For you, dearest Michelle @michellemisfit 🤗❤️ Hope it comes close to what you had in mind.
cc: @gallavichthings
Read it HERE 💕
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Summary: 'This is all Mickey's doing. A fucking surprise birthday party, just because he's mentioned the infamous Gallagher bashes once or twice and how birthdays in his family have always been the biggest deal. It's beyond anything he would've expected, so much work and coordination... Which makes him feel even more guilty for wishing they were anywhere else but here.'
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OR: A surprise party is what anyone would like for their birthday, right?
My GGE2026 gift for @awaywithherhead! Thanks to @gallavichthings for putting this together once again!
Pairing: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Rating: Explicit
Words: 10,900
Tags: Social media AU, Adult star Mickey, Angst with a happy ending, Brief mention of Mickey/OMC, Sexting, Smut, Fluff, Blowjobs, Anal fingering, Anal sex
Summary:
Ian is desperate for a social media site that meets all his needs. That’s when he learns about Buzzr, and subsequently finds his feed full of the hottest guy he’s ever seen.
This one’s for you! I tried to tick as many of your boxes as I could fit into this one fic: college AU, enemies to lovers, enemies with benefits, jealousy, smut, both a little bit messed up but soft. I hope you like it!
And thank you @gallavichthings for hosting, as always!
Terms of Occupancy
Ian is a neat freak who thrives on organization and order. His new college roommate, Mickey, is a certified chaos gremlin sent by the universe to torture him in every way possible. But it’ll be fine. Ian can handle it. Right?
Thank you so much for organizing this event @gallavichthings ❤️
Very happy to have participated! The person I gifted is @katicusdramaticus :)
You asked for a very interesting story about Ian as a film critic and Mickey as a director. Both working under pseudonyms, but Ian has always been harshly attacking Mickey's work. Their feelings develop without knowing each other's identities, and Mickey ends up finding out…
You can read it here! Tangled Like a Bad Habit.
I've tried my best to address everything you asked for, and I truly hope you enjoy it ❤️ Thank you so much for giving me the opportunity! This one is for you :)
It's officially the 17th for me, which means it's time to post for Gallavich Gift Exchange! Written for @jessij1997 , I really hope you like it!! Thank you so much @gallavichthings
Mickey Milkovich hit the ground running when he was eighteen, and got the fuck out of Chicago. Now he travels the expanse of the United States and sells art to bougie tourists. He's never given much of a thought to his soulmate. The phenomenon is rare and largely misunderstood. Ian Gallagher is an EMT who's just now realizing that he's got a lot to learn about soulmates. The problem is that Ian can't trust his own instincts, and Mickey never really learned how to stop running.
Relationship: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Characters: Ian Gallagher, Mickey Milkovich
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Drifter!Mickey, Artist!Mickey, EMT!Ian, Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Love at First Sight, Idiots in Love, Miscommunication, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Tender Sex, Crying During Sex, Bipolar Disorder, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Pre-show canon is intact (mostly)
Language: English
Collections: Gallavich Gift Exchange 2026
Words:8,150
The first one to post for GGE2026 hosted by @gallavichthings
This is for @annisefreya 🧡
Ian felt the boredom vibrating in every fiber of his body.
The routine was good for his mental stability, but for his marriage it was sometimes toxic.
Waking up every morning and getting into the same car to drive to the same job, along the same streets with the same potholes and the same music on the radio often felt like they were stuck in a time loop.
And at the same time Ian enjoyed sharing that routine with his husband. He got to spend the whole day with someone he didn’t just love, but also genuinely liked.
That made a lot of things easier.
They worked the same shifts, complained about the same coworkers on the drive home, arrived home at the same time, ate dinner together, and fell into bed just as exhausted as the other.
It was a give and take.
After the security business had gone down the drain much faster than they had hoped, they had both ended up in a 9-to-5 job. Of all things, the exact kind of job they had always tried to avoid.
Ian had practically begged his old boss on his knees just to be allowed to haul boxes around the stuffy warehouse again for the same miserable pay. Mickey, after finally applying for his social security number, had gotten the same shitty job.
The smell of dust, cardboard, and plastic constantly hung in the air, and his back ached from carrying boxes.
It was just as miserable as assembling motorcycles or handing out parking tickets in a meter-maid outfit like his brothers — and just as monotonous.
And even though his mental health clearly benefited from this routine monotony, every now and then he missed the thrill he had felt so often with Mickey in their youth.
Running from the cops after a fight, high on adrenaline. Watching Mickey fire a gun in the merciless Chicago summer, sweaty and filthy. Or that rush when they had almost been caught in the freezer of the Kash & Grab.
He missed that sharp, electric buzz under his skin, the one that had slowly been replaced by a dull numbness.
Sometimes he missed it.
And sometimes he thought Mickey missed it too.
It was as if being married had tamed him in a way that was almost frightening. Mickey Milkovich, prince of the South Side and former regular inmate of Cook County, now regularly sat in the bathtub with his husband and had somehow developed a liking for brunching with the gay couple across the hall.
It was almost like teaching a tiger to shake paws.
Maybe that was the reason Ian hadn’t said anything that morning.
Maybe that was the reason Mickey hadn’t said anything either when Ian showed it to him.
They both wanted to feel it again. The adrenaline in their veins. That racing sensation when you broke a law and didn’t know if you would get caught. The pounding of a heart warning you of danger.
And that package Ian currently had on his pallet was the perfect opportunity to feel that rush again.
Of course he hadn’t said anything.
He had already noticed while unloading that the weight didn’t make sense. It was too heavy for expired cornflakes, and the box was new and undamaged — not a typical supermarket return.
Ian shot Mickey a look and beckoned him over with a barely noticeable tilt of his head.
Mickey understood immediately. Of course he did after almost seven years of marriage. He glanced around briefly before casually strolling over to Ian.
Ian opened the first box and showed Mickey what he had found. Several small, tightly wrapped plastic packages lay inside the first cereal box.
Ian looked at Mickey questioningly as his heart began to race.
Mickey wordlessly pulled the box cutter from his pocket and slid the blade inside before pulling it out again. White powder clung to it — just as Ian had suspected.
For a moment everything was silent except for the distant beep of a forklift. Ian’s heartbeat echoed in his ears.
Mickey glanced around once more, then licked his finger, brushed it over the blade, and brought it to his mouth to taste it. Not enough to get high, but enough to make sure what Ian had found.
His eyebrows lifted in surprise, then a small grin curled across his lips.
Without another word Mickey slipped the knife back into his pocket and nodded toward one of the empty shelves at the edge of the warehouse.
Ian quickly closed the box, lifted it, and shoved it between other forgotten cartons. Just one package among many — invisible to everyone except the two of them.
Mickey returned to his pallet as if nothing had happened, but Ian’s heart was still pounding wildly in his chest.
It was exactly the kind of adrenaline he had been missing.
He grabbed the next box, scanned it, and stacked it neatly. Just like every day. As normal as possible. As innocent as possible.
But his gaze kept drifting back to Mickey, who kept typing on his phone. Ian wondered if he was setting up a deal with one of his cousins and what kind of plan he had in mind.
To Ian it was clear that this was about more than just money.
This was a door to an adrenaline rush that had just opened a crack.
Whether they were going to walk through it had been decided the moment their eyes met shortly before the end of the shift and Mickey gave him a short, decisive nod.
They had a deal.
The tension was almost tangible, and Ian could feel it in Mickey too. In the way he moved. The tiny changes in his posture. The way he talked to a coworker.
They were small things.
But Ian noticed.
After nearly twenty years of knowing Mickey Milkovich, he knew exactly what he looked like when he was tense but trying not to show it.
When the siren signaled the end of the shift, they clocked out like every other day. The familiar beep sounded when Ian swiped his plastic card.
It was routine.
Only the pounding of his heart wasn’t routine.
On the parking lot it was quiet. Only their boots crunching on the gravel and the distant roar of traffic somewhere in the January cold of Chicago.
They got into the car and Ian started the engine, but neither of them spoke.
Mickey rested one arm casually against the window frame and stared outside. Outwardly he looked cool as ice, but inside it probably looked exactly the same as it did inside Ian.
At home everything went as usual.
Mickey disappeared into the bathroom first. Ian followed shortly after. They barely exchanged words, only soft looks and one or two fleeting kisses.
At dinner they sat across from each other. Pasta. Anyone watching might have thought it was a completely normal evening.
But Ian felt the buzzing under his skin.
He knew it wouldn’t be long before Mickey said or did something that revealed his plan.
After dinner they cleaned up. But instead of heading to the couch like every night, Mickey went into the bedroom.
Ian followed, not really knowing what Mickey had in mind.
When he stepped inside, Mickey had already changed. Dark clothes. Old boots. The jacket he hadn’t worn in years.
Ian did the same and changed into dark clothes.
Mickey gave him that crooked grin and tossed something at him. Ian caught the balaclava and shoved it into his jacket pocket.
That was it.
That was Mickey’s plan.
Breaking into their own workplace and stealing drugs nobody even knew were there.
Fuck.
When they left the apartment it was almost eerie how natural everything felt. As if they had done this a hundred times before — even though Mickey had never taken him along to deals in the past.
Even in the car nobody spoke.
In fact, they hadn’t talked much the whole afternoon, Ian realized. Maybe because Mickey had been going through the plan over and over in his head. Or maybe because they simply understood each other without words.
Ian thought back to that blurry time. The summer when they were teenagers and Mickey pulled one crooked job after another to support his baby mama.
Or those few days when they had been driving toward Mexico while the feds were looking for them.
They had always had dirt on their hands somehow.
Ian had thought a normal life would be enough.
But the truth was he could feel how much Mickey missed this.
Seeing that excited gleam in his eyes now, feeling the change in his posture — it was everything Ian wanted.
He wanted his husband to be happy.
And if that meant committing a damn crime with him every now and then, then so be it.
When the warehouse came into view, Ian felt his pulse begin to quicken.
After so many months of domestic routine and boredom, he suddenly felt alive and free.
Damn, he felt good.
He parked near the warehouse but outside the range of the security cameras and heard Mickey take a deep breath.
Then he grinned slightly.
“Almost too easy,” he muttered.
“We’re not inside yet,” Ian said.
Mickey nodded, and then they got out.
They understood each other blindly.
Ian instinctively ducked as they approached the side wall of the warehouse. The outside lighting was sparse — just a flickering lamp above the back entrance — but they still had to be careful. The street was close and someone might see them if they stood there too long.
Mickey nodded subtly toward the camera mounted on a pole overlooking the loading dock.
He moved quickly and silently like a shadow, and Ian stayed close behind him, his pulse pounding so hard against his ribs that it almost hurt.
The side door next to the loading ramp was the unofficial exit for smoke breaks. There was only a small blind spot in the cameras they could use. Mickey didn’t need twenty seconds to pick the lock on the door.
Inside it was pitch black, but Mickey had brought a flashlight. Besides that, they knew the warehouse like the back of their hand.
They reached the shelf. The crate was still exactly where Ian had left it.
They lifted it together and carried it to the door, out into the cold night air, and placed it in the trunk.
Everything went like clockwork. No alarm. No guard. No unexpected noise. In and out in less than three minutes.
The adrenaline rushing through his veins slowly faded and turned into relief as they left the property and pulled back onto the road.
“To the harbor,” Mickey said. When Ian glanced over at him, he almost looked like he used to back then. So young and dangerous, like he had been when Ian first fell in love with him.
A few streets later Ian finally broke the silence.
“You already set everything up?”
Mickey stared out the window and only nodded.
Ian tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He wanted to hear the plan, to be involved, not feel like an outsider.
“One of your cousins?”
Mickey shot him a flat look. “You think I’d split with one of those assholes? Fuck, no.”
Ian almost snorted.
“Someone still owes me a favor. From inside,” Mickey said after a moment.
Ian felt a mix of worry and fear rising in his chest. Suddenly he realized how much was at stake. They were both ex-cons. They had just decided to adopt a kid. Ian was stable on his meds. Mickey had started getting along with the neighbors.
“Mick?” His breathing quickened. “That’s a stupid idea.”
Mickey turned his head toward him. “Come down. We’ll be fine.”
His voice was calm, and his hand patted Ian’s thigh before he pushed his jacket up slightly.
Ian swallowed.
He knew Mickey kept an unregistered gun in the nightstand drawer, but he hadn’t expected him to bring it tonight.
That cold, focused confidence was written all over his face, and that typical Mickey smirk played on his lips.
God.
It was like back then. Back when Ian had been fourteen and Mickey was still a dirty, frightened kid. Back then his heart also skipped every other beat when Mickey looked like that.
Ian felt heat spreading through him. Hot and heavy and right under his skin.
He forced himself to focus back on the road. Suddenly all his concerns had vanished and the thrill was far too tempting.
“Shit, Mick,” he muttered.
Mickey only grinned wider and bit his lip.
Ian’s pulse thundered in his ears.
At the harbor it smelled like saltwater and diesel. Containers were stacked like dark shadows next to each other, scattered lamps casting cones of light across the asphalt.
Mickey turned toward Ian, who had just shut off the engine.
“You stay in the car. I’ll handle it. Five minutes.”
Ian raised an eyebrow. “Fuck you. We’re doing this together.”
Mickey’s jaw tightened for a moment, and he looked like he was about to argue, but then he let out a quiet huff.
“Fine. But you keep your mouth shut.”
Ian nodded, and a tiny grin flickered across Mickey’s face that made Ian’s knees weak.
They both got out, and Ian followed him with the package.
The guy was waiting between two containers. Hood pulled low over his face, broad shoulders, hands in his pockets.
Mickey went ahead and Ian stayed half a step behind him.
The greeting was brief. A nod and a quick handshake.
Mickey’s voice was calm and confident, even though Ian could tell he was nervous. The dealer didn’t seem to notice any uncertainty though.
Mickey named the price. The dealer tried to bargain.
Mickey reminded him of the favor “from that quo inside,” as he called it.
The exchange was clean. Goods for cash.
Ian felt his pulse climb with every passing second. Partly because so much was on the line for both of them—but also because Mickey negotiated with that cold spark in his eyes like a professional, like he had never done anything else.
It was insanely sexy.
The way he tilted his head slightly when he got stubborn and refused to budge. How his voice dropped lower when he set a boundary and held it. The way his fingers briefly rested near the hem of his jacket, silently reminding the other man what was underneath.
By the time they walked back to the car, Ian’s body was tense—but not just from the danger anymore.
They got in. Mickey counted the money.
Then Ian started driving.
He made it three streets before the heat inside him became too much and he pulled into a dark side street.
He turned off the engine and got a confused look from his husband.
“Do you still have the gun?”
His voice came out rougher than he intended, and he couldn’t deny the blood had long since left his brain for other places.
Mickey looked at him—and then seemed to understand.
A slow, knowing grin spread across his face.
He nodded.
For one heartbeat everything was silent.
Then they fell on each other.
Mickey grabbed his collar. Ian’s mouth crashed into his hard and hungry, his tongue pushing into Mickey’s mouth and drawing out a moan.
Mickey was everywhere—his hair, his neck, his fingers digging into fabric and skin.
Ian groaned softly into his mouth. His hands slid under Mickey’s jacket and pulled him across the center console.
Ian shoved his seat back and Mickey straddled his hip, fumbling impatiently with his belt.
Then he pulled the gun and dropped it onto the passenger seat.
Ian laughed breathlessly into the kiss.
“You love it,” Mickey murmured against his lips. “Since when have you been hard?”
He slid his hand into Ian’s pants and wrapped his fingers around him.
God. He’d been half hard for hours.
It wasn’t just the risk. Or the money.
It was the feeling that they belonged together—that they were in this together.
Ian rested his forehead against Mickey’s as their breaths mixed while Mickey started jerking him off slowly. Cruelly slowly.
“Since a while,” Ian admitted.
“Still got it in you,” Mickey whispered. “I knew it would make you like this.”
Ian gasped, then frowned, his fingers gripping Mickey’s hips tightly.
“Wa—wait. What—”
Mickey twisted his wrist on every upward stroke and Ian threw his head back against the seat, moaning, unable to think.
Mickey had that mischievous expression on his face again. Ian knew that one all too well.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing. Relax.”
Mickey kissed him wildly, clearly trying to shut him up. When he pulled back, he spat into his hand and wrapped it around Ian again.
“Want you,” Ian groaned.
Mickey shook his head slightly. “I’m over thirty, baby. I’m not twisting myself into a pretzel to get fucked on the backseat of a car anymore. You’ll have to wait until we get home.”
“Pillow princess,” Ian moaned, dangerously close to orgasm. “I’m gonna come soon. Gimme at least your mouth.”
Mickey grinned. “Bossy.”
But he slid back onto the passenger seat and without hesitation bent over Ian’s lap, taking him into his mouth quickly and deeply.
“Greedy,” Ian muttered, burying his hand in Mickey’s black hair. It was too short to pull, but he could still press him down and thrust his hips upward, fucking into his mouth the way he hadn’t done in a long time.
“So greedy, then take it.”
Mickey moaned, the vibration shooting through Ian’s body and pushing him over the edge.
Warmth filled Mickey’s mouth and Ian felt him swallow as he slowly lifted and lowered his head, drawing every last drop out of him.
Ian shivered from the overstimulation.
Mickey finally pulled back and sank into his seat, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb.
“C’mere,” Ian begged breathlessly.
He grinned when Mickey leaned over and kissed him softly.
Blood slowly returned to his brain as he adjusted himself back into his pants and remembered the conversation from before.
“What did you mean earlier?”
Mickey pulled out a cigarette and rolled the fogged-up window down.
“Hm?” he said, pretending not to understand.
“Mick. Seriously.”
Mickey lit the cigarette. “You don’t need to know everything, pretty boy. But damn, I’m hard, so if you still want to fuck me you should start driving.”
Ian frowned. “The coke was fake. And the dealer paid.”
Mickey shrugged. “It made you hard. Nothing else matters.”
Ian shook his head and started the engine.
“I can’t believe this.”
He clenched his teeth and stared through the windshield. He knew he should be angry. Mickey had—he had lied to him. Sort of.
But Ian couldn’t.
Was that Mickey’s version of romance? Shit.
“You mad?” Mickey asked, giving him an unreadable look. A little uncertain. But also challenging.
“Haven’t decided yet,” Ian answered seriously.
Mickey nodded and flicked the cigarette out the window.
“Better hurry with that decision. We’re almost home and I was hoping for an angry fuck.”
Ian shook his head again, huffed—and almost laughed.
