#everything is gallavich and nothing hurts
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downpour.
mickey x ian (gallavich) fic
wc: 2.5k / au where gallavich meet at college but everything else is the same / pining, mentions of past abuse/domestic violence, domestic, fluff, hurt/comfort, bipolar ian
summary: mickey has always known love and care to be tainted with violence. living with ian, he learns how to take care of someone without hurting anyone else.
The TV glows in the dark of the living room, illuminating the walls with fuzzy grey and blue light that flits back and forth as the scenes of an old drama rerun change. Mickey is only half watching, a half-full mug of flat Red Bull in front of him on the coffee table and a half-finished theology paper on his laptop beside it. The cursor in the word document blinks at him rhythmically, an impatient 'what are you waiting for?' repeating itself over and over while he tries to convince himself he isn't procrastinating, just waiting for his brain to clear out the bleary remnants of the morning's hangover.
He wouldn't be so distracted if he wasn't alone in the apartment, but the clock is steadily ticking further away from 'late night' territory and closer to 'early morning' and there's no sign of his redhead roommate to keep him company with the quiet sound of tossing back and forth in his bed or the less quiet sound of putting on the kettle to make instant ramen. Mickey's been at college for a while now, but the year at college has done nothing to dull the ringing a silent home leaves in his ears. He's used to siblings running down corridors, banging every corner with a limb or two on the way, fights breaking out, yelling from next door or across the street while the train tracks rattle overhead, struggling to drown out any voices that don't belong to it.
That's why he'd thought renting an apartment with the kid from his Human Struggles class would be a good idea - he had too short a fuse to make it any more time in the dorms without breaking a dozen more noses than the two he had managed in his first semester, and having a place to himself made him more anxious than he was willing to admit. Just viewing apartments by himself had spooked him, every creak and squeak the house made around him putting him on edge like a horse with cataracts. Ian had seemed like the perfect solution.
As far as Mickey is aware, Ian Gallagher comes from a big family just like his, and while it seems that Mickey won the competition for whose upbringing had been the most troubling, Ian carried more baggage than anybody else he'd met so far at college. In a selfish sort of way, it comforts Mickey that there's somebody around who can understand even half of what he went through back home.
It doesn't bother him that Ian can be spacey or sleepy, or that his mood still swings sometimes despite the complicated combination of pills he takes morning and night. Their schedules fit well with each other's, they proofread each other's assignments (always finding more mistakes than expected, and always quietly correcting them without telling the other), they chase each other around the cramped apartment waving dirty socks in each other's faces and fall asleep on the couch together so they can bicker over who fell asleep first the next morning. It's a healthy balance between the quiet Mickey has been looking for and the chaos he thrives on.
What Mickey does mind is the topsy-turvy schedule Ian has been running on lately, disappearing at odd hours and showing up days later looking deflated, like a grimy happy birthday balloon shoved in the trash next to empty beer cans and drug store receipts. When they'd first moved in together months ago, Mickey wouldn't have paid any mind to gaps in Ian's schedule or the expression he wore when coming in the front door. He wasn't sporting any black eyes or gunshot wounds, so as far as Mickey was concerned he didn't have to ask if he was okay. But now, blinking at his half-assed paper on the necessity of human suffering for God's existence, he realises he isn't waiting for a hangover to clear, nor is he procrastinating. He's waiting for Ian to come home.
"Fuck's sake," he mumbles, pushing himself up off the couch and pacing over to the kitchen window. Careful not to topple the embarrassingly full ashtray on the window sill, he pushes the window open and grabs the pack of L&M blues sitting on top of the microwave (Ian's choice of nicotine, not his) and lights it with a purple lighter painted black with cheap nail polish (his sister's old lighter, not his). As the cigarette smoke clouds the corner of the apartment they've dedicated to their weekly chainsmoking sessions, Mickey looks out of the window to see that it's raining hard, bullet-like raindrops painted orange by the flickering street lamps. He feels a tug in his chest and tries to pretend he isn't picturing Ian's ginger hair soaked through and sticking to his forehead. He presses the heel of his palm to his forehead and sighs. "Fuck."
The clock continues to tick while the rain pours, as reliable as the twinge of anxiety Mickey feels each time he finishes a cigarette and his flatmate still hasn't come home. He's barely resisting the urge to pick up his phone and call Ian's work number, shoving his free hand deeper and deeper into his trouser pocket to remind himself that he isn't his flatmate's boyfriend, let alone his keeper, when the sound of a key struggling to find its way into the front door lock breaks him out of his anxiety.
He curses under his breath and throws his cigarette into the sink, almost tripping over his own feet as he makes his way to the door. He keeps his face straight as he turns the lock, trying to convince himself he wasn't rushing, and breathes a sigh of relief when he's met with the sight of Ian standing in the doorway.
Ian's red hair looks closer to black from how wet it is, rainwater running in little rivulets down his forehead and dripping from the tip of his red nose. His eyes are red-rimmed, his hoodie soaked through and sticking to his skin. He looks more like a block of ice than a person, and even in the warmth of the apartment building he's shaking like a leaf in a storm.
"Shit, man," Mickey mumbles. A landslide of questions are on the tip of his tongue, from where to why to are you okay to what the fuck, but he bites his cheek and swallows them all. He puts a hand on Ian's frigid shoulder and pulls him inside, paying no mind to the trail of water his sneakers track into the house. "Come on."
They trudge through the living room, ignoring the tacky sex scene on the TV and going straight for the bathroom, where Ian perches himself on the edge of the bathtub. He sniffles, and the meek sound echoes in the tiled room like a firework going off the day after New Year's. Mickey reaches out and gingerly pushes a lock of dripping hair away from Ian's forehead. He's reminded of all of the times his siblings wandered through the front door in far worse shape and how he left them to take care of themselves while he blared burned CDs in his room. For a reason he can't name though, the thought of leaving Ian alone to lick his own wounds makes his stomach turn, so he gives his shoulder a squeeze and doesn't complain when it makes his palm wet.
"One second, okay?" he murmurs, and leaves the bathroom to gather a dry change of clothes from Ian's wardrobe. He pauses for a moment to look around his flatmate's room once he has the clothes gathered in his arms. He's only seen the inside of it a handful of times, usually when bringing Ian coffee or meds to help him get through any bumps in his highs and lows, but those times he hadn't paid attention to much other than the redhead himself. Now he takes notice of the posters Ian has put up over the past few months, worn paper that has been folded dozens of times along the same lines, and the stack of CDs that they don't have a player for. Each of them has a title written on it in blue Sharpie, some of them in Ian's handwriting and some of them not. Mickey traces a fingertip over a star drawn onto one of the cases, distracted, before remembering Ian is still sopping wet in the bathroom.
In the bathroom Ian's shivers have turned into full body shudders, teeth chattering even with his jaw clenched, the joint tense beneath his freckled skin. Mickey sighs and sets the pile of clothes aside, fumbling as he picks up Ian's towel.
"Here, take your shirt off," he says, trying his best to sound his usual authoritative self even though he's more than a little unsure of whether it's the right thing to say. Ian shoots him a look like he wants to make a joke, but doesn't open his mouth to say anything. Mickey rolls his eyes. "Come on, before you catch hypothermia or somethin'."
Ian complies, moving his arms like they're made of lead as he shrugs off the hoodie and then peels off the tank top he was wearing underneath. Mickey wraps the towel around his bare shoulders and gingerly pats dry the back of his neck. His false confidence falters when his thumb brushes against Ian's neck, feeling how feverish the other's skin feels against his hand. He stops moving, thumb still against Ian's neck and stomach tying itself in knots not even the best of boy scouts could untie.
"Mickey?" Ian croaks, eyes searching Mickey's expression like they're scared of what they might find. He leans his neck back into Mickey's touch a fraction of a centimeter, their eyes locking on each other's.
"Look, man, I'm not good at this... Taking care of people and all that shit," Mickey mumbles, letting go of Ian and shoving his hands into his pockets again, staving off the embarrassment and confusing concern that's bubbling up his throat. Ian watches him like a hawk, not even the shivers taking his attention off of Mickey. "You want me to call someone? You said your brother and sister can help if you need anything, right?"
"No, it's fine," Ian replies, pulling the towel tighter around himself.
"You sure? They probably know how to do this better than I do," Mickey says. The words come out more self-deprecating than he means for them to, a reminder of how love and care were so often synonymous with violence when he was growing up. If he cared about his sister, he'd beat on any guys who upset her. If his father cared about him, it meant pistol-whipping him in the living room. If anybody cared or loved anybody, violence would always be involved at some point or another. Taking care of someone else had never meant bringing them a change of dry clothes, or patting down their neck with a clean towel. It had never meant the pit of worry that had opened up in his stomach each time Ian was late coming home the past few weeks.
"I'm sure," Ian reassured him. When Mickey remained skeptical, Ian shrugged and finally directed his attention to the tile grout beneath his boots. "If I wanted their help I would've called them. I just wanted to come home."
Mickey takes a moment to process what this means - that Ian chose him over his siblings, their messy apartment over his childhood home - and finally lets out a breath that he's been holding for what feels like hours.
"Alright," he murmurs. He reaches out to keep drying Ian's neck and slowly moves on to his face, wiping away ever little river of rainwater that makes its way down his temples and jaw. He dries Ian's hair as gently as he can, running his fingers through the red locks once he's done to keep them out of Ian's face. Ian lifts his head to look up at him, pressing his head into Mickey's palm like a stray cat, and offers him a small smile. Whether he's thanking Mickey or reassuring him, Mickey isn't sure. "I'll go make some coffee."
"Thanks," Ian replies, chewing on his bottom lip as he watches Mickey leave.
Mickey turns off the TV on the way to the kitchen, steeping in the silence of the apartment as he goes about making enough coffee to last them the rest of the night and tomorrow morning. The air in the kitchen smells stale from all the cigarettes he smoked before Ian showed up, and as the coffee brews the room begins to smell like a cheap diner. Mickey leans against the counter, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes like it might shove down the potent cocktail of feelings coursing through his veins. It's no use of course, especially not when Ian pads into the kitchen in dry clothes and wet cheeks that glimmer in the low stove light.
"Hey," Mickey starts, watching as tears pour from Ian's bloodshot eyes and down his freckled cheeks. His instincts takes over then, overriding every lesson he learned at home about keeping his distance and lashing out at anyone who came too close, and he steps forward to pull Ian into an awkward but gentle hug. Ian tucks his face down against his shoulder, tears soaking into his t-shirt and the tip of his nose still icy when it touches his neck. Mickey feels himself relax as he holds Ian. It feels right, he realises, to take care of somebody like this. Or maybe not just somebody, but Ian. He gives the back of his neck a gentle squeeze. "You're home, you're alright."
Ian nods against him, shivering even in the warmth of Mickey's hold. When they finally pull apart it feels like hours have passed, and Mickey is the one who finds himself shivering now that they're apart. Timidly, he wipes the tears from Ian's cheeks with his thumb, then pours him a mug of coffee and lights a cigarette for them to share. They smoke in the living room until the downpour outside has come to a stop, no more rain hammering against the roof and no more raindrops racing each other down their windows.
On any other night Mickey would've left Ian and headed to his room to finish his theology paper or jerk off or just pass out, but the sight of Ian's wet lashes anchors him to his spot on the couch. When Ian moves closer to him, resting his head against Mickey's shoulder and shutting his eyes, Mickey doesn't flinch or move away or make a joke about what a softie Ian really is. Instead he lets his own head rest atop Ian's, cheek pressed against his damp hair, and moves his hand to hold Ian's knee.
The kind of closeness that has terrified him his whole life feels nothing other than comfortable in this moment, warm and tender like Ian's skin was beneath his touch. He shuts his eyes and falls asleep counting Ian's breaths.
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Gallavich Intro
uh huh, thank you @callivich for these encouragement reblogs post, so here we are!
(nick)Name: Doshi
Age: 22
What made you fall in love with Gallavich?
I mean… gallavich, they're they. Okay, if serious, I just knew about them but never interested in it and don't remember whether I watched this show before or not. But I seen all of seasons attentively only in November 2023. Then I fell into it entirely and completely.
How long have you been a fan?
3.5 months / since November 2023
Favourite Gallavich moment/scene?
oh god, it's hard.. so many really awesome scenes. I want to highlight a few and maybe make a top.
Mickey Watching Over Ian [S04E07] — my s-tier, i love re-watch this scene, i love this song (and i'm so sad that it's been removed from spotify but ok whatever). It's incredibly emotional, that's all. Mickey is so protective, there are so many thoughts on his face. And this silent talk with Svetlana screams very loudly for me. I just like to think that in that moment Mickey is thinking about how much he loves Ian and how glad he is that he's finally here.
"First Time I Felt Anything Since…" [S05E10] — just one more emotional scene before disaster. Really like it and the song is good too.
The Club Kiss [S04E08] — they are so touch starved for each other's. yummy.
"I Gotta Worry. You're My Husband." [S11E04] — it's really sad that this scene was deleted :\
"Rain On Me." [S11E07] — PLEASE they're so domestic and comfort, singing together, what could be better??
idk i just can't stop?? ok i'm quickly pick these important ones for me:
"Don't." [S03E12]
"Ian. Look At Me." [S04E10]
"Sorry I'm Late." [S05E08]
The Dock Scene [S07E10]
"A lot." [S07E11]
Favourite Shameless character apart from Ian and Mickey?
Carl! I actually really love a lot of the characters, but Carl the most. Love his character development, love his sibling bonding with Debbie and how they grew together, as well as his brotherly relationship with his elders. Love his interactions with Mickey and wish there was more. He's so sweet and silly kitty.
I also had a crush on Sandy and would have liked to see more of a storyline with Debbie, but eh.
Do you write or draw or make edits?
I draw!
tag in tumblr / commissions open + other social
Favourite type of Gallavich fics?
I'm absolutely in love for AUs! Before gallavich I didn't realize how much I loved the AUs. It's just amazing and this fandom is amazing because there are so many things I want to read, but there are sooooo many. I love multi-chaps and slowburn! Any universe, the main thing is our boys and tension between them!
Most of all I want to mention my love for texting/social media or something like that. I like it when text messages are inserted into the writing.
I prefer fluff, but I have nothing against angst, only if it is hurt/comfort. I love getting different emotions and I love crying too, but I don't like bad endings.
Favourite Gallavich quote?
"You're Under My Skin, Man."
"What You And I Have Makes Me Free."
"Hit My Husband Again, I'll Fucking Kill You."
"Don't fucking tell me what's impossible! We're taking care of him here. You, me, us. His fucking family.
"Fuck You, Fuck You, And Especially Fuck You!"
Anything else you’d like to share about yourself?
I'm a bit of a shy introverted lurker and didn't understand at all how tumblr blogging system worked until that moment, usually I just threw my art and ran away. But now I'm watching how people do their posts (use a queue?? what). And I wasn't completely sure how to blog with drawings without turning it into something personal, but it seems that's the point of blog?
So I'm just getting used to everything and want to stay in the shameless fandom, because it's very nice to be here. You are all very nice people and I have already become attached to y'all.
Apart from anything else, I have a huge obsession. I constantly read something new that comes into my hands, and I have a lot of ideas for new arts. (I might even want to do an edit, but shhh, I'm not sure I'm really mentally ready yet haha).
So yeah, you are truly amazing and I hope to be more active in the fandom! <3
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Heya love 🥰 for otp ask for gallavich 26, 29 & 30?
I am shocking and forgot this was in my drafts sorry Myn!!!
26.What would be their theme song?
My god Two Punks in Love by bülow is all my Gallavich feels, listen and flail about it with me. Not sure about theme song but just 😭
29.one headcanon about this OTP that breaks your heart
Imagining Mickey after Ian broke his heart and broke up with him after everything, how he would have gone to jail and been so alone and just thinking about how Ian could just brush him off like they were nothing, wondering if it was how he really felt or if it was the bipolar speaking for him. Just the loneliness he must have felt.
30.one headcanon about this otp that mends it
Okay but does anything mend this? How did we survive this show in real time?
They talked about how they ended, maybe years later, maybe once they got married, a little tipsy and sitting in their apartment just talking shit and Mickey mentions it in passing, but then Ian wants to talk about it. He wants to apologise, tell him that he thought it was the right thing, that he felt lost, like he didn't know who he was anymore, like he had already hurt Mickey enough. And Mickey doesn't want an apology, doesn't want Ian to apologise for feeling that way about himself, wouldn't change a thing because at the end of the day, they're married now, the rest is just bullshit (bc it's Mickey and he's gotta make it seem like he doesn't care somehow, but he cares very very much).
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Ian as an EMT and Mickey as a camera guy working for one of these reality tv shows following first responders around... and for "some reason" the ginger EMT is featured more than anyone else, especially when he's bending over or flexing his arms...
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So moulin rouge gallavich. Would mickey be out and gay or in the closet. So the duke is actually the dutchess svet? I always choose to forget the ending of the film so I'm going with that for gallavich rouge too
oh well oh well very interesting let’s see…
so. mickey is a dancer/actor? the star of the moulin rouge 💃🏻 so I say let’s go with mickey being gay but in the closet. and he wants to leave the moulin rouge but he can’t because what would he do? the moulin rouge is his home, or so he thinks.
so in comes the wealthy duchess svet, who’s very interested in mickey, and the owner of the moulin rouge (terry maybe?) decides to take advantage of that and have mickey seduce her and persuade her to invest her money in turning the moulin rouge into a theater. and mickey isn’t at all happy with it but he doesn’t really have much of a choice here, does he? he’ll end up on the street, so he agrees to go along with it
but just when he’s about to meet the duchess, a tall lanky redhead turns up in his room and mickey’s like what the fuck and he wants to get rid of him but then the redhead who’s apparently a poet starts singing his verses and it’s just like getting hit by a lightning and mickey has never believed that love at first sight bullshit but in that moment he’s quite sure that’s exactly what’s happening to him because this redhead is fucking weird but also kind of cute and sweet, and his smile is the best thing mickey’s ever seen
and ian... well ian doesn’t really know what he’s doing and his hands are a bit sweaty and fuck that group of weirdos artists for talking him into this shit but when mickey’s eyes meet his he feels like his heart may explode in that very moment
but. the duchess comes in and of course ruins everything and ian doesn’t like the way she treats mickey and looks at him but there’s nothing he can do about it so he goes back home
but all night long his brain keeps replaying those moments with mickey and there’s something about his eyes that won’t leave him peace so in the end he caves in and sneaks into his room once again and god, mickey’s lips are so soft and he’s so gentle but it’s all also very much hot
so they start a relationship which they have to keep secret 1) because of the duchess of course and 2) because mickey still isn’t ready to just come out, knowing very well what that will do to his career and especially what his father would do to him
and well at some point everyone finds out, duchess included, and even though mickey loves ian and wants to run away with him far away from the moulin rouge he knows the duchess is powerful and dangerous and he must protect ian so he pushes him away, and it hurts so fucking much but if that’s the only way to keep ian safe mickey is willing to do it. he’d do anything to keep him safe
and ian is just fucking heartbroken, and he feels so betrayed and alone and like mickey has ripped out his heart from his chest and stomped all over it but he won’t leave without an explanation at least
so he returns to the moulin rouge for the premiere of the show and he’s dumb so he doesn’t even notice that he’s being followed with a gun by one of the duchess men but somehow he doesn’t end up killed and he finds mickey and he’s crying at this point when he confronts him and mickey is crying too but ian is just so angry and so hurt and he’s about to leave when mickey declares his love for him in front of everyone
and the duchess tries to kill them both but someone stops her somehow idk anyway ian and mickey run away together and lived happily ever after
the end ✨✨✨
#lmao this turned into a whole fic outline I’m sorry 😭#but also I’m now tempted to write this#hmmmmmmmm maybe I’ll do it it’s not like I have a thousand exams to study for 🤪#anon I’m sorry this took me days but damn you got me thinking about moulin rouge gallavich a lot#asks#moulin rouge au#not really a ficlet but I’m going to tag it anyway so I don’t lose it#*things i wrote
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okayyy so i had something heavier/hurt-comforty in the works as a gapfiller about mickey processing (bc we all need that!!!) but this fluffy little 3+1 about ian and mickey singing to each other happened instead— i hope u enjoy💞
a 3+1 of 3 times ian sang to mickey, and one time mickey sang to ian (to give context to the absolutely wild 11x09 serenade)
also the biggest shoutout to @southside-forever’s 80s gallavich playlist which has SO many bops and inspired bits of this😌
--
1.
Mickey didn’t really know when it all started— Ian was always fucking humming these days, always whistling or singing some tune under his breath when he came out of the shower. He was more buoyant recently, lighter— the security gig was going well, and these days it felt like something looming and heavy had lifted, releasing the crooked hunch out of Ian’s shoulders that had taken root the sour morning weeks before as he shoveled Fruit Loops and Jameson into his mouth. Since then, it felt like he and Ian were finally on the same goddamn page for once— like they had a purpose, like they were moving forward.
Or at least, moving forward on the weekdays— but today was a slow, lazy Saturday, and Mickey was still laying in bed in a tank top and boxers, sweaty and entangled in the crumpled sheets, laying back with his head on the pillow and playing some overly-gory sharpshooter game on his phone. He’d been trying to beat this fucking level a million times, but his thumb couldn’t move quickly enough at the pivotal moment when he had to shoot a bunch of enemy forces— he’d been at the game for a good half hour, since when Ian had sleepily stumbled off of the mattress sporting a full bedhead to go take a shower, and Mickey was starting to get a tinny, sharp headache from staring at his phone screen for too long. He was just starting to consider getting up, to peel off his sweaty tank top and head downstairs to grab some coffee— when Ian came into the room from his shower, a fraying towel wrapped around his lower half and his torso slick with excess water droplets. Mickey flickered his eyes up from his game for a moment, taking an… appreciative glance, and then quickly focused his attention back on his pixelated mission as Ian stood in front of the dresser in the cramped bedroom, and started to rustle through the drawers for a t-shirt.
Mickey maneuvered his buff video game avatar through a minefield, biting his lip in concentration— when his sharp focus was suddenly infiltrated by Ian, singing under his breath in an airy tone.
“Ooooooh we’re halfway there.”
Mickey gritted his teeth slightly and tried to pour all his attention into the pivotal moment of the level, but half of his mind was being pulled to listen to Ian’s gravelly voice, continuing to softly murmur to himself in a tone that was ridiculously off-key.
“She says we’ve gotta hoooold on, to what we’ve got—”
Mickey’s phone screen flickered. GAME OVER.
Mickey wanted to throw his phone at the fucking wall. He inhaled, then pressed “Start Game” again, one last time— and again, his focus was disrupted by Ian, singing under his breath as he pulled on his jeans and gently pattered his hands in a rhythm on the top of the dresser— which was endearing and sappy as fuck, sure, but it was not helping Mickey with the task at hand. Mickey puffed out a sharp, frustrated breath, keeping his eyes on his phone screen.
“The fuck are you singing for right now?”
Ian suddenly gave a sheepish smile over his shoulder as he rifled through their sock drawer, like he’d been caught in the middle of doing something wrong.
“Don’t know. Song was just stuck in my head I guess.”
Mickey glared at Ian, pressing his thumb to the screen to pause his game. “Cut that shit out.”
Ian rolled his eyes fondly, sitting on the edge of the mattress to pull on his socks. “You should be thanking me for serenading you with your fucking eighties dad music. I could be singing Carly Rae Jepson right now, or some other pop bullshit that you hate.”
Mickey felt an involuntary, amused smirk split onto his face, and he tried to turn it into a scowl. Fucking adorable motherfucker.
“Okay, tough guy. If anything you should be thanking me for cleansing your ears from the techno garbage that you used to listen to.”
Ian gave a soft smile, shoulders turning fully towards Mickey now that he’d finished pulling on his socks— and then he turned and clambered into the bed, hovering above Mickey and causing Mickey’s fingers to go slack around his phone case. Mickey could smell the warm, freshly-showered scent of him, all cheap bar soap and Old Spice deodorant, and felt the soft press of his t-shirt through Mickey’s thin tank top— an overly worn t-shirt, one of Mickey’s, that stretched just a little too tight over Ian’s torso.
Ian looked down at Mickey, fucking beaming for some reason, his eyes light. He swooped down, pressing a soft, quick kiss above Mickey’s eyebrow. And then—
“Take my haaaand, we’ll make it I sweeear”
Mickey felt an involuntary, uncomfortable chuckle bubble up out of his ribcage. Was Ian fucking… singing? To him? It definitely seemed like it. And as much as he didn’t want it to, because this was fucking sappy and ridiculous and… well, gay— Mickey couldn’t help the fact that his husband leaning over him, breathily singing the tune of one of their goddamn wedding songs in his husky tone-deaf voice, made Mickey’s blood run a little bit hotter; which was bullshit, because absolutely nothing about this should be hot, and it was probably the most disgustingly married thing that Mickey could think of— but apparently everything about Ian, every dorky and fucking god-awful cringey thing that he did, was a turn-on, or at least according to Mickey’s thudding heartbeat and sweaty palms right now.
Ian’s face was still hovering centimeters above his, his eyebrows raised triumphantly and sporting a sappy fucking grin, like he knew how affected Mickey was by this, no matter how much Mickey grumbled and complained and tried to hide it.
Mickey rolled his eyes. “You’re fucking soft, Gallagher.”
Ian just leaned down again, kissing up the slope of Mickey’s neck and biting at his earlobe—and, okay, maybe Mickey could get behind Ian’s singing after all.
2.
Ian’s singing was starting to get fucking ridiculous— and as much as it made something deep inside Mickey feel a light pang of relief, to see Ian being his old bubbly self again in the rhythms of routine and held by the safety net of financial stability because of the security gig that made the air between them less stale, it also meant that they were also around each other pretty much 24/7, and Ian’s serenades were starting to get relentless.
While they pretty much had a common ground in liking nostalgic 80s music, they would still inevitably argue about what music to play in the ambulance every morning— and whatever shitty album they eventually chose to put on, whether it was Ian’s pop garbage of Mickey’s mellower 80s tunes, Ian’s brain would apparently absorb all the songs like a fucking sponge and he’d start singing them all day long—in the kitchen, in the shower, even when they were just laying in bed on their phones and Ian would constantly hum absentmindedly.
Today they were driving to some bougie dispensary in Glencoe, near a bunch of ridiculous mansions on the very outskirts of the city, and it was Ian’s turn to pick the music— Mickey usually elected one of the well-loved CDs that he’d jammed into the glove compartment as they were refurbishing the ambulance, CDs that he’d kept since he was a kid when he piled them high in the corner of his grimy room next to a half-broken boombox— but as much as they were Mickey’s comfort CDs, Ian could only listen to Bon Jovi so many times before he started to slander 80s music as a collective genre.
“Can we just listen to something by someone who isn’t older than us, just this once?”
“Easy for you to say, Gallagher. At least the music that I like has fucking words.”
When it was Ian’s turn to pick the music, he usually picked more modern stuff with heavy beats and a thrumming bass (though more often than not he also appeased Mickey’s tastes with some “80s throwback” playlist he’d found on Spotify that he’d noticed Mickey would bob his head along to)—but on longer drives, like this one, it was easy to butt heads about the soundtrack. Ian had allowed Mickey to play through one of his Queen CDs that morning, and then Ian had put on some whiny indie bullshit from a playlist on his phone for the other half of the drive— now they were heading home after a long day, with the stereo turned low to a local radio station.
They’d settled into a comfortable silence, as they often did at the end of the day when their energy faded— Ian had stopped pattering his hands on the steering wheel like he usually did when he was amped up and buzzing with energy in the mornings, and Mickey could tell they were both ready to collapse onto the couch the second they set foot in the door.
Mickey blew out a deflated breath and reached to turn up the radio, tuning in to some middle-aged host with a cheery voice chattering about the heat wave in Chicago that upcoming weekend—and then the airwaves went silent, and there was the overdramatic sound of a slamming door and a gospel choir.
Ian’s ears nearly fucking perked up at the sound as the opening chords began.
“Life is a mystery… Everyone must stand alone…”
Ian immediately raised his voice to join in, the tired slouch leaving his shoulders.
“I hear you call my naaaame”
He turned to Mickey and pointed overdramatically, causing Mickey to shove his arm away but unable to quell the overly fond grin that he knew was blooming on his face.
“And it feels like… home.”
The beat dropped, rolling into the chorus, and Ian energetically drummed his hands against the steering wheel once more.
“C’mon, Mick!” Ian laughed, throwing his head back dramatically as he sang while still trying to keep his eyes on the road.
“When you call my name, it’s like a little prayer, I’m down on my knees, I wanna take you there.” Ian’s pitchiness clashed with the melody, but he was too focused on singing and bopping side to side in this seat to really care.
Mickey rolled his eyes, his lips still turned upwards at the corners while he watched his absolute dork of a husband jamming to Madonna. “Isn’t this song about giving someone a blowjob or some shit?”
Ian gave an easygoing laugh. “Technically, yes. And it’s also definitionally a gay anthem, which means you have to sing with me.”
Mickey scoffed and flipped Ian off. “Fuck off.”
Ian raised a playful eyebrow, and continued to sing with relentless eye contact:
“It’s like a dreeeeam, no end and no beginning”
Mickey felt heat rise into his cheeks against his will. No fucking way was he going to sing a Madonna song about a blowjob stone-cold sober at 2pm on a Tuesday while driving home from work with his fucking husband—which, wow, that was probably the gayest sentence that had ever crossed Mickey’s mind in his 26 years of existence (which was definitely saying a lot).
This wasn’t ever a place Mickey thought he’d be in— sitting beside Ian so comfortably, singing fucking songs while they drove home from their daily commute; getting to soak up all the warmth, all the brightness that had always radiated out of Ian so intensely that it nearly blinded him, a warmth that he’d always wanted to lean in closer to even when they were just scrawny kids in a shitty neighborhood still figuring everything out.
Maybe, just maybe— it was okay to lean in a little more.
By the time the chorus rolled around the third time, Mickey was begrudgingly humming along, like he usually did whenever the songs that Ian was singing on and endless loop got stuck in his own head and popped up while he was brushing his teeth or making toast for breakfast— by the time the final rhythmic chorus faded to silence on the radio waves, Mickey glanced over at Ian, singing at the top of his lungs, face slightly flushed and grinning ear to ear.
“Just like a prayer, your voice can take me there.”
3.
Ian and Mickey were walking down the moonlit sidewalk, veering back home after an evening at Lip’s— the night had honestly been weirdly enjoyable, which was definitely a welcome reprieve from all of Lip and Debbie’s intense back-and-forths about the house over the past few weeks. Tami and Lip had needed to go over to Brad and Cami’s for some bullshit crisis management about the stolen bikes, and Ian had readily agreed to watch Freddie— which meant that whether he liked it or not, Mickey had spent his Friday evening at Lip’s half-packed apartment watching Ian coo over a one-year-old, which was… not a totally unwelcome sight.
Trying to keep his shit together, Mickey had snapped a picture to send to the Gallagher family group chat, and everyone had immediately given them shit about being so eager to babysit and get their hands on a toddler like a couple of baby-crazed newlyweds—which had caused Mickey to start overzealously complaining in the groupchat to compensate while Ian occupied Freddie. Kev had noticed the texts and swung by Lip and Tami’s house after closing the Alibi to keep the two of them company, bringing by a pack of beers—and now he and Ian were warm and happily buzzed, relieved of their babysitting duties and walking the chilly city streets back towards the Gallagher house.
Halfway through the walk Ian had interlaced their fingers, and now their arms were swinging slightly as they turned the final corner to walk down the last stretch of pavement towards the chain-link fence—when suddenly, Ian stopped cold a few houses away from the Gallagher front porch. He looked down at Mickey, raising their entangled hands and pressing a kiss to the inside of Mickey’s wrist.
Mickey raised an eyebrow in confusion, and Ian just looked back at him—his cheeks glowing pink from the few beers, his eyes light and unguarded under the streetlamps.
“This spot reminded me of something.”
Mickey rolled his eyes. Of fucking course it did. Ian was a sappy motherfucker on the best of days, but with a couple of beers in him he was practically uncontrollable.
“What?”
All of a sudden Ian let go of his hand, punching into the air dramatically.
“Cause love is a battlefiiiield”
Mickey laughed, feeling warm hot blood rush to his cheeks in delight—and fuck, he loved his husband so goddamn much. And just this once, mostly because of the own alcohol running thick in his bloodstream, Mickey made the lurching decision to join in, stepping closer towards Ian and raising his hands equally as dramatically.
“No promises, no demands”
“Woooooah”
Ian had practically doubled over with laughter, tears welling in the corner of his eyes—and Mickey let himself get lost in it, the warm feeling buzzing through his body, of love and joy and fuck knows what else, getting to sing on a fucking street corner with his husband a decade after everything had gone so gut-wrenchingly wrong, leaving him bleeding on this same pavement.
They stumbled over their own feet up the stairs, fumbling out of their clothes and collapsing into bed—and later, just as Mickey was on the brink of fading into unconsciousness, Ian mumbled the same refrain into the crook of Mickey’s neck in a sleepy voice, like the song was still stuck in his head and he just couldn’t help it.
“Love is a battlefield.”
4.
It was late— it was one of those slow, tender nights when the past was hanging heavy over them, laying pressed together in bed as thin streams of moonlight poured in through the blinds, pressing whispers into each other’s skin about all of the hurt and the doubt that had been seeped up and healed with time.
Ian was sprawled back on the bed and Mickey was laying with his head resting on his chest, feeling his ribcage expand and contract each time he took a breath. They’d absorbed so much the past few weeks— the sick, twisted blows of a loss that felt all the more jagged and painful because of how muddled the grief for Terry was—but after a few days had passed they’d found a place to settle, in the comforting press of the silence in their bedroom.
Mickey was mindlessly playing with Ian’s fingers, listening to his steady breathing—and without thinking, he ran a finger over the cool silver of Ian’s wedding band, letting out a breathy chuckle.
“I still can’t believe we’re married sometimes, man.”
Mickey could feel Ian’s lips curve upward into a smile from where his mouth was pressed against the top of Mickey’s head.
“Yeah, me either.”
And Mickey felt something bubbling, something welling— and he didn’t ever fucking sing, not unless Ian made him, but Ian was always fucking dropping song lines into sappy moments like this.
So he took a breath, and, half-singing but mostly talking, in a way that sounded almost mocking if it wasn’t so soft around the edges, he let out into the dark silence of the room:
“At last….”
He wasn’t even singing, not really—he was just sort of… saying the words in a singsongy way, but he knew that Ian could tell what he was doing, what he was trying to do. He was trying to be as fucking sweet and soft and pliant as Ian was, as Ian always was in moments like this, in a way that sometimes made Mickey feel brittle and hard in comparison. This time, Mickey wanted to breathe out the love he had for him into this moment, the love that made his ribcage feel like it was going to fucking burst— a love that he felt erupting outwards when Ian had played this song for him for the first time a few weeks before the wedding, and had asked with a shy smile, “D’you think it’d be okay if you walked down the aisle to this song?”
Ian’s chest shook with laughter, and he carded a hand through Mickey’s hair. And then, in his gentle, sleep-soft voice, in a breathy tone that tickled the shell of Mickey’s ear:
“My looove has come along”
Mickey rolled his eyes fondly, just to prove something to himself, even though he knew Ian couldn’t see him—and then he reached a hand upward and leaned back, drawing Ian’s chin forward to press his lips to his for a brief, lingering moment.
Mickey settled back against Ian’s chest again, and felt Ian press a kiss to the top of his head. He smiled contentedly, closing his heavy eyelids.
Maybe being a couple of sappy motherfuckers wasn’t so bad.
#i wrote this so fast bc it is midterms szn and i am a busy bee! but simply needed to get this out of my brain#i love y’all and hope u enjoy the softness!!#also @ the anon asked me for more drunk happy husbands here u go<3#gallavich#gallavich fic#shameless#shameless fic#ian x mickey#ixm#ian and mickey#ian gallagher#mickey milkovich#gallavich fanfiction
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part two of this ask by @just-a-glittery-fan
part one: RNM | part three: GG reboot
I wanted to add a normal gif. something cute and simple. but then I saw this and I had to.
What I love about them: what's not to like?? I love his sass, as shown above. I love his loyalty. I love his brain. I love his epic love story with Mickey. I love his relationship with his siblings. I love how protective he is of the people he loves.
What I hate about them: not a hate, but I'm not a fan of all the violence between him and Mickey. I know, that's how they roll, southside and all, but still.
Favorite Moment/Quote: there were many iconic moments, but the first one I thought about was "Is Mickey adopted?" to T*rry because KING SHIT. also early seasons, the hearteyes look he gives Mickey when M first kisses him. you know, when he's the getaway driver while the Milkoviches are robbing a house and Mickey gets shot in the ass and Ian's old ass boyfriend has to operate on him on the Gallagher's kitchen counter. god I miss this show.
What I would like to see more focus on: is this still relevant? anyway, I want more domestic fluff. also, dad!Ian. also, better communication between him and Mickey.
What I would like to see less focus on: ugh, idk... it was pretty okay, considering it was Shameless.
Favorite pairing with: gallavich for the win, obvi. I started the entire fucking show because of them and a highly misleading promo that showed the s7 goodbye completely differently, but I'm not going on that rant again 🙃
Favorite friendship: Mandy! ❤ and Lip! 💙 imagine if Lip got his shit together and he stayed with Mandy. the power the Mandy-Lip-Ian-Mickey quartet would have.
NOTP: I think the only other serious relationship he had was Trevor? Travis? something like that, and I liked him a lot, so it's not a notp. maybe a notp bc he deserved better than Ian, who was still in love with his ex. but again, it's Shameless.
Favorite headcanon: Ian and Mickey tease each other over their horrible tattoos all the time. 😌
What I love about them: everything 🥰
What I hate about them: that she's gone 🥺
Favorite Moment/Quote: SHE RAN OVER KAREN!! it truly doesn't get more iconic than that 😌 but also when she offered to be Ian's fake gf at school 🥰 and "I'm not a tool so you don't get to treat my like one" and "Men are never right. That's why women were invented, to think for you assholes." absolute queen.
What I would like to see more focus on: her happiness 💛 she deserves nothing but good things 💛
What I would like to see less focus on: her getting traumatised over and over again 🙃
Favorite pairing with: Lip! if the idiot had half a working braincell he wouldn't have let her go. we could have had TWO iconic Milkovich-Gallagher duos, but he went and fucked it up 🙃
Favorite friendship: Ian 🥰
NOTP: ugh I don't even remember the dude's name, I just remember that he hurt her. something starting with a T? idk, doesn't matter. she deserves nothing but the best, anything less is not good enough for her 💛
Favorite headcanon: she was actually there at the gallavich wedding. you can't tell me she wasn't invited and didn't move heaven and earth to be there.
well look at me, finally answering age old asks, getting my shit together 😌 maybe I'll even clean my room 😌 (unlikely, but one can dream.)
thank you, bestie! 💕 part three will arrive...at a certain point in the future that is a surprise for you, but I definitely for sure know when. absolutely. it's all planned for sure. and until then, it's been a blast, as always 😌💕
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Gallavich Lyric Prompts - 90s Edition
In collaboration with the wonderful @southside-forever forever here are some 90s lyric prompts. Feel free to use these for edits, gifsets, fic, art, headcanons, etc!
If I should stay // I would only be in your way // So I'll go but I know // I'll think of you every step of the way // And I will always love you // I will always love you
“I Will Always Love You” by Whitney Houston
You'll always be apart of me // I'm part of you indefinitely // Boy don't you know you can't escape me // Oh darlin' 'cause you'll always be my baby // And we'll linger on // Time can't erase a feelin' this strong // No way you're never gonna shake me // Oh darlin' 'cause you'll always be my baby
“Always Be My Baby” by Mariah Carey
It's the way you love me // It's a feeling like this // It's centrifugal motion // It's perpetual bliss // It's that pivotal moment // It's, ah, unthinkable // This kiss, this kiss (unsinkable) // This kiss, this kiss
“This Kiss” by Faith Hill
Show me how you want it to be // Tell me, baby, 'cause I need to know now, oh, because // My loneliness is killing me (And I) // I must confess I still believe (Still believe) // When I'm not with you, I lose my mind // Give me a sign // Hit me baby one more time
“...Baby One More Time” by Britney Spears
So close to drowning but I don't mind // I'll live inside this mental cave // Throw my emotions in the grave // Hell, who needs them anyway // I'm not growing up // I'm just burning out // And I stepped in line // To walk amongst the dead
“Burnout” by Green Day
No, I don't know why you're not fair // I give you my love, but you don't care // So what is right and what is wrong? // Gimme a sign // What is love? // Oh baby, don't hurt me // Don't hurt me // No more
“What Is Love” by Haddaway
I really feel that I'm losin' my best friend // I can't believe this could be the end // It looks as though you're lettin' go // And if it's real, well, I don't want to know // Don't speak, I know just what you're sayin' // So please stop explainin' // Don't tell me 'cause it hurts
“Don’t Speak” by No Doubt
People you've been before // That you don't want around anymore // That push and shove and won't bend to your will // I'll keep them still // Drink up baby, look at the stars // I'll kiss you again, between the bars // Where I'm seeing you there with your hands in the air // Waiting to finally be caught
“Between the Bars” by Elliott Smith
Tender words you say // Take my breath away // Love me now and leave me never // Found a sacred place // Lost in your embrace // I want to stay in this forever // I think of the days when the sun used to set // On my empty heart, all alone in my bed // Tossing and turning, emotions were strong // I knew I had to hold on
“Waiting For Tonight” by Jennifer Lopez
But I'm in so deep // You know I'm such a fool for you // You got me wrapped around your finger // I thought nothing could go wrong // But I was wrong, I was wrong
“Linger” by The Cranberries
And now I tell you openly // You have my heart, so don't hurt me // And oh, my dreams / It's never quite as it seems // 'Cause you're a dream to me
“Dreams” by The Cranberries
We all say "don't want to be alone" // We wear the same clothes 'cause we feel the same // We kiss with dry lips when we say goodnight
“End Of A Century” by Blur
Tender is the night // Lying by your side // Tender is the touch // Of someone that you love too much // Tender is the day // The demons go away
“Tender” by Blur
That's me in the corner // That's me in the spot-light // Losing my religion // Trying to keep up with you // And I don't know if I can do it // Oh no I've said too much // I haven't said enough
“Losing My Religion” by R.E.M
Never opened myself this way // Life is ours, we live it our way // All these words, I don't just say // And nothing else matters
“Nothing Else Matters” by Metallica
And I wonder // When I sing along with you // If everything could ever be this real forever // If anything could ever be this good again
“Everlong” by Foo Fighters
Whatever tomorrow brings I'll be there // With open arms and open eyes yeah // Whatever tomorrow brings // I'll be there, I'll be there
“Drive” by Incubus
Happiness, something in my own place // I'm stood here naked, I smile and I feel no disgrace // With who I am // Happiness, coming and going // I watch you look at me, watch my fever grow // And I know just who I am
“Lucky Man” by The Verve
I try to say goodbye and I choke // Try to walk away and I stumble // Though I try to hide it, it's clear // My world crumbles when you are not near
“I Try” by Macy Gray
#gallavich#ian gallagher#mickey milkovich#shameless#ian x mickey#got a 70s one coming up too!#getting these out so I can add them to the theme posts for Gallavich week!#prompts
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Gallavich + facing each other in bed, andd caressing each other's faces before falling asleep :')
sooo i don’t know if this was meant to be a prompt but i made it one lol. i’ve been wanting to write about the aftermath of 4x11 for a long time and exercise my hurt/comfort muscles so here’s my take on what happens after mickey’s coming out scene
enjoy :’)
*
The walk home is quiet, the only sound theirfootsteps on the wet pavement and their hushed breaths forming little clouds inthe air. Ian doesn’t hold Mickey’s hand, no matter how much he wants to.Tonight has already been too much without something like that pushing him overthe edge. Instead he lets their arms brush with every second step.
It surprises him though when they reach his streetthat Mickey’s the one to reach out and take his hand.
Ian looks at him but doesn’t stop walking, doesn’twant to give Mickey time to try and pull back. Mickey’s expression is hard tomake out in the dark with the dried blood still all over his face but Ian can atthe very least tell he doesn’t want him to say anything. So he squeezes Mickey’shand and tows him toward the Gallagher house.
Kev must’ve text Fiona when shit went down becauseshe’s still up when they come through the front door, sitting braced on thearmchair with a mug of what’s most likely spiked coffee between her hands. Sheflies out of her seat when she takes in the sight of them.
“Holy shit, what-“
“We’re fine,” Ian cuts in, keeping his voice low inan attempt not to wake anyone else up. Mickey doesn’t need an audience rightnow.
Fiona clamps her mouth shut though she looks like she’dmuch rather be talking. She must see something in Ian’s expression thoughbecause her eyes flicker to Mickey and then, briefly to their hands, and shenods. “Want me to call V?”
Ian shakes his head. “S’not as bad as it looks,” hepromises. “We’re gonna get cleaned up.”
Fiona nods again, hesitating a moment before shespeaks. “Terry back in lockup?”
Mickey answers this time and Ian can tell he’s tryingto joke but the bone-deep exhaustion and barest hint of anxiety evident in hisvoice makes it fall flat. “For a long fuckin’ time hopefully.”
And Ian can’t take it anymore, feels a burning needto get his hands on Mickey. To take care of him, to hold him, to salvage thishorrific fucking night. “Night, Fi,” he whispers, slipping his hand out ofMickey’s to grip his shoulders and steer him gently in the direction of thestairs.
It says a lot about how close Mickey must be tobreaking point that he doesn’t even protest, just lets Ian guide him.
Ian lets go of him once they reach the bathroom butonly to close the door. When he turns back around Mickey is standing listlesslyin the middle of the room and Ian nods to the closed toilet seat. “Here, sitdown,” he says, nudging around Mickey to get the first aid kit from under thesink. “You can take a shower in a sec, let me just clean the worst of it first.”
Mickey huffs a tired laugh as he sits down. “You finda new career without tellin’ me, Gallagher?”
Ian bites back a smile and kneels down in front ofMickey so they’re eye to eye. “Picked up a few things when Ned was getting a bulletoutta your ass.”
Mickey laughs again but it’s really more of anexhale. There’s faint smile on his face though. “Fuck, man. My head hurts.”
Ian winces in sympathy as Mickey closes his eyes –whatever the fuck Terry did to his ribs makes his chest ache with every breathso he gets it. “You think it’s a concussion?” he asks softly as he digs out theantiseptic wipes from the first aid kit, keeping one hand on Mickey’s knee –less to keep him steady and more because he doesn’t feel like letting go of himright now.
“Dunno,” Mickey shrugs half-heartedly, keeping hiseyes closed as Ian wipes the dirt and blood from his face. “Probably justfuckin’ tired.”
“Probably,” Ian agrees. “Your nose doesn’t look thatbad. Doesn’t look deep enough for stitches.”
Mickey cracks an eye open and appraises him. “Christ,Ian. Maybe you should become a nurse.”
Ian laughs, gently though – he learned his lessonearlier. “I’d get plenty of practice with you around.”
Mickey huffs again, his almost-laugh. “You want me toreturn the favour?” he asks when Ian’s finished with his face, fingers idlyfolding around the collar of the coat Ian’s still wearing.
“I’m good,” Ian assures him, swaying forward to pressa kiss to Mickey’s temple. “Let’s just shower and go to bed.”
The words look to be a relief to Mickey and he nods,letting Ian haul him up to stand again. Ian sets the water running while theyget out of their clothes, testing it with his hand before climbing in andMickey follows behind him. Ian pulls him under the spray and reaches for hisshampoo, squirting some onto his hand and reaching for Mickey’s hair.
Mickey lets out a quiet breath, closing his eyes whenIan’s hands run through his hair and Ian feels some of the tension in his ownstomach unfurl as he washes Mickey’s hair, working out the dried blood. Mickeyreaches for him at some point, seemingly intent on doing the same for Ian.
His fingers curl around Ian’s jaw at first, thumbshelping the water wash the blood off Ian’s face before he starts working on hishair. Ian’s not sure how long they stand like that until he can’t take it anymoreand closes the distance between them, pulling Mickey into his arms.
Mickey releases a shuddering breath as Ian’s armsclose around him, his own arms twisting across Ian’s back as his fingers clutchat Ian’s shoulderblades. His face is buried in the crook of Ian’s neck and Iancan feel the way his breath stutters. He knows the weight of what’s happenedtonight is finally hitting Mickey full force.
And he can’t help feeling an unbearable type ofguilt. For pushing Mickey, for making him choose, as if anything about thisentire situation has been as simple as Mickey wanting to keep them a secret. Hejust- it’s fucking irrational and stupid but it hurt feeling he couldn’t be with Mickey the way he wanted to, likethere was this whole other life being planned out for Mickey that Ian would oneday be exiled from. It’s selfish and he hates himself for putting Mickey inthis position but he promises himself he’ll do whatever he has to now toprotect Mickey, to put him first with whatever shit they’ve got coming theirway. He has to.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, carding his fingers throughMickey’s wet hair and speaking the words into Mickey’s shoulder. “I don’t knowwhat I expected to happen.”
Mickey shrugs against him, arms tightening just slightly.“Was gonna have to happen sooner or later.”
Ian pulls back a fraction to meet Mickey’s gaze, offeringhim a sad smile as he runs a finger under the cut on Mickey’s forehead. “Notlike that though.”
Mickey looks at him, a resigned look on his face ashe sighs. “Ian, it was always gonna happen like that. Whether there were fiftypeople in the room or just me and him. It was always gonna be like that. Atleast this way there were some fucking witnesses.”
Small blessings, Ian supposes.
“I’m still sorry,” Ian tells him. “I never wanted youto get hurt.”
“I know,” Mickey says, voice quiet as he leansagainst Ian. “Can we crash now? Feel like I’m dead on my feet.”
Ian nods and shuts off the water. Ian finds themtowels to dry off before going into the bedroom to get boxers and t-shirts forthem both. The only one in the bedroom is Carl, fast asleep in the top bunk.Liam must be in Fiona’s room and Ian reminds himself to thank his sister in themorning for giving them some modicum of privacy.
He returns to the bathroom with their clothes andafter changing and shoving their dirty towels down the laundry shoot they maketheir way back to the bedroom.
Mickey completely forgoes his makeshift camp on thefloor to follow Ian straight into his bed and Ian tries not to react toovisibly. Can’t believe this is actually happening. He can count on one hand theamount of times they’ve shared a bed for real. And while he wishes this wereunder different circumstances he’s going to savour the moment for all that itis.
His bed is too small for them to have much space butIan doesn’t care. By the looks of it, Mickey doesn’t either considering the wayhis legs immediately tangle with Ian’s under the covers. When they’re settledIan lifts his hand, smoothing the hair back off Mickey’s forehead before lettinghis fingers cradle his cheek.
He can just about make out the way the corner ofMickey’s mouth lifts in a smile at the touch.
They stay like that for a minute, still except forthe way Ian’s thumb brushes lightly over Mickey’s cheekbone. Then, tentatively,almost as if he’s never let himself dare try this before Mickey’s hand comes upto rest on Ian’s neck.
Ian’s too tired to grin the way he wants to so hejust lets his mouth twist up in a closed-mouth, contented smile. His eyesprobably give him away anyway.
“Did you mean it?” he whispers after a while. “Whatyou said before – about feeling free.”
Mickey tenses and Ian can tell so he keeps his thumbmoving across Mickey’s cheek, twists his legs around Mickey’s even moretightly. Tries to ground him in whatever way he can.
“Yeah,” Mickey says finally, soft and defeated.
And Ian doesn’t want him to think those words are aweakness, not when they’re the bravest thing Mickey’s ever said to him short ofwhat he’d done less than an hour later.
“For me too,” Ian says then, voice quiet and far tootender. “I’ve always felt free with you,” he explains. “Nothing’s ever made mefeel the way you do. Don’t think anything else could.”
He can feel Mickey’s eyes on him and he’s not surewhat Mickey can make out in the dark but eventually, the hand Mickey’s has onhis neck moves and curls around Ian’s jaw. In the next breath Mickey tips theirforeheads together and Ian’s heart squeezes painfully in his chest.
“It’s you, Gallagher,” Mickey whispers. “Don’t knowwhat anyone else has to offer but I don’t want it. Just you.”
Ian kisses him then because he can’t not. Just agentle press – one that he tries to infuse with as much love and devotion as hepossibly can. He doesn’t move away when he pulls back, keeps his foreheadagainst Mickey’s and the scant inch of space between their mouths. It’s barelyclose enough.
The words Ilove you are on the tip of his tongue and he wants to say them. Over andover again until there isn’t a single doubt in Mickey’s mind. But there havealready been so many confessions tonight he’s not sure if either of them cantake much more.
So instead he touches Mickey’s bottom lip with thetip of his thumb, then the corner of his mouth where a barely-there smile stillsits and whispers, “Night, Mick.”
Mickey’s fingers run through his hair before trailinghis cheek until they finally find their way back to Ian’s neck and fall torest.
“Night, Ian.”
*
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What if Mickey hooked up with Cole rather than with Byron?
I can't find anything on AO3, and not through a cursory tag search here either (though that says very little, because Tumblr), but surely there must be something, somewhere, about this? Got any pointers, guys? I just feel that there's a lot of undermined potential here.
Let's put aside for a moment the details of how they actually hook up in the first place – it does seem a little odd that Mickey would get with someone so very exuberantly gay, because yeah, our boy's still got issues, but maybe it's nearing the end of the night, he really is just looking for a swinging dick, and Cole is drunk and excited and spots Mickey hanging out and looking gruff in a corner and is just like 'oooh look at that angry closet-case i'm gonna sweep him off his feet just to prove that I can'. The how doesn't really matter, anyway: the thing is, they hook up.
Now, Cole is likely under the impression that Mickey doesn't have a lot of experience having sex with other men (because he just looked so uncomfortable and out of place at whatever club they met at) and he's determined to make this a mind-blowing experience for Mickey – not out of the goodness of his heart, see, but because it's a boost to his well-maintained ego. Cole is probably a fantastic lay, if you go for that type, and he's giving it at least 82% of his best, but... well, Mickey's there, sure, and he's hard, and he says he wants to fuck, but he is very obviously not particularly into it.
This is utterly perplexing to Cole, sex god and seducer of men. He tries to blow Mickey, and Mickey grumbles ”can we just fucking bang?”, which is insane, because there are goddamned porn stars who'd pay to be blown by Cole. So he sits back and stares very hard at Mickey, and even when drunk he's a perceptive bastard, not to mention completely unafraid to just speak his mind. ”So, who's the bitch who broke your heart?” he asks.
Obviously Mickey is not even a little bit interested in talking about this, so he tries to get the show back on the road, but Cole is having none of it, and he is absolutely relentless, and Mickey does have a tendency to actually ramble about Ian to strangers when he's upset – or maybe he's just swayed by the real curiosity and sympathy in Cole's eyes when Cole says: ”I bet he was being absolute bastard about it too.”
”Yes, actually!” And Mickey spills – not all details of their long and messy history, of course, but enough of them for Cole to get a decent picture. And Cole just nods along, devious eyebrows furrowing into his very best Mastermind Mode Mien, and when Mickey is done he stands up. ”Okay, let's go, lover.”
Off Mickey's stare he adds: ”Yeah, girlfriend, I'm gonna help you set your man straight.” Because Cole totally gets that what Mickey really wants is Ian back, and damn it if he isn't a sucker for true love. (I mean, it's not what he'd go for himself, he's far too fabulous to be tied down to any one man, but he still finds it so cute in others.)
And then everything basically goes down pretty much the same way as it did with Byron, at least from Ian's perspective, but it is 2000% more fun for Mickey, and also Cole. Like, obviously they don't arrive at the Gallagher house on a vespa but in a cab (Cole absolutely tried to make it a limo but Mickey put his foot down – it's the first time he's been in a cab anyway, so it feels plenty fancy). And Cole is nothing but a star and does everything to communicate to Ian just how into Mickey he is – both when they kiss outside the house, and when Ian comes with the promise rings: no ”you have to take him back” here, but rather Cole coming down and glaring like ”you trying to take my man, bitch?”
However, when Ian shows up with the shirt and Mickey blows him off again, Cole starts to fear that Mickey is actually taking this too far and getting too caught up in his hurt to remember that they're still aiming for a Gallavich endgame. So he invites Ian to the concert, and Ian shows up – with Byron? someone else? no matter – and Cole is all over Mickey, and then Mickey leaves to get another drink or whatever and Cole starts to very loudly brag about Mickey's superior sex skills to his friends, maybe mentioning something about how ”he's clearly been frustrated for a long time, poor darling, I don't think his last boyfriend was really giving him what he needed” and Ian just snaps and cue brawl and subsequent proposal.
Mickey might have warned Cole that Ian isn't as gentle as he looks, and there are definitively going to be insistent demands of reparation later – possibly in the form of a great many drinks and pretty shoes. Ian will be a little embarrassed and apologetic, as well as somewhat annoyed with Mickey, who is just very amused and pleased with how the whole thing turned out. Oh, and obviously he and Cole remain friends, because I think we all need that.
#gallavich#cole (shameless)#i'm not saying this is how it should have gone down on the show#i think the whole byron thing actually made a lot of sense#once I had a good think about it#and I'm not in love with the idea#of mickey teaming up with someone to manipulate ian#but it's an entertaining notion okay?#season 10#ficlet meta#my stuff
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different spaces, brand new faces
read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3vmMVTW
by blurrygoose
Ian Gallagher had lived in his bed, under a mountain of blankets and pillows for the last four days. Despite taking his prescribed medications religiously, he just didn't want to fucking exist. He knew getting up would just piss him off, and that Mickey was already stressed out enough.
Mickey Milkovich, on the other hand, was 38 weeks pregnant and been in the slowest labor ever known to the universe (at least he was sure of that), having inconsistent contractions for the last week and a half and being sent home twice for nothing and was cleaning everything he could to make something happen.
prompt requests by gallavichmpreglover and an anon for unassisted water birth filled here!
Words: 2113, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Fandoms: Shameless (US)
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Categories: M/M
Characters: Ian Gallagher, Mickey Milkovich
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Additional Tags: Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, Childbirth, Mpreg, natural childbirth, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Pregnant Mickey Milkovich, Waterbirth, homebirth, Gallavich, labor, Bipolar Ian Gallagher, Bottom Mickey Milkovich, graphic description of childbirth, Gay Sex, hard birth, Supportive Ian Gallagher, Supportive Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Shameless, Established Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Married Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Protective Ian Gallagher, POV Ian Gallagher, POV Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich Happy Ending
read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3vmMVTW
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gallavich fluffy/sad/happy ending oneshot - Couple’s Therapy
Mickey and Ian had just gotten married. They both drank way too much champagne, and they were all over each other the whole night. It was nothing but smiles. They got a very nice hotel, and absolutely splurged on the honeymoon suite. It was decked out with heart-shaped bed and pillows, a crystal chandelier, a mini-bar with heart-shaped chocolates, more bottles of expensive champagne, a jacuzzi, and an endless amount of candles and rose-petals. Of course, there was also a marvellous view, but neither of them were focused on the city, they were more focused on each other and feeling like the world was finally their own. The sex was, of course, amazing, but somewhat awkward with Ian’s broken leg.
Afterwards, they’d ordered room service, and Mickey was looking out the window longingly.
“What’s up?” Ian asked, wrapping his arms around Mickey’s still-naked torso and kissing him on the cheek.
“I love you.” Mickey said and turned to face Ian.
Ian laughed - he figured that was sort of obvious at this point. They had quite literally gotten married. Ian grabbed Mickey’s hand gently and studied the ring on his finger. “I love you too.”
Mickey smiled, but there was sadness in his eyes. He put his hand gently on Ian’s cheek, and rubbed under his eye, where the bruise was nearly faded away.
“Mick–” Ian began. He didn’t want Mickey to be feeling bad when things were so special.
“I want us to be okay this time,” Mickey interrupted quietly. “I don’t want to do that anymore. I want this to be real. Like the happy couples that’re on TV. I don’t want to be the fucking south side thug who hits his husband. I’ve been thinking...” Mickey took a big breath in, and looked at the cast on Ian’s leg. “I want us to go to therapy. Couple’s therapy, or whatever it’s called. And maybe my own therapy, I don’t know. I want to be able to talk to you.”
“You can talk to me.” Ian insisted, “Look at what you’re doing right now.”
Mickey smiled sadly. “You say that, and I know you mean it, but I’ve realized it doesn’t get through. I don’t know if it’s because of how I was raised or whatever-the-fuck but it’s like I can’t accept that things will be okay. I want to be able to. People always hate each other when they’re married,” he touched Ian’s face again, and looked into his eyes, “And I don’t want to fucking... hate you.”
Ian tightened his grip on Mickey’s waist and kissed him. Then he stood back and looked at him with adoration. “Okay. We’ll go to therapy.”
And Mickey could finally relax and enjoy being married to Ian fucking Gallagher.
•••
Mickey was anxiously bouncing his leg up and down in the waiting room. “Maybe this was a mistake,” he whispered to Ian.
“Mick,” Ian whispered back, “Remember why we wanted to do this, okay?” He held Mickey’s hand and casually kissed the ring on his finger.
“They’re gonna hate me.” Mickey said.
“Who could ever hate you?” Ian joked, but he meant it. He kissed Mickey on the cheek.
Mickey laughed and rolled his eyes. “Shut up. Lots of people hate me.”
The door leading to the counselling offices opened and a small, 40-something blonde woman popped her head out. “Ian and Mikhailo Gallagher?”
Mickey looked at Ian and gulped. Ian gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.
“Yes, here,” Ian smiled at the woman and stood. Mickey followed after a bit of hesitation.
“Sorry for the wait,” she said politely, “We’ve been a bit full lately.”
“No problem,” Ian said.
Mickey seemed to be silently judging the posters and such on the walls of the hall. The amount of support and self-help slogans staring down at him overwhelmed him.
“Here’s my office,” she opened the door with her key. “You can choose where to sit.”
Her office was quite plain, with a couple children’s drawings framed on her desk next to the zen-inducing lava lamps. There was a choice between a couch and a couple chairs. Naturally, both Ian and Mickey took the couch and sat together.
The woman sat across from them with a clipboard. “I’ll introduce myself. I’m Nadine, and I have a degree in counselling as well as couple’s relations. Can I ask which of you is Mikhailo and which of you is Ian?” She smiled.
“Mickey,” Mickey said.
“Ian,” Ian said, with a wave of his hand.
“Right,” she smiled more and looked between them, “Let’s start on the relationship then. How long have you two known each other? How did you meet?”
Both Ian and Mickey got a smile on their faces as if something was funny. Mickey couldn’t help but let out a small snort.
“Oh, an interesting story, is it? Tell me all about it.” She seemed interested, which surprised them.
“Well, uh...” Ian began, “I didn’t want to, uh, screw his sister, so she said I was a perv and he came to kill me for messing with her. Basically. That’s how we met. And then I think she told him to back off once she found out I was gay, so he stopped. But he stole a lot from the store, and he stole my boyfriend’s gun, he owned the store, and I went to get it back and... we ended up having sex.”
Nadine’s eyes were wide with surprise and curiosity, but she didn’t look the least bit judgemental. She began furiously writing on the clipboard. “And when was this?”
Ian looked at Mickey, who still had a small smile about it all, and then looked back at Nadine, “About ten years ago, I think.”
“Wow. So you were teenagers,” she pointed out. “When did you get married?”
“A couple weeks ago.” Mickey spoke up. Ian smiled a bit. Nadine wrote that down.
“Have you been together the whole ten years?”
“... No.” Ian said, somewhat sadly, “We were cellmates in prison a while ago, after he’d gone off to Mexico, and we clicked again and... that was that.”
“Prison, okay,” She wrote that down too. “If you managed to survive together in prison, I’m sure you can survive anything.” She said confidently. “Now, I’m going to ask and I want you both to give me an answer,” she pointedly looked at Mickey, who hadn’t said much. Mickey looked nervous. “What brings you here today?”
“Well, we’ve never been a great example of a healthy couple,” Ian began, “We’ve put each other through hell in a lot of ways. But we love each other a lot. And we never seemed to be able to get away from each other. And now we’re married... and we don’t want to hurt each other anymore.”
“Thank you, Ian,” Nadine said, and looked at Mickey, who was staring at the floor.
He gulped, “... I hit him.”
“Mick–” Ian really did not expect Mickey to talk about that.
“No, Ian, let me talk.” He looked up at Nadine, and was blinking back tears, “I hit him. He fell down the stairs and that’s why he has that fuckin’ cast on. It was after he didn’t sign when we were about to get married the first time. He was chasing after me and trying to get me to talk to him and after everything, all the awful shit I felt, I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t say anything and I just hit him. And I don’t want to do that again.”
Mickey wiped the tears out of his eyes and looked away. Nadine nodded slowly. “Thank you for your honesty, Mickey.”
The room was silent.
“Right, why don’t we start there, then?” She asked the both of them. Ian nodded and Mickey looked relieved.
Nadine asked them both about their feelings, about why Ian didn’t sign, about why Mickey was so upset about that, about how they both felt about the hit, about what happened after. She asked them both to hear each other out, to communicate. With her as a mediator, Mickey and Ian found a way not to get riled up when the other said something accidentally hurtful. They made an appointment for the next week, as well, because God knew they had more things they needed to talk about.
After the session, Mickey affectionately held Ian’s hand all the way to the car. Mickey sat in the driver’s seat, with a genuine smile on his face. And tears rolling down his cheeks. Ian sat in the passenger’s seat and closed the door. He was shocked when he looked at Mickey.
“Woah, woah,” Ian said with concern, “Why are you crying? That was good, wasn’t it?”
Mickey laughed and cried. He looked at Ian as more tears fell. “It was great, Ian. We’ll... we’ll be okay.” He laid his hand gently on the back of Ian’s neck and played with his hair. “I’m just happy. That we’ll be okay.”
#gallavich#mickey milkovich#ian gallagher#my writing#😪😪😪 PLS GO TO THERAPY BOYS. I LOVE U.#therapy sessions
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Prompt: About the 87% scene. Could you write about Mickey lying about having a "boyfriend" when he was in Mexico. And telling Ian that afterall he didn't have his whole Heart because of that "boyfriend". Ian realizing that the way he said those things weren'te the best. Then the confrontation, they talk about it and are cute with one another
anon i am CRYING mickey would 1000% do this!!! why did the writers not make this happen
(actually i’m glad they didn’t, bc these boys don’t need any more drama)
here’s my take (since we all need a little gallavich before the next episode!), hope u enjoy<3
--
“I guess everyone I’ve been with gets a little piece of my heart”
Mickey froze where he was standing, by the toilet bowl and the dust-covered bathroom shelves, and felt his heart sink. The fuck is he talking about?
“Wait, everyone?”
“Yeah. Yup.” Ian froze for a moment, his toothbrush hanging out of the corner of his mouth. “Okay, maybe not everybody. You don’t feel the same way?”
Mickey could almost wince. Fucking Gallagher—didn’t Ian know he was the only guy Mickey had really been with, because Ian was the only one that mattered? Instantly, Mickey thought back to all of the sloppy and excruciatingly boring hookups he’d had with women—back before he came out and was constantly putting on a show, was burying who he really was deep beneath the ground.
Ian looked at him earnestly, toothbrush still half in his mouth, with those steady green eyes Mickey could always get lost in—the only thing keeping Mickey afloat during those darker days, when he felt like everything else was pulling him under. Ian was the only person who had ever made Mickey’s heart race or his palms sweaty, the only fucking person who made Mickey feel like he was here for a reason, no matter what bullshit life threw at him. Ian was the center of Mickey’s existence, and he always had been—how could that asshole not realize that no one else Mickey’d been with could ever compare to him?
“No, I don’t. Y’know what, fuck you” is what Micket wanted to say—he felt the words about to launch off the tip of his tongue. Instead, before he knew what he was doing, Mickey lied.
“Uhhhhh. I guess, man. Y’know, I had that thing down in Mexico with, uh, Julio.” Mickey looked down at his bare feet on the tiled bathroom floor, knowing that Ian would see right through him if he looked directly in his eyes.
Ian’s eyebrows raised in genuine confusion as he leaned over the sink. “Julio? Who the fuck is Julio?” Ian sputtered as he spit out a mouthful of foamy toothpaste.
“Were you not listening, smartass? He was my… my lover. I was in Mexico a long time before I snitched on the cartel and threw my life away for your ass.”
Ian stood up and placed his toothbrush in a cup on the shelf above the sink, turning to look at Mickey, who finally raised his gaze from the linoleum. Ian didn’t look hurt, which was what Mickey was aiming for— more than anything, Ian just looked thoroughly confused, and maybe a little bit amused.
“You’ve never mentioned anything about some dude named Julio, Mick. Where’d you meet him?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know, Gallagher.”
Mickey stormed out of the bathroom, and turned the corner into their bedroom. It was this fucking quarantine, that was the problem—the same way that they were down each other’s throats when they were cramped together in a tiny jail cell. They were so used to the lack of each other that being together always seemed to make a mess of things. Ian didn’t actually mean that he had been in love with other people— right?
People annoyed Mickey, mostly— sex was sex, just another bland part of his bland life of doing runs for his dad, living in his fucked-up household, getting drunk with his brothers. And then one day, Ian came bursting through his door. Mickey would never forget that first time that he and Ian were together— in his opinion, that day probably permanently altered his brain chemistry or some shit. The day that he was laying in bed, woken up by a pale-faced angel whose chest was just as smooth and beautifully pale and freckled as the skin on his face and hands. And Mickey was also covered with skin, that was apparently covered with super-powered nerve endings that hadn’t done a goddamn thing his whole life, but came alive like ice and fire and bee stings as soon as Ian touched him. Wherever Ian touched him.
Sex was just sex to Mickey, for so long—but sex with Ian was on an entirely different plane of existence.
And the thought of Ian being like that with someone else, especially during that time when Mickey was locked up and there was a wall of plexiglass between them, a wall Mickey had put there himself when all he was doing was trying to protect Ian from Sammi’s bullshit; well, it made Mickey’s stomach churn.
Ian followed Mickey out of the bathroom and leaned on the doorframe of their bedroom, like he knew Mickey needed some space. “You and this Julio guy, you were like, together?”
Mickey kept his gaze downward as he put on a wrinkled shirt. “Hell yeah, man. We lived in a shack by the beach, fucked all day long. You don’t know everything about me, Gallagher.”
“I guess not.” Ian mused, still looking like he half didn’t believe Mickey. “So, uh. This Julio guy. You’re saying he has a piece of your heart?”
“Oh yeah, a big ol’ chunk of it. You aren’t special, Gallagher. In fact, he might have a bigger piece than you do, with all the fucking bickering we’ve been doing lately,” Mickey spat out as he pulled on his shoes.
Ian rolled his eyes, but sensing Mickey’s tension, he kept talking. “Mick, you know I didn’t mean it. You have the majority of my heart. The vast majority.”
Mickey scoffed, feeling more pissed off than ever. “Oh, yeah? How much is that, exactly?”
“I don’t know… 87%?”
Mickey looked at Ian, charging up for a fight. “Fuck you. That’s not enough.”
“It is enough, Mick. I’ve been with so many people I can barely remember their names. You know what it was like at the club. That’s 87% for you, and 13% for every other meaningful connection I’ve ever had in the years we were apart—that seems pretty stacked to me.”
“Yeah, well, joke’s on you, motherfucker, because you don’t even have that much of my heart, anyways. In fact, maybe I’ll go back down to fucking Mexico and see if Julio’s still around.”
Ian rolled his eyes. “Mick, calm down. You don’t mean that.”
“I do, asshole. Excuse me for thinking I had your whole heart, instead of pissing away 13% of it while I was locked behind bars and tattooing your fucking name onto my chest.” Mickey turned to where Ian was blocking the doorway. “You gonna let me through?”
Ian sighed, gently putting a hand up to Mickey’s chest to stop him from barreling past into the hallway. “Okay, listen, all that shit came out wrong. You know you’re the only one that matters.”
Mickey looked at Ian’s hand on his chest, then looked up and to meet Ian’s gaze. “Do I?” he said, in a softer voice than he realized.
Ian smirked, and let his arms glide up Mickey’s chest and around his shoulders, locking him in close. “Hey. Of course you are. You’re the only one I ever wanted to be with forever.”
“Fuck you,” Mickey said earnestly, but he didn’t try to shake himself from Ian’s grasp.
Ian let his hands roam up to cradle the back of Mickey’s head in his hands, making sure he had Mickey’s undivided attention. “Listen. All those people, like Ned or Kash or whoever, they were all an important part of me becoming who I am, and nothing can change that. But they’re all a part of our love story, Mick. They’re all… minor characters, on the path of me getting to marry you.”
Now Mickey was the one rolling his eyes, his tough exterior finally starting to melt. “Yeah, okay softie.” His eyes flickered downward, in one last moment of vulnerability. “It’s just… it’s hard to forget all the stuff I missed out on, all the time we both coulda had. Time where you were with other people and not me.”
Ian pecked Mickey’s forehead, holding him in close. “Yeah, well, we have plenty of time now. Almost too much time. So much time that we’re ripping each other’s heads off.”
Mickey leaned back, and smirked. “Well, I’ve got a pretty good idea of what we can do with all that time on our hands, Mr. Milkovich.”
Ian leaned in closer, Mickey’s face millimeters from his. “Oh yeah?”
As Mickey leaned in to close the gap between their lips, he felt the nerve endings all over his body going fucking crazy again—maybe it had been a bumpy path for them both, and maybe he’d lost some of Ian along the way, but he couldn’t deny that this was worth the wait.
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