the red light green light survey is still up until tonight!

RED LIGHT GREEN LIGHT IS NO LONGER OPEN, BUT 8/1′S SURVEY IS

[renee-writer]

Safety Chapter 6 Drunk Claire

She sits, knees up with the tarden wrapped loosely around her. She has changed in jammies, shorts and a button down shirt. Jamie is manly trying to keep in mind she is just a mate. This task is made more difficult, the drunker the lass gets.

He didn’t imagine a spot or two of whisky in some hot tea would get her this intoxicated. But” as she tells him, “Frank didn’t believe women should drink. Wasn’t lady like.” She tells him a lot as the evening rolls on.

“Sex,” his eyes jerk to her,” it was all about baby making. Right from the start. The first cycle I had after we were married, ah it infuriated him. He yelled and made such a to do. Said he married a young virgin and expected that I would provide him with a heir. Couldn’t get him to listen to reason.” She sighed and twirled the golden liquid of the tea around. “We were trying every night. Not that I ever got much pleasure from it. Didn't even know I was supposed to. The next month was the first time he hit me.” Jamie's breath catches. He had suspected from her reaction at Ian's office but, to have it confirmed.

“Slapped me hard across the face.” Her hand goes up to cradle it, as if she still felt it. “Said I was useless if I couldn’t get with child. I cried and begged him for another chance. Can you imagine. But, I was just 18 and really thought I needed him. He knew he had me then. Good and proper. That is when the affairs started. He tried to hide them at first but a woman knows. He stopped asking for it every night. Was calmer when my cycle came again, cause he had several back-up plans. Finally I found a perfume stain on his shirt, and me forbidden to wear it, and confronted him. He straight up admitted it. ‘She may be able to give me what you can't.’ is what he said.

I screamed, cried, threw things. It was a regular scene. He grabbed me, pushed me down, and raped me, all the while saying, ‘maybe you will do your wifely duty now.’ I should have left then. I was just scared. Better the devil you know. The affairs continued and I skipped a period. Oh he was so joyful. I wanted to be but, the thought of bringing a child into that house. Before my first doctor's appointment, I started bleeding. Oh, he beat ne so bad. It was my fault, you see. I had caused it. I had taken away the one thing he wanted from me.

I was unable to move for two days. I laid in rhe center of our bed, he had went off to one of his mistresses, and wished to die. The cramps were horrid, I was bleeding so bad I ended up throwing the bedding away. I knew he had broken a rib of two, I was a mass of bruises. Death seemed easier then living.

He was so sweet when he returned, apologetic, tender. He carried me to the bath, washed me, as he wept over every bruised he caused. He said it was just grief that made him act out in such a despicable manner. He begged my forgiveness and I gave it. I gave it! I did slip away and get on the Pill as soon as my bruises faded enough. I knew I couldn’t bring an innocent child into that house. Oh, I didn’t grab them! He will find them. Well, he should know, right?”

Jamie, who had been drifting in an increasingly building rage, was jerked back to her at her question. “Oh aye, the bloody f*cking bastard should! He should ken you took some control.” She signs and moves closer to him, close enough to rest her head on his shoulder.

“I shoulda left. Not just got on the Pill.”

“Aye but doing that, taking that control, showed real courage. I am proud of you for it.”

“Thank you. He never beat me that bad again. But every month, as my cycle would come, he would slap me around. The affairs never stopped. I caught him once before the threesome that drew me to you. It was in our own house, about a year ago. Her name was Candy or Sandy. I did walk out then but ended up coming back. I had nowhere to go, you see?”

“I do. I am glad I was available to offer a place to go.” He had started stroking her hair, he wasn’t even aware of the action.

“Me too. I am truly free!”

“You are.” She more firmly rests her head on him and wraps her arm around his chest. He wraps his arm around her. “You are safe here. That I promise. He will never lay another hand on you.”

“My hero.” She looks up at him and time seems to stop as their eyes lock.

“Nae, we can’t do this!” He drops his hands and moves her away.

“Why?”

“Mates that is all. You are still married.”

“Not in anyway that counts. I need to fill like a woman. Please!”

“No. Christ! Claire you are drunk. Drunk and married. I will not be taken advantage of that. You will thank me in the morning.”

“I doubt that.” Her pouty lips harden him more. F*ck!

“You need sleep.” He lifts her up and carries her to bed. Laying her down, he covers her up, kisses her forehead, and walks out, firmly shutting the door. He goes to his, locks the door behind him, and undresses with muttered curses. It has been since.. Well, a while. She, with her long legs and pert little breasts, her heartbreaking story, and need of him. God, the need of hers! It was enough to almost push him over the edge. Almost.

He climbs into bed, takes himself in hand, and thinks of her. He cums in seconds.

[scarletwritingwolf]

Chapter 14: Wrath of Janet Fraser

I was poised for whatever barrage of insults came at us, Jenny was looking at us as though something foul smelling was under her nose; lips pinched and nose scrunched. 

Jamie and I had no choice but to stay joined, as we had nothing but the tartan between us. 

Mortified didn’t even begin to cover how I was feeling. Jamie had lost all traces of good humour, and he didn’t appear overly keen to be the one to break the awkward silence hanging between us. I did my best to put on a brave face despite the vulnerability of our position, the irony was not lost on me that I’d asked Jamie to warn me before meeting his family so that I could put on my ‘armour’, and now not only was I armour-less, I had nothing on save the suit I was born with.

Jenny recovered her wits. “Jamie are ye no’ goin’ to invite me in?” She was testing us. Jamie (and I) stepped aside to permit her entrance. She made herself comfortable on the sofa, all the while smiling to herself like a cat who’d been given cream.

“I’ll be with ye presently, Janet.”

I hugged myself to Jamie, staring over his shoulder at Jenny as he walked us to his room. She hadn’t bothered to turn around to watch our spectacle, I worried about what might be coming. 

I felt infinitely childish. Once the door closed behind us I leapt out of Jamie’s arms. 

“Why on this earth did you have to insist on keeping me with you? Your sister is likely out there thinking that you are with some kind of charlatan!” The colour was rising in my cheeks, I just wasn’t certain if it was with anger, embarrassment or lust. Jamie’s naked form served to distract me again.

“Christ Claire, I swear to ye, I had no idea it would be Jenny, she doesna visit often.” He breathed heavily, every breath impatient. “I need to dress, she’s here for a reason, and I mean to find out what. Ye can stay here if ye like, or come with me.”

This was the first time since being reunited that Jamie had been so severe with me. Clearly Jenny’s appearance had struck some sort of a nerve in him. 

I took a courageous step towards him (more courageous than I felt by a long shot). “Of course I’ll go with you, you fool. I don’t mean to stay in here and have her think that I’m too cowardly to face her.” 

We quickly tidied ourselves up, both of us dressing, and me trying to make my hair sit in a somewhat flattened fashion.

“Ready?” He asked.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

He took my hand in his and kissed it. “Dinna fash, Sassenach, everything is fine.”

. . . . . . 

Five minutes later it had become clear that everything was not, in fact, fine.

I had attempted to introduce myself to his sister upon our re-entrance, but had simply acted as though I wasn’t there, not even sparing a glance at the proffered hand I held out to shake hers. Instead she had begun to tear figurative strips off of Jamie. 

“HOW COULD YE JAMIE FRASER! WILLIE TOLD ME EVERYTHING, YE SAID YE WANTED HIM TO BE HAPPY! ” She screeched. It became immediately clear that while Jenny might have been small in stature, her presence was formidable.

Jamie looked bewildered. It was apparent that whatever he might have considered to be his sisters reason for coming, it had not been this. Whatever this was.

“Before ye carry on yelling, Janet, would ye mind telling me what it is that I’ve done to offend ye?” He asked the questions calmly, but his slanted eyes were narrowed accusingly. 

“Ye ken fine well what it is ye’ve done James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser”.... Good lord had I heard all those names? Surely not. “Willie called me today, telling me that he got a lovely stack of paperwork courtesy of you, something to pass along to his wife”.....

He cut her off. “Aye I did, but only because the stubborn mac na galla wouldna call me back!” He said hotly.

I’d retreated to a kitchen bar stool, keeping my distance from them while they had it out, there was no sense getting tangled up in it. The back and forth had become like watching a tennis match, each trying to claim the set, but there wasn’t a clear winner yet.

Jenny straightened up, she looked like a wolf sizing up her prey. She growled. “Do ye no think that discussing a pre-nup with him might ha’ been done in person brother?” 

Jamie became visibly uncomfortable at this question, like a worm on a hook. “Of course I did Jenny, but I dinna ken anymore when he’s home, and even if he is; whether he’d see me! Our dear brother doesna seem interested in much to do with me if ye hadna noticed!” 

“That is no excuse, and ye know it. He says Laoghaire is worrit, and doesna know if she can marry someone who wants a pre-nup. I ken what ye think of her Jamie, but Ian didna sign anything.” 

“Christ’s blood Jenny.” He spat. “Ye know it’s different with Ian, we’ve known him our whole lives.” They were almost nose to nose. “The pre-nup protects us all, including you.”

The words resounded, Jenny stood stock still. 

“Aye it would affect me, but it would affect me more if we lost Willie. And we will, Jamie if ye dinna start thinking before ye act.” She said this so quietly, the words full of menace.

“I do think, Janet, I think of ye, Ian, Willie, yer bairns, everyday. But I won’t take it back, Laoghaire signs the pre-nup or she goes. If Willie fights, I’ll cut him off.”

Jenny turned to face the fire place, contemplative, and for the time resigned. I got up from my seat, meaning to approach and comfort Jamie, he had been watching me out of the corner of his eye. 

“Stay put Sassenach, I’m ok.” 

I moved towards him anyway, reaching him and feeling the security of his hand enclosing mine.

“Why don’t we discuss the Sassenach, Jamie?” She was still turned away from us. Her words were slow and careful, each one meant to sting. “Not only has this, this....” She seemed to be struggling to find the word she wanted. “Whore...” Ahh there it was. “Wormed her way back into yer life, she seems to be makin’ herself quite comfortable. I want to know Jamie, do ye plan to give her a pre-nup if it gets serious with ye two?”

I held my breath when she asked this, and I felt sure that Jamie wasn’t breathing either. I considered waiting for his response, but a voice inside me was being quite insistent about the fact that it was my turn to speak up.

I drew myself to full height. “Actually, Jenny, I would sign a pre-nuptial agreement if Jamie and I were to get married some time in the future. My name is Claire, by the way, just for your reference. I don’t need your brothers money, I earn fairly well myself.” I was fine, everything was fine, this would be fine.

She swivelled around, meeting my eyes with a fiery gaze. “I ken who you are, Claire, I just didna want te address ye as such because I think it’s more than ye deserve te give ye the time of day.” Her cutting words pierced the exterior of my soul, and things were beginning to flood out that I had desperately tried to keep at bay. Ignoring my reaction she continued. “Ye hurt Jamie, worse than I’ve ever seen; even when he came back from the war, injured and all! But this visit isnae about ye, I canna control Jamie when it comes te his love life.” 

Jamie’s presence was thunder, he shook with rage. “YE ARE OUT OF LINE JANET MURRAY, YE WILL NOT SPEAK TO CLAIRE THAT WAY!” He turned to me taking my face in this hands; wiping away the tears that had begun to flow, and muttering soft Gaelic sounds to me as he pressed his lips to my forehead.

Rather than do what most might have done, and retreat, Jenny kept on. ��Ye see how ye protect her, Jamie, that is how Willie seeks to protect his bride to be. Will ye no’ consider what I’m saying? We’ve lost enough with màthair and Da, I canna lose Willie too.” The sharp edge to her voice had all but disappeared.

He directed me back towards the bar stool I had been sitting on.“Stop Jenny, stop now. Ye’ve said yer piece, now ye can get out of my apartment. I’ll think on what ye’ve said, but ye need to think about what ye might lose if Laoghaire doesn’t sign, what yer bairns might lose.” Jamie looked at her squarely in the face. I was silently thankful for the small distance between them. 

Jenny Fraser seemed contemplative, but neither face or stance betrayed what she might have been thinking. 

I had been about to suggest a truce when Jenny doubled over in apparent pain. In the flurry of heated words I’d forgotten she was pregnant. A small voice in my head said ‘she’s faking’, but I dismissed it, the woman before me was in agony and had gone white as a sheet. 

Jamie rushed to her, leading her over to the couch. “Jenny.” His voice was panicky and almost unrecognisable. “Ye need to sit down, are ye ok? Is the bairn alright?” He seemed to stop himself, realising that she likely wouldn’t be able to answer all of of his questions. 

I reacted quickly, setting about getting a glass of water and a cool towel. I passed them to Jamie who put the cool towel on Jenny’s forehead and tried to get Jenny to drink. 

“I’m sorry Jenny, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m ok Jamie, dinna fash. It’s ok now, the pain has gone.”

“Ye need to go to a hospital Jenny.”

“Nae, I’ll go my doctor tomorrow morning.”

“Well then we’ll drive ye home, I couldna look Ian in the face if I dinna do something for ye.” 

She seemed to concede that she wouldn’t be able to drive herself home, and sighed in assent. 

“I’ll pack a bag, and we’ll leave as soon as ye’ve finished the water and had something to eat.” In a flash he was rifling through his pantry looking for something he could give her, settling finally on a stack of sweet biscuits. He set them down in front of her. “Eat those, ye need sugar.” His eyes met mine, pleading, I knew he wanted me to stay with him. To tell the truth; I didn’t want to leave him. Bringing his arms around me, he shepherded me up and out of the chair towards his room. 

I whispered “Will she be ok Jaime?”

“I dinna ken Sassenach. I hope so, good timing she’s got, I was about to throttle her.” I sensed his need to make a lightness of the situation, but his tensed form told me just how concerned he was. He’s busied himself stuffing clothes into a bag. I came up behind him to hug him.

“Will ye come Claire? To take Jenny back to Lallybroch?” He asked softly.

“Yes I’ll go with you. But I don’t have clothes with me. I need to change and pack something.” I was in the gym clothes I’d been wearing almost all day, I wanted to shower, even if it was only for two minutes. I needed peace and warmth.

“Ye’ve got time Claire. I’ll wait for ye, it isn’t as though ye live far.” He smiled at me. 

“Give me fifteen minutes.” 

. . . . . .

Half an hour later we were racing through the dark streets of Edinburgh, heading towards the countryside where Lallybroch lay hidden. I didn’t much think about the significance of meeting Jamie’s relatives, I was tired; physically and mentally. Jenny was on laying on the back seat of the car, breathing the soft and relaxed breaths of sleep. I watched the rise and fall of her chest for a time, my gaze lingering for a bit  on the swell of her stomach, I hoped the baby within was safe. As though my thoughts were loud enough to hear, Jamie took my hand reassuringly. 

“Are ye alright mo chuisle?”

I held his hand to my cheek. “I’m fine Jamie, just a little tired is all.”

“We’ll be there soon Sassenach. But before we get there, I want to ask you something.” My heart was pounding, what was he about to ask of me? 

“Ask away.” I said coolly. 

“How are ye at acting?” 

Of all the questions that he could have asked, this was not what I had been expecting. 

“I’m not really sure, I’ve been told that I have a glass face, so my guess is that people can tell when I’m lying.”

He chuckled. “Aye, ye do, sometimes. I’m asking because tomorrow I mean to smoke Laoghaire out, so that she’ll admit to wanting my brother for his money. But I need yer help.”

I glanced back at Jenny to make sure she was still asleep. “I’ll help you. But I want to understand why, and what you mean to do, before I help.”

“That sounds fair, I’ll tell ye everything tomorrow Sassenach, when we haven’t got Jenny so close by.”

We drove in silence for a while. Both lost in thought. Finally we came to a driveway, shrouded by bushes, only really visible to those looking for it. The house came into view, it was completely dark and deserted except for the one lone light on, where a man could be seen making tea. There was a beautiful vine of roses growing over the archway of the entrance, and I imagined that in the light it would be breathtaking. I looked to Jamie.

“Welcome to my childhood home.” He said proudly.

“It’s beautiful Jamie,” I said sincerely.

“Jenny we’re here.” He shook her leg gently. She rose quickly, as though she’d never been sleeping. I gathered up my things as Jamie opened the doors for both Jenny and I. As I was about to open the door further to step out of the car, Jenny brushed past, and shut the door in my face, leaving a shocked Jamie in her wake. 

“Wee ghalla.” He muttered, shaking his head. He reopened the door for me. 

So that’s how she wanted to play. Well we’d see how far she’d get with it. 

I pulled Jamie to me, kissing him with abandon. I folded my arms tightly around his neck, sinking deeper into the kiss, knowing all the while that Jenny would likely be watching us from the window.

She needed to see that I meant to stay with Jamie, to love him.

Jamie pulled back slightly, he spoke against my lips. “Dinna think I dinna know what yer doing Sassenach.” He was holding back laughter. “Why dinna ye just wave to Jenny to make sure she’s watching.”

I blushed furiously, biting his bottom lip in response. “Not a chance.”

[steves-legs]

Honest (Peter Parker x Reader)

Masterlist | Requests

Summary: Peter Parker, the Amazing Spider-Man, had nerves of steel behind the mask. He was able to defeat horrible villains, swing from impossible heights, and do the impossible. But without the suit, without the mask, he can’t even tell his best friend that he’s in love with her. Maybe it’s her beauty, her confidence, or the possibility of losing her altogether if he admits his feelings, but he just can’t bring himself to do it. His hesitation also most definitely has something to do with the fact that she’s Flash’s little sister.

Characters: Peter Parker, Y/N Thompson, Ned Leeds, Flash Thompson, Molly Owen (OC), Liz Toomes, May Parker, 

A/N: there is a little reference to one of Robert Downey Jr.’s old roles in here ;)

You had always been close with Peter Parker and Ned Leeds. You remembered Peter being there when you broke your arm after Flash had pushed you off of your bike. May had Peter deliver a batch of your favorite cookies to your home the day after, even though they had nothing to do with the incident. You remembered Ned fending off the playground bullies for you in third grade when your brother wouldn’t. When you discovered that your two closest friends were also best friends (small world, am I right?), you three became inseparable.

As the years went on and the three of you started high school, the friendship only strengthened as an idea of watching movies together had turned into a weekly tradition. At first, the two boys would make their way to your house, but once Mrs. Thompson got a new job that kept her busy during the weekends, her brother had made it a point to bully the three of you incessantly; so much so that the weekly movie marathon was moved to Ned’s.

In school, you had achieved the status of, ‘Miss Popularity’; a moniker that Ned teased you about to the point of claiming you had become too cool to hang out with the likes of their ‘league of nerds’, but you paid no mind, usually retaliating with some pop culture reference, which Peter tended to fall to his knees for. As stated before, you three were inseparable.

But lately, Peter had been acting... strange. You couldn’t really place a finger on it, but he’d been spending a lot less time ogling Liz... and he’d skipped the past month of Saturday night movie marathons. Whenever Saturday rolled around, and you were on your way to the Leeds’ house, you would receive a text from Peter letting you know that he would be unable to You’d questioned Ned about it on more than one occasion, but every time he just laughed it off.

“Pigeons learn faster than you,” he’d said once. You hit him over the head with a rolled-up magazine for that one.

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •

Sitting on the bleachers with your headphones tucked in your ears and a bag of carrots resting on your knees, you reached into your backpack for your copy of The Motion of Life in Water. You’d told your usual group of lunch buddies that you had to study, which was a lie, but you didn’t feel too guilty for it. You munched in silence, reading with soft music playing. You bobbed your head from side to side slightly, completely closed off from the outside world. But as the song’s tempo increased, the feeling of your right earbud being yanked out startled you. Turning your head quickly to shout at whoever dared disrupt you, your eyebrows rose up in surprise as the sight of Peter Parker greeted you. His boyish face had been on your mind a lot as his absence was a noticeable one.

In a moment of unfiltered frustration, you smacked him across the thigh with the paperback book.

“Peter, what the hell!?” you shouted. He sat on your left, grinning from ear to ear.

“Jeez, Y/N, sorry! I just wanted to know what you’re listening to,” he said, listening in on your music. “Ah, not a bad choice.” He smiled, inserting the earbud fully.

“You’re just saying that ‘cause you showed it to me, Petey,” you said. “So where have you been lately?”

“Wh-What do you mean?” he asked nervously, cocking an eyebrow as he offered you a strawberry. You offered him a carrot in return.

“You skipped all of our John Hughes movie nights! It’s so unlike you, Pete, to skip Weird Science?“

“I don’t even like Weird Science, Y/N. Ian reminds me a little too much of--”

“Mr. Stark, I know. I get it. You’re basically an Avenger now,” you rolled your eyes. “I bet you haven’t even met any of them, other than Iron Man.”

One of the few topics of discussion that always seemed to come up was Peter’s internship with Stark Industries. Ever since the Stark Convention in 2010, Peter had become enamored with the Iron Man. It was only fitting that the man that saved Pete’s life would end up choosing him as an intern.

“Y-Yeah...” Peter said softly, smiling down at his feet for some reason.

“But hey,” you began. He looked at you, his brown eyes searching your face. You didn’t catch on, but he looked at you with longing.

“Do you think you could get Spider-Man to sign something for me?” you asked giddily. “Not to totally take advantage of your situation, but he’s awesome.” Peter’s cheeks flushed bright pink.

“Wh-Wh-What m-makes you say that?” he asked, brows furrowed. You gave him a strange look, smiling.

“I dunno, he’s probably the only Avenger who hasn’t left anyone dead on the streets. He’s all for the little guy,” you explained.

“But what if he’s, like, super ugly under the mask? Like, horrifically burned or something?” a detached voice asked. You and Peter glanced over to see Molly, one of your friends, nearing with Liz and your brother not far behind. Flash smirked at her comment.

“I bet he’s definitely got some horrible skin deformity,”

“What, like Deadpool?” you asked as they stopped short in front of you and Peter on the bleachers.

“Yeah! God, what if he’s some geek with pimples and shit?” Flash agreed.

“Okay, well first off, Flash, who invited you into this conversation?” you asked, grinning slyly. He glared at you.

“Y/N, don’t be so anal, alright? You’re having a public conversation with Penis Parker. Are you seriously gonna get mad at me for wanting to be involved?” Flash retorted. You’d already had your fill of his attitude for the day, so you pulled out your left earbud and folded your arms over your chest. Peter, Liz, and Molly collectively held their breath.

“No, you can’t. See, you wouldn’t know this, pretty boy, but you wouldn’t have to rely so heavily on your physical appearance if you were actually a nice guy. But no, you wake up three hours before school to style your fucking hair because there’s nothin’. Going. On. Upstairs,” you said, tapping your temple to express just how much you meant what you said. He looked somewhat embarrassed because of Peter’s laughter. Liz groaned at the conflict in general. You pursed your lips to keep from laughing along, high fiving Peter. Flash huffed, crossing his arms and storming off.

“Nice, Y/N. Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Molly snickered, she and Liz taking the seats below you and Peter.

“Y/N, Flash does kinda have a point, though. You’ve gotta shut up about this Spider-person! What if he is actually a she? What if you’re obsessing over some totally hot crime-fighting vigilante chick?” Molly proposed.

“Spider-Man.... is a man... Because he calls himself Spider-Man,” Peter commented defensively.

“I love him,” you joked, earning laughter from Liz.

“Well, if what Ned said in gym class the other day was true, then Peter does know Spider-Man,” she said, motioning toward Peter. “Why don’t you hook them up?” Molly nodded vigorously.

“I... I barely know the guy,” Peter said bleakly, swallowing hard. You poked his arm softly, making him jolt slightly.

“I... know... when... you’re... lying, Petey,” you teased. “But don’t worry. I won’t ask you to introduce me to your new web-slinging buddy,” You laid your head on his shoulder. “It’d be too awkward, anyway.” You closed your eyes, putting your earbud back in. If you hadn’t closed your eyes, you would’ve seen the way Peter’s face turned beet red. You would’ve seen how Liz raised an eyebrow at his reaction to your affection, and you would’ve seen the shit-eating grin on Molly’s face.

It seemed that everyone knew but you.

•   •   •   •   •   •   •   •   •   • 

You whistled along to the radio as you danced around your room, reading from your textbook after school that Friday. No clubs or plans, so the rest of your day was open. You were home alone that evening; Flash had a date (so he most likely wouldn’t be back until the next morning) and your parents both worked, so the music was rather loud.

The sun had begun to set and when you looked out the window, you saw the beautiful city skyline and the outline of Stark Tower in front of the orange-colored sky. It felt peaceful and safe being close enough to see the building, but far enough away that if the sky were to open up again, you’d be safe from harm for a little longer. You tossed your textbook onto your bed, climbing in after it. You propped your feet up against the wall your twin bed touched, your mind wandering from seeing the Chitauri attack on the news to Peter’s internship. What exactly did it entail anyway? Why did he disappear so often as of late? Why did he act so secretive about the internship, especially towards you? You’d never told anyone any of his secrets, so why was this one that he wanted to keep from you? All questions with no answer.

Being home alone could only be fun for so long, so you decided to text your group chat with Peter and Ned to see what they were up to.

 Y/N: Guys, I’m dying of boredom over here. What’re you up to?

Nedward 🤠: Hanging out at home. Was just about to text u.

Y/N: Petey

Y/N: Peter Benjamin Parker, wya sis?

Y/N: Where is he tho

Nedward 🤠: I dunno should we be worried? Usually the second your name pops up on his phone hes jumping for it like it’s a life raft and hes in the middle of the ocean

Y/N: Don’t exaggerate. We should totally surprise him at home. He’s probably asleep. Or doing homework

Nedward 🤠: What kind of loser does homework on a Friday? I have to help mom with dinner. I’ll see if I can come later on though?

Y/N: Peter. Peter does homework on a Friday. And me. I do homework on Fridays. Don’t judge. I’m gonna text May and head over

Nedward 🤠: Ok let me know if he’s dead

•   •   •   •   •   •   •   •   •   • 

You knocked softly on the door to May’s apartment.

“One second!” her sweet voice called. You heard hurried footsteps make their way over and she pulled the door open. She saw your face and hers lit up like a kid’s on Christmas.

“Y/N! I was worried something happened. What took you so long to get here?” she asked, sounding a lot like your mother. You grinned sheepishly, holding up a bag from Delmar’s deli.

“I got you guys sandwiches,”

“Oh, you’re such a sweetheart!” she took the bag from you, giving you a tight hug and pulling you inside.

“Delmar asked about you again,” you teased. May rolled her eyes, handing you the sandwich marked #5 and the two bags of sour gummy worms.

“Oh, shush. You sound just like Peter. He’s in his room,” May said, heading back over to her desk. You made your way across the living room, knocking on Peter’s bedroom door. No answer. You opened the door slowly, peeking in to see him fast asleep on top of the covers on his bed. Shirtless. Funny. You grinned, letting yourself in and shutting the door behind you.

“Wake up, sleepyhead. I got you dinner,” you said, setting his food down on the nightstand. You sat beside his sleeping body but immediately gasped at the sight. His upper torso was marred with cuts and bruises of all shapes and sizes; your heart sinking as a particularly angry looking bruise drew your attention. You didn’t recall Peter having so many cuts and bruises on his body. It looked as though he’d been through a war. You reached out to brush your fingers through his unkempt locks with concern. He had a small cut on his forehead as well. Your fingers on his skin woke him in an instant. He sat up with a start, grabbing your wrist in panic. He let out a loud sigh of relief.

“Oh, Y/N, it’s just you. How long--” he yawned, letting go of your arm-- “how long have you been here?” He pulled one of those science pun shirts on over his injuries, groaning slightly. You didn’t comment on it.

“I just got here...” you said, taking a look around. His room was a mess. It had taken you being there to realize just how long it had been since you’d actually been in his room. Sure, you spent your weekends out in the living room during your sleepovers with Ned and occasionally Molly or even May, but you hadn’t been in his room in months. You stood, making your way over to his desk.

“What’s all this?” you asked, gesturing to the odd-looking tech blueprints. They looked familiar somehow.

“J-Just stuff for Mr. Stark. And a little bit of schoolwork mixed in,” Peter leaped off the bed, joining you in looking at the blueprints for a second before he hurriedly smashed all of the papers into one of the drawers. You spun around, leaning against the desk looking at his room from a new angle.

“I haven’t been in here in a while,” you commented. Peter had his hand on the desk, his thumb brushing against your left pinky.

“Yeah, it has been a while hasn’t it?” he agreed. You gestured towards his dinner.

“You gonna eat?” Peter moved away from you in an instant, going for the gummy worms.

“Thanks a ton, Y/N. I can pay you back,” he offered, sitting back on his bed. He tossed you the second bag of gummy worms. For a moment, things felt normal. Peter had that glow in his eyes back, but the strange cuts and bruises on his body worried you endlessly. You didn’t want to address it, for fear that he would just close back up again.

You sat at his desk, spinning in his rolling chair. You wheeled over to him and put your feet up on the bed.

“Don’t worry about it, Petey.” You smiled at him and he gave you a sweet look. You watched him for a long time, still debating on whether or not you’d bother to ask what was up.

But you did anyway.

“Are you okay lately?” you asked. Peter looked at you nervously.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’ve been acting super... distant lately. Even when you’re around, it’s like your mind is somewhere else. I’m just sorta worried, is all. Is it the internship or... Liz?” you asked, feeling a strange jealousy in your gut when you brought up his ever-present (so it seemed) crush.

“Everything’s fine!” Peter said a little too quickly and he knew it. “It’s got nothing to do with Liz.”

“So it’s the internship?”

“I... I guess. Partially?” Peter said, recoiling. You rolled your eyes, feet hitting the floor as you stood.

“Peter, you can’t lie to me anymore. You’re covered in all these bruises and cuts, it’s terrifying me. I can’t be in the dark just because you’re afraid of what I’ll think! I’m so worried for you,” you admitted, still holding the open bag of gummy worms in your hand. Peter set his bag down, sighing.

“Okay, okay... I... I was keeping it a secret because I don’t want you to ever risk you getting hurt because of me,” he began. You listened expectantly.

“I’m--”

He paused.

The faint sound of his watch beeping frantically sent Peter into a frenzy. He brushed past you, tearing his shirt and pants off in a hurry.

“Wh-What are you doing--...” You trailed off when Peter pulled the familiar suit up his legs. He slapped his chest, the suit suctioning to his body.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he said through the mask. The Spider-Man. You were too stunned to respond. “Mr. Stark needs me... I... I’m sorry.”

Your brows furrowed, trying to absorb the situation as he threw his window open and disappeared into the city streets. You could hear the sounds of gunfire from his bedroom as you ran to the window, leaning out to watch him swing around the corner. Hell.

You did the only thing you could think of and called Ned.

“Hey, Y/N, what’s up? Is Pete ok?”

“He’s fucking Spider-Man!” you whisper-yelled, climbing out onto the fire escape outside Peter’s window.

“...I know.” Ned answered. You slammed the window shut and climbed down the ladder, cradling your phone between your ear and your shoulder.

“Excuse me, WHAT? You knew and didn’t tell me!?”

“He didn’t want anyone to know.”

“Why? Why do you know then?” you demanded.

“He came crawling into his room in the suit when I went over a while ago,” Ned replied sheepishly. You let go of the ladder when you got to the bottom, landing on the street below. “Did you just climb out the fire escape?”

“I can’t face May’s questioning! Does she know!?”

“No, she doesn’t know!” Ned exclaimed. You rolled your eyes at his dramatic response. You groaned. “How’d you find out?”

“His stupid beeper thing went off. I’m guessing it’s connected to Mr. Stark’s Life Alert necklace or something, you said, rounding the corner in the direction you saw Peter go.

“Y/N, where are you going?”

“Just waiting outside for the little fucker to come back and explain himself,” you lied.

“Y/N,” Ned warned. “Stay put. He’ll be devastated if you get hurt.”

Ned had a point. You leaned against the brick walls of Peter’s apartment building.

“Fine...” you said softly. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Be safe,” Ned answered before hanging up. You groaned, running your fingers through your hair. You had no idea how long you’d have to wait.

•   •   •   •   •   •   •   •   •   •

“Y/N... you’re still here,” Peter’s detached voice said softly. You looked up from your shoes to see him standing there, still in the suit and all. He took a few steps closer to you and under the harsh streetlights, you saw his suit was torn, he had fresh wounds and a slight limp. He reached out a hand to help you stand regardless of the pain he was definitely in.

“Yeah, well, I’m persistent,” you joked as you got to your feet. Peter didn’t say anything, only watched you shiver against the cold.

“Y/N, why’d you wait out here?”

“I panicked... and the fire escape ladder’s too high up for me to reach...”

“Wanna... wanna come back inside?”

“Pete, why didn’t you tell me? Why weren’t you just honest with me?” you demanded, ignoring his question. Peter shrugged his shoulders, speaking through the mask.

“Wow, this feels surprisingly easier when you can’t see my face--”

“Peter.”

“Okay, okay... I didn’t want to risk you ever, ever getting involved in something I can’t get you out of. I want you to live a normal life, even if that means I disappear from it,” he reasoned. Your heart sank, but you crossed your arms.

“Why? Why does it matter so much? Ned knows.”

“Because... you’re not Ned. Not like he’s more replaceable or anything, but you’re my favorite girl. I want to be the one that makes your day, Y/N. I’m pretty sure that you’re Spidey’s number-one fan and I’m yours,” Peter paused.

You felt a smile creep up on your face as he continued. “I’ve seen you date guys that, yeah, they’ve made your heart melt and they’ve made you happy, but I don’t think that they’re right for you. It’s selfish, but I think you were made for me. You’re the most beautiful girl in the entire world. It bothers me a lot that I haven’t been the kind of guy you want, the kind that breaks your heart and makes you cry.” You raised your eyebrows but didn’t say anything for a moment. You slung his arm over your shoulder and walked him down the empty street, toward the fire escape. You finally spoke.

“You don’t think I was crying out here, worried that you’d get hurt? You don’t think I wanted to cry every time you talked about Liz? God, take this damn thing off,” you groaned, grabbing the mask and pulling it up off of his head. His tousled locks draped over his forehead and you saw a bruise forming over his right eye. You gasped, holding the mask over your lips.

“Peter...”

He shrugged.

“Gotta protect the city, right?”

“God, from what?” Your eyes widened.

“Some guy in a green goblin suit, I guess. The city’s full of crazies,” Peter answered. He grinned slyly. “Hey, wanna do something awesome? It’ll make me feel so cool, and I know you’ve dreamed of a moment like this.”

“Sure, Spidey,” you said. Peter took back the mask, pulling it over his head ‘just in case May had gone to investigate the silence’. He put an arm around your waist and shot a web up toward his windowsill. The two of you were practically catapulted up onto the fire escape.

“Holy hell, that was amazing!” you exclaimed, grinning. Peter’s eyes glinted at your reaction.

“Maybe sometime I can take you around the city.”

Peter climbed into his room, you following slowly. He changed out of the suit as you sat on his bed. He pointed to the nightstand.

“Can you get the first aid kit out of that top drawer?” he asked, pulling on sweatpants and carrying a t-shirt over to sit beside you. You did as you were asked and opened it.

“You don’t have to--”

“Yeah, I do. You won’t be able to reach some of these anyhow,” you interjected, pressing a few gauze pads to a laceration on his arm.

“Have you done this before?”

“Mom’s a registered nurse, remember?”

“Right, my bad,” Peter smiled. You cleaned his smaller wounds with care; it didn’t take long for your Spider-Man to be all patched up. You pressed a gentle kiss on his shoulder.

“You know something?” he began, looking at you affectionately.

“I know some things, yes, but you can educate me if you want.”

“I know it’s really cliche, but I think I’m better when I’m with you. I, like, worry when you’re not around,” Peter admitted.

“I like it when you say things like that,” you replied, leaning close to his face. He rested a hand carefully on your cheek, pressing your foreheads together.

“You’re not afraid to be in my life, knowing what you do now?”

“I never was.”

Then Peter kissed your parted lips feverishly, passionately, with his fingers in your hair. He wasn’t wrong, it was cliche but it was happiness. And it was real.

[theharellan]

Was it Only a Kiss?

repost of a thread from @theshirallen���‘s old blog. set a week or so after their arrival at skyhold, solas approaches ian with the intent to bring up the kiss they had shared on the evening of corypheus’s attack on haven.

unfinished. updates will post in the thread tag.

Solas

A week had passed since they had come to Skyhold. Slowly, the debris had been cleared from the main hall and repairs were begun. All around him were the sounds of work. At first it began with bent backs and physical toil, and he watched as apprentice mages struggled to carry burdens magic might bear. When Solas first cleared the door to the rotunda with a gesture, matters changed. More mages gingerly coaxed a pile of rubble onto a tarp for others to haul it off with ease later, or drew dust from forgotten corners with a wave of their hands, rather than break their necks trying to reach with feather dusters. Suddenly, it was as if the mages had magic, rather than weapons.

The development was almost enough to distract him. It occupied him, yes, guiding unsure hands with a firm voice, but his eyes flickered towards the courtyard, towards the healing tents, often enough that week that he could not fool himself into forgetting. He had more that the path before them on his mind, something as terrifying as it was exciting. Someone that made him feel lighter, even on this side of the Veil, even at the mere sight of him.

Yet since arriving they had scarcely spoken, any conversation interrupted by Ian being called away by new stragglers finding Skyhold, whose need was far more urgent than Solas’s. The eagerness with which Ian took his leave made him second-guess himself, wondering if the affection he had felt in their kiss at Haven was a figment of his own imagination. This world offered no answers, the Veil drew heavy between them, and each coy word exchanged left him more exasperated, more eager for an answer.

A week, he decided, and a week he waits. ‘Til new arrivals trickle and the work slows, and Skyhold begins to look more like herself again.

On the seventh day, Solas finds himself glancing down towards the courtyard with more frequency than usual. When he spots Ian sitting idle, he wastes only enough time to brush anything that clings to the front of his sweater before he descends down towards the healing tents. His hands tangle together behind his back, feet brushing bare stone before they nestle upon worn grass. The path through the courtyard is already worn by soldiers’ boots, Solas leaves less of a mark on his path towards Ian.

The smell of pipeweed is in the air, freshly burned, and he feels almost guilty for interrupting a moment Ian no doubt stole for himself. It does not stop him, however, nor silence the gentle cough he clears his throat with to attract the other elf’s attention.

“Ian,” he began, a simple start he had debated to himself for days. To use his name, or something else… “Do you have a moment?”

Ian

The events that have transpired since the attack at Haven run together when he stops to think–a blur of cold winds and warm blood. Ian has seen little of the Inquisition’s new home since their arrival–indeed, has seen hardly anything besides the canvas spread of the healing tents and an occasional glance at a cloud-spattered sky. The stains on the backs of his hands, the way blood grits under his nails. Tired smiles on his patients faces–those that they’ve managed to help. The others…

He hasn’t seen much of Skyhold, yet. There is much to be done, and more every day.

He’s grateful, even through his weariness. That he is busy means that the Inquisition’s forces have survived, and he has always preferred the weariness that comes with tending the wounded than the heartache that accompanies tending to the dead.

The days blur together–the nights, too. Ian loses count of the sunrises, would fail to notice them save for the brilliant way the light mounts the ramparts to announce the coming day.

The urgency of his work begins to slow. Wounded arrive in straggling groups, and between their need he finds himself with time to sit, to breathe. Not to think. When he thinks, everything runs together in an unintelligible blur, and he remembers a clumsy kiss when the world had felt more certain.

Nothing feels certain, right now, and when he has time to think he considers the fool he’s made of himself. Solas has been busy–everyone has been so busy, but if Ian has time to breathe, that busy might have finally found itself a pace–but Ian knows it’s too much to hope the fool in him is forgotten. His heart tightens, fear and frets worrying about in his chest, and he tries to turn his thoughts.

A moment to himself, and he almost spends it letting his jumbled thoughts work him into tighter knots. Almost. He counts the seconds between his breaths, and pulls his pipe from the pouch at his hip, letting his eyes close when the smoke warms his lungs.

He tries to turn his thoughts, but he does not imagine the sound of his name. His heart–so recently calmed to a reasonable pace–leaps into his throat, and he can’t help the way he jumps, half-turning in his start, grateful he hadn’t been in the middle of an inhale.

“Solas!” Despite himself, he tries a smile. “You startled me.”

“I–” It feels desperate, the way his mind flies–trying to think of something, anything, to keep him from having to make a further fool of himself. Nothing occurs to him; there are no excuses to be made that do not ring as what they are. “Yes. A few moments, even.”

Solas

His ears flatten at the reaction: the smile that turns Ian’s lips, but does not crinkle the corner of his eyes, the beginning of a thought that does not end as it began, as if Solas had successfully cornered him. It is not an idea that settles well, and his stomach turns with nervousness. “If you would rather spend them alone, you will hear no further argument from me,” he says. “But we have scarcely spoken since we have arrived, and I confess, I have missed the sound of your voice.”

It is no idly spoken compliment, but the truth. Regardless of how his plans unfolded (and how often does everything fall neatly into place for him?) he will be grateful if something similar to the rapport they had before can be achieved. Solas steps several paces closer, hands hidden behind his back. “And it occurred to me– you likely have not had much time to see Skyhold. I remember you mentioned a garden in the Anderfels, and thought you might enjoy seeing what will become Skyhold’s.” The rubble had been cleared just a day ago, and no work has begun. It will be quiet, albeit overgrown, tangled from decades (centuries) of disuse, but he is confident Ian will see its potential.

Solas unclasps his hands, stretching one out towards Ian for him to take. Tugging him off the ground is like lifting a feather, and he tries not to imagine what would happen if he pulled Ian a few inches further towards him. He releases his hand, though the sensation lingers even in Ian’s absence. It flexes by his side absently, as his eyes lift towards the the entrance to the main hall, open for the first time in ages. “This way.”

His feet brush grass tips as he moves back the way he came, now with Ian at his side. His hands rediscover the spot behind the small of his back, and his mind rushes as everything he has been meaning to say hounds him at once.

Before another word leaves him, however, a question occurs to him: “How have you been?”

Ian

“No. I’ve–I’ve missed your company.”

He taps his pipe–nearly finished anyway–over to clear the ashes, tucking it away in his belt before gesturing, plaintively, for Solas to help him up.

Solas’s hand against his nearly stops Ian’s heart. He’s pulled to his feet and somehow loses his breath in the motion, a sudden swoop that lifts him beyond what heights he can reach on his own. Solas’s words simultaneously ease and agitate his fears–the lightness in his chest and head are disorienting, but he cannot help but take note of how quickly Solas releases his fingers.

“There’s a garden here?”

It’s an alluring thought–almost so much that he might forget how difficult it is to hear past the rushing in his ears. Those ears cant forward as he lengthens his step to bring him even with Solas.

“I–busy.” His ears fall again, and he grimaces. “I do not know if I can say I would rather I was not needed–I can better serve the wounded than the dead–but Haven…it’s been a very long time since…since I’ve seen…” Denerim, he thinks. The last real battle he’d been in. “But I have my health, yet. And my…my skills.”

Solas

Ian’s confession, soft though it may be, rekindles lost confidence. ‘Pride’ may be his name, but it is not blind pride. He is under no illusion that his company is universally pleasant, and if he were one moment spent with Sera will quickly rob him of that delusion. He smiles, gladder now than it was before, heart swelling foolishly. “Not a garden, but a potential one. Inquisitor Cadash expressed interest in using the space as such. For the moment it is still what nature made it.”

But most of all it is quiet, with less of a chance of prying ears hearing what he has to say. That is one thing he will miss about Haven, the snow always seemed to dampen the sound, and midnight chats were intimate even if someone slept in the hut beside them.

They pass banners freshly planted in the earth, Inquisition heraldry crowned with dwarven metal. A reminder, for any who try to forget the Herald is no human. “Haven was a terrible thing to live through,” he responds gravely. “And I fear it will not be the last battle before our goal is realised, but now that Corypheus has revealed himself he has lost the one edge he had in this fight. We will not be taken by surprise a second time.”

Skyhold’s doors welcome them, and as they enter a handful of faces turn briefly from their work to smile in greeting. The main hall still bears marks from an age of neglect, but light shines in from the windows upon the second floor. Yes, perhaps it highlights the cobwebs that persist, but it is not nearly as stifling as it felt a week ago. “I set up a workspace, should you find more time to spare in the days to come,” he says with a gesture to their right. The door is thrown open, inside a pile of debris is still shoved against the wall, but a desk has already been moved in. “It is rudimentary at the moment, when work on the main hall is finished I hope to do more with it.”

His arm sweeps around Ian’s shoulder, brushing them, guiding them to their left. The door to the gardens is still beaten and bent from the rocks that had been piled against the frame, but it opens with a gesture, magic greasing old hinges. “But this is what I wanted to show you…”

Beyond the door, a rudimentary path has been carved through rotted wood and crumbled stone, towards what will one day be a garden. From here he can see vines that have grown over the walls and up the columns that align the walkway, curling towards the heavens. Solas pauses, allowing Ian to pass through first.

Ian

He follows Solas, though his own strides gain less ground. Whether or not Solas notices, Ian is uncertain. He pauses as they turn, and Ian closes the distance even as he shies away from the rise of stone walls. Solas’s workspace is spacious, high reaching walls and a circling stair, but he feels it tightening his throat as he takes it in. Skyhold is still a castle, and her walls are thickly mortared, and he prefers the courtyard and the canvas tents to the stones that circle him now. With the doors flung wide, he hasn’t far to look to find relief, but it will take some adjustment before he can convincingly portray anything but ill ease.

Solas’s touch at his shoulder is gentle, and prevents his thoughts from wandering too far. Ian follows his gesture, forcing a steady breath through his teeth  as magic wills an aged door to yield. Something akin to a path expands beyond the threshold, soft dirt sighing beneath Ian’s boots as he follows its wanderings. Solas hangs back, gesturing for Ian to step ahead, and Ian is glad to return to the mountain air and the feeling of sun on his skin. It has only been a matter of moments, but he turns his face upward to let the rays brush his cheeks before he truly attempts to take in the garden.

“Oh…” It isn’t quite an exclamation, isn’t quite a sigh. The utterance is one of quiet wonderment, though the garden is, as Solas had warned, more as nature has made it than anything. Dark vines wind up partially crumbled columns, broad leaves disguising the stone as though behind a curtain. Grasses burst in uneven, ambitious clumps, stretching to reclaim what had once been paved. Tiny, unruly wildflowers–weeds, refusing the confines of any recognizable sense of order–scatter the field, thickest where the sunlight splashes.

Ian’s fingers catch at his lips, and he can feel the stretch of his smile beneath them. He almost wishes that the Inquisition might leave this place untouched, though he knows that an organization will have to present a ‘proper’ garden, if a garden they have at all. “Oh…Thank you. For–for sharing this with me. I have–I have been so…thank you.”

Solas

From behind, Ian’s pleasure is still obvious. The tension that had coiled in narrow shoulders loosens, now, as though sinking into a bath. Unsatisfied with the view, Solas moves forward, drawing level with the other elf. The garden is spared only a passing glance. Lifted hands are not enough to disguise the smile that steals across his face, eyes crinkling at their corners. The sight coaxes an affectionate smile from Solas. “Ara melava son’ganem.” Elvhen comes to him first before he adds, in a quieter voice, “You’re welcome.”

With some effort, he tears his eyes away from Ian and onto the garden. It is different than he remembers, but few things in Skyhold are the same. Human stonework has claimed it, but still its elvhen origins linger in the air. He wonders what Ian sees, what colour the blue wildflowers are to him, what emotion he thinks of when he beholds them. It is tempting to ask, but he pushes through the temptation, knowing the answers will only distract.

He allows his hand to touch Ian’s arm in passing as he continues on into the untamed garden. “I remembered what you said about gardening in the Anderfels,” he begins. The break in the wall that should allow him to pass through has been blocked by a bush, and so, instead, he climbs over the pony wall that has kept back as much nature as it could. Some vines have stolen over it, brushes his toes as he swings one leg over, and then the other with a soft grunt. “Then I imagined what you could accomplish here, where the environment is not so unforgiving.”

Grasses bend in his passing, either through magic means or the weight of his feet. Through the weeds he spies stone benches whose seats have been stolen by ivy. He half-turns, under the pretense of seeing if Ian has followed, but truth be told he more wished to set eyes upon him again.

The pretense does not last long, his gaze lingers, and his smile broadens. “And I thought the wildflowers might find a companion in your face. It seems I was correct.”

Ian

Fingers brush the fabric of his sleeve, and something warm and cold thrills up his spine. He stills until the touch passes, holding his breath as if it might aid the moment’s endurance. The warmth that blossomed shifted, taking root behind his ribs. When he inhales, the world spins, just for a moment, until the touch has ended and Solas has braced himself against a wall, heaving himself over. Ian hesitates, hovering until Solas has cleared the wall before he follows. He pulls himself up, but doesn’t quite drop over to the other side, perching on the wall amongst the ivy, one knee hugged close to his chest.

“You–um.” Ian’s voice catches, and his hand rises again, lips trembling against his fingertips. His fingers curl, and he tries again. “I didn’t–you remembered.” He tries to recall precisely what he had said, knows it had been a passing comment. Hardly worth hearing, let alone committing to memory. It’s surprising, though not unpleasant. It leaves him off balance, heat rising across the bridge of his nose and over his cheeks, and he ducks his head when Solas turns to watch him.

He’s still looking down when the compliment catches, and the heat in his face spreads until his ears burn too. He pulls his knee closer, toes curling within his boot. “Solas…” He tries to begin, but his voice rings of pleading, and he isn’t certain just what he is pleading for. Ian’s mind reels as he tries to reconcile the sensation of fingers at his arm and the unabashedly forward nature of Solas’s words with the silence that had persisted ever since arriving at Skyhold. There’s a certainty in his gut that competes with the fluttering in his chest–this sureness that Solas has brought him here to rebuff him against this hope that perhaps he has not. He doesn’t try to speak again, only shakes his head a little, eyes downcast until he sees little but the trailing ivy that creeps past his perch and the wild tufts of grass that meet the wall at its roots.

Solas

It isn’t the reaction he had hoped for, his name whispered against the wind. Yes, his cheeks grow red beneath the vallaslin that spans his face, but one can blush from shame as easily as they can flattery.

Solas looks down, penitent, though it is not an apology he gives shape with words, and so means nothing in this world. Once, it might have flooded the world around them with contrite thoughts, and the blue flowers might have turned white out of sympathy. Upon the wall, Ian seems to curl in upon himself, knee tucked against his seat upon the wall, back bent over his leg. It is a distressing sight, and the blood in his veins seems to sour. In the pit of his belly, anxiety coils, until it feels potent enough to melt his stomach lining.

He had been hoping to lead Ian in gently, like a bath ran too hot, but seeing him now, he reconsiders. Perhaps, for both their sakes, it is better he take the plunge.

“I do not idly forget moments shared with you,” he says, soft, but strong enough to carry. His chin lifts, the sun breaking the shadows on his face. He retraces his steps towards the wall, careful to follow the path he had carved a moment ago. There are moments spent with Ian that bring him shame to think about, now. Moments where he had looked at his face and was not quite sure if what he saw was an echo of what was, or else an illusion. Where what he sees now was not even considered.

He stops short of Ian, hand reaching out to place upon a column that has seen better days, its edges eaten by rain.

Haven feels close by at Ian’s side, even upon this side of the Veil, where it is still buried beneath a mountainside of snow. While Ian’s gaze is at his feet, Solas keeps his trained upon where their eyes ought to meet. He can feel his heartbeat in his fingers, but the ground beneath bare feet steadies him.

It has been seconds since he last spoke, but feels a lifetime before he opens his mouth to add: “I have not forgotten our kiss.”

Ian

Solas’s words are delivered gently, offered in a soft tone that almost sounds as an apology. But what has Solas to be sorry for, save–save that Ian’s worries are well-founded. He feels his shoulders fall, and swallows an apology of his own, knowing that the words will trip against his teeth and worsen the situation.

He hears Solas’s return, the pivot that carries him back across the garden until he stands just beyond the wall where Ian perches. Absently, he wonders just how he manages to hear the pace of bare feet and the soft yield of new grass when his own heartbeat thunders wildly within his skull. His face burns, and teeth drive into his lower lip as he forces himself to breathe past the worry that tightens his throat.

The next words spoken, however, startle his heartbeat still. Silence overwhelms the drumming in his ears, muffles its sensation in his chest, and despite his anxieties, he finds his gaze lifting, eyes wide behind his blush. “I–oh. Ah–” The words catch, stumbling as he’d feared–as he’d known–they would, and he bites his lip again, trying to rearrange his thoughts into something resembling coherence. “I thought, maybe–maybe you wanted to. Forget, I mean.”

Gloved fingers curl into the fabric of his trousers, thigh tight against his chest where he hugs his knee. He searches Solas’s face, unable to quite meet his eyes but seeking hints of Solas’s intention all the same. “I didn’t–um. I don’t…I had–had thought, maybe–but…but it’s alright. If you–I mean. We don’t have to talk about it.”

Solas

It isn’t until teeth drag over freckled lips that Solas realises he is staring. He jerks his gaze away, his own teeth mirroring Ian’s body language. Since their moment in Haven, he had found himself lapsing into a habit only reserved for deep contemplation, only it was not ancient tomes on his mind of late. “Wanted to?” he echoes, soft. “I doubt I could, even if I did.”

Perhaps part of him does. The sensible part, that does not judge with what he feels, but measures every action against a grander scheme. Words come to him, unbidden, the one that came them voice forgotten to him:  ‘ I would sooner mistrust in calculations, particularly if no heart might temper their direction.’ It was not logic that led him down the path he walks now, but feelings. Feelings too potent to ignore.

“Had the night gone differently, perhaps I would have said this then, rather than now. Then again– it has given me time to think.” Were the world right, they might have had centuries, not months, to grow the seed they had unwittingly planted that day Ian had returned with questions, and not accusations. Adrenaline lights his blood aflame, as though the few steps over to Ian had been a marathon.  One hand reaches out to the wall beside Ian, to hide how it tremors, and he allows his gaze to drop to watch it.

“I have seen centuries from the Fade, heroes and villains whose names are written in books across Thedas, but you…” His face is hot, cheeks mottling a unflattering pink, but he pays it no mind, eyes lifting to see the same blush paint Ian’s cheeks. “I have not seen your like since my deepest journeys into the very heart of the Fade, and had not thought to see again. The memory of your kiss,” he adds, lips parting in a grin brought on by the mere thought, “I will treasure it, even if you meant for it to be only a kiss.”

The thought dampens his spirits, but they are truly spoken.

“Though, it would be dishonest if I did not admit to hoping you meant it as something more.”

[kkruml]

I don’t even know your name Chapter 8

This is a verra special posting, because in case you missed it, @outlanderedandoverhere has gifted this story with her very own creation of Jamie Fraser from chapter 1!

@smoakingwaffles you da bomb diggity.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 2.5 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

AO3

Previously

Claire sighed as she shifted to free her legs and stand up, gently placing the book on the table.

No. Please not yet.

“Can ye see fit to stay a bit longer?” Despite his efforts, he could feel the hope peeking through as his eyes lingered on her face.

“I really should get going…” she said in a tone that hinted at disappointment. Jamie caught the slight hesitation in her voice and seized it.

“Not even for a birthday dram?” he said through a smile as he tried for a wink.

Claire

The table was sprinkled with candlelight and vases of fresh flowers. The glassware sparkled and the room held a warm glow. Jamie led me through the hallway to the dining room, lightly placing his hand on the small of my back. The pulsing sensation in my stomach strengthened as I leaned closer to him, elongating the point of contact as my arm grazed his side. A small hum rumbled in his chest as his thumb stroked the skin under my blouse.

Jamie held out a chair for me and then took the seat next to it at the end of the table. We were cocooned in the corner of the room, with the glow of the hearth lighting his hair like a sparked matchstick. His right leg pressed into mine and I shifted slightly in my seat, trying to absorb the wave of heat that pooled low in my belly.  My eyes shifted to my left and I saw a small smile peeking back at me.

The table was set for seven, and to my surprise a few familiar faces took their places at the table. I smiled openly as Murtagh sat directly across from Jamie, with Rupert and Angus shuffling in beside him. Jenny and Ian took their seats at their respective ends, a warmth shown in their gaze despite the distance.

Conversation shifted from the success of the Gathering to plans for an expanded distillery and tasting room. With so many jubilant voices chiming in with enthusiasm, it was difficult to carry on an intimate conversation so I relaxed and relished the savory food and exquisite whisky within arm’s reach.

Each course of food brought with it more whisky and another round of banter. After finishing the most recent offering, I leaned forward for the open bottle, topping off our glasses. As I sat back in my seat I felt something warm and solid behind me in the form of Jamie’s arm. My eyes glanced in his direction but he did not meet my gaze, he simply smiled and took a sip of the amber liquid.

A silent intimacy formed between us, small movements that spoke volumes. Jamie’s hand had begun tracing small circles on my back as he tightened his arm around my chair. He smelled of oak and barley from the distillery but there was a faint trace of honey and almond from the whisky on his lips. I leaned in slightly, eager for more, and my left hand grazed his thigh and let it linger there. Words were not needed as our bodies moved effortlessly together in a slow and lingering dance.

As the last of the food was cleared, Rupert mumbled something to Angus about heading back into town and a girl at a pub he had eyed; Murtagh shook his head yet offered them a lift. Ian was clearing the table and Jenny was orchestrating the kitchen work.

“Fancy another dram, Sassenach?” His voice was low in my ear.

He had called me that more than once, and while I knew the term- and what it meant- it had never sounded so endearing, so intimate. His breath on my neck sent a chill down my spine and I shuddered slightly.

“Perhaps one more,” I said with a small smile. I felt warm and content; the night felt easy and comfortable, as though this were one of a thousand nights I’d spent in this house, with these people. My little orphan heart felt like I actually started to belong here.

He pulled my chair out for me and his hand gently took mine. His fingers laced between mine, and I caught his eyes as they settled on our hands for a moment before nodding and pulling me gently forward.

He led me past the entryway and through the front door. A dozen or so steps and we made our way to the tasting room.

“Is it OK for us to go in?” I asked, looking around.

“Aye, after all, it’s my whisky.” He said with a smirk. He unlocked the door, pocketed his keys, and with a wave of the hand he gestured for me to go in. He flicked on the single row of lights behind the bar, illuminating the bottles and glasses but left the others off. There was just enough light for us to find the stools lined up neatly and I took a seat.

The lightly dimmed room caught the slant of his cheekbones- echoes of a Viking that seemed to be a Fraser trait—and I lost myself in the curves of his skin.

My very own Scottish Highlander.

He snuck behind the bar to pull a hidden bottle from behind the counter. I recognized the label immediately- it was the same bottle I had seen at Broch Mordha. I smiled as my finger traced the familiar faded blue flag, the paper rippled under it.

“I’ve seen this bottle before,” I offered quietly, smiling at the memory.

“Oh aye?” he asked, sliding around the bar to take the seat on my left.

“Mmhm. A few weeks ago, the night your chest ran into my face,” I said with a smirk, allowing my eyes to linger on his hands as he pulled the cork from the bottle. Strong fingers, a broad palm and muscular forearm gracefully lifted the bottle and the amber liquid splashed into two glasses.

He pushed one to me as he raised an eyebrow, catching my gaze. “Hm. Well I seem to remember it a bit differently, ye ken.”

“And how’s that?” teasing him, feeling suddenly very brave.

“Oh aye- Ye came through the door sae fast, yer thick head thumped me in the chest,” he replied as he chuckled, his accent slightly thicker.

“If you say so you bloomin’… Scot,” I said, trying for indignation but failed, a giggle erupting from my chest.

“Slainte,” he said through his laugh as he raised his glass to me.

“Happy birthday, Jamie.”

I had meant it with every fiber of my being. Of all the places he could be and all the people he could celebrate with, he was here, with me.

I smiled back at him as our eyes met. The brevity of the moment suddenly gone, my eyes held his gaze. Our hands found each other, fingers lightly entwined, his thumb slowly drawing patterns on the back of my hand.

Jamie

He could die happy in this moment. This creature next to him, she was so foreign yet familiar. He felt more himself in these quiet moments with her than he ever had. The pulse from her thumb on his skin matched his own- content yet alert with heat.

His eyes searched hers as his lips turned up at the corners, “Thank ye for stayin,’ Sassenach.”

She seemed surprised at his admission as she simply smiled and nodded, her fingers tightening slightly around his. He said nothing for a moment, allowing the heat to emanate from his chest to her fingertips.

He gently took his glass and raised it to hers, glasses touching just slightly as they each took a sip. He watched her for a moment, catching the small flutter of her eyes as the whisky lingered in her mouth. A small purr escaped her throat as she seemed to enjoying the tingling sensation. Her eyes caught a glimpse of his gaze as she set her glass down, intent on his face. Her fair skin flushed—whether it was from the whisky or heat of his gaze, he didn’t know or care. Her whisky eyes matched the liquid in both their glasses. He could spend a lifetime lost in those eyes.

Feeling the urgency to speak while he still had control, he placed his glass carefully on the wooded bar top, looking at her in earnest.

“Now I ken ye had questions, and I’ve a few myself. We dinna ken one another so well… yet,” he added, with a tinge of hope. “There may be things ye dinna or canna say to me, and I’ll no ask ye more than ye care to tell.”

She said nothing, but nodded. It was enough for him to continue.

“There may be room between us for secrets, but no for lies, aye?”

Claire

Secrets, but no lies.

My mind traveled back to what now felt like a shattered past- shards of happy moments cut by broken promises and flashes of blonde tangled up in bedsheet, arms wrapped around...

No, I would not allow anything to take me from this moment- especially not HIM.

“I agree.”

Jamie

He thought he caught a flash of pain in her eyes, but she nodded and agreed so he took her at her word. No lies.

“So, ye may be wonderin’ how I came to know yer name, aye?”

“Yes, you would be right.” Her smile curled to one side, a hint of teasing. It spurred him to continue.

“Well, ye see I was at Broch Mordha last night, enjoyin’ a glass of whisky when I came to see a familiar face- or rather, hear a familiar voice.” He paused, waiting.

She leaned in, eyes intent on his. After a beat of silence, she rolled her eyes, “… And?”

Smiling at her reaction he continued, “I had seen ye there about six months back with the same lad… last night I kent him name- Joe.” He paused and took a sip from his glass, his eyes scanning hers for a glimmer of recognition.

“You saw Joe… at Broch Mordha?” She shook her head and closed her eyes, letting a small sigh escape. “I was supposed to meet him last night, but a patient coded and…” she trailed off, still looking down at her glass.

“Aye, so he said. He remembered the first time we met- said he’d never kent ye as the flustered type,” he added, taking another sip for courage.

“Oh did he?” her eyes were intent and her cheeks were beginning to flush again.

“He did. He told me ye seemed a bit fashed for the last several months- that ye fancied yerself my barstool- likely for the same reason, too.”

“And what, pray tell, was your reason?”

“To watch the door should ye ever walk through it again,” he said simply with a small smile. His eyes locked on hers, truth and vulnerability shining through.

“Oh… I see,” was all she offered but her hand tightened around his as she leaned forward.

“And what else did he have to say?” she asked. Her tone shifted as her lips hovered against his, head cocking slightly.

“I-I…dinna ken,” he breathed and his lips met hers, slowly molding to hers and inhaling the smell of his whisky on her breath. His hand was in her curls and her hand grasped for his arm to steady herself. She leaned into him as her hands pulled up to find his neck, fingertips digging in slightly as she sighed with a breath. His hands were on her back, tracing the line up to the nape of her neck and down to the small of her back. His hands explored every curve as his mouth lingered and pulled, craving more.

His lips parted with hers as he drew back enough to take a breath, feeling her lower lip quiver just lightly against his cheek as she leaned in and placed one final kiss in the hollow of his neck under his ear. Her eyes were hooded in dark brown lashes against her ivory cheeks, lightly painted pink with the heat of the kiss. As she pulled back she teetered slightly, and a small hiccup escaped her lips and she let out a giggle.

He wanted her more than he needed air, but the night had caught up to them both- from her stare he dared to hope that she willing, but she wasn’t just any girl-a random stranger he found at the bar. Not just a pretty face. His Da had said when ye ken, ye KEN, and in this moment had had no doubt. She was worth waiting for.

She was his very own Sassenach.

“Come lass, let’s get ye inside,” he sighed in resignation. “It’s late and yer no fit to drive tonight. We’ve plenty of spare rooms for such occasions.” He held his hand out to her and she took it, swaying as her foot caught the leg of the stool and she stumbled into his chest.

“Well this is familiar,” she said as a fit of laughter escaped her. Her arms were around his waist and her head was nestled into his chest before he could blink, feeling her smile against him.

“As ye say, Sassenach,” he said as one hand cupped her head, holding it close and the other trailed down her back and pressed her firmly close to him, his cheek leaning against her curls.

They stood there, unmoving, drinking in each other’s warmth and the pulsing beat of their hearts matched each other’s and for a few moments they were one.