squirrel-fund
on a teensy weensy hiatus
auds | 30ish | she/her | 92% Gallavich with maybe a few kernals of other neat stuff | squirrelfund on AO3
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You wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where they raised me
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Part vi number 18 and 8 👀
8. “Kiss me, I can’t wait any longer.”
18. “It’s so hot when you talk like that.”
it's been a long night. the mission was a success and the team is celebrating - using a chunk of the stolen cash to fill their stomachs with food and good wine at the vacant building they renovated into their hideout.
it's been a long night, and it's made even longer by how ian hasn't had a single moment alone with mickey since the heist started. since mickey had to concentrate on doing his thing with the wires and ian had to put on his tux, blending in with the gala's diamonds and furs. pretending to be someone you're not is hard in a room full of rich snobs. it's even harder in a room full of people who think they know you from top to bottom.
because they don't. these people are his family - they have been for years - but they don't know what makes ian tick. what's most important to him. the way his heart pulses and fingers itch for the man across the table from him.
his team is his family, but they don't know that he and mickey are fucking.
they can't. it would complicate too much. they'd start going off about how emotions like that can fuck with the plan. how their entire mission can go haywire if something happened to one of them. and they're right. it would. ian would scrap an entire weeks-long pursuit the fucking second he saw something happen to mickey. he cares too much. he's a fucking liability.
so they don't tell them. they keep their nights together to themselves. keep how long they've been doing this a secret. act normal and cordial and friendly on the outside, even when one shared look across the table sends pulses of want and desire through ian so powerful that he has to swallow down another gulp of wine, their heavy gaze never leaving each other once.
because it's been a long night. he hasn't had a chance to touch mickey. to reward him for a job well done in his own way. to look him over and smooth him out and exist with him, away from the others. alone. together.
the team is his family, but they don't know that he told mickey he's in love with him last night. they have no idea how powerful the wave of delight in his soul was when mickey said it back to him. to them, they're just ian and mickey. two members of the team who have gone quiet now, content with stealing glances across the table with heavy, wine-drunk eyes.
they can't know. and ian is two seconds away from reaching across the table and pulling mickey's hand into his own, so he forces himself to get up, stepping away from the table.
he disappears into one of the bedrooms - the one with the big floor to ceiling windows that look out into the abandoned building's courtyard. it's quiet here. peaceful. he can hear exactly how hard his pulse is thumping in his eardrums while everyone else carries on in the main room.
because he's good at slipping away without causing attention to it. it's how he joined the team in the first place. but there's one person who tracked his entire exit. he's fucking banking on it.
behind him, the door shuts. the lock clicks.
and when ian turns, the warmth that was being pushed down all night blooms fully and heavily in his chest.
mickey takes him in just as hungrily, the grin that's pulling the corner of his mouth so good that ian needs to chase after it. "kiss me," mickey murmurs, already stepping toward him on the momentum they've been building across the table, "can't wait any fuckin' longer."
it's got ian's heart soaring. has something almost animalistic rumbling in his chest as he steps forward too, fucking finally, because christ... "it's so fucking hot when you talk like that."
and when they meet in the middle of the room, it's with hands grabbing - feeling - running over ian's shoulders and holding mickey's face and they pull themselves together so tightly that ian can taste blood as their mouths clash.
but it's what he's been craving all night. it's what keeps him going, mickey just as hungry for it as he starts walking him backward until ian's back is pressed against the window.
they probably shouldn't be doing this here. not right now, at least. they're celebrating in the other room, after all.
but nothing is more important to ian than this man. this moment. this thing that they've made with each other.
and soon, it will be too big to hide.
[ send me a smutty one-liner ]
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5 for the physical affection but smutty prompts pretty pretty please 🙏 😶
Send me a number prompt and I’ll make it smutty
5. crying into their neck/shoulder
Mickey's pupils are blown, only a tiny ring of blue visible as he stares up at you through wet, hooded eyes. Hands restrained against the headboard and mouth stuffed with his favourite gag, you've never seen a more beautiful sight.
"Good?" you ask, voice a whisper in the dim-lit room.
He nods, the slightest of movements, and you reach down, caress his jaw. His eyes close at the contact and you smile.
"Yeah, you've been so good for me."
He preens and presses himself into your hand. You allow it, know he needs it. His entire body is flushed, sweaty, fucking gorgeous, and you can't help yourself.
"Think you've got one more in ya?" you ask, sitting between his legs, fingers back at his hole, brushing, tracing.
You hear the hitch in his breathing, see the way his chest begins to heave a little, and he shakes his head wildly and then nods slowly. You smirk, and three fingers slip back inside of him with zero resistance. You watch in awe as his eyes get that little bit hazier, his breaths get that little bit shorter. Fuck. You love this. Love him.
You press, knowing that, despite his nod, he doesn't have much more in him. He's ready for it, and you're ready to give it to him, ready to watch him fall apart. So you press and rub and stare into his eyes as he moans and pushes into you, press and rub and stare into his eyes as his dick leaks against his stomach and his ass clenches around you.
"Close?"
He nods. Gasps. Makes that tiny little noise you know means it's about to happen.
You slip your fingers out.
He groans. Something that sounds like a muffled, ragged fuck pushing through the gag. Tears spill from his eyes and you want to lick his face clean, mouth at his entire body, suck his dick until he comes in your mouth.
"Shit, Mick, look at you." You're so fucking proud of him, but you're kinda proud of yourself for keeping it together this long, too. He stares at you, desperate and needy, and you smile. "You wanna come?"
He nods, body trembling.
"Gonna come just from my fingers?" You wanna suck his dick, but you want him to come untouched even more. "Think you can do that, baby?"
He nods again, eager to please.
You slide your fingers back in and press, push your thumb against his perineum, attach your free hand to your own aching cock. Mickey pants as best he can through his gag, his eyes flicking from your eyes, down to where you're touching yourself, and back again.
"Eyes on me," you whisper, and he nods jerkily as you press harder, rub in unrelenting circles, jerk yourself in time with the strokes you give his prostate.
And he grunts, fucking whines, waiting for you, waiting for you to give him the permission he so desperately craves.
You nod. "Yeah, Mick, come."
He comes, his back arching and body shuddering, nonsense sounds emitting from his mouth and it's beautiful, gorgeous, enough to make you follow with a tingle in your spine and heat in your stomach. You come, aim it all over his cock and balls, and feel your body heat at the way it makes him moan.
You want to bask in the afterglow, but you want to be with him more. You let go of your dick, pull your fingers out of his ass, lean your body over his and brush your lips against his forehead.
"Okay?"
He nods.
"Gonna get this shit off you."
He nods again.
You release his hands first, rubbing at his shoulders as his arms ease to his sides, and then remove the gag, wiping at the spit slicked over his lips. And then you hug him. Because that's his aftercare. He wants to be held, wants the weight of you on top of him, and you want to give him everything he wants.
"Did so good, baby. So fuckin' hot."
He huffs against you. "Fuck, Ian."
"Got you, Mick. Always got you."
He nods, just slightly, and presses his face into your neck. His breathing evens out, and, eventually, his arms raise to hug you back, but every now and then you feel a little more wetness against your shoulder and you hold him that little bit tighter.
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I'm having trouble focusing on writing Gallavich thanks to those two firefighters that kissed.
#honestly a great problem to have#ian and mickey.... i just need a few minutes more#you two still my loves#but...#bucktommy#evan buckley#tommy kinard#911 spoilers
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I have this theory that even if you roll on a cartel, using your testimony as leverage to request serving your time in not just the same prison, but the same cell as a specific prisoner (who has recently become a highly controversial politically aligned public figure) with no proof of association beyond previous prison visits and the same childhood neighborhood is going to raise some eyebrows. This theory contends that the DOJ could easily believe that you're pretending to roll on your cartel so you can be placed with this guy because the cartel wants him taken out or something. Maybe a powerful anti-lgbtq+ group is paying the cartel to send someone in to assassinate him. Maybe a powerful PRO-lgbtq+ group is paying the cartel to send someone in to associate him because they resent his plea. There are so many possibilities that are more likely than the truth.
I therfore posit the following scenario: before agreeing to the deal, the prosecutors demand a reasonable explanation otherwise, and demand details to prove its truth. This results in a HIMYM-esque telling by Mickey of the entire Gallavich story so far. It starts with just him, his attorney, and the prosecuting attorney in an interrogation room, but every time we flash back from a previous Gallavich scene to the present, more and more people are gathered around listening to this complicated and inexplicably beautiful romantic backstory. The prosecutor agrees to place them together (by this point Mickey is sitting in the middle of the bullpen, Styrofoam coffee cup in hand, wrapping up the story as the entire station - uniformed officers, other defense lawyers, even a few arrestees in the holding cell) and everybody cheers. Nobody acknowledges that the telling of the story involved confessions to multiple other felonies. Nobody cares. All anybody cares about is that this great love story continue and that it continue by placing the two boys in a holding cell together.
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ian’s finally gotten up the nerve. he’s gonna do it. he’s gonna ask out his smokin’ hot statistics professor, prof milkovich (“call me mickey,” he says). right after today’s class.
read the drabble at https://archiveofourown.org/works/54857386
happy gge to @sandrashaine who requested a college student x professor au. hope you enjoy!
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Second try for @squirrel-fund 's fantastic prompt for @galladrabbles.
Jello
“You can’t have Jello now.” Ian whispered while Mickey stood infront the door. A shiteating grin on Mickeys face. “Mick, I know you're stoned but…. No…”
Mickey unlocked the door and entered the store.
“Like old times, Gallagher” Mickey went to the fridge, put out his favorite jello and began to eat.
“If Linda knew I've still a key she would kill me.”
Mickey giggled. The weed makes everything funny.
“Sounds like we’ve to use the time. Let’s go in the freezer. Take off your pants.” An rised eyebrow and a bitten lip was all Ian needs. Like old times.
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Prompt: Jello
Thank you @squirrel-fund for this week's @galladrabbles prompt! I had a lot of ideas but I stuck with the first one that came to mind. Enjoy!
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Jello shots get you drunk surprisingly fast. That's what Mickey realized after his eighth. He glanced over at Ian who was already on his ninth and questioned why he was getting tipsy and Ian wasn't.
"We used to do these all the time when I worked at the club." Ian said, almost as if he read Mickey's mind.
Hearing this, Mickey had a flashback to when he used to go to that club to protect Ian from the creeps. He thought of Ian wearing nothing but those golden boxers and realized jello shots had another unexpected effect on him. He was horny.
#i could totally see them making jello shots at home and then *smut ensues*#<- is there any better way to spend a Friday night??#gallavich#drabble babble#q'd for your pleasure
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There's always room for Jello
Thanks to @squirrel-fund for this week's prompt for @galladrabbles!
Word Count: 100
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Ian stopped wiping down the bar to grab the beer for his favorite customer, Mickey. They'd been flirting for weeks now. He couldn't get the guy out of his mind.
"There are some jello shots over there if you want one. Careful... they're like 120 proof."
"When you get off?"
Ian raised an eyebrow. "'Bout 10 minutes, why?"
Mickey jiggled the jellow shots in the little plastic cups. "Because these will taste better if you eat them off my stomach."
Ian smirked, leaning over the bar and looking at Mickey with a wanton stare. "Is that an invitation?"
"Abso-fucking-lutely."
"Finally."
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Jell-o
Thank you @squirrel-fund for this week's @galladrabbles prompt!
Previously on No Sleep 'Til Nashville, Mickey finally let Ian in. Now, he's taking over ...
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Hey. Is this thing on?
Gallagher’s been doing an okay job telling this story, but now it’s my turn. And none of that past-tense, passive bullshit. I’ll tell you everything the moment it happens, okay?
You’re gonna witness every mile, every pit stop, every tacky decision my ex makes for this wedding. His abysmal choice in groom. Some godawful silver balloon arch. Those lime-flavored vodka Jell-o squares he loves so much.
Damn, I can’t wait to see the scowl on Keith’s face when Ian and I start playing tonsil hockey on the dance floor.
We’re gonna fuck some shit up.
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IAN GALLAGHER + his journey with bipolar disorder
╰┈➤ “At times, being bipolar can be an all-consuming challenge, requiring a lot of stamina and even more courage, so if you’re living with this illness and functioning at all, it’s something to be proud of, not ashamed of." - Carrie Fisher
#i love this macy!!#it's gorgeous just like you and everyone else I've met on this road 🧡#happy world bipolar day!#ian gallagher
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Shameless 3.6
#amd they lived happily ever after without a care in the world 🥺🫣🤫#ian gallagher#mickey milkovich#gallavich
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Galladrabbles: Jello
Thank you @squirrel-fund for this week’s @galladrabbles prompt! It was fun to write this :)
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“Nope I’m cuttin’ you off.”
“They’re just jello shots,” Ian whines, trying to snatch back the little cup.
“You’ve had like 10 of these.”
“But they’re delicioussss!” He makes grabby hands at Mickey’s shirt.
“That’s the problem.” He’s been Ian’s roommate long enough to know how this night ends.
By the way, he didn’t sign up for this shit when he moved to the dorms. Then forced to live with this hot, totally unattainable guy…
… who was now on the dance floor, some baseball team douche making grabby hands at him.
Frat parties sucked. He downs Ian’s jello shot.
#how’d Ian even convince him to come to this party in the first place#<- staking his claim lol#but omg jello shots and ian could be a toxic pair#drabble babble#gallavich#q'd for your pleasure
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Galladrabbles: Jello
So thanks @galladrabbles and @squirrel-fund for the prompt. I keep thinking about how in the 90's how people gave molds of jello as welcome gifts. At least, according to that episode of Rugrats they did.
Jello
They’ve been in the apartment for a little over a week. Some of the neighbors have been more welcoming than others, which, Ian understands. It’s a pandemic, after all. When the bell rings, Ian half expects it to be Lip.
“Hi there!” An older couple waves. “We’re from the floor above! Here!” She’s smiling, her giving a weak grin. In her hands is a mold of jello, the colors rainbow. “Feel free to keep the dish!” She says cheerfully.
“The fuck is that?” Mickey asks when Ian shuts the door.
“Our upstairs neighbors gave us jello as a welcome gift.”
#this made me think of the multicolor ring you can get at the store#can you still get them??#never liked jello???#try the raspberry jello! so good!#drabble babble#gallavich#q'd for your pleasure
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Galladrabbles: Jello
Thanks to @squirrel-fund for this week's prompt. Long live @galladrabbles!!!.
TW: smut-lite
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“Hey baby, Frannie made lemon jello. Eat up,” Ian says, sliding the accordion doors open holding two bowls.
“No can do,” Mickey counters, “I ain’t eatin’ that shit. Don’t like it.”
“Who doesn’t like lemon jello, Mick?”
“Me, I don’t like it.”
“I bet I can get you to eat some.”
“That would be a negative, Red. Not for Frannie. Not even for you.”
“We’ll see…”
Mickey enters the room later to see Ian lying in bed naked except for a glob of strategically placed jello.
“Will you eat some now?”
“Well sure,” he says closing the door, “That’s strawberry.”
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Craving a Taste
🍓🍓🍓
Thank you @squirrel-fund for this week's super fun @galladrabbles prompt!!!
🍓🍓🍓
This right here is exactly why Mickey should never try to be fucking nice.
When Ian asked for a jello-cup, Mickey’s knee-jerk response was a firm and final fuck no.
But Ian had made his eyes all big and his lips all pouty and Mickey gets em free with his five-finger discount, anyways.
Except now Ian's mouth is red and glossy and he's making these disgusting slurping sounds and Mickey kinda wants to know if he’d taste like strawberries or something better.
He shifts uncomfortably. Scowls. Rubs at his lips.
He eats his own strawberry jello and pretends, pretends, pretends.
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