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metalheadmickey · 53 seconds

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Adding another to the Polaroid series ! Hope yall enjoy

#ah!#just lovely #gallavich

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metalheadmickey · 40 minutes

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hey bud 💚 how about 18 "it's so hot when you talk like that" if you're feeling it?

"It's so hot when you talk like that." additional tags: hypothetical pregnancy discussion, hypothetical breeding kink, ian's been reading a lot of ABO on the DL

"Can't believe that motherfucker Allen."

Ian closes their apartment door behind them, sealing them away from yet another neighbor interaction. "Makin' Jill carry all those bags when she's - what, thirty weeks pregnant?" He's nosy - don't worry about it.

"Thirty one," Mickey corrects, because he's even nosier. "What a piece of shit."

"Well...least we were there," says Ian, finally able to worm the handle of their plastic CVS bag back down to his hand now that it's not occupied with another family's groceries. "Think they'll make us godparents?"

At the counter, Mickey grimaces. "Ugh. Don't even fuckin' joke about that."

It gets a laugh from Ian - the striking contrast between Jill's produce bags and their CVS bag of lube, condoms, and beef jerky not lost on him in the slightest.

"Better not pull any of that shit on me."

Ian looks up from their spoils. Tries to imagine a world where he'd pull an Allen on his husband. "Never," he says. "I'm a gentleman after all."

"Uh huh..." He can hear Mickey's grin as it trails off into the refrigerator, his head and shoulders blocked by the open door. "Course, for that you'd haveta put a baby in me first."

And oh, the way Ian's sensors go off in his brain... How a little pop of interest licks up his belly... Well that was a thing to fucking say! "Ha ha..." play it cool... "Yeah..."

It's just a stupid, passing comment. They make it to each other sometimes, comfortable in the silliness of it. But that doesn't mean Ian's brain hasn't taken it and molded it into perfect, sexy little shapes for himself.

"You expect me to carry around your pups like that, I expect your ass to cater to me day 'n night..."

Okay...

Ian takes a slow breath in, his nostrils flaring.

He sets the lube down.

Goes with his gut and approaches Mickey from behind, just as he's closing the refrigerator door. Because if he's gonna keep talking about this shit, then Ian's got no choice but to follow his animal instincts, right?

"Oh," he feels Mickey grin as he swoops in to wrap his arms around him, pulling him close against his chest. "That right, big guy?"

And fuck, Ian's just gonna go for it. Just gonna indulge a little, the fantasy of all those stories he's been sneaking in at night playing out right in front of him on this beautiful Sunday afternoon. "It's so hot when you talk like that..."

He murmurs it into Mickey's ear. Finds comfort in being able to hide his face from him, because he's definitely blushing a deep red when Mickey feeds into it - "What...talkin' 'bout you knockin' me up...?" - because of course he does.

And all Ian can do is hum in affirmation, his hold around his husband tightening as he drags his lips down the side of his warm neck, looking for his pulse point. "Mhm..."

Because that's hot...right? Ian laying Mickey out and pumping a nice big load into him? Getting him pregnant? Taking care of him while Mickey carries his child? Yeah, he knows it's not realistic and yeah, he knows it's a little fucked up, but come on... All those stories are kinda onto something.

In the kitchen's golden afternoon light, Mickey presses his ass back into his lap, teasing at the very obvious bulge in Ian's jeans. "Ya know, stud...we could make a baby right now..."

It's got heat and pleasure spreading through Ian's lap - up through his chest. Holy fuck. "Yeah...?" He fucking loves this man. "Want me to getchya pregnant, baby?"

"Mhm... Want ya to stick this big ol' cock in me and knot me up..."

And Ian is so blindly horny that it almost slips past him. He's so ready to haul Mickey into their bedroom and crack open the new lube but then he-... Wait a minute... He just said-...

Ian grows still behind him, embarrassment waiting in the wings as he carefully asks it. "How do you know that word...?"

"What... Knot...?" He can't see Mickey's face, but god damn he can hear the smirk on his lips. "Same reason I know your phone password..."

And oh... Ohhh boy, should Ian be having a crisis?

No. No, he doesn't think so. Because even with his search history fresh in mind, Mickey's playing along - feeding right into it, with another press of his ass into his lap and then a teasing brow raise as he starts for their bedroom.

"C'mon you alpha freak - come put a baby in me."

Ian stands for a second, at a loss for words in the middle of their kitchen.

But then they kick right in again - his animal instincts - and he's hot on Mickey's tail.

Fuck, he loves this man. He'll carry a thousand fucking grocery bags for him.

[ send me a smutty one-liner ]

#HOLY SHIT #no ray you're absolutely right. ian would be into this #so many things i could say right now about the sheer overwhelming power of my breeding kink and what's happening in my brain #but i will respectfully be quiet and not gross #but yeah wow i need to go #this is so hot oh my fucking god #gallavich #edit: i fully forgot i sent this to you so you CAN IMAGINE MY SURPRISE-

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metalheadmickey · 3 hours

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for the kiss list!! i'd love to see u write #20 (...on a scar)

Send me a number and I’ll write a gallavich kiss 👄

20. - - on a scar (watch me turn this into multiple kisses on multiple scars while ian worships mickey's body)

There's a scar on Mickey's pinky toe. He told you it was from Iggy dropping a knife in the kitchen when they were kids and it landing on Mickey's toe. But then he nudged you in the ribs with his toes and asked why the fuck you were staring at his feet, fuckin' weirdo.

You think he's fucking lucky he's still got all his damn toes.

And you weren't staring.

But sometimes you do.

Sometimes when you're going slow and making Mickey fucking wait for it, you subtly inspect all of his scars, paying extra attention to the ones you can guess came about violently. And when he lets you, when he's so blissed out that he either doesn't realise or doesn't mind, you pay reverence to them with your lips and your tongue and your teeth and your hands. You treat them - and him - the way he should have always been treated.

Like the one on his ribs that was an almost-stab wound his first time in prison. That story fucking broke you, and every time you get the chance to pepper tiny kisses over it without him complaining about you being a sap, or wriggling because it's ticklish, you fucking do it. You kiss, gentle and loving, because you weren't there and it's all you can do now.

There's another on the back of his thigh. He still hasn't told you how that one came about, but you like to press your thumb into it when you fuck, while you're holding him open, hands spread over his thighs. You don't think he notices.

And then there's the other one on his other thigh. It still causes his issues when it's really cold out, but you've found that your hot mouth sucking at it is a surefire way to get him to moan like he's fucking gagging for it,

The faint scars on his ass from his other gunshot get attention, too. Sometimes little pecks or nips before you eat him out, sometimes you watch them go from white to red to white again when you grasp his cheeks in your hands and spread him wide.

There's a tiny one on his cheekbone and one hidden in his eyebrow that you know both came from Terry, from the night Mickey came out. Sometimes - when you're fucking real slow, basking in that in-out drag of being inside Mickey, inhaling every breath that comes out of his mouth and holding his gaze; when your forearm rests next to his head and your hand holds his leg at your waist, his own fingers digging into your back as he tries to pull you closer; when he stares into your eyes and lets out the smallest of sighs, sighs that you breath in and never want to release - sometimes you kiss those scars. Brushes of your lips that are so barely there, but mean everything because you're still so fucking proud of him.

But then there are the others. A faded cigarette burn on his knee. A dent in his shoulder from a belt buckle. That one just behind his hairline that breaks your heart to this day.

Those ones you mostly avoid.

#ohh #forever emotional about scars on these two #wow this is good #gallavich

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metalheadmickey · 3 hours

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16 for the kiss meme if you feel inspired? 👀💖

Of course!

16. ...lazily

Mickey wakes with a soft little snuffling sound, his cheek rubbing against the pillow, his grip tightening on Ian’s bicep.

Ian’s breath hitches. The sappy smile on his lips stretches wider.

Gone are the days when Mickey would wake with a jolt, with a kick and a curse and a wild, haunted look in his eyes. The transition from rest to ready used to be so sudden and jarring and violent.

Now, Ian can barely even tell when it’s happening. Is only able to notice because he pays very close attention to the cadence of Mickey’s breaths.

Mickey cracks an eye open. Glares at Ian sleepily.

“Fucking creep.”

Ian laughs softly. Brings a hand up to smooth over Mickey’s hair, relishing in the way Mickey nuzzles into it instead of batting him away or shoving back. “You oughta be used to me watching you sleep by now.”

Mickey’s response is delayed by a yawn. “Yeah, well, you oughta be used to me calling you out on your creepyass behavior. Goddamn weirdo.”

“A goddamn weirdo that you love~,” Ian teases.

Mickey’s glare softens. His eyes slip closed, one brow arching, a smile tugging at his lips.

Ian can’t not kiss him.

He leans in, seals their lips together, as easy and familiar and comforting as breathing. Mickey hums happily. Wiggles against the sheets. “You gonna fuck me, tough guy?”

Ian nips at Mickey’s lip. Thinks about it. Shakes his head, lips brushing together, noses bumping. “Nah. Just… wanna do this, for a while.”

Mickey huffs. Gets a hand up to tangle in Ian’s hair. “Fuckin’ sap,” he grumbles, but there’s a smile on his lips that Ian can taste.

They trade lazy kisses, and fall back asleep still melted into one another.

send me a number~

#goddd this is lovely #gallavich

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metalheadmickey · 3 hours

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#!!!!#signal boost!#gallavich

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metalheadmickey · 14 hours

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picrew time! 💫

tagged by the sweet @heymrspatel to do this cool lil picrew! thanks for tagging me, bud! 🖤

tagging @howlinchickhowl @whatwouldmickeydo @gardenerian @whatthebodygraspsnot @gallawitchxx

@rereadanon @crossmydna @deedala @mmmichyyy @sleepyheadgallavich

@sgtmickeyslaughter @darlingian @suzy-queued @sleepyfacetoughguy @too-schoolforcool

@stocious @sam-loves-seb @thisdivorce @energievie if you feel like playing 🌿💚

#i like this one!#tag game #picrew

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metalheadmickey · 15 hours

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🌿 Names Mickey Calls Ian Throughout Their Greenhouse Trip And Beyond 🍅🌿

i took my annual trip to the greenhouse today for my tomatoes, so you all know what time it is. please enjoy.

honorable mention Beefsteak 🍅

#i get such a kick out of imagining mickey pointing at each one and going 'that's you' and just absolutely giggling about it #<- hehe yes #absolutely perfect image #ray this is so damn cute #gallavich

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metalheadmickey · 1 day

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pookie milkovich, as i live and breathe

#AS I LIVE AND BREATHE #why is this so fucking funny #ray what the fuck

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metalheadmickey · 2 days

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What's that about anyway? It's a long story. Ends in all-you-can-eat tamales. Come here.

#✨️COME HERE✨️#gallavich

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metalheadmickey · 2 days

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Hey Michelle! It’s Comet! 73 for the prompt?

#73: "i'm not wearing a dress."

"you want me to do what?"

"it's not a big deal, mick. everyone at the party is going to be in couples costumes."

"...i'm not wearing a fuckin' dress, ian."

"you have such nice calves though, don't you want to show them off?"

"i'm going to murder you."

"you wore that skirt for me last week and you looked hot as hell."

"roleplaying in our bedroom where no one can see us is different from wearing a fuckin' dress in front of all your coworkers."

"you won't be alone - sue said the theme is gender reversal costumes, so i'm assuming all the guys there will be wearing something, um... feminine?"

"so you're saying i'm the woman of our relationship?"

"you know that's not what i mean..."

"so why don't you wear a dress too then?"

"...because my calves aren't as nice as yours?"

"nice try. we're married - if i'm wearing a dress, then you are too."

"ugh, fine, you win."

"time to show off your tits, tough guy."

"...is it too late to cancel?"

#heheee i love this so much!#i wonder what the costumes are #michelle this is delightful #gallavich

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metalheadmickey · 2 days

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hi beeee!! i hope you're doing okay 💖💖💖

ooohohohoho okay for the kiss thingy: god knows why cuz it sounds potentially very painful but i feel so compelled to request 28 🙏

sweet deanna! i'm hanging in, thanks love! 💖 so you & @lingy910y both requested #28 & i want to fill both of your prompts. but because you were (rightfully) afraid of pain, i gave you one that's a bit strange, but has a promisingly happy ending? you can be the judge! xx

- - - - -

send me a number & i'll write you a smoocheroo 😚

- - - - -

#28: ...as a lie ps. this is inspired by this post about dealer!mickey & insomniac!ian, who have now rotted my brain.

Ian hasn’t slept in days.

It’s happened before—endless energy is one of his tried-and-true symptoms of mania—but this isn’t that. He’s taking his meds, his skin isn’t crawling and his mind is fairly quiet. Quiet enough to frustrate him as he tosses and turns and wonders what the fuck’s going on.

His schedule has been all over the place lately; his normal routine lost to the endless cycles of employment and Gallagher family responsibilities. He’d been hoping to add school to the mix this semester so that he could have other, less hectic options than a rig-riding EMT, but he’d pushed it off. A pity, now that all-nighters are apparently his thing.

Night two, he googles a few things, which is a huge mistake. Who can fall asleep after reading about how even just twenty-four hours without sleep can begin to derail your bodily systems? Sleep deprivation can cause or worsen conditions like Type 2 diabetes, High blood pressure, Stroke, Heart attack—his pulse leaps as his phone clatters to the ground.

Night three, he takes to the streets, running around the Southside until his lungs burn and his knees wobble. As he passes the clinic that gave his seventeen-year-old self a lifetime prescription for antipsychotics, he knows that if this lasts much longer, he should call his doctor. Tell them his nighttime meds aren’t putting him to sleep anymore. Nip this insomnia thing in the bud before it can overthrow the delicate balance he’s worked so hard to maintain.

Night four, desperate and a bit delusion, he pulls up a number he hasn’t used in years, saved under a contact labeled, DO NOT TEXT.

He breaks his own rule: Hey. Still making house calls?

The response is almost immediate: the fuck u care for?

Ian rolls his bloodshot eyes, typing: It’s an emergency.

Three little dots herald a response that makes him laugh: a weed emergency?

He stays strong: Wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need it.

The next text makes his chest clench: u ok?

He decides to keep it vague—I can’t sleep, but it’s not what you think.—and hopes he doesn’t have to explain further and is relieved to read: u want ur usual?

Another clench: Indica

Two texts arrive in rapid succession: what else do u want? can i give u head while u smoke or no?

There it is: the reason Ian doesn’t use this number anymore.

Maybe in another life it would be a blessing to have a weed dealer to lovers arc with your childhood crush, but in this one, it was a curse. A curse that lasted almost a whole year, bringing with it an endless bouquet of blissful fucks and free weed, and a million moments of tenderness Ian knew nobody else was getting out of the guy. A curse that eventually came to collect payment in the form of bloodied knuckles, broken hearts and ego wounds. A curse that still clings to Ian’s psyche, filling his dreams with gentle, tattooed fingers and bright blue eyes and a sweet and savory scent that can only be described as Mickey.

Mickey, now DO NOT TEXT.

On second thought, maybe he should never sleep again.

The knock at the door makes him hard—a Pavlovian response that irks him more than the three sleepless nights he’s suffered so far. Three raps, one right after the other. The last one no more than a brush of his hand.

Ian adjusts himself and answers the door.

Fuck, one look at that smug asshole and he’s immediately right back in it. Lust and like and maybe even a little bit of reckless fucking love fill his body, rising to the surface like sweet cream. A layer of fat on the roof of one’s mouth; a treat to lick later, a reminder that they didn’t end things because they weren’t insanely hot for one another and potentially soulmates. They were just idiots. Stubborn, petty dicks.

Oh Pride, the great slayer of men.

Jesus, he needs to sleep.

“First one’s on the house,” Mickey says as he crosses the threshold, a joint held tightly between C and K.

Hours slip by. They laugh, they smoke. It feels like old times. Ian’s body is loose in a way it hasn’t been in years. It feels good. Like maybe-he-could-sleep-tonight good. And as he melts further into the couch, he starts to get a little horny too. Because Mickey’s yapping on and on about some asshole that frequents the bar he works at, and Ian’s listening, he swears he’s listening, but he’s also staring at Mickey’s mouth like he wants to take Mickey up on that text message and shut him the fuck up with his dick.

Like he wants to taste the stale smoke of his tongue.

Wants him to stay the night.

Forever, maybe.

Mickey finishes his story. His eyes go soft and he drums his fingers against his knee. “Should get outta your hair, Gallagher,” he says. “Letcha sleep.”

That’s the last thing Ian wants.

“Not tired,” he fibs.

Mickey cocks an eyebrow. “You’re not? ’S been days, man. This shit’s gotta be hittin’ ya by now.”

It’s true. It has been days and this shit is hitting him. Or maybe he’s having a sleep-deprivation-induced stroke. He just knows Mickey can’t go.

“Can’t go to sleep without a goodnight kiss.”

Mickey’s already leaning in when he asks, “Then you promise you’ll hit the hay?”

Ian nods as Mickey presses a kiss to his lying lips.

#oh hell.#bee this is fucking goooood.#i want to know more. i want to know everything!#holy shit i'd read 50k of this #gallavich

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metalheadmickey · 3 days

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hi michelle 💖 i've been a little behind this week but if you're still taking drabble prompts then #6 “I need a place to stay.” please? 😚

#6: "i need a place to stay."

"c'mon, it's just one night," ian pleads.

lily gives him an apologetic look. "you know i would if i could, but i haven't seen my girlfriend in a week, and i don't think you want to hear two lesbians going at it all night."

"i don't mind!" ian exclaims, following lily out of the kitchen. "i'll wear earplugs!"

"...i live in a studio apartment."

"lils," ian groans, "i can't stay at my brother's place again, my nephew is driving me up the wall with his screaming."

lily sighs. "what about your other siblings? can't you stay with them?"

ian shakes his head. "debbie and carl barely have enough space in their apartment to breathe, let alone a couch for me to crash on."

"look, it's just one night," she points out. "the pipes in your apartment will be fixed by tomorrow, i'm sure you can endure a couple hours of a screaming baby until then."

"you don't understand. i love freddy, i do, but..." ian's eyes shift around conspiratorially. "i've seen some... things. i truly think he may be the..." gulps. "...devil incarnate."

lily wants to roll her eyes at her friend's usual theatrics, but decides to give him a break. "i'm sure he is, buddy," she says placatingly. "okay, what about..." she looks around the diner until her eyes land on–"mickey? i think he lives nearby, actually."

she watches in amusement as ian's eyes widen and starts coughing out of nowhere. she slaps his back a couple times as he gasps for air.

"i can't ask mickey," ian finally sputters, once he catches his breath. "i've barely said two words to him! plus," he lowers his voice to barely a whisper, "you know i have a crush on him."

this time lily does roll her eyes. "you know he doesn't bite, right? yo, milkovich!" she calls out, ignoring ian's frantic head shaking, "can ian crash on your couch? he needs a place to stay tonight and he's desperate."

"i–i'm not–desperate, no...." ian mumbles, as mickey pops his head out of the kitchen window.

"who?" he asks, brows furrowed, until he spots ian standing there, still as a statue. "oh. you."

lily didn't think it was possible for a human to turn such a dark shade of red without spontaneously combusting, but ian might be the exception.

"you know what... i'll just sleep... on a... park bench..."

mickey moves out of sight from the window without a word, leaving ian hanging his head like an abandoned puppy at the pound, defeated and wrung out.

"i guess i can hold a bible while i sleep..." he says slowly, mostly to himself, "...keep the demons away..."

lily sighs, ready to take pity on him (maybe she can ask aubrey to bring her noise-cancelling headphones?), before mickey walks past them, turns his head around, and raises a brow at ian.

"you comin' or not, orphan annie?"

about time, lily thinks, as she pushes ian's jaw up from the floor and shove him towards the door before mickey could change his mind.

the next day at work, she holds back a smirk when she spots a visible hickey on ian's neck. maybe mickey does like to bite after all.

#aaahhh michelle i love this!#gallavich

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metalheadmickey · 3 days

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