#mickey's belly freckle | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

heymrspatel · 6 months

Note

ian’s feeling a little self conscious and mickeys just straight up loving on his husband and telling him how sexy and fine he looks!

ohohooo boy you've hit me right in the chest with this one... ok, let's see!

---

ian's having one of those days. those days that don't happen super often anymore, but they do happen. waking up feeling physically heavy, groggy, slow. the harsh lighting in the bathroom making him notice those extra soft bits on his body, where he used to be taught and lean. he looks down, where his tummy sticks out above the band of his boxers, sighs.

eyes back up, he brushes his teeth, gazes at his reflection, and acknowledges that this is a fleeting feeling - because nowadays he looks at himself and sees it. happiness and health and comfort in his settled life. he loves it. he's sturdy, strong, beefy. he's soft, holdable, grounding. he sees it, he knows, mickey reminds him.

he sees it, washes his toothbrush, wipes at his face, takes a final look. he knows, but it's just one of those days. he turns off the judgmental fluorescents and pads back into the bedroom towards his....

my god... there, face bathed in soft light and gorgeous, mickey. he's shifted in the ten or so minutes ian's been gone. sprawled out and entirely tangled in the comforter. left hand sticking out and clutching ian's pillow - like he was searching, wanting, grasping - coming up empty. he's awake now. ian moves, the floors creak, mickey's eyes zero in on him.

"do you know how fucking cold it is in this room?... why the fuck are you up this early?" and ian's quiet, suddenly realizing he came to a stop in front of their full length mirror. a glance at himself, back at mickey. maybe he doesn't have to be up yet, it's saturday. maybe he can spare lounging around a bit more. glance and back. he should get under there, mickey said he's cold. glance, back. he doesn't move, rooted in place. "...come back under here and get on me!" glance...

"babyface... c'mere"

he moves. mickey rolling away, untangling, giving him his space in bed back... immediately shifting back and attaching himself to him. "always leaving me here in the mornings... can't stick around for me? hmm?" the drama of it all making ian chuckle and press his lips to mickey's forehead. he feels mickey's hands wander around his chest and down to his belly, making him draw in a breath and stiffen. he sees mickey's eyes squint and his nose scrunch in the process. a small tut escaping his lips. here it comes.

"got myself a human heater... warm and soft. teddy bear mother fucker." and that's a new one! "you gotta stop leaving me here every morning. you're like one of them weighted blankets you're always going on about... hmmph... comfy." he nuzzles into ian's chest, wrapping tighter around him, and breathing so deeply. smiling. "smell so good... i think i get why you're always sniffin'." giving quick cute pecks along his collar bone. "so many freckles. all over. this one here is my favorite." he moves to the hollow of his neck. giving it a little lick.

and ian can't help but giggle really. because his husband is so in tune, because he always knows when something is up, because his licks are tickling him!

mickey pulls until he's securely pinned under ian. "my big guy. cover me just right" his hands begin their familiar dance. over ian's strong shoulders, down the muscles of his back, lightly scratching back up. "you threw me around so good last night. was fucking airborne at one point."

oh. these giggly kisses are some of ian's favorites!

"you gave it to me so good and hard, made me grab on to all of you, huh?" his hands are everywhere, covering ian's body with love. "so sexy. do you know how good you feel and look when you're overpowering me like that?" the complete contrast of his statement and his soft lips making ian all fuzzy and warm.

"so good. so soft. so strong. so hard." a mantra. each declaration punctuated with the sweetest kisses. his hands wandering, grabbing, pressing ian's weight down. soft little moans making an appearance.

and god if ian doesn't feel like he's floating! high, on a cloud. sustained by mickey's touches, his sounds, his scent. his words, his words, his words. breaking through and helping him see and remember what he already knows. because today is one of those days, yes, and it'll take more than this to claw his way fully out... but he's being uplifted and loved and touched in the right ways. in the ways that wiggle in and help chip at that wall and appears in times like these.

he sees his strong arms framing mickey's head, how his size and weight are making him feel. he knows he's good, he's healthy, he feels his heart pumping strong and full of love in his chest. it'll take more than this, but this helps. every part of this helping, chipping away.

he breathes, he kisses, mickey moans...

he sees, he knows, mickey reminds him...

#you struck a chord clearly ladskjf hit close to home... i almost instantly knew what i wanted to say but took forever #bc i feel inadequate and imposter-ish when writing but here i am... rambling. why is this so long? bye.#is the grammar shit? is there a typo? is this dumb? i pretend i do not see #tw body image #shameless #gallavich #ian x mickey #anon #asks #j ramble drabbles

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luvtak · 1 year

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What Loving NCTs 2000 Line Feels Like:

Renjun: Autumn afternoons where everything is foggy and dark, but the heater is warming you from the inside. A soft secondhand sweater that is three sizes too big, but feels like the perfect size. Doodling stars and hearts on each other’s skin. A new pair of dress shoes that slightly hurt, but make you feel beautiful. Walking through an art museum and feeling like you’ve known these paintings before. Hands on your face pulling a smile from your lips. Cinnamon filled French toast covered in butter and powdered sugar, you’re already full, but you can’t get enough. Old journals filled with words of your younger self, you simultaneously know everything and nothing about this past person. Soft hands, freezing your warm ones, but nothing has felt more right.

Jeno: The midnight after your birthday, it’s not your day anymore, but you hold on until you fall asleep for it to be over. Laying in bed at night, the only light coming from your favorite movie playing on the TV. Hands in your hair twisting and untwisting till it’s a knotted mess. Hearing the same story and laughing at all the same parts—even though you know what comes you still gasp. Strangers smiling at you on the street, they don’t know you, but they’re happy to see you. Strong arms wrapped all the way around your body, so tight around your belly you can’t breathe. Cookies right out of the oven. Shared smiles every time you walk in the room.

Haechan: laying in the sun on the hottest day of the year, like two sleepy kittens. Day old brownies that are still so sweet. The same joke told over and over again until it’s no longer funny, but you still can’t help but laugh. Stickers piling up on your water bottle. Counting moles and freckles until numbers don’t even seem real. Layers and layers of blankets piled so high that you’re sweating. Crusty eyes and sleepy giggles at one in the morning. Your favorite song playing at a restaurant. Crocheting hats and scarves and sweaters so that every inch of him is covered in your love. Stevie Wonder songs on the radio. The sun coming out after a storm.

Jaemin: PB&Js on toasted bread. Ring pop proposals and arcade dates. Telling jokes to stop your tears. Sitting in your childhood backyard, you know every tree and every flower. Waking up to coffee brewing. Every love song suddenly makes sense. Listening to Taylor Swift in the car, yelling out every verse like a confession. Bubble baths that are so hot you have to keep getting out to cool off. Ordering mickey mouse pancakes as a grown up. Freezer burned ice cream, not the best but its your favorite flavor. Snow angels in the middle of the night. Butterfly kisses: eyelash to eyelash, it tickles in the fondest way. Homemade meals every day, always made with love.

Yangyang: Midnight drives to McDonalds. Sweatshirts covered it cat hair that never comes off (no matter how hard you try). The minute the cold medicine kicks in. the biggest smile you’ve ever seen shining down at you. Mac Miller songs on rainy days. Dirty jokes so terrible you can’t help but laugh. Peach cobbler and vanilla ice cream. Personalized playlists for every mood. Doing each other’s makeup and giggling at how close your faces are. Pillow forts and rom coms. Sitting around a campfire with your closest friends. At-home haircuts at three in the morning. The theme song of your favorite show. Eating your favorite meal warm and comfy in your bed. Tears streaming from laughing too hard.

Shotaro: Strawberry shortcake flavored kisses. Running through a meadow like a child. Campfire songs sung terribly but with feeling. Spinning around so fast you feel like you’re flying. Spring days just warm enough you don’t have to wear a coat, but need arms wrapped around you tight. Long summer days bleeding together. Old One Direction playlists filling up the car. Giggles right in your ear. Hands fixing your clothes. Blowing out birthday candles. Dancing on the carpet in your socks. Making homemade ice cream on a hot day. Kisses pressed gently in your hair. Your favorite movie playing on a Sunday afternoon. Bodies so close you can feel his laughter. Sunset after a great day.

a/n this is my first try so no one laugh at me… also please ignore the run on sentences 🫶🏻 i tried to make this super gender neutral but if anything needs to be changed, let me know!! 🫶🏻

dividers @luvchaewon @danowh0re

#okay i rlly hope this is good and you like it!!#this was my outlet for biasing every 2000 liner :/#nct x reader #renjun x reader #jeno x reader #haechan x reader #jaemin x reader #yangyang x reader #shotaro x reader #nct fluff #wayv #nct dream #nct #my fics ؘ ☆༄

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gallawitchxx · 1 year

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🔮💨 WE'RE BACK BABY 🔮💨

hi buds! i'm writing this au 100 words at a time per the weekly prompts from @galladrabbles. prompted words are in PURPLE & there’s a 🔮💨 to note where each installment ends. thanks for reading! xx

the latest installment is #26: jello for the week of march 25, 2024

✺ | ✺ | ✺ | ✺ | ✺

If you’d have told Mickey Milkovich that by eighteen, he’d be Terry-free and running a drug-fueled, fortune-telling business out of the spare room, he would’ve said, “fuck off and eat shit.”

But here he is.

And here’s Ian Gallagher: lanky, alien-lookin’, and back for the third time to ask about his bootlicking future.

Mickey settles in, the snick of the lighter flooding his body with endorphins, and takes a hit. Breathes in deep, blows out slow. Avoids glowing green eyes that remind him just how big of a gamble this whole thing is.

“See anything yet?”

🔮💨

Fuck, his voice is so hopeful. Curious, in a way that sends Mickey’s blood both north and south. Makes him sway in his chair, lightheaded. Floating. High.

Until the flood came.

A breeze that nips the nose. Rosy cheeks, wide grin, a warm, open laugh. Lips press in a quick, familiar kiss. “Betcha I can still beat you back, Mick.” The playful smack of a big, freckled paw. A slight wince. A weariness. Creaky knees, an ache in the low back. Determination. Something that feels like there ain’t a right word for it in any language. “In your dreams, Gallagher.”

🔮💨

What in the fresh hell…

Mickey blinks—once, twice, three times—trying to harness whatever clarity might still be available to him between the weed and the horrifying scene still playing behind his eyelids.

He’s seen some shit before, doing this kinda work. Shit that’s freaked him out, confused both him and the clients desperate for information. Visions of blood, bile and beady red eyes.

But never before has he himself shown up in anyone’s future.

“Didja see something?” Gallagher questions, scanning Mickey’s face with an intensity that flips his belly.

“Ask me again, I’ll cut your fuckin’ tongue out.”

🔮💨

Pink-tinged shame creeps up freckled cheeks, and Mickey’s instantly regretful. Gallagher’s a paying client, even if he does keep his cash in a dorky ass velcro wallet.

Their first two sessions had been fruitful, but incomplete.

Boot camp fatigues.

Helicopter blades.

A set of dog tags that read Phillip Gallagher, instead of Ian.

No wonder he’d shown up again, eager for answers.

Still, old habits die hard. Feelings are a luxury afforded to people a whole lot richer than a Milkovich. It’s easier to lie and be safe.

“Sorry, man. Nothin’ today.”

His chest clenches as Gallagher’s face falls.

🔮💨

The fuck is Mickey supposed to do? Tell him that desperate as he is to get blown to bits in some godforsaken desert, what just came through was nothing more than a couple of sore, old queens chasing each other in the snow? Even worse, try to explain that those frosted fairies are somehow them?

No fucking way.

Gallagher leans back in the rusted metal folding chair. He crosses his arms, his shirt riding up, revealing soft hair and sharp hips.

Heat licks at Mickey’s neck, along with the desire to wrap his legs around him and hold on tight.

🔮💨

“Okay… That’s okay,” he mumbles unconvincingly as he sits up again, his long fingers coming to rest on camo-clad thighs. Then, clearer, “Didn’t mean to pressure you or anything. Don’t really know how this shit works.”

“That makes two of us,” Mickey says before he can stop himself.

Pouty pink lips part, then tick upwards into a small smirk.

The moment lingers a bit too long, but Mickey’s now sufficiently stoned and ridiculously distracted by the deepening dimple in Gallagher’s chin to break it.

Something flickers between them. Cautious, curious, yet undeniably there.

“So, uh… what’s it feel like?”

🔮💨

“What’s what feel like?” Mickey asks, still dazed.

“You know… seeing shit.”

Oh. That.

Mickey mulls it over. He could tell him what it doesn’t feel like — a fucking gift. Or whatever people call bullshit abilities like getting so blitzed that you catch sight of what’s still to come. It’s a burden. A plight. If it didn’t make him cash money, he’d honestly consider going off weed altogether. Simply stick to the sauce.

But then again, he wouldn’t have Gallagher in his house, looking at him like he’s gonna say something stupid like, I’d rather have you, cursed or not.

🔮💨

Mickey battles between being benevolent and brash; nature versus nurture at near-constant war within him. But before he can bark out anything at all, he feels another wave pulling him under.

“Turn this chick shit off, man.” Flexed fingers separate his own, sneaking between them and holding on tight. Strong shoulders shrug. “Think it’s kinda like us.” A belly full of butterflies. A pair of flushed faces. “You’re still into me, huh?” A nod, sure and steady. “Always gonna be into you, Mickey.”

That last line takes him longer to shake, and goddammit, there’s no way Gallagher didn’t notice.

🔮💨

“Did you—” he starts predictably. Then, he quickly snaps his jaw shut, trapping the question within.

Mickey sniffs, fiddles with the zipper of his cut-off hoodie, trying to kill time. Keep his hands busy so he doesn’t do something dumb. But there’s really only one way this is gonna go, and he knows it. If Gallagher has even a lick of self-preservation underneath that buzzcut, he should too.

“It feels like you should stop asking stupid fuckin’ questions.” He swallows any stray pangs of conscience as he shoves crumpled bills across the crooked card table that separates them.

🔮💨

He watches Gallagher’s eyes snap to the money. It’s today’s fee returned, plus a little extra; whatever else was in Mickey’s pocket now collateral for his cowardice.

But he doesn’t take it. He doesn’t move at all.

“You fuckin’ deaf or somethin’?” Mickey shouts. Agitated. “In case you didn’t notice, we’re done here.”

Gallagher looks up. Stares straight into his goddamn soul. It’s terrifying—electrifying—and doesn’t hold a candle to the turmoil that rolls through him when that contact is suddenly gone, his gaze dropping to Mickey’s lips.

He fixates like he thinks they’ve already agreed to a truce.

🔮💨

“I know you saw something,” Gallagher whispers, stepping forward like a dead man on a mission.

Mickey winces. Wills himself back into his body, his eyes drifting shut as he calls to the scattered bits of his blissed out brain.

The time has come to fold.

“Yeah…”

The chaos spreads the room as Gallagher shifts again. Mickey’s pulse races, relying on sound and vibration to track his movements.

“I just need to know one thing.”

Mickey peeks, curious, then breathless at their newfound proximity.

They lock in eye to eye as Gallagher rips them apart:

“Do I make it through?”

🔮💨

The realization that his silence has been interpreted as some kind of personal tragedy makes Mickey want to punch something.

Hard.

Jesus Christ, it breaks his heart.

With fated versions of them swimming around his psyche, Mickey lets himself wonder if Gallagher might feel the way he does—worries he’s too broken, too disenfranchised, too fucked for life for anyone to be insane enough to love him.

He can almost hear their future selves asking, do you still love me even though I’m flawed? Can almost hear their whispered answers, yes, yes, always yes.

“Yeah, man,” he assures. “You do.”

🔮💨

The relief is clear as day for both the out-of-his-depth diviner and his confused client.

“Thanks,” Gallagher sniffs, eyes wide and wet. Everything feels fragile, like spun glass and cotton candy. Past their prime dandelions when a summer breeze kicks up. Not at all the way Mickey likes to feel—in his place of business, his own fucking home, his body… “See you next time?”

There is no next time with what Mickey now knows. Only half-truths and keeping his story straight.

Gallagher turns.

If you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything.

“Don’t—”

🔮💨

There’s an old poem about hollow men. Stuffed men. Men without sight; shape without form. Line after line of war and faith and shadows. Mickey’s not sure why he knows it. Doesn’t fully understand how it’s come to live in his brain and his bones. But here it is now:

This is the way the world ends.

Gallagher turns, his gaze a challenge. “Don’t what?”

This is the way the world ends.

“Just…”

This is the way the world ends.

Mickey’s breath catches in his throat.

Not with a bang but a whimper.

Gallagher’s lips twitch, but he stays put.

🔮💨

Maybe if those empty men were born in a different time, to other people, and raised under disparate circumstances, they would’ve been able to muster the courage to scream. To cry out their wants. Give voice to their needs.

(Could a couple of doped-up visions really create a need?)

As Gallagher continues to wait—not patiently, per se, but it’s perseverance nonetheless—it dawns on Mickey while he might have been born a worthless man, he doesn’t have to carry on that way.

His situation ain’t what it used to be.

“Can’t tell you what I saw,” he manages.

🔮💨

Gallagher’s hands flex at his sides, and it’s like Mickey’s noticing them for the first time. He ogles at how big they are, how speckled, how good they’d felt around his own hands in that last vision, how much he wants to feel them around his waist, his throat, his dick…

Flushed, and desperate to end this fucked up double date they’re on with their future selves, Mickey looks down at the soiled carpet.

“But I’m alive?” Gallagher asks.

“Very,” Mickey confirms, eyes lifting again. “Look happy.”

Gallagher’s grin sends sunlight streaming through a house once destined for eternal darkness.

🔮💨

“Thanks Mick.”

The nickname zigzags its way beneath Mickey’s skin like he’s a human pinball machine.

“Betcha I can still beat you back, Mick,” echoes an Ian who’s yet to be made real.

Mickey rubs at his bottom lip, hiding the smile that’s threatening to slip. Tries to play it off as a grimace. But Gallagher sees him—really sees him—and beams. A dream, how his smile implies that he’ll wait for Mickey to get there too.

And he will.

Mickey’s seen it.

Which gives him the confidence to say, “Come back. Next week. Or whenever. Try this again.”

🔮💨

The Universe takes “whenever” seriously, and in the days that follow, seizes full control of Mickey’s highs:

A broad chest pressed to his back. Arms wrapped around his neck.“Love is a battlefield!” Hoarse throats. Wide smiles. Two hearts near bursting.

Full-bodied wine. Pasta sauce on the stove. Tight jeans. Tighter tank. “You look good enough to eat, Mr. Milkovich.” “Bon appetite, Mr. Gallagher.”

“I love you, baby.” “Love you, Ian.”

Having waited the full week, Ian finally arrives on the Milkovich steps, dressed down in a striped shirt that makes Mickey’s mouth dry.

He hopes it’s cotton mouth…

✺ | ✺ | ✺ | ✺ | ✺ | ✺ | ✺ | ✺ | ✺

🔮💨 CHAPTER TWO 🔮💨

✺ | ✺ | ✺ | ✺ | ✺ | ✺ | ✺ | ✺ | ✺

Ian’s knuckles pulse from the pert pace at which he raps on the Milkovich door.

It’s torture to just stand there and wait, held captive and stripped bare, nerves torn to pieces and praying for a little compassion.

He hopes Mickey’s home. They never confirmed his appointment. Ian’s just going off of his final words—Come back. Next week. Or whenever. Try this again.—before he turned away to find another cigarette.

Ian’s watched the entirety of their last encounter on a loop ever since, like a fucked up foreign film. No subtitles, just mixed (smoke) signals, confusion, and Mickey.

🔮💨

His whole experience with Mickey Milkovich, Southside’s Supreme Stoner Psychic, has been baffling to say the least.

At first, Ian wasn’t buying it. It’s gotta be some kind of scam! But Mickey’s built a solid reputation for being accurate and to the point. Besides, Ian’s always had a little bit of a crush. A death wish, too. So he paid Mickey his money and left with some fragments of his fated future.

He also left with a hunch that his feelings might not be so one-sided... Mickey didn’t hand over a Valentine’s card, but Ian saw the way he’d stared.

🔮💨

He’s still picturing it when Mickey swings open the door and crosses his arms over his chest, tugging at the buttons of his black dress shirt.

Okay, formal, Ian thinks, taking in Mickey’s slicked back hair and the smoke of his cologne.

Ian regrets his tee and jeans, missing the authority and confidence of his uniform. But Mickey doesn’t seem to mind—there’s hunger in his gaze again, twin storm clouds rolling in over a calm sea.

For a moment, they both look their fill.

Ian opens his mouth to speak, but fails.

Mickey smirks. “Comin’ in or what, Mushmouth?”

🔮💨

He steps back, giving Ian space to cross over the threshold; inviting him to close the distance between them, and commit to finding out what comes next.

Ian obeys every silent order. His feet move of their own volition, as if they’re attached to a ratchet wrench that pulls him forward in one direction, and one direction only: towards Mickey.

The electric current that runs between them had felt innocent enough last week, and then again, today, in the fresh air of the porch.

But when Mickey shuts the door to behind them, Ian realizes he’s caught in a trap.

🔮💨

The house smells different. Good, even? Like something's cooking in an oven that hasn’t been used in years. It’s familiar in a way that tickles at Ian’s memory and further drops his defenses.

Mickey doesn’t mention it. He just brushes past Ian, leading them towards the room he’s been using for business.

On the table, next to Mickey’s bong, is a platter of pizza rolls. Ian’s mouth waters.

Mickey thumbs at his nose. “You’ve lost your way, you think your life is wrecked,” he says, taking his seat. “Well, let me just say you're correct.”

Ian blinks twice. “Wait, what?”

🔮💨

Mickey’s eerie silence pulls the moisture from his mouth until he’s nothing more than a shriveled sack of dust. A tumbleweed in the desert, crawling towards an oasis that might not be real.

What Ian wouldn’t give for Mickey to pick up his piece and press his worries into the earth; bury them in the plush of ground weed. He wants to watch the water swirl beneath colored glass, wants to watch the fire turn into steam and smoke. Needs to see the air fill Mickey’s chest, raise his shoulders and bloat his lungs.

Finally:

“I know your secret, Gallagher.”

🔮💨

Ian’s heart kicks in his chest, a jolt of fear spiking through him, and his head swims. It’s like he’s back inside the dark theatre he’d been in all week. Mickey’s words are nothing but unfamiliar sounds.

If he’s gonna go to the movies, he might as well get a snack.

He grabs a pizza roll from the plate in front of him and pops it in his mouth. But when he bites down, the inevitable happens.

“Fuck,” he garbles, the sauce piping hot and burning his mouth.

Ian doubles over, in pain and embarrassed. He really should’ve known better.

🔮💨

“Jesus Christ,” Mickey huffs, standing up and leaving the room.

Ian opens his inferno of a mouth, hoping the air of the room will cool down the masticated snack. Thankfully, by the time he hears the familiar sound of a beer cap being popped off, he’s able to swallow.

Mickey returns, bottle in hand. He offers it to Ian. “S’all we got.”

Ian takes it, grateful as the icy liquid chills his charred throat. “All you got, huh? Even juvie’s got jello.”

“What d’you know about juvie, Gallagher?”

Mickey’s squint makes Ian’s chest constrict.

“What d’you know about me, Milkovich?”

#we love a master post moment!#updates weekly babes 🔮💨#crystal ball weed bong mickey ily #bright eyed bootlicker ian you are so precious #shameless #shameless fanfiction #galladrabbles #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey #bee writes 🐝 ✍🏼

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wh0lemilk0vich · 5 months

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58 and 67 ???

It was definitely 58 and 67, thank you I just can't remember who asked! It wasn't an anon. It might have been gallavichprompts but I just don't remember haha

For @gallavichprompts Gallavich Au mashup post

58. Clothes Sharing + 67. Casual Intimacy/Physical Comfort

Mickey was not having a good day.

Ian could tell. He always got like this when Yev had to go back to his Mom's place. He knew shared custody was the best arrangement for their fucked up little family unit, but it didn't make it hurt any less when Svet came to take his Yevy away.

'Yevsmas' was Ian's idea. Since Svet got Yev for Gregorian Christmas, New Year's, and Orthodox Christmas, they made their week with Yevgeny all about him. Presents every day, banana pancakes with chocolate chips for breakfast, his favorite snacks, movie marathons with Papa and Daddy Ian. It wasn't long before Mickey was in the driver's seat though. No one looked forward to 'Yevsmas' more than Mickey.

And nobody was more upset than Mickey when it was over.

Ian was waiting for his husband in bed, doing his best to enjoy the book Mickey had gotten him. The deductive brilliance of Hercules Poirot just couldn't keep his attention as Mickey's pre-bed shower stretched on.

He worried at his lip, eyes flitting from the page to the bathroom door- was that? No, just a shampoo bottle falling and a faint swear.

Eventually, Ian heard the spray stop and he took the time he knew Mickey would need to dry off and put on pajamas to look as natural as possible, and not like he'd had his eyes glued to the bathroom for the last hour and a half.

The bathroom door opened with a practical hiss as steam flooded into their bedroom (Mickey liked it cold). Backlit by the lights, Mickey, eyes still just a little puffy and red, padded over to toss his good clothes in the hamper.

Ian watched rapt. Mickey's hair looked tousled and a little damp, but he looked so fucking pretty, rosy and soft and warm. Equal parts teddy bear and porcelain doll.

He was wearing Ian's clothes. He could tell at a glance just based on the fit; long sleeves of the henley bunched up to his elbows, and caressing every buttery soft curve of his body. The softest, creamiest part of Mickey's belly, his precious dimpled overhang was just barely peeking out under the hem of his borrowed shirt.

If Ian wasn't already vibrating with desire from that salacious view, he certainly was seeing Mickey bend over in his boxers. Jesus fuck were they snug. The red, buffalo plaid fabric hugged each plump, juicy cheek of Mickey's peach like it was manufactured for that sole purpose. It was like a pair of giftwrapped honey baked hams. And God, Mickey's thighs... Ian was salivating.

"Nice outfit," Ian said, voice low. His hands found their home on Mickey's hips, digging into his softness and tugging the sturdy man back firmly against him. "Looks familiar," he said, caressing the swell of Mickey's tummy, snaking a hand up his shirt to play with a pert little tit, and leaning down to nuzzle into the downy softness of the crook of his neck.

"Like I don't catch you in my shit all the time," Mickey shot back.

Ian didn't say anything. He just pulled Mickey back to the bed and sat down. Somehow, Mickey thought, Ian found a way to look tall and imperious even when he was sitting. Again he tugged Mickey impossibly closer, strong, freckled arms wrapping around him at the small of his back.

Ian leaned in, dragging his cheeks across-trying to bury his face in the soft worn cotton of his borrowed shirt and the warm, wobbling softness of Mickey's tits and belly. He nipped and teased at Mickey's body through the fabric, coaxing delicious whiny moans out of Mickey. "shit...fuck, Red! Don't stop..." he panted.

Ian didn't stop. He slowly shucked Mickey out of his clothes. He paid special, lazy, languid attention to Mickey's fat, little cock. Mickey slung his arms over Ian's shoulders, trying to keep his footing, going along with the attention.

Ian kept mouthing, nipping, kissing sucking at Mickey's body, his hand still pumping in time with Mickey thrusting into his fist. Fuck it was hot the way he unwound at the barest attention. Ian loved lavishing him, overstimulating, hard and fast, but he loved lazy blowies and handies just as much.

"You're so fucking good, Mick."

"Ian..."

"I mean it, so good. I'm so proud of you."

Mickey twitched in his fist. Ian kept stroking, his free hand rubbing the side of Mickey's soft belly, mouth teasing a puffy, pink nipple.

Ian kept showering Mickey with loving works and hot laving kisses, over his chest, down his belly, sucking a hickey into the under part of his tummy, and finally swallowing him down, nestling his nose into the soft little pad above Mickey's cock.

Mickey gasped, toes curling as he buried his fingers into Ian's curly red hair, desperate to balance himself.

Ian's hands slid up Mickey's sturdy thighs, meeting the crease where his husband's ample rump rounded out behind him. Ian moaned around mickey's cock as he followed the swell of Mickey's big peachy bubble, gripping them ostensibly for extra leverage, to pull him deeper into the heat of his mouth, but just as much to play with. To bounce and squeeze and worship and marvel at.

"Ian. Fuck. Close." Mickey whined so pretty, undone.

Ian teased a finger at Mickey's entrance. He knew Mickey loved to be filled up, but he figured a few of his long fingers would do in a pinch, crooking inside Mickey's soft, tight heat, searching for the perfect spot.

Ian knew he found it when Mickey's belly hitched, and he shouted as he spilled over into Ian's receptive mouth. He swallowed Mickey down gratefully, letting him ride out his orgasm smother him in cushiony soft warmth.

Mickey's grip went slack in Ian's hair. Ian smiled up softly at his husband, and gave him a few more light kisses to his hip joint, his belly. He helped Mickey get back into his pj's and pulled him into bed and a tight, octopus-like embrace.

"Should wear your shit more often, I guess," Mickey chuckled, still glowing.

"Mmmm please!" Ian begged playfully, nose in Mickey's hair. He continued after a beat, "Yev's lucky to have you as a dad. I'm so proud of you Mickey."

Ian didn't get a response, was Mickey asleep?

"Mick?"

"Yeah," came the soft response, with a poorly hidden sniffle. "Yeah, thanks, Red."

#misha speaks #gallavich au #Gallavich au mashup #casual intimacy #Clothes Sharing #chubby mickey milkovich

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jinx-on-mars-19xx · 8 months

Text

The Devil's Trap

Not Natural

Dom x Colson (Yungblud x Machine Gun Kelly)

Warnings: spn inspired, demons, monsters, curses, blood, possible abo, threats, teasing, insults, demon Kells, sleeping naked, pulling weapons, mentions of past underage relationship, enemies to lovers maybe, still early so no smut yet (might be a slow burn, I don't know yet!) ⚰️ Rating: mature

Kells grinned, his eyes flashing their natural state behind his sunglasses as he appeared in the sunlit broken down motel room. Hell-tell as he liked to think of them, a place frequented by the seven deadly sins. From whores, to dealers, to killers, to his new prey- the hunter, these places were barely better than his home. This one didn't feel so bad when he looked at the annoyingly brave boy who had been on his mind all night. He didn't know if it was the fresh blood scent on his skin from his new wounds or the way the sunlight reflected on his pale freckled skin, there was something almost calming about the kid and it got on his last nerve. Humans weren't supposed to intrigue him anymore.

He set the food and coffee cup down on the faded table and took a seat in one of the ratty chairs. He let himself spread out, his legs wide and his arms folded, he liked to appear as if he owned every room he was in- because he could. "I've never seen a hunter brave enough to sleep naked. You're a special one Domie." He teased the boy quietly but of course the soldier was attuned to everything around him. Before the demon could blink his eyes to their human lie the Brit was holding a knife out towards him. That was the truly insane thing about Dominic, he rarely used guns. It fascinated the demon more than he could say though he wasn't sure why. He'd lived through centuries, he'd been around before the damn things existed. Why was this punk so exciting?

"Oh bloody f-" Whatever else the boy said was muffled as he buried his face into his pillow and groaned. Loudly. The beast couldn't help but chuckle, he wasn't used to being an annoyance anymore. Everyone was so fucking terrified of him all the time.

"Good morning sunshine! I let you sleep in but I know you're feeling better. Here, I brought you breakfast." He offered, tossing the bag onto Dom's back.

The human grumbled and jumped when the hot greasy bag slapped against his skin but the monster was right- he felt a lot better. He was confused but for the first time in years he actually truly felt rested and he didn't want to look too closely at why. Possibly the blood taste he couldn't get clean from his mouth no matter how hard he brushed, or maybe because deep down he'd known he was being watched over and he was safe to sleep. Finally. "I don't normally drink coffee." He sighed, rolling on his side. He caught the bag with what should have been his aching arm but it felt better than it had in so long.

"You're welcome, that would be me in you. And that's good cause I didn't get you coffee. Yorkshire shit, right? I popped across the pond. Figured I'd prove I got good intentions."

Dom snorted at the mock of his accent in the man's- monster's voice but his belly flipped as he rolled onto his back and tried to keep the sheet covering his morning wood. That's all it was, a normal bodily function. It had nothing to do with the crimson mickey he'd been slipped or the giant fucker in his room who brought him tea from his homeland. As he accepted the cup the demon's long fingers ghosted over his knuckles and a shockwave went through him. Little electric zaps that felt as if he'd touched a live wire. It sent his blood rushing and he cock twitching under the thin sheet. He felt wet. He'd felt power before but nothing like that. Shit the monster was strong. "Fanks."

"Don't mention it." Kells sighed, pushing his glasses down a moment to glare over them. "Seriously don't. I don't do nice, I just hoped with the right lubricant you'd loosen the fuck up a little. Tight ass." He didn't mean to be annoyed but knowing the kid thought everything he felt was from the blood or magic was a bit presumptuous of him. He was already frustrated with himself- he didn't like doing sweet things. "Chilly in here?" He purred, his brow arching behind his lenses. He couldn't help noticing the boy's perky pink nipples looked diamond hard and begging for his fucking teeth. He found himself pushing his spectacles up into his hair before he crossed his arms to keep from trying to reach out.

Dom's brows furrowed, he wasn't sure what part of him the bastard was staring at but his dick certainly wasn't small enough to prove a chill. Wait… why the hell did he care? He shook his head, trying to clear it from whatever was making him act strangely. He definitely wasn't attracted to the literal hell beast. He couldn't be. He refused. He huffed softly and opened the offered bag of trans fats and sodium. Kells brought him tea from home but the breakfast was all American and the cheesy maple goodness of a McGriddle was exactly what he needed. It wasn't distracting his hard-on but he didn't care. "Stop objectifying me." The boy grumbled as he unwrapped his treat and raised his knee, hoping to keep his bits hidden from view. He knew it was most likely the supernatural upper coursing through him, True Blood had gotten one thing right, just not the species. Though of course he hadn't tried vamp blood. Demon blood could make you feel better than any high but it worked stronger than any little blue pill. That was all, he wasn't attracted to the monster. He'd never do that again.

"Eat your fucking breakfast. I'll do what I want. And who said I would want to objectify you?" The monster rolled his eyes in a big show of frustration but the bitch was onto something. It was more like a spider staring at a fly though, it had to be. He didn't like humans.

"You was talking bout me tits." Dom slurred, his mouth full of food. He hadn't exactly been taught the best manners growing up and he wouldn't care to impress his new companion anyway.

"Pfft, what tits? I mean, I guess you have nice ones but-" Whatever he was going to finish the statement with vanished as he clamped his jaw shut. He didn't mean to compliment his prey. He sighed deep and leaned back in his chair, resting his feet on the bed and trying to act like he would nap. He needed a moment to compose himself.

Dominic was so wrapped up in his food he wasn't paying enough attention so when the man- beast set his Doc covered feet on the bed it pulled the blankets down to his knees. Suddenly everything was on display and he moved to slam his thighs closed and pull his knees up so fast all at the same moment that he dropped the last bit of his sandwich on his chest. The demon of course had been staring and now he was truly looking- his lips parted and his eyes wide. They sat almost frozen.

Kells snapped his fingers to clean the boy up but he couldn't look away from his tightly held legs. He couldn't have seen what he had but… he couldn't get the mental after image to disappear either. His eyes narrowed, a bead of drool trying to escape his lips as the kid scrambled to pull the sheet up as if in some old cartoon. The hunter was dramatic but he was starting to understand why.

Dom swallowed a whimper when the demon moved quicker than his eyes could track, one moment he was lounging in the chair and the next he was hovering over him, his hand wrapped tight in the sheet as if to rip it away. "I thought you were human." Kells growled low, his gaze full of that stormy black and blue that proved his power.

"I am. Fuck off." He snapped back but his voice was shaking. He hid his curse so well normally and now it was known. He didn't know why it made his stomach flip that the demon knew his best kept secret but it should have made him feel ill.

"I don't think so."

"I am. I… fuck Kells- please?"

"Please what?" His voice was gravel and his gaze heavy. There was something warring inside him. One side saying to abandon the boy, he had set out to help a human but what he saw proved the hunter was not. "Are you a fucking were? An angel? What are you?"

"I'm cursed okay? I'm fucking cursed. You don't get me bloody life story because you brought me breakfast. Prideful arse'ole!" There were angry hot tears burning Dom's eyes and he was desperate for a reset. He should have just dressed the night before, he knew the demon was close. He knew better but he'd left himself open to being found out. He couldn't help wondering if some part of him had done it on purpose. He'd been suffering alone with it so long. "Wait- angels? It's an angel fing? 'Ow do you know?"

Of course over the years on the road as he searched for the monster who'd cursed him he learned what beasts shared the same trait. Born werewolves had it- at least some of them. But angels did too? Thankfully those fuckers were calmer than he knew they used to be, a new regime kept them under control so he'd never fought one. He'd always assumed his affliction was based on wolves though, but now he couldn't help wondering. It didn't matter though. It was embarrassing either way and he didn't want anyone knowing. He didn't know how to handle the fact that someone did. How could Kells use it against him?

Kells took a breath, he was trying to calm down but instead it just drove his instincts a little more wild. He was so close to the human he could scent him and the smell was intoxicating. At least that made a little more sense finally. He forced himself back and he took a seat on the bed, his hands clenching at his sides. "A curse? You're not just… lying?" He knew their shared enemy was powerful but strong enough to do that? Fuck. "Why would they curse you to be an omega?"

Dom froze at the question, he'd never been given the name for it. All he knew was that one day he woke up with a cunt between his legs, fully functional. It was hell for him every day. He hadn't been in a relationship or took someone to bed in years. He worked his ass off to hide it. "It was a punishment for leaving I guess. Got into a relationship wiv the wrong person. I was young Kells. I don't know shite about why or 'ow or nuffin." He didn't know why he was explaining himself to the beast, he just couldn't seem to help himself. There was something about the demon that made him want to obey. It was the cliff notes version of events, the wanker didn't deserve more of his story. Yet. He didn't know why it hurt him that the bastard almost seemed disgusted by him now.

The demon sighed, he could feel the boy's pain and confusion and he knew he was partially the cause. He didn't mean to seem standoffish but he didn't know how to control himself around the kid. At least now he knew what was drawing him in. The monster who did that was fucked and he craved even more to destroy it. Dating minors and cursing them to a life like that just gave the rest of them a bad name. There were some lines even demons shouldn't cross. The human couldn't be more than a quarter of a century so he knew he must have barely been through puberty before it happened. Fuck he had to get control of himself. "Like I said, I'm here to help. We'll find him Dom. I can help you fix this." He vowed, trying to look the boy in the eyes instead of between his legs.

Dom's heart beat faster and he found himself nodding. He hated the idea of working with evil but… There was something about Kells. He felt himself relax a little and he took a sip of the cooling tea. He didn't think he could accept the offer out loud but he could at least keep from telling him 'no'. "Would you tell me about it? Omegas I mean. You seem to know." He shrugged, his voice softer than he normally spoke.

The demon sighed, his head tilting as he watched the human drink what he brought to him. Why did taking care of the kid make him feel so good? "I'm not supposed to." He answered after a moment but it was the truth. No human was meant to know about the angels, at least those were the old rules. He supposed it might be different. What he really wanted to do was far from talking. Maybe he should just disappear for a while.

"Please? I wanna know wha's wrong wiv me." Dom never asked nicely and he supposed he could treat Kells the same as any other demon but he wasn't sure he could get him in a devil's trap easily.

"Nothing is wrong with you." The beast accidentally whispered and his cheeks felt as hot as the fire of his home.

"Wha'?" Dom choked, his eyes wide from surprise but of course with that the demon vanished, leaving him with cold greasy hash browns, lukewarm tea, a stiff cock, and so much more confusion than he'd started out with. What the fuck was happening?

Author's Note/Tags: @iamnotanearthlingmotherfucker @hollywoodxwhore @jaxbreaker @fenoy7 @cole-way-iero28 🖤

I'm sorry if this isn't up to my normal level of writing, my brother is visiting for a few days and I've been really sick. I wanted to try and get something out though so I hope you enjoy it, at least we're learning a little about them 🖤⚰️

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depressedstressedlemonzest · 1 year

Text

Knight In A Shining Youber Chapter 15

Read From the Beginning HERE

Read Chapter 15: Nothing Brings Brothers Together Like Good Old Fashioned Murder HERE

Ian stubbed out the cigarette into the ashtray and sat up a little more, leaning towards Mickey he whispered, “Hey, you awake?”

“Mmm, I am now.” Mickey murmured, his low rumbly sleepy voice making butterflies in Ian’s belly flutter wildly.

Ian moved gently in the bed, not wanting to jostle Mickey, “Can’t sleep.” His lips quirked up in a smile as he moved closer to Mickey, now able to see his grin as he moved above him, carefully adjusting to where he was over Mickey, leaning down to where his chin was resting on Mickey’s back, holding himself to where he wouldn’t press against Mickey’s injured shoulder.

“Oh you can’t?” Mickey’s voice was teasing as he peeked between his thick lashes at Ian.

Ian grinned, a hand reaching up and tenderly touching Mickey’s side, before swiftly turning him over onto his back, being mindful to not disturb his shoulder, his hands keeping Mickey gently pinned to the bed.

Mickey looked up at Ian, his eyes wide with surprise, his lips tugging into a grin.

“Why? That a problem?” Ian teased, his grin blooming over his face.

“Oh no not at all.” Mickey answered, his eyebrows rising up, almost challenging Ian to do more before quickly slipping a hand free and reaching up, wrapping his arm around Ian’s neck, pulling him down.

Ian laughed as he fell against Mickey’s chest, “C’mon wake up!” Ian giggled as he reached up and gave Mickey gentle pats on the cheek.

“You are goin down carrots.” Mickey huffed through a grin, “C’mere carrots!” He tried to pull Ian back down to his chest.

Ian rolled to the side laughing as Mickey wrapped his arm around him and pulled him close to his chest.

Mickey laughed as Ian easily gave up his upper hand and relaxed against him, nuzzling his face there and inhaling deeply.

“I love how you smell, d’I ever tell you that?” Ian asked sleepily.

“Possibly, but I don’t mind hearing it again freckles.” Mickey murmured, his hand coming up and wrapping around Ian, his thumb brushing against his speckled shoulder.

Ian grinned and pressed a kiss to Mickey’s chest, “I love how you smell.” He murmured, grinning softly.

Ian could feel Mickey’s fingers curling into his hair and he wanted to let his touch drift him back to sleep..

Mickey hummed slightly as he leaned up and pressed his lips to the crown of Ian’s head, Ian shifted slightly and turned to where he was looking up at Mickey from his place on his chest, his chin almost hurting as it dug into his sternum.

“Hi.” Mickey murmured softly, grinning as he tilted his head up slightly, his chin pressing into his chest as his eyes roved over Ian.

Ian’s lips broke into a smile, “Hi.” He whispered back shyly, his copper eyelashes tracing against his dappled cheeks.

For a moment it felt like everything was at peace, the thought almost lulling them both back into a slumber.

“We can stay here forever,” Ian whispered.

Mickey was hit with a wave of heartache, because they couldn’t stay there forever, they had shit they had to do, had to deal with, then, once it was taken care of, then they could stay there forever.

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bravemikhailo · 2 years

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untitled ficlet for day 1 of Gallavich Week 2022: trials and tribulations @gallavichthings

in which Mickey thinks about the past (6x01 through 9x06)

- - -

There’s always a light at the end of the tunnel, they say. Once upon a time, he used to think it was bullshit.

Now, he sometimes thinks about his past, and maybe that stupid cheesy phrase isn’t so wrong after all.

Sometimes he thinks about prison, the memory so vivid that it makes bile rise up his throat, his first stint the darkest period of his life.

He remembers the constant gloom and heavy shadow hanging over him, an invisible monster clawing at his throat, squeezing until he couldn’t breathe. Eyes wet and stinging, nose burning.

The devastating feeling that this was going to be it for him almost unbearable.

Freckles fading from his memory with each passing day, green eyes etched forever in his memory but so far away, unfocused, wavering.

You don’t owe me anything, he had said.

He owes him everything. Fucking everything.

Freckles coming back to him under the bleachers. Shock on his face. Anger. Then sadness, maybe.

An emt uniform. New job, new life. No more space for him in it.

It doesn’t stop him from asking. It never will. Not when it comes to him. He’ll never cease reaching for him, it doesn’t matter how hard it gets. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t fit anymore. If he never did.

Then there’s hunger, passion, big hands on his hips and it’s like coming up for air after months of drowning. A glimmer of light after being trapped in the dark for so long.

He says yes, and he gets in the car, and for once he decides to ignore that voice in the back of his mind, telling him that good things, beautiful things like Ian weren’t meant for someone like him.

He ignores it, maybe for the first time in his life. He gives in. He gives in to the promise of afternoons spent under the sun, pale skin turning bright red, sandals and tequila. No more cold. Just warmth, warmth, warmth. Warmth all over. Ian. For the rest of his life.

He gives in and it all comes crumbling down, in the end. And it stings, more than anything ever has. Something shatters inside of him and he knows in that moment he’s never going to be whole again.

Freckles drifting away from him in that rearview mirror, further and further away until he can’t reach them anymore and he has to stop. He has to stop and pull over and let it out, let it all out.

Forehead pressed against the steering wheeling, he lets it out, pouring out his heart in a stolen car, in a place he doesn’t know, the void on the passenger seat making his body spasm like it never happened before.

He doesn’t know for how long he cries. Minutes, hours, days. Maybe he never stops.

A heavy rock settles in his belly and pulls, pulls, pulls. Pulls him under until he can’t feel anything anymore.

The tears eventually stop. No more chocking on desperate sobs after one too many shots of tequila.

The freckles start fading again, Ian’s voice growing feebler and weaker with each passing day.

I love you.

He doesn’t know if he believes it anymore. He didn’t get in the fucking car, in the end.

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that his heart is shattered, it doesn’t matter that he’s alone.

He’ll always love him. He never learnt how not to. He doesn’t think it’s possible not to.

But maybe there’s still hope for him. It materializes in the form of a shirt, the face of the man he loves, the only man able to break his heart and pick up the pieces. Put them back in place.

He can’t fight the force pulling him in, a blinding light guiding him home, right where he belongs. In Ian’s arms. Nothing’s ever been clearer than this.

Finally free, even with bars caging him in.

#this is kind of all over the place but I don’t hate it #GW2022 #*things i wrote #queueing this so I don’t forget

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gardenerian · 2 years

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I looooove thinking about how soft Ian and Mickey are going to get. Sure they’ve always been deep down; and maybe they’ll never be that over the top couple who has Cupid arrows flying out from them but i love to think of them just becoming normal, settled. Not in a boring way, just a natural calming way. Like I think Mickey will just be a guy who loves kisses Ians cheeks all the time. I see Ian growing to use “babe” Both of them holding hands walking in the store. Casual stuff like this.

oh my god. oh my god yeah 😭 settled! that's a lovely way to put it. not boring, like you said but - at ease, safe, fulfilled! they can exist comfortably together and show each other affection like they've always wanted to 😭 i kinda love the idea of them trying out different pet names or little displays of affection.... holding hands, a lil cheek pinch (face and/or ass), head scritches, neck kisses, nose boops, belly tickles.... oh god belly tickles 🥺 babe, honey, freckle face, sugar lips, etc etc etc like i just LOVE the idea of them having the freedom to play around with their affection! touches and nicknames that make them giggle or sigh or melt with love, ones that make them feel so comforted, ones that get them immediately horny sdkjfh like YES anon i love this too!

#anon i am hugging you right now #i love this topic so much like gaaaHHH #i am such a sucker for honey as a pet name #when i think of one of them using it i fully combust #although i also think i suggested cookie puss once askdjf i stand by that #mickey would totally say that lmaooo #mel answers

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you-show-me-love · 2 years

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Gallavich Kinktober 2022 Day 15 - unusual sex positions X “Did you dress up just for me?”

For @gallavichthings and trying something new

Read on Ao3 or below the cut

Mickey was getting absolutely railed by his husband. Like face down, ass up, drooling into the pillow railed. He was very much head empty, absorbed in the waves of good feeling stemming from his husband's long, skillful dick pounding his prostate.

"Wanna try somethin' new?" Ian panted from behind him.

His words didn't permeate Mickey's lust laden head for a solid minute but when they did the raven haired man raised his head and looked behind him.

"This not doin' it for ya?" He challenged, his grumpy disposition returning quickly.

Ian rubbed his massive, heated hand over Mickey's lower back, his hips doing less railing and more maintaining of the current arousal level.

"You know it is, Mick. I've just been wanting to try something new with you."

Mickey's dick may be hard but his heart was soft for Ian Gallagher. He got up on his arms and pulled himself off of Ian's cock, already missing the feel of it inside him. Once free he flipped over and looked his husband in the eyes.

"What are we tryin'?"

Ian smiled as he got up off the bed, rubbing his hands together eagerly like the giant dork he was. Mickey leaned back to wait for instruction but ended up being dragged to the edge of the bed and bent in half.

"What the fuck!?"

His knees were by his ears, pinned there by Ian's shoulders while his arms creeped behind Mickey's back. The smaller man could only brace himself as he was lifted off the bed. Ian shuffled around a bit, the head of his cock rubbing along Mickey's backside until it found its mark.

Then Ian was lowering Mickey down onto his cock.

"Holy shit!" Was all Mickey could say as Ian took his entire weight and used Mickey's prone, immobile body as a human sized fleshlight. Mickey had never felt more like a fuck toy in his life.

"Been lifting. Exactly your weight. For months. For this." Ian told him, breath controlled like Mickey was just another weight he was lifting in the gym.

"How long can you do this for?"

It wasn't the time for this conversation but seeing as Ian just thrust him, literally, into this situation he was still trying to catch up.

Just then Ian bent forward, dropping Mickey back onto the mattress before falling heavily on top of him

"That long."

Mickey gave the redhead a minute to recover before he pushed his husband off of him and onto his back. They were both still hard and Mickey was real bitchy when he had blue balls. He straddled Ian, sinking back down onto his cock and moving his hips back and forth in a grinding motion that always made Ian's eyes cross. The tried and true position brought them back to their peak.

"Gonna cum." Ian whined. Mickey grabbed his hand and brought it to his own hard dick. Ian took it unthinkingly, wrist twisting up and down Mickey's cock. Mickey leaned back, gripping just above Ian's knobby knees, rolling his hips until his lower belly burned with exertion and his impending orgasm.

Ian came first, filling Mickey up until he couldn't contain it and gravity sending rivulets of semen back down the man's cock, pooling at the base. So lost in his own orgasm Ian's hand stilled on his husband's and Mickey had to knock it away to finish himself, cum shooting onto Ian's chest second later. He exhaled in relief.

"Aww." Mickey taunted, running two fingers through the ropes of cum he had created.

“Did you dress up just for me?”

Ian gave him a lazy smile and a gentle slap on the ass.

Mickey dismounted, the cum that hadn't escaped before now leaking from his hole. He collapsed on the bed next to Ian, turning his head to look at him. Green eyes were hidden behind freckled lids and the ghost of a smile graced his lips. Mickey loved him.

"Did you like it?" Ian eventually asked, as they simmered in their post-coital bliss.

"Fuck yeah." Mickey admitted in a breathy chuckle. "Can't believe you've been training to use me as a real doll for months!"

Ian snorted and turned onto his side, flinging an arm over Mickey's waist and nuzzling their noses together before pressing a sweet kiss to Mickey's grin.

"Got a couple other things in the works too." Ian confessed. Green stared back into blue before their lips came together again.

#gallavich #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #shameless #ian x mickey #chaos writes #gallavich fanfic #ao3 #gallavich kinktober 2022

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heymrspatel · 9 months

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can we talk about this real quick? like can we talk about how ian's just lying there looking at his husband in their new space? were they chatting? quiet pillow talk? were they just being quiet and ian was taking it upon himself to fondly observe him? thank you for your time.

ray. you come into my house with this? fully knowing? the effect? it's going? to HAAAVE?! i see how it is...

i think it's a mix of all. i think they're absolutely floating in the afterglow. just taking their time coming down. caressing. quietly talking. taking their time with what they want to say. conversations about anything and nothing. "do you want pancakes tomorrow?" and "we have an easy work day planned" and "i loved how you touched me tonight" and "kiss me" slow, soft. little smooches. little giggles. long stares. easy smiles. heavy sighs. a 'baby' here. a 'big guy' there. i love you, i love you, i love you.

but, i know ian also took his time looking. just going over all those features he already has memorized. mickey's straight nose, his long eyelashes, his eyebrows currently at rest, his freckles. so many! lighter than ian's, but there all the same. his shiny black hair, his ears, his neck - faintly marked - beautiful, collarbone, shoulders, chest, belly, down down down... ian's hands slowly touching everything he's looking at. with his fingers tips, feather soft. mickey all floaty and glowy and warm, accepting it all.

so, yea. i think everything, softly and slowly.

#eepy baby! i'm fully wondering if you're still awake and are going to see this lol but here it goes 🤞🏼#i wont yell at you for dropping this in my lap cause shhhh you're sleepy - maybe tomorrow 💙#but thank you for making me lose it more than i already had upon seeing this gifset. i've seen what god has done for others. i simply ask..#i love YOU! you get my silly words #also i would love for tumblr to stop deleting my ray tags. out of all the things this website has done. this is the worst.#whatthebodygraspsnot #asks #shameless #gallavich #ian x mickey #j ramble drabbles

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jomilky · 2 years

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Ian and Mickey meet at Sex Addicts Anonymous 🥵😳👀

lmfao

They send each other nudity pic (mostly dick pic and butthole pic) every day, sometimes short videos, but they never show each other their face, of course. Then one day Ian’s at the gym he goes to regularly and sees a guy whom he has never seen here before changing clothes in the locker room. He’s shocked bc he recognizes the knuckle tattoos and the little freckle on that guy’s tummy, right next to his belly button.

He just has to walk closer to see if Mickey could recognize him too. And he knows Mickey does, prolly bc of his red hair and the demanding way he looks at him like he wants to fuck him right here right now.

“Hey.” Ian inspects the guy’s face carefully. Neatly slicked back black hair, gorgeous blue eyes and tempting full lips.

“Hey.” Mickey takes a quick glance all over Ian’s half-naked body and licks his lips.

“Wanna fuck?” Ian decides to cut all the smalltalk crap, nodding at the bathroom in the back.

“No, I’m here for a booty call so-” Mickey’s cut off when Ian pins him against the locker behind him. The redhead easily towered over Mickey with his height.

“You’re here to fuck somebody else?”

“Yes.” Mickey licks his lips again. He looks at the tall redhead defiantly, waiting to see what Ian does next.

“Well. You really are a slut, aren’t you? Blow him off,” Ian leans forward and growls, “and blow something else instead.”

#sex addiction au #ask box

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theclandestineclementine · 3 years

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I'm Just going to leave this here

#chaser ian gallagher #fat mickey milkovich #gallavich #Mickey's belly freckle #put to memory #need to use in fiiiics

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whatwouldmickeydo · 2 years

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I would like to hear your tummy thoughts please 🙏🤲

Cc: @gardenerian

“This one’s Freckle Fucker ‘cause he’s in your happy trail.”

Ian laughs loudly, attempting to push his head away as he blows a raspberry right over it.

“You got a name for all my freckles?”

Mickey looks up from where he’d been nuzzling his stomach, eyes slightly red rimmed and droopy after having been in the sun all day. His own freckles are out in force now, lighter than they used to be but after a day spent outside with barely any sunscreen it’s easy to see the ones on the bridge of his nose, the light dusting under his eyes.

They’d collapsed on the bed as soon as they got home, limbs heavy and sun soaked, skin just on the cusp of turning red.

“Nah, just the ones I like the most.” He rubs his face into his belly, pressing a kiss here and there.

“Someone’s feeling sappy today.”

“Fuck off.”

Ian chuckles, reaching down to run a hand through his hair, lifting his head slightly to watch his husband gently tracing patterns on his stomach, the tattoo on his fingers faded with age but still slightly legible.

“Which one’s your favorite?”

He watches as he presses a kiss against a freckle next to his belly button, eyelashes practically tickling his skin.

Blue eyes look at him without warning and he’s struck dumb at the intensity in them, a fresh wave of love running through him at being on the receiving end of that gaze.

“All of ‘em.”

#the way I laughed out loud at receiving both these asks within seconds of each other 😂#have we had enough of tummy content yet?#good here’s some more sappy goodness #gallavich #shameless #gallavich drabble

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gallawitchxx · 2 years

Text

ficlet friday ⛓

this sweet baby is for chrissy of @you-are-so-much-better-than-that , whose love for prison boyfs cemented our beautiful friendship & for cat of @iansfreckles , who's on a lil break, but who's also celebrating a birthday today ✨ cat's bday tropes were angst with getting back together & was a perfect match for chrissy's prompt about reunited prison boyfs talking tattoos.

this one got a bit poetic, but was written with love 🖤

- - - -

Lights out.

Ian wishes there was more light, wants to see him, knows that if they were to move to the top bunk they might be able to take advantage of the small strip of glass that teases the idea of an outside world, but it’s been years and he never thought they’d see each other again and now Mickey’s flushed with the heat of his last orgasm, pliant and smiling and pressed against Ian’s chest, and Ian knows they’re not going anywhere, not even to another bed 3 feet above them.

How could they when they’d just been reunited? When Mickey had surprised him after all this time with his presence, his protection and his fucking love?

Mickey is gorgeous, even in the dark, and Ian runs a hand down his arm, feeling his firm muscles ripple beneath his skin, taken with the hair that now covers him, coarse but fucking sexy, like in their time apart Mickey had become a man.

His body is different now, solid in places where he was once soft, a bit bulky in ways that make Ian want to grab on and throw him around before holding on tight and never letting go.

Both of them are different now. Grown. Hard. Matching jet black hair, for now. New versions to add to their unfolding story of dirty, gangly miscreants turned teenage lovers and fathers; the plot of their unyielding magnetism spanning infirmaries, incarcerations, and now Mickey’s latest role—informant.

Ian’s breath hitches and he wonders if it’s possible to be undone by limbs and hair and disbelief.

The last time they’d been together, there hadn’t been much time to explore. Nothing felt safe. Time wasn’t ever on their side, but especially not then, only making allowances for lusty fucks that made Ian’s every nerve ending surge with pure electricity and his blood sing—the cold, night air nipping at the beads of sweat that pooled in the dimples on his low back, and quickies in the car and on the harsh, desert ground, as they ran for their lives, pausing only to remind themselves of what awaited them on the other side of the border.

An imagined line in the sand that held the keys to their freedom, their togetherness, their only hope for a future.

But now.

Now.

Four walls, a steel door that locks from the outside, and a barely-there polyester bedsheet has Ian feeling like he’s staying at the fucking Ritz.

Locked up, locked down, and yet—

“What’s this say?” Ian asks, his voice small and curious, his fingers ghosting over the black of the reaper that marks lily-white skin.

“Southside Forever,” Mickey answers, his eyes still closed, relying on touch alone for understanding.

Ian hums, tracing the words, his hands light, but certain. “You miss home when you were there or somethin’?”

Mickey opens his eyes then, watching Ian’s movements, the blue of his irises barely visible in the dark. “Or somethin’.”

Freckled fingers make a move, trailing over to the peach fuzz on Mickey’s belly, making his stomach flip and his dick twinge, the tenderness foreign and long forgotten, like a memory or a dream, both buried and now unearthed.

Ian’s eyes are on him, heavy and purposeful, following the path from Mickey’s abdomen to his chest, his fingers pausing to circle the dark areola of his nipple, eliciting a gasp from Mickey's reddened, kiss-bitten lips. Ian chuckles, a breathy huff of something that’s less of a laugh and more of a distraction, a detour before arriving at his intended destination of jagged lines, of devotion etched into fragile dermis.

He slows as he approaches and Mickey flashes to another cell, almost identical to the one they occupy now, and yet another reality entirely, one he would deny if not for the proof that he carries with him.

“Can I?” Ian asks, pulling him back into the present.

Mickey exhales, his body still, but alive, and he nods before he can stop himself.

Ian’s fingers make contact with his own name and the awe on his face makes Mickey think maybe, just maybe, his whole fucked up life has been leading him inevitably to this moment, like somehow every star in the sky was actually conspiring in his favor to bring him here, to this decision, this new sentence, this Ian.

“You kept it.”

“Ink’s kinda permanent, man.”

“Coulda covered it up.”

If only Ian knew how much Mickey had tried for years to cover up his feelings for Ian. Tried and failed to cover his bases and his tracks.

A fool’s errand.

“You gonna cover those fuckin’ tits on your back?”

Ian winces, like he’d been shocked and Mickey instantly regrets his delivery. But he gets it. He’d been shocked to see them while Ian was taking a leak earlier, his yellow jumpsuit tied around his waist and his thin, white tank already stripped off and lying in a puddle on the floor.

A confusing picture and a stark reminder of time lost and choices made independently of one another had left Mickey flooded with upset, hypocrisy be damned.

“It was a miscommunication,” Ian whispers.

“You don’t say.”

“I think,” Ian admits, his hand leaving Mickey’s body to run across his face, smoothing out some of the surprise and the pain. “Hard to know really. Even if I wasn’t manic, everything just hurt so fucking bad. Dunno that it woulda turned out any different.”

“You turn straight or somethin’ since I last saw you?”

“Or somethin’,” Ian echoes sadly. “Was supposed to be a tribute. To Monica.”

Any upset that was still flowing through Mickey’s body is instantly replaced with an ache that permeates his fucking marrow, deep and intrinsic, like there is no separation between what he and Ian both feel. The heaviest anchor dropped in the deepest of oceans.

“When?”

“When we were last…“ he starts, but trails off, leaving Mickey to fill in the rest.

Mickey inches his body closer to Ian’s, as if it were even possible, hoping by some miracle to inhabit the same skin, so they could hold both hurt and comfort in the same shared container, and he presses his lips to Ian’s collarbone, bringing a hand to rest on his waist, pressing the pads of his fingers gently, but firmly into the skin above Ian’s hipbone and rubbing small and soothing circles.

“‘M sorry, Ian,” he offers and means. “Didn’t mean to—“

“It’s okay, Mickey,” Ian whispers, his eyes forgiving. “You didn’t know.”

And there it was.

The Truth.

Their truth.

There was so much they didn’t know.

They’d share, they’d learn, they’d spend hours unraveling what they both went through when they were apart, a sprawling narrative of Mexican towns and drug operations, of queer Southside teens and desperate attempts to save lives, of failed attempts to move forward and tender ironies of what it meant to help.

But tonight, their first in each other’s arms after an eternity, miraculous in ways they were both still piecing together, they allow for words to fall away, replacing them with the wet, hungry slide of lips, the steady waltz of tongues and teeth, and the feverish need to touch and taste and meld to one another.

So much lay before them, so much was still to come, but for the first time, perhaps ever, Ian and Mickey knew they had time.

#run-on sentences are the name of the game this friday!#but sheesh y'all #prison boyfriends my beloveds #chrissy ily!!!#cat ily!!!#everyone reading ily!!!#have the very best weekend!#i'm off to spend a few days in a hot tub with my wife 💘#i can't wait to return & indulge in all that you'll all inevitably create & share in my absence #just maybe don't freak over 7x10 or i'll have the WORST fomo #or do & tag the shit out of me lol #happy friday! happy weekend!#ficlet friday #shameless #shameless fanfiction #ian x mickey

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sluttymickey · 2 years

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DRISH! MY LOVE! i'm here with prompt 45 because your words are wonderful and soft and i love you!

(cc: @ianandmickeygallavich)

Hi my loves 🥺 I hope you like this 🥺

45. Comparing hand sizes, then linking fingers together (from this prompts list!)

“IAAAAN GALLAGHERRRR. C’MERE. C’MEREEE, WHY ARE YOU ALL THE WAY OVER FUCKIN’ THERE!” shouts Mickey from the other side of the bar, his words slurring a bit.

“It’s been Gallagher-Milkovich for about a year now,” Ian smiles and shouts back, making his way towards Mickey.

Mickey gets a soft smile on his face. “Ian Gallagher-Milkovich. C’mere” he whispers, when Ian gets close enough for him to reach a hand out and pull him in by his waist. But it’s still not enough, so he pulls him in even closer, and snakes a hand under his shirt so he can rest his hand there, caressing the soft skin with his thumb.

He hears Lip playfully call out, “Hands to yourself, Mick, there’s kids here!” and replies with a middle finger and “Fuck off, Phillip.”

Ian chuckles next to his ear and he honestly contemplates telling Lip to fuck off a second time just to hear that sound again. Fuck. he’s such a goner, isn’t he?

“You’re drunk.” he hears Ian say.

He looks up from where he was focused on a freckle on Ian’s neck (He’ll suck a mark on it later.), to see that Ian already staring at him with a fond look on his face. And he can’t stop himself from saying, “And you’re fuckin’ beautiful.”

It always blows him away. The way Ian blushes when Mickey tells him things like that. The way his cheeks redden and he gets this soft shy smile on his face that transforms into a grin after a couple seconds. The way he could be fuckin’ sixty or some shit and he’d still get the same thrill when Ian smiles at him like that.

“With your red hair and shit,” he continues, running a gentle hand through the curls he presses kisses onto every single day. “So many goddamn freckles,” his hand moves to cup Ian’s face and caress his cheek. Loves feeling Ian smile against his hand.

“Tall motherfucker,” he says, looking up at him. “Making me feel all protected and shit.” He’s just rambling at this point. You would too, if you had a husband like Ian. Well you actually can’t cause there is only one husband like Ian and that husband is his.

He holds up Ian’s hand, “Like. Fuckin’ look at your hand,” and presses his own against it, feeling a swoop in his belly at how small his hand looks compared to Ian’s.

He links their hands together, relishing in the feeling of Ian’s hand holding his. Leans into Ian’s chest to tuck his head against his neck. Press a soft kiss there. “Make me the happiest I’ve ever been. Best year of my whole goddamn life. Love you.”

Hears Ian sniffle an “I love you too.” and tilts his head to stare up at him. “Sappy motherfucker.” he teases, like the hypocrite he is. Gets a “Shut up.” and a teary smile in return.

Grins. Squeezes Ian’s hand.

“Make me.” he challenges.

#this might be the longest I've written #but i like this 🥺#I've been in ian being loved on by mickey feels lately so yeah have this 🥺#this is inspired by the wedding anniversary promo picture w got where Mickey's face was all tucked in and they were looking SO soft #asks #heymrspatel #ianandmickeygallavich #shameless #gallavich #ian×mickey+hand holding #ficlets #/d

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