#gallavich inspired

[bigboyedits]

More gallavich inspired gainer art, some better than others but still hot

[antiatuz]

Hangman: Just wondering... if we're a couple or not.

Rooster: Of course we are.

[sam-loves-seb]

the bathroom drawer

"Mickey!" Ian yells. "Did you move my cologne?"

"Your what?" Mickey calls back, appearing in the bathroom doorway while buttoning up his shirt.

"My cologne."

"No. I don't even know where you keep that shit."

"In here!" Ian says, shaking his head as he rummages through the drawer below their bathroom sink. "I swear I left it in here."

"Lemme see," Mickey says, nudging Ian to the side. "You're shit at looking."

"I'm not shit at looking, it's just not fucking there."

"Yeah, yeah," Mickey grumbles, moving the junk in the drawer around. "Jesus Christ. How much shit do we got in here?"

"Too much," Ian muses, folding his arms over his chest and leaning his hip against the sink. "But it doesn't matter anyway. It's not in there. I've been looking for--"

"Found it." Mickey holds up the blue bottle with a smug grin.

Ian grabs it from him. "Whatever."

Mickey raises his eyebrows. "Whatever? That's what I get?"

Ian leans in and gives him a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," he says instead.

"Better," Mickey grumbles.

Ian spritzes the cologne onto himself while Mickey keeps rummaging around in the drawer. He pulls out an empty toilet paper roll, a broken comb with too many teeth missing, and an old phone charger with exposed wires.

He throws them all in the trash. "This thing is a mess."

"Yeah," Ian says with a sigh, checking himself over in the mirror. He paws at his hair a bit. "We gotta do a deep clean in here one of these days. Closet's a disaster too."

"What the fuck is--"

Ian looks over at his husband when he doesn't finish his sentence.

Mickey's brows are furrowed as he holds up a thin black stick in front of his face. "Is this makeup?"

Ian huffs out a faint laugh. "Yeah."

"Debbie's?"

"That thing's old enough to be Fiona's," Ian tells him, taking it from Mickey. "But no. It's mine."

Mickey raises his brows. "Yours?"

Ian uncaps the tube, twists the end so the little black tip pushes through the end. "Eyeliner."

"Holy shit," Mickey says slowly. "How fucking old is that thing?"

"Old," Ian says, trying to read the chipped writing on the side for any kind of date. "Probably expired."

"That shit expires?"

"Supposedly. But who knows."

Mickey tilts his head, watching Ian examine the eyeliner. "How the hell did it end up here?"

"No idea," Ian tells him. How it survived in the Gallagher house for as long as it did and moved to their west side apartment is beyond him. "Probably got boxed up with some of my shit a long time ago."

"Huh," Mickey muses. He crosses his arms over his chest. "Can't believe you used to put that shit on every night."

"Me neither," Ian says. "You ever tried it?"

"What, make up?"

"Yeah."

"For a disguise once or twice," Mickey tells him with a shrug. "Never like, just 'cause."

Ian starts to grin. "You wanna?"

"Fuck no," Mickey says instinctively. He bites his lip. "Why? You gonna wear it tonight?"

"Why not?" Ian asks, facing the mirror and leaning in close. "We're already going to a club. Might as well get go all out."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah." Ian glances over at his husband. "You got a problem with that?"

Mickey shrugs. "No."

"Okay."

Mickey watches with rapt attention as Ian applies the eyeliner to himself. The stick is old for sure, and it takes a few passes to really get the make up on his eyelid. It only takes a minute though, and then Ian's eyes are outlined in black.

"There," he says, blinking and turning to face Mickey. "How do I look?"

"Weird," Mickey says.

"Sure, but like, crazy weird, or hot weird."

Mickey's brows pinch together. "...Hot weird."

Ian grins. "It's kinda doing it for you, isn't it?"

"No. Shut up," Mickey says quickly.

Ian laughs. "You should try it," he tells his husband. "It's fun."

"It looks like it's gonna get in my eyes."

"Maybe," Ian says with a shrug. "But I bet you'd look hot with it."

"You say that about everything you want me to wear."

"And I've never been wrong once."

Mickey makes a face. "Does it hurt?"

"No."

"...Can I take it off if it looks stupid?"

Ian's face relaxes. "You can take it off whenever you want," he says softly. "Doesn't ever have to leave this bathroom."

Mickey glares at the eyeliner, his face slowly melting into apprehensive reluctance. "Fucking... fine."

"Really?" Ian asks, perking up.

"How do I do it?"

"I can do it," Ian offers, holding up the eyeliner and his open hand. "Lemme put it on you."

Mickey sighs through his nose, then steps closer. He tilts his chin up and fits his face into his husband's waiting hands.

Ian kisses his temple. "Close your eyes."

Mickey does as told. His eyelashes flutter at the first press of the stick, eyelids scrunching at the new, weird sensation.

"Hold still," Ian whispers, trying not to poke him in the eye.

"Feels weird," Mickey mumbles.

"Yeah, but..." Ian pulls back, smiling at his work. "Open your eyes."

Mickey blinks them open, eyebrows bouncing with it. "So?"

"Damn," Ian says, grinning. "You look good, baby."

"Fuck off with that," Mickey grumbles, turning towards the mirror. He makes a face. "I look like a fucking alien."

"A hot alien."

Mickey gives him the side eye, but he doesn't immediately wipe the eyeliner off. He leans in close to the mirror, tilts his head this way and that. Pulls at the skin on his cheeks and his temples. "Weird," he says quietly.

"So," Ian starts, capping the eyeliner and tossing it back in the drawer. "You ready to go, or what?"

Mickey sighs heavily, taking one last look at himself in the mirror.

Ian slides in behind him, curls a hand around his hip. "Don't overthink it," he whispers, kissing his husband's temple. "If you like it, go with it."

"I don't know if I like it."

"That's okay too."

Mickey leans back against him. "It looks good on you."

Ian smiles softly. "Thanks."

Mickey hums. "Fine," he says, standing up straight. "Let's go. But if anyone says anything about it--"

"I know," Ian says, hands on his husband's shoulders as he follows him out of the bathroom. "You get to punch them."

"I get to punch them."

"Fine." Ian kills the bathroom light. "And we might have to hit the 24 hour CVS on the way home. I definitely don't have make up wipes."

[you-show-me-love]

"What's your favorite part of me? Like physically." Ian asked Mickey one night as they lay in bed, feeling soft as they await sleep.

He doesn't know why he asked, really, feels like he already knows the answer. Its his cock probably, the thing that brings Mickey the most pleasure, the thing reeled him in and kept him on the line.

Mickey turned over to face him, eyes moving across his boyfriend's face before glancing just above it. Ian watches his lips twitch upward.

"Gotta thing for redheads." Mickey admits, wrapping his hand around the back of Ian's head, running his fingers through the copper strands.

"Oh." Is all he manages to get out. He's stunned to be wrong in the best way. With his hand still on the back of Ian's head, Mickey pulls him in for a sleepy kiss before turning over. Ian moved right behind him, holding him tightly from behind. Mickey's arm reaches behind him to cradle the back of Ian's head again.

[burninface]

Mickey The Thug Goose

Aaaand Goollavich! Honk, honk!

[heymrspatel]

deep breath, big guy... that's right, just like that

artworks inspired by sculptures for @gallavichthings kinktober 2024 prompts: choking + breath play + lingerie inspiration: "the kiss" by gustav vigeland collection on tumblr & ao3

Gustav Vigeland The Kiss (1897) Plaster

[romidoes]

“For how much fucking longer are you going to keep punishing me, huh? For how much longer am I going to have to be okay with every little thing you do […] I’d to anything in this world for you, Mickey, but I won’t play second string to be loved by you. I can’t. ” — art inspired by the quote from In Another World by @roryonic

[gallawitchxx]

day two • gallavich kinktober 2024

↳ 31 days of kinks & cards in 3 sentences

AFTERCARE x PAGE OF SWORDS

“Drink up, baby,” Ian coos, lifting the water bottle to Mickey’s lips. He drinks, unable to protest, but also unable to ignore where Ian’s still thick and hard against his come-covered hip—the tangible results of three mind bending orgasms on Ian’s tongue, his fingers, and his perfect cock. When he’s back from the stratosphere, Mickey promises to get right to work adding Ian’s to the mix.

@gallavichthings

[southsideofchicago]

you cant tell me this is not them.

[cringengl]

One of my fave hcs for post canon is that Mickey is chronically offline but has no idea- he's always aware of a trend at least 5 years after it's died lmao

Like one day after having a fight with Mickey, Ian comes back home after storming off only to find a bucket of freezing cold water being dumped over his head and Mickey saying "I nominated you for the ice bucket challenge, bitch"

And then Ian tries to explain how the ice bucket challenge actually works but it's been 10 years and Mickey isn't paying attentions bcus Ian wore a white shirt

[ninoochat]

Can't we just be Ian and Mickey?

[bigboyedits]

Gainer gallavich with feedee micky and mutual gaining, still not exactly gallavich but still gets me going

[haunted-phantom-student]

Love it when a romantic declaration is prefaced by "of course"

It turns "We're a couple" into "Obviously we're a couple you idiot why would you even question it" and "I'll marry you" into "You moron we'd be married already if it was up to me"

And I love it

[babygirlmickey]

[sluttygallavich]

Galladrabbles: thank you

This week's @galladrabbles is based on the prompt "thank you" from @twinklyylights.

_________________________

Mickey clocks Ian’s lumbering gait on the stairs behind him. Of fucking course he’s not letting this go.

Ian catches him by the shoulder on the upstairs landing, spinning him around.

“You could say thank you, you ungrateful prick.”

Mickey doesn’t think, just reacts, shoving Ian against the wall and fisting his camo jacket in both hands.

“I ain’t thanking you for dick, Gallagher,” he growls.

They’re both breathing hard, but when Ian quirks an eyebrow, the atmosphere in the hallway turns on a dime.

“No?”

Mickey rolls his eyes — “Corny ass motherfucker,” he mutters — and crashes their lips together.

[burninface]

Murder(s) On The Dancefloor