#gallavich

[ianspaw]

That hand touch... 🤤

[darthvaders-wife]

Family photo🧡

[thirstyvampyr]

Frank celebrated for pretending to be gay vs Ian upstairs who just got beat up by his closeted boyfriend full of internalized homophobia

[maroon-poet]

mickey just moving in with ian one day is so fucking funny because officially 2 people in the house (out of 5) know that ian is gay and only one of them knows that he had had a situationship with mickey so to the rest of them ian just randomly brought home this dude that tried to kill him once and then became his coworker

[theyaremycrocsyoudonut]

The scene in 3x11 right before Mickey gets married is just so *unintelligible screams*, *muffled sounds of violence*, *nails scratching a chalkboard*, *war sirens* you know what I mean?

Let me elaborate. Ian comes practically BEGGING him not to get married to Svetlana. He didn't give him an ultimatum as he does later on, he just begged him. And Mickey didn't want to get married to Svetlana, it was the last fucking thing he wanted to do. But, had he ran away, or refused to marry her, or came out, or something, Terry would right out try to murder him and we know this for a FACT. So Mickey did the only thing he could. He couldn't not marry Svetlana, he couldn't come out to his dad, he couldn't outright admit his feelings (because acknowledging them even to himself would cause him an INCREDIBLE amount of pain), he couldn't do jackshit. Except of what he did. He kissed Ian, like it was their last kiss, which, had they not found Ian after he ran away, would actually be their last kiss. He looked at Ian's lips and it was as if they magnetized each other. Physical love was all he could give.

[whatthebodygraspsnot]

Part vi number 18 and 8 👀

8. “Kiss me, I can’t wait any longer.” 18. “It’s so hot when you talk like that.”

it's been a long night. the mission was a success and the team is celebrating - using a chunk of the stolen cash to fill their stomachs with food and good wine at the vacant building they renovated into their hideout.

it's been a long night, and it's made even longer by how ian hasn't had a single moment alone with mickey since the heist started. since mickey had to concentrate on doing his thing with the wires and ian had to put on his tux, blending in with the gala's diamonds and furs. pretending to be someone you're not is hard in a room full of rich snobs. it's even harder in a room full of people who think they know you from top to bottom.

because they don't. these people are his family - they have been for years - but they don't know what makes ian tick. what's most important to him. the way his heart pulses and fingers itch for the man across the table from him.

his team is his family, but they don't know that he and mickey are fucking.

they can't. it would complicate too much. they'd start going off about how emotions like that can fuck with the plan. how their entire mission can go haywire if something happened to one of them. and they're right. it would. ian would scrap an entire weeks-long pursuit the fucking second he saw something happen to mickey. he cares too much. he's a fucking liability.

so they don't tell them. they keep their nights together to themselves. keep how long they've been doing this a secret. act normal and cordial and friendly on the outside, even when one shared look across the table sends pulses of want and desire through ian so powerful that he has to swallow down another gulp of wine, their heavy gaze never leaving each other once.

because it's been a long night. he hasn't had a chance to touch mickey. to reward him for a job well done in his own way. to look him over and smooth him out and exist with him, away from the others. alone. together.

the team is his family, but they don't know that he told mickey he's in love with him last night. they have no idea how powerful the wave of delight in his soul was when mickey said it back to him. to them, they're just ian and mickey. two members of the team who have gone quiet now, content with stealing glances across the table with heavy, wine-drunk eyes.

they can't know. and ian is two seconds away from reaching across the table and pulling mickey's hand into his own, so he forces himself to get up, stepping away from the table.

he disappears into one of the bedrooms - the one with the big floor to ceiling windows that look out into the abandoned building's courtyard. it's quiet here. peaceful. he can hear exactly how hard his pulse is thumping in his eardrums while everyone else carries on in the main room.

because he's good at slipping away without causing attention to it. it's how he joined the team in the first place. but there's one person who tracked his entire exit. he's fucking banking on it.

behind him, the door shuts. the lock clicks.

and when ian turns, the warmth that was being pushed down all night blooms fully and heavily in his chest.

mickey takes him in just as hungrily, the grin that's pulling the corner of his mouth so good that ian needs to chase after it. "kiss me," mickey murmurs, already stepping toward him on the momentum they've been building across the table, "can't wait any fuckin' longer."

it's got ian's heart soaring. has something almost animalistic rumbling in his chest as he steps forward too, fucking finally, because christ... "it's so fucking hot when you talk like that."

and when they meet in the middle of the room, it's with hands grabbing - feeling - running over ian's shoulders and holding mickey's face and they pull themselves together so tightly that ian can taste blood as their mouths clash.

but it's what he's been craving all night. it's what keeps him going, mickey just as hungry for it as he starts walking him backward until ian's back is pressed against the window.

they probably shouldn't be doing this here. not right now, at least. they're celebrating in the other room, after all.

but nothing is more important to ian than this man. this moment. this thing that they've made with each other.

and soon, it will be too big to hide.

[ send me a smutty one-liner ]

[m4ndysk4nkovich]

maybe ian said he liked how mickey smelled because frank broke his nose and he can’t smell properly because i can assure y’all mickey probably smells like ass (and i say this in a loving way)

[lupeloto]

“we, huh?” ficlet

i have another ficlet that i whipped up and made me jsksndjesj. i hope u guys enjoy it, i’m a little rusty so proceed with caution

Ian lays facing away from the door, comforter billowed around his bare chest, draped lazily across his arm. His head is buzzing, his thoughts shooting around a mile-a-minute yet he can’t seem to actually process a single one. He shuts his eyes tight, trying desperately to breathe through it. He’s been off for a few weeks now, under the false assumption that he narrowly escaped Mickey’s concern until he drops a small “you got an appointment tomorrow to get your meds fixed.” Initially, a rage filled him, sending a rush through his entire body and resulting in some snippy comment about how he can handle his own shit. Mickey didn’t react, just walked to where Ian sat, placed a quick peck on the top of his head and walked out of the room. After several hours of misery in company with his own thoughts, the anger was eventually replaced with a lingering guilty. It was a guilt he felt slightly too proud to admit, resulting in their conversations being limited for the rest of the day.

Mickey shuffles in, plopping down next to Ian in bed.

“Ay,” he finally settles, “i shouldnt’ve gone behind your back,” he fidgets, his head shifting down before Ian cuts him off.

Ian shuts his eyes, breathing through the initial anger that rose, landing on the understanding that it was all in his best interest. “It’s okay,” Ian turns to face him, head resting against his forearm, the former jumbled mess that was his mind now completely clear as his eyes catch sight of the gentle blue ones that stare back at him.

Mickey mirrors him, his head resting on his forearm as his hair sits in a messy black tuft against the pillow. “It’s gonna be alright, just gonna take a look at ya and make sure we get everything figured out.” His hands move to lightly trace Ian’s shoulder, going over every freckle and scar with a delicacy that only Ian knew.

Ian stares back for a moment, eyes fixated on the flutter of Mickey’s lashes as he spoke. Fuck, he loved this man.

“We, huh?” Ian scoots closer, the corners of his lips turn up slightly at the light red that flushes Mickey’s cheeks.

Mickey brushes it off, shifting onto his back mumbling a quick, “It’s you and me, Red.”

Ian smiles to himself, gaze fixed on the sight of his husband’s porcelain skin painted in a light dusting of freckles and a few scars that Ian traces delicately with his fingers, followed by a gentle peck. The curve of his nose, his lips, his lashes. He is nothing short of mesmerized.

“You must love me a whole lot then, huh ya softie?” Ian teases

Mickey lifts his arm behind his head and shutting his eyes, “like it’s breathing, Gallagher,” he huffs casually. He nods his head, gesturing for Ian to come closer.

Ian’s heart beats out of his chest threatening to land promptly before him on the bed as he stifles a small laugh. He’s never short of amused and enthralled by his husband’s ability to say the most romantic things in the most nonchalant nature. Mickey knows it makes Ian bashful and giddy like a teenage girl so of course he slips one in whenever he can.

He feels Ian’s eyes burning a hole in him, “And I don’t wanna hear shit about it, we all know you’re the soft one,” he cuts his eyes over, “now would you get your ass over here i’m fuckin’ exhausted.”

Ian happily complies, shifting to lay his head against Mickey’s chest. His large, freckles hand reaches to grab Mickey’s, nearly completely engulfing it as he rubs small, soothing circles with his thumb while his other hand mimicks on his stomach. Mickey digs his face deep into the tuft of curls, inhaling slightly and placing a small kiss on his head as both drift slowly to sleep.

[mmmichyyy]

michelle <3 “You’re seriously like a man-child.” please, if the spirit moves you.

#8: "you're seriously like a man-child."

"how many more do i need to sign?"

a heavy cardboard box is dropped on the table, right beside the stacks of books he spent the past hour signing.

"a hundred more and you can take a break."

"a hundred?!" mickey exclaims. "how many people are even coming today? and why the fuck do people need my signature anyway?

"the coordinator said over two hundred people signed up for the event," sandy says, not looking up from her phone. "surprise - people actually like your book and they want to meet you."

"you know i hate small talk," mickey grumbles, massaging his cramping wrist. "if i knew this was part of the book tour, i would've never agreed to it."

sandy rolls her eyes. "god, you're seriously like a man-child. does cranky baby need a nap? a juice-box? a smoke?"

mickey throws a sharpie at sandy, which she dodges with a laugh. "get me a snickers bar and i'll contemplate not firing you."

"good luck finding someone who will put up with your ass," sandy snorts.

"ahem."

mickey looks up to ian, the tall redhead bookstore owner standing by the door, looking sheepish and scratching his head.

"just checking in. everything okay in here? do you need anything before the event mr. milkovich?"

"actually," sandy starts, "he'd love a pacifier for his afternoon nap–"

"fuck off," mickey cuts his cousin off, ignoring her snickering in the background. "you got any smokes, red?"

ian pats around his jeans pocket and pulls out a crumpled pack of marlboros. "i was just about to go for a smoke break, actually."

mickey pushes up from his chair and grabs the pack from ian's hand. "let's fucking go, then."

sandy watches in amusement as mickey struts out of the room with a smirk on his face, and she catches the way ian not-so-subtly checks out her cousin's backside before hurrying after him.

guess mickey found someone to put up with his ass. literally.

[mickeym4ndy]

I can’t stop thinking about a fanfic idea where Mickey does 8 years in prison after season 5 as planned, and when he gets out he moves to whatever city Svetlana and Yev live in, determined to move on with his life.

And then 8 years later when Yev is like 17, they’re all back in Chicago for a few days because Yevs got a big soccer game or something for school. Anyway they lose the game. So afterwards, him & his friends sneak out of the hotel and end up getting into a fight with the other team and one of them gets injured so an ambulance is called.

And Yevgeny isn’t hurt or anything, just a black eye and bruised knuckles. So he can’t figure out why the red headed paramedic keeps looking at him like the guy has seen a ghost.

But then, his mom and dad arrive, ready to cuss him out for being so stupid. And Yev notices his dad and the paramedic look at each other with that same stricken expression that the red head was wearing earlier, and he starts to piece it together.

And so 16 years after Ian and Mickey’s break-up, Yevgeny meets his dad’s first love and gets to witness their long road back to each other.

[stapleyourfacebackon]

Mickey: I guarantee you, in 10 years I will be Ian's second husband.

Ian: What happened to my first husband?

Mickey: Nothing you can prove.

[ohkate]

Trapeze

Time for @galladrabbles! This week's prompt: "trapeze" by @crossmydna. Word count: 100

------

These were his favorite moments.

Franny sat in Mickey's lap as they watched acrobats soar through the air. Amidst the chaos and wonder, Franny's eyes lit up. But so did Mickey's.

They listened to Franny's ooh's and aah's as she watched the spectacle. Ian looked over at Mickey and saw how young he looked, pointing up at the trapeze artist swinging and flipping around.

Their hands found each other, fingers intertwining. He hated that Mickey never got to have a moment like this before now.

But he was so happy to got to be there to experience it with him.

[astaraels]

Fem gallavich version of the prison reunion?

Ian watched the prison door close and turned around, her breath coming quickly, almost to the point of panic. This was for real, not a nightmare like she almost hoped, and she was stuck in this place for...fuck, who even knew how long? Her lawyer had tried to argue for a mental health facility, but the judge had denied it, decided instead on medium security for at least the next two years. So here she was for the foreseeable future, and it was ironic that among all these other women, Ian had never felt so alone.

She set her bedding and extra prison uniform on the top bunk and sighed—for a brief moment she'd been glad not to have to deal with her cell mate just yet, but of course as soon as she'd had the thought, the door opened, and Ian felt her shoulders stiffen in response. Turning around, she steeled herself—

But anything she might have said evaporated from her mind at the sight of Mickey goddamn Milkovich standing there, her black hair combed to one side, longer than the last time Ian had seen her, her blue eyes sparkling with poorly concealed mirth.

"So I rolled on the cartel I'd been working for," Mickey said, all casual, like she hadn't just thrown Ian's entire world out of orbit with her presence, "and in exchange, guess who gets to pick where she gets locked up?"

Ian could only stare at Mickey, breath caught in her chest, unable to believe that she was here, right here, right now, when she thought she'd be alone in the worst place possible. "...holy shit," she managed to choke out, a poor substitute for all the words she wanted to say. Like how did you get here, what are you doing back in prison, why did you do this, when did you get that new tattoo. But all the words died on the tip of her tongue as Mickey walked past her, winking as she did so.

"By the way," she said, "I got bottom, so uh, you're on top." Like it was no big deal, like she hadn't just thrown Ian for a goddamn loop by her mere presence here in the same fucking prison. That she'd given up the freedom she'd worked so hard for. Why she'd turned snitch on a Mexican drug cartel to do so, just to be back with Ian. So many questions, but there was time enough for that, later. As Mickey stretched out languidly on the bottom bunk, looking like a rather contented cat, Ian couldn't help but rush towards her.

She practically jumped on top of Mickey, pressing their bodies flush together. Her own freshly dyed hair fell around their faces, mingling with Mickey's own, and Ian's eyes wanted to close as she inhaled deeply, Mickey's familiar scent filling the air around her. It made her ache in so many ways; it'd been so long since that awful day at the border, when she'd kissed Mickey goodbye for what she thought would be the last time. But no, now she was here, pressed against Ian, a hand sliding through Ian's hair, pulling her in close, slowly, carefully bringing their faces into a kiss.

And God, what a kiss it was; it took every bit of willpower Ian had not to fucking devour her. There was a slight tremble in Mickey's hand, in spite of the confidence of her words, and Ian wanted to take her apart, piece by fucking piece. This wasn't the time or place for it, though; that could come later. For now, there was a soft, careful exploration of mouths, teeth and tongues holding back for the moment; they pressed together carefully, tentatively, as if both of them could barely believe this was real.

Ian brought one hand up and stroked Mickey's cheek, pressing their foreheads together. It was impossible to believe, but yeah, she was here, right here, and it made Ian want to weep. This was what she'd been missing. The puzzle piece she couldn't find for so long, the part of herself she'd tried to forget and put away. But there was no separating Ian Gallagher from Mickey Milkovich. No matter what, they would always find their way back to each other.

"I fucking love you," she murmured against Mickey's lips, feeling Mickey's answering smile against her mouth.

"Damn right, Gallagher," Mickey said. "Can't get rid of me that easy." And all Ian could do in response was to kiss her again. This time, she wasn't going to let her go.

[zapazai]

Mickey wasn't just distant with Ian to protect him from Terry. He was protecting Ian from himself. Mickey grew up think he made everything worse, he's fucked for life. He has no plans for his future or ambitions. He probably doesn't even see himself getting past 25 so why would he have goals??

Ian is the complete opposite. He's in ROTC, tested out of English, has a legal job, and has clear plans for his future. Ian thinks he can become more than just southside trash, and he's determined to prove that.

Mickey doesn't want to bring Ian down with him. If he lets Ian in, he's letting him get caught up in the violence and the crime and the homelessness. To mickey Ian will always be better. Ian doesn't deserve to be dragged down by a 'burden' like mickey.

This is why I think mickey blames himself for Ian getting ill and for ruining his army dreams. Its mickey getting married, that makes Ian 'go crazy'. It was mickey inviting Ian over that makes him have to get married and it was mickey letting Ian in by kissing him that gave him the confidence to invite him over.

Even tho mickey knew he was bad for Ian from the start, he still keeps going back to him. The fact that Ian isn't perfect will always be something that mickey feels is his fault.

[wehangout]

#9 for the physical affection prompts

Send me a number prompt and I’ll make it smutty

9. kissing their collarbone

Fuck you is what you were invited to.

No. What you were invited to was a night of pizza rolls that were never touched, action moves that were barely watched, and beers that were hardly sipped on.

What you were invited to was making out until your jaw ached, kissing Mickey until he tasted like you and you tasted like him, finally feeling Mickey's mouth against your own until you were suddenly feeling it everywhere.

You've felt it before, on your dick and balls, but never anywhere else. Never in a way that's somehow more intimate than him blowing you. But now he's lying on top of you and his teeth are on your throat and he's sucking, nipping, pulling your skin into his mouth and you groan, palm at his ass, grind up into him.

The moan he heaves against your skin is so fucking inviting that you want to grab him, thread your fingers into his hair and pull him up to your mouth again, but you won't. Because you've been making out, you've been kissing and kissing until you couldn't breathe properly, and now you and to feel Mickey's lips everywhere.

Fucking everywhere.

He moves his hips against your own and you know it's with impatience, a gesture so he doesn't have to say the words, a keep-fucking-moving-Ian without removing his lips from your skin, and you grasp at it, claw at what he needs and give him everything. You grip his ass to keep him in place and start a steady rhythm.

And he pulls his mouth away from you.

He pulls his mouth away and the sound, the pitiful, desperate whine that escapes is out of your control because you're in such a fucking state of euphoria, of Mickey's lips, Mickey's mouth, Mickey's willingness, that his lips not being on you is torture.

But he doesn't move away.

He pants against you, whispers your name - Ian, not Gallagher - and it's okay, it's everything, it's the perfect kind of torture.

You move your hips faster, aid him in moving against you when he has zero leverage, and he licks a line from your clavicle to your ear and shit, shit, you're so fucking close. So close to coming, and you're both still fully dressed and all you're doing is rutting against each other like the teenagers you are, but Mickey's mouth is on your skin and it's too much and it's everything and it's torture.

"Mick," you whisper, slowing down your thrusts.

He doesn't say anything, but he gets it. You know he gets it because he rests his forehead on your throat and takes a deep, shuddering breath. And when he begins again, when his lips touch your skin again, it's soft, slow, absolutely fucking sweet.

Tiny pecks, brushes of his lips on your heated skin, a drag of a wet lip over goosebumps that break out. He kisses you and kisses you, your throat, your neck, behind your ear, across your collarbone, up to your chin, and you wonder ... you hope and you wonder.

Now that he's started, maybe he'll never stop.