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Ich habe eninen... Deutschen?

IAN GALLAGHER X GERMAN! MALE READER

Summary: Ian Gallagher's not-so-new foreign boyfriend is a much needed change of scenery.

Content Warning(s): None :)

Other Pairings: German! Male Reader x Older Brother, German! Male Reader x Gallagher Family

AUTHOR NOTE(S):

Request by @hpxmcusworld !

hpxmcusworld asked:

Hiii! I hope your doing well! Sense you said you where doing requests for Ian Gallagher I was hoping to request one with Ian x male reader? The reader was born and raised in Germany and he and his older brother who raised him moved here, the reader (has a strong accent) and is always so confused with the stuff that happens, like why arnt the taxes included in the price? Or why is there different names for meet like pork and beef Instead if just saying cow meat or pig meat? Stuff like that and the reader everything him and Ian go out is always grilling Ian on his questions cause he doesn’t understand how it works. and Ian interduces him to his family and frank likes the reader which suprises everyone. You can make up the ending if you’d like.

Thank you I hope you have a a good day!

Hopefully this is close to what you were looking for! Thanks for the request :)

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When you first entered the night scene of America you did not expect to find any major differences from the clubs back in Germany. And, well, you didn’t.

Except for your acute onset illness of attraction towards pale, red-headed white men of course.

Ian Gallagher was what you liked to describe as a Chicago breeze. Cold, harsh, and utterly chilling. The first time you told him this, on the shabby floor of the apartment you and your elder brother managed to acquire. Situated in front of a small TV playing Alien VS Predator, he’d looked at you as though you were the alien and he was the vessel you wished to lay your slimy egg in. You did not quite understand his offense though you suspected it had something to do with the way you said the already harsh sounding words. That and the two of you were only 3 months into your impromptu dating stage and you did not shy away from laying it on thick.

“Geeze.” Was the first word he managed out of his thin, pink lips before his eyes averted to the scene he’d lost track of in the midst of the warm laughter and soft kisses the two of you shared.

“What?” You’d responded back to him, shifting the covers off your shoulders, forehead puckering in confusion.

“That’s what you think of me?” He looked at you with a slight laugh.

“Yes,” you said, clipped and certain. “I do not understand.” You shook your head, a frown forming on your face.

Ian turns in his leaned position against the wall to get a better look at you. His brows too, are furrowed, and his eyes are scanning your face as though he may suddenly find the missing puzzle piece.

“That’s… mean.” He started, almost amused with his own explanation.

“Mean?” You echo, sitting up slightly.

“Yes.” Ian insists. “You said I’m cold and harsh.”

“Yes.” You too, insist. “I like it.” You nodded once in firm approval.

The furrow in Ian’s brow only seems to grow and the slight grin on his face falls as though he may never understand you.

It became a habit, this confusion between the two of you.

So much so that the two of you now had a long standing disagreement. Pity in nature yet, ever present in each respective heart.

“Why is the price not the real price?” You’d asked, receipt clutched in both your hands as you stared intently at the printed American currency. Your accent is a heavy, clunky thing that makes all your words seem important and serious and Ian, after many trials, has simply found himself undeterred by the sound.

The red-head accompanying you with a long arm slung around your shoulders blinked in confusion before realization dawned on his face. “Taxes,” Ian says simply, barely blinking at the receipt.

“Yes. I know.” You frown, smashing the paper pitifully in your left hand. “Why is it not… all inclusive? You do it in Germany. Everyone does it in Germany.” Your head is tilted at an angle as you peer at the bright red strawberry before you. “They trick you.”

“It’s not a trick.” He chuckles. “It’s just how we do it here.”

“Your way of doing is stupid. Stupid American.” You shake your head as though you are seriously distraught.

Ian shoots you a look. “So is saying cow meat instead of beef.”

“What does it matter? It is a cow. Why not just call it a cow? You do this with pig meat too. Pork. It makes no sense.”

“It’s to differentiate between the animal and the meat product.” Ian retorts matter-of-factually.

“It’s the same.” You tell him as you dig into your jacket pocket in search of the keys. “You are eating a cow. You say, ‘I am eating cow.’ It’s easy. You Americans like to make things… complicated.”

Ian laughs at this, pulling you into a quick kiss. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“You are so American.” You look at him with a judgment in your face that rivals that of his own disgust towards sexual intimacy with women.

The two of you pause as you reach the back end of you and your brother's shared vehicle.

“You love this American.” He boasts, puffing his chest slightly as he attempts to smother you with a kiss.

You lean back dramatically, your hands coming to press against his hard pecs. “No. You are loud, and impatient, and you eat too big of portion.”

Ian’s face scrunches in confusion.

“You are like… a big dumb puppy.” You say, still leaning away.

“Dumb puppy?” He repeats, face still twisted.

“Yes. Loud, and dumb, but you have a very nice smile.”

He grins at this and you feel a small, unexplainable pull in your chest as you press your lips against his.

It’s an accident really, that you’re forced to meet the Gallagher clan. Your brother has left for a “business trip” (which you assume to be a trip to get laid), leaving you all alone to fend for yourself. A task Ian does not find difficult and finds it even more absurd that you do find it difficult. Considering you're 21 years of age and that you were not, in fact, an infant.

The two of you are on the new found couch, some odd, action packed movie playing quietly in the background as you straddle Ian’s lap. His hands are resting on the small of your back, your head is thrown back in a blissful laugh at a joke he’s made that you don’t quite understand. The warmth radiating from him is a comfort, the scent of cheap laundry detergent and cologne. Everything about him is just that.

The lively conversing is broken by the sharp, shrill ring of Ian’s phone. He groans, pressing his forehead against your collarbone. “Ignore it.”

“It could be important.” You respond softly, running your fingers through the short strands of his hair.

“It won’t be.” He insists, lips brushing against your neck.

“Ian.” You warn, though it’s half-hearted.

He sighs in defeat, shifting you just enough to reach the buzzing device. He frowns as he reads the caller ID before accepting the call.

“What?”

You can’t make out the words from the other end, but Ian’s expression grows tense. “No, I can’t. I’m busy.” Another pause. “I know, but I can’t. Just have someone else do it.” His jaw is tight, a muscle ticking. “Fine. But only for a little while. I’m bringing someone.”

He hangs up, shoving the phone back into his pocket. He sighs, looking up at you. “Family emergency. I have to go home for a bit.”

“Okay.” You say simply, moving to get off his lap.

“No, you’re coming with me.” He says, pulling you back down.

“Oh. No. That is okay.” You shake your head quickly. “I will stay here. Your family… they will not want me there. In a crisis.”

“They won’t mind. And I’m not leaving you here alone.” He insists, already pulling you up with him. “Come on. It’ll be an adventure.”

The Gallagher household is not what you expected. It’s loud, chaotic, and smells vaguely of stale beer and something you can’t quite place. The moment you step inside, a small boy with a missing tooth rushes past you, out the door, followed closely by a girl who looks strikingly similar to Ian.

“Ian!” She yells, skidding to a halt. “Who’s this?”

“This is my boyfriend,” Ian says, and the words send a shock through you. You’ve never heard him say it so bluntly before. “This is Debbie. Deb, this is Y/N.”

Debbie eyes you up and down, a small smile on her face. “Cool. The rest are in the kitchen.” She gestures towards the back of the house before disappearing up the stairs.

Ian leads you into the kitchen, where the chaos seems to be centered. A man with a scruffy beard and a beer in hand is arguing with a dark-haired woman who looks exhausted. A younger boy is sitting at the table, methodically eating a bowl of cereal despite the commotion.

“Where the hell have you been?” The woman, who you assume is the Fiona you have heard of, asks Ian.

“I was busy. What’s the emergency?” Ian asks, pulling you closer to his side.

“Liam ate a whole bottle of vitamins.” Fiona says, exasperated.

“Is he okay?” Ian asks, eyes widening.

“He’s fine. I just needed someone to take care of things here while I took him to the clinic. Lips a no show and Frank won’t fuckin’ leave.” Fiona explains, finally turning her attention to you. “Who’s this?”

“This is Y/N. My boyfriend.” Ian repeats, and the word feels more natural this time.

“Boyfriend?” The scruffy man at the counter perks up, turning to get a good look at you. “Well, well, well. Ian’s got himself a foreign boy. I like it.”

This surprises you. Your brother had warned you about American fathers, about how they were often strict and disapproving. But this man, the suggested father, seems delighted.

The rest of the family seems to share this same sentiment, their heads on swivels for a moment as they all look at the man.

“Frank,” Fiona warns, but he ignores her.

“So, Y/N, what brings you to our fine country?” Frank asks, taking a swig of his beer.

“My brother. He got a job here.” You explain, your voice unfamiliar to the room.

“What kind of work does your brother do?” Frank asks, leaning in.

“He is… a chef.” You say, translating the word in your head.

“A chef!” Frank exclaims, clapping his hands together. “I like a man who can cook. Can you cook?”

“Some things.” You admit. “But I am not… as good as he is.”

“Well, you’re dating a Gallagher, so you must have good taste.” Frank winks, and you feel a strange sense of validation. You look at Ian, who looks just as surprised as you are.

“Frank, leave him alone.” Fiona says, though there’s no real heat in her voice.

“Just trying to get to know my son’s new beau.” Frank says, holding his hands up in surrender.

The younger boy at the table finishes his cereal and gets up, rinsing the bowl in the sink. He gives you a quick nod before disappearing into the living room.

“So, Y/N,” Fiona says, turning to you with a tired smile. “Welcome to the madhouse. Don’t mind Frank. He’s… Frank.”

“It is okay.” You say, a small smile on your face. “It is very… lively.”

“That’s one word for it.” She says, before her phone buzzes. “Shit, that’s the clinic. I gotta go. Ian, you’re in charge of dinner.”

“Fi, no.” Ian protests, but she’s already out the door, grabbing her keys and Liam on the way.

The door slams shut, leaving you, Ian, and Frank in the sudden quiet of the kitchen.

“Well, I guess it’s just us.” Ian says, looking around the kitchen as though he’s never seen it before.

“I can help with dinner.” You offer. “What do you usually eat?”

“Usually whatever’s cheapest.” Ian admits, a slight blush on his cheeks. “But tonight, we can have something a little better. As a celebration.”

“Celebration for what?” You ask, intrigued.

“For you.” He says, pulling you into a quick kiss. “For surviving your first Gallagher family crisis.”

The kiss is short and sweet, but it’s enough to make your heart race. You’re about to respond when Frank clears his throat.

“So, you two gonna make out all night, or are we gonna eat?” He asks, a smirk on his face.

You and Ian break apart, red tinted.

“Right. Dinner.” Ian says, moving towards the fridge. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

The two of you rummage through the fridge, pulling out various ingredients. Frank watches, offering unhelpful commentary every now and then.

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Bonus scene

Your older brother, the one who had raised you almost entirely on his own, was just as German as you were. Maybe more.

He sat at the dining room table when Ian walked in, a bagel in front of him, a knife clenched in hand, and a frown on his face. He didn’t look impressed.

“This is Ian.” You introduced, watching as your brother gave him a quick, dismissive glance before going back to his bagel. You could feel your shoulders tense, but Ian seemed unbothered.

“Nice to meet you.” Ian said, extending a hand, a smile plastered on his face that could rival the sun.

Your brother ignored it. “Are you the one who has been teaching him these strange, English words?”

Ian’s smile dropped, but only slightly. “I guess so.”

“Then I do not like you.”

Your face began to burn, a hot shame creeping up your neck, but Ian’s smile came back, full and genuine.

“I get that a lot.”

“I do not know why he likes you. You have weird hair.” Your brother stated before shoving the bagel into his mouth.

“Hey!” You protest. “I like your hair. My hair is weird, too.”

“Yeah,” Your brother says, looking at Ian’s hair. “His is weirder.”

That seemed to be the end of the conversation as your brother stood up and discarded the knife into the sink. Ian was left standing there awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well that could have gone worse.”

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