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[gallavichthings]

Proud (Outro). - Twinklylights - Shameless (US) [Archive of Our Own] 13/13

He’s ready to continue being a husband. To continue loving Ian like it’s what he was put on earth to do.

He’s ready to wake up every day and know that he and Ian have made it. That all the things they’ve been through have been worth it.

He’s ready for year two and all the years that’ll come after that.

All the time they’ve got to spend, falling more in love with each other.

He’s ready for all of it.

Or, the month by month, high and low-lights of Mickey’s second year as a husband.

Read the WHOLE THING on Ao3!

Finally.

[gallavichthings]

Two weeks to the Fanart Masquerade! Artists, how are we feeling?

[gallavichthings]

Two weeks to the Fanart Masquerade! Artists, how are we feeling?

[gallavichthings]

Ruthless Devotion

they'll make a hundred men bleed raw for the chance to prove themselves. (on canine coded milkoviches.) (ao3)

Put your fucking guard dog on a leash.

Mickey's hands chase over Ian's sides, his teeth nipping at the soft and tender flesh of Ian's lips. There's a soft growl that starts in Mickey's throat and ends up in Ian's own, the two of them pressed as close together as it's possible to be. Heat sears through Ian's body, a delicious high that drugs can't ever seem to replicate. Just Mickey and the way his hands, his lips drive Ian up a wall. There's nothing like him.

Fuck, Ian, he hears Mickey say against his ear, his voice a breathy huff of laughter. Ian can hear the slightest whine in the sound. He'll never admit it, but Mickey likes when Ian makes him just a little bit desperate. There's a lot of things Mickey can't and won't admit to. Like when that guy outside the club told Ian to put your fucking guard dog on a goddamn leash and Ian saw Mickey's shoulders broaden, his whole chest expanding as Mickey inhaled, sharp and sudden.

His guard dog. Protective to a fault, snarling and chasing away anyone he deems unworthy. Mandy had been the same, snapping like a junkyard dog at girls who got too close to Ian in the halls; Ian had to fight the grin that always threatened to cross his face when they did things like that.

He loves fiercely, he knows, but Milkoviches love violently. They love with claws and teeth, loyalty a pale, weak word for what it truly means. Ian doesn't think his love compares, but Mickey and Mandy both stay by his side, refusing to leave. And maybe he had to hold a hand out, let them bite his fingers and draw blood before he gained their trust, but it was worth it. No matter what anyone thinks, they're worth the pain, worth the wounds. Where others see rabid dogs, Ian sees wounded, starving strays in need of protection themselves.

Of course he'd never say it. He'd never tell them that he knows what they are on their insides. Mandy calls herself a bitch, says it proud, dares others to turn it against her. Mickey says he's anything but, that he likes what he likes; the dark and knowing looks he gives to Ian sometimes say otherwise. Where Mandy's all claws, Mickey's all teeth, both of them desperate to dig in and claim territory that they'll defend to death.

Ian's become part of that territory; he's been snapped up by these Milkoviches even with the Gallagher blood in his veins. Like he's a lost fucking sheep they're trying to herd back to safety before the wolves outside can get him. And maybe Mickey's eyes darken when he sees those wolves stalking at Ian's door—Ian knows there's more gazes than Mickey's that linger on his shoulders and his hips, along the hard planes and soft lines of his body. Mickey's there every time he turns around, though, and Ian isn't afraid for himself as long as he has Mickey.

It's not that he's stupid, either; he knows they need protecting, too. They're both the type to leave themselves bleeding, ignore their jagged wounds in favor of his papercuts. So Ian has to look out for them—both of them, because as much as Mickey has clawed his way and made himself a den of Ian's insides, Mandy was always first. And she's always been more fragile. A dog can bite to defend itself, but beat it enough and it learns to keep its teeth in its mouth. That's what Ian's here for, though; he'll keep a knife ready to fight off any man who hurts her, and let her hide her beautiful bruised face in his shoulder so she doesn't show weakness.

And then there's Mickey—Mickey, who even now traces the lines of Ian's ribs, a little too easily seen against the pale skin of his torso. Mickey, who kisses hard like a punch to the jaw and yet sweet like spring rain. Mickey, who has eyes the color of Lake Michigan and just as impossibly deep. Mickey, who came into Ian's life like a car crash and who Ian never wants to let go. It's selfish, maybe; dangerous, certainly. They grin against one another's mouths and Ian traces his tongue over Mickey's teeth.

Mickey is a guard dog, fierce in devotion and determined to protect what's his. And maybe Ian shouldn't like the way that Mickey snaps and snarls, straining to be let off the leash and bring down violence on anyone who dares look at Ian like he's only there to be used up and spat back out. It doesn't matter that Mickey looks at Ian like a piece of rare meat, because from him there's a longing and a neediness that goes with it. There's a craving, a desire that goes beyond the surface—he knows that his body is only one of the many things Mickey wants, unlike those other men. Mickey will take anything Ian gives him, the pain and the pleasure mixing between their bodies.

It sends a perverse kind of lust through Ian when he sees Mickey's inked knuckles causing bruises to bloom on the jaws and eyes of nameless men with bad intentions. There's a delicious sort of dizziness, knowing how much Mickey enjoys it, too. And maybe Ian and Mickey have bad intentions with each other, too, but those are dark desires that they only share with each other. The way Ian nuzzles against Mickey's neck, smelling the heady, sharp scent of his cologne, and Mickey clutches at him with need. He wants, he wants, he wants…and he knows Mickey wants to give him everything.

Guard dogs off their leashes—that's what Mickey and Mandy are. Ian would never claim to know how to tame them, would never want to anyway, but they're both so beautiful in how dangerous they can be. It's different, the way he loves each of them, how they love each other, but the three of them have found a way to carve out some existence that fits them well. Ian knows what it feels like to cradle their jaws in his hands, to press his lips against the pale skin of their cheeks. They've let him in and let him see their vulnerability. Guard dogs who guard themselves fiercely. Mickey sleeps curled up by Ian's bed each night, putting himself between Ian and whatever threat might come.

And Ian knows it might be wrong. Hell, he sees the looks his family gives him, when Mandy would defend him a little too loud, when Mickey does anything for Ian without being asked. He knows what it looks like. But god, he doesn't care. That kind of devotion means everything coming from them. Coming from a Milkovich, it's a declaration of love.

Right now he's buried himself deep inside Mickey, the rough brick biting into Mickey's back as they move together. Ian bites down on perfect, smooth skin as Mickey growls Ian's name against his ear. The want and need, the pleasure and pain, it all comes together in this single unmatched moment. He hitches Mickey's leg up higher and tightens his grip in Mickey's hair, dull teeth sharp against Mickey's delicate neck.

He's not the only one with claws and fangs.

There's a pull and a groan, heat scorching through Ian's body as he moves; he feels Mickey's body pressed against his own, tight and tense like a live wire. There's a frenzied kiss, blood on their lips and it doesn't matter whose. The sounds of their breaths coming harsh and jagged break through the distant noises of the city. Ian doesn't fucking care about anything else in this moment, this white-hot moment where he can love Mickey Milkovich exactly as he deserves. Loyalty and devotion rewarded, as they should be. The only one who gets this from Ian, and it's all Mickey's alone. Those other men don't own Ian's heart, not even his body, despite what they may think.

Mickey's head nearly smacks against the brick as he comes apart, shuddering, unable to hold himself together. This is the part that Ian loves, that he always tries to watch if he can. Watching the moment where Mickey takes something for himself instead of giving it away so easily. And he still gives it to Ian—he gives his body to Ian so many times, every day and every way he can—but this, this moment where he breaks into pieces and pulls Ian's pleasure into himself. Like he'd devour Ian whole if he had the chance.

And Ian knows he'd let him. Would do it without a second thought. He knows he'll never find it again, this ruthless devotion that came to him with harsh, clear blue eyes and bruised, gentle knuckles that threaten violence at every moment. He buries himself inside Mickey—he doesn't want to come up for air, just wants to breathe him in until that scent is all he knows. It's the way Mickey sends him out of his head and yet grounds him unlike anything else. His guard dog, his leashed protector. Mickey would make the world bleed for Ian. Maybe it should scare him.

It only makes Ian love him more.

[gallavichthings]

Two weeks to the Fanart Masquerade! Artists, how are we feeling?

[gallavichthings]

GALLADRABBLES #109 - COLD SHOWER

Dearest Michelle @michellemisfit , thank you for such a cool (hah! see what I did there? 😁) prompt 🤗❤️ Paging @galladrabbles 😎

---

It's starting to turn into a ritual.

He watches Ian in obscenely short shorts stretch all his goddamn muscles, twisting and bending in all sorts of positions that make Mickey's mouth water.

Then, the second Ian’s out the door for his morning run, Mickey jumps into the shower, making it as freezing as he dares.

And then he calls Mandy.

‘Lemme guess, morning run.’

‘Yup.’

‘Same shorts?’

‘Mhm.’

‘You’re pathetic. Why don't you just tell ‘im?’

‘Tell my brand new and most likely straight roommate I wanna bang his brains out?’

‘Yes!’

‘You do?!’

He hadn't heard the door.

Shit!

---

[gallavichthings]

Two weeks to the Fanart Masquerade! Artists, how are we feeling?

[gallavichthings]

Ok my attempt at angst but I think it’s more hurt/ comfort

[gallavichthings]

Galladrabbles: Cold Shower

Here's this week's submission for @galladrabbles. ❤️

Prompt: Cold Shower Title: Thaw

Ian says, “I can’t,” and the world stands still. The Earth stops turning. A screeching, deafening halt that echoes like gunshots in his head.

Ian says, “I can’t,” and Mickey’s blood turns to ice in his veins.

Ian says, “I can’t,” and it’s a cold shower on a freezing Chicago winter morning.

Part of him isn’t surprised. The rest of him freezes over and shatters like stalactites crashing to the ground.

It’s hot in Mexico, but Mickey is cold all over.

He only unthaws when he walks into a prison cell and Ian looks at him like he’s a miracle.

[gallavichthings]

[gallavichthings]

SHAMELESS | 10.10

[gallavichthings]

I miss the way you say my name

The way you bend, the way you break

Your makeup running down your face

The way you fuck, the way you taste

[gallavichthings]

Among My Stillness Was a Pounding Heart - Ch. 6/15

New chapter up on AO3! 😊

As always, thank you to @skylerwinchester for yelling at me about this fic during the writing/editing process. ❤️

[gallavichthings]

Cold Shower, a Gallavich drabble for this week’s @galladrabbles prompt by @michellemisfit - Cold Shower.

Rated M, 100 words, 1/1 complete

Read below or on AO3 here.

The house’s heating got cut.

His husband had forgotten to pay the bill again, but Mickey can’t be mad at him because Ian always makes up for it.

Under the cold spray of the shower, Mickey is shivering, covered in goosebumps, when Ian steps inside to join him. He doesn’t even register that he's there until Ian is pressing his bare body right into Mickey’s, encompassing him in warmth. Mickey sighs in relief, but it’s cut short by Ian’s mouth closing over his, his hands searing against the curve of his hips.

Between their bodies, they create heat from nothing.

[gallavichthings]

Chapters: 4/4 Fandom: Shameless (US) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich Characters: Ian Gallagher, Mickey Milkovich Additional Tags: ABO, Alpha/Omega, heat - Freeform, Rut, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, Mickey Milkovich Loves Ian Gallagher, Protective Ian Gallagher, Top Ian Gallagher/Bottom Mickey Milkovich, Implied Mpreg If You Squint - Freeform, Canon Divergence, tropey mctropey, my suppressants aren’t working!, whatever will i do?, if only my low key soul mate was here to help, oh wait he is

Summary: When Mickey goes into an unexpected heat, Ian’s there to help.

[gallavichthings]

My Heart, You Know I Wear It On My Sleeve

a post s04e11 fic

word count: 2.5k

-

Ian kinda feels like he’s watching the world in slow motion.

He’s sitting by himself, staring blankly ahead as people walk by and talk around him. The world speeds up again when someone places a gentle hand on his shoulder but he startles anyway.

“Sorry” she apologises “I tried calling your name but you weren’t responding”

“Oh” Ian’s not really sure what else to say “Yeah, I don’t, I don’t know what to do”

“That’s understandable, honey” she takes the empty seat next to him and Ian notices the clipboard in her hands “I just need you to answer a few questions”

“Okay” Ian nods to himself, he can do that.

“What’s his full name?”

“Mick-Mikhailo Milkovich” Ian runs a hand down his face “Aleksandr, his middle name, sorry”

“No need to apologise” she gives him a smile but Ian doesn’t return it, just goes back to staring at the room blankly.

“How old is he?”

“He turned 18 a few months ago”

“Is there anyone we can call?” she asks and Ian pauses.

Is there anyone we can call? His mum is dead, his dad is back in jail. Not that he’d call Terry anyway.

“Mandy” Ian realises “His sister, she needs to be here”

“Okay” she scribbles something down “Do you want to call her? Or would you like me to do it for you?”

“I, I can do it”

“Okay, why don’t you do that now, yeah?” she rubs his shoulder again “It’s gonna be a while”

read the full fic here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53403298

[gallavichthings]

Chapter 3: Model Behavior

“Ian? What are you doing here?”

He pushes his way into the Milkovich house and straight to Mickey’s bedroom. It looks the same as he remembers, apart from a couple new posters on the walls and more dirty clothes on the floor.

Ian digs through Mickey’s side table. Wrinkled porn mags, brass knuckles, a cracked pen that spilled red ink everywhere, a Polaroid of Mickey smashing Iggy’s face into the sidewalk. Junk on junk on junk. Ian rips out the drawers, scattering Mickey’s macho armor across the carpet in pieces.

“Ian! You can’t do this! Mickey will kill you for real this time.”

He turns to Mandy, and a shout sinks down his throat. Fear rings around her as loud as if she screamed it. A terrified girl is hard to stay angry at.

“You owe me,” Ian says. “You lied to your brothers, they kicked Lip’s ass and mine over it, and you never even apologized.”

Mandy crosses her arms over her chest, shoulders hunched. “Yeah, I lied, and I wish I hadn’t, but that doesn’t mean I should let you rip apart Mickey’s room.”

“Leave. If anybody asks afterward, pretend you didn’t run into me at all.”

“You don’t get it! Mickey will—”

“I get it.” Ian points at the brass knuckles. “I know what I’m doing, Mandy. If you feel even a little bit bad about telling everybody I’m a rapist, just go.”

Mandy backs out of the room, shaking her head. “It’s your funeral.”

“Promise to bring flowers, but not carnations. They smell like old people.”

When she smiles, she really is pretty. “I’ll bring, like, roses. Or lilies.”

“Roses and lilies. Works for me.”

“Not like you’d know, since you’ll be dead and all.”

After she leaves, Ian picks up a crumpled ball of notebook paper from the floor. He forces it open and finds exactly what he expects: a page of Mickey’s doodles. A football, a baseball, a woman’s torso with enormous tits.

Predictable, except for the drawing of a boy’s hand with a big palm and long, freckled fingers. It’s familiar right down to the shape of the nail beds. Ian glances between his own right hand and the sketch.

Perfect match.

Read all of Chapter 3 on AO3

Start If You Have a Problem from Chapter 1

***

AN: Maybe Michelangelo Milkovich shouldn't have left that sketch lying around...

As always, ty @bawlbrayker and @hamspamandjamsandwich, the best of betas, for all your support and guidance 💖