#chey writes

im homesick for arms that have never held me.

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“You think Kev is hot,” Ian huffed, crossing his arms.

Mickey groaned, looking up from where he just dropped to his knees in front of his husband.

“You still on that?” Mickey rolled his eyes. “Why would you say that shit right now?”

“You were checking him out,” Ian looked down, eyes narrowed.

“Oh, please, like you never checked him out—”

“Not the point—”

“It’s totally the point!”

Ian pouted, but his arms fell to the side as tattooed fingers started tugging at his boxers.

Mickey grinned. “We agree, Kev’s hot. Now shut up so I can give you a blowie.”

Ian was addicted to this. The way his body moved behind Mickey’s. His big hand wrapped around Mickey’s throat, the other splayed across his stomach holding them together tightly. Soft breathy whimpers falling from his lips and mixing with Ian’s grunts.

Mickey was grinding back against him. Their sweat slick bodies sliding together. A tattooed hand reaching back to tangle in red hair, the other gripping Ian’s forearm for dear life.

It was a hard day.

Mickey wanted to drink. A smoke. To hit something. To scream.

But fuck—his kidneys couldn’t handle alcohol anymore, his lungs would fail from a smoke, and his hands were too fragile now to throw a punch.

So the beach would have to do. The sunset reminded him too much of hair he missed, so he closed his eyes and cried. And cried.

He stopped only when a little hand wiggled into his. “Come on, Grandpa, it’s time to go home.”

God, a whole life time together, and today he buried the love of his life.

“Why you got stickers on your face?” Mickey asks, eyebrows pinched as he takes a sip of his coffee, completely missing the warning head shake from his husband.

“Oh my god dad, they aren’t stickers!” Evie groans, bare feet slapping the floor as she stomps away, messy red bun bouncing on her head.

“What the fuck was that?” Mickey blinks in disbelief.

“Oh, you know, puberty. Hormones,” Ian shrugs, then continues when his husband still looks confused. “They were pimple patches.”

“Huh?”

“The ‘stickers’, they’re pimple patches.”

“Ah,” Mickey says, nodding slowly.

IMAGINE: Mickey being a painting instructor at one of those places where people go and drink wine and paint pictures. Except on Tuesday nights they have a “mommy/daddy and me” night where parents bring their kids. And Ian stays bringing Franny or Freddie. At first it’s just something fun to do because he’s a great uncle but the it’s because he totally thinks the painting instructor is hot. Only Mickey totally thinks Ian is the kids dad—but he’s not blind and of course thinks Ian is hot as fuck.

But Ian decides he’s gonna make a move because obviously he sees the way Mickey looks at him. So Ian goes with Sue and some other friends from work on a normal adult night. Mickey seems surprised to see him but there’s teasing comments and flirting. Mickey learns Ian is in fact not the kids dad and is in fact single and gay.

Ian stays behind after everyone else leaves and they 10000% fuck, end up covered in paint some how, and live happily ever after 🤗

“How is he so hot?” Mandy groans quietly, eyeing the man at the front of the classroom.

His, incredibly sexy, voice echoing through the room, his formal tone laced with confidence. Strong forearms dusted with red hair and freckles slowly being revealed as he rolled his sleeves up, leaning against his desk.

“Oh my god, I know right. I would ride that any day,” the girl next to Mandy pops her gum, giggling, “Think he would ever sleep with a student?”

“Not fucking likely,” Mandy scoffs, jotting something down in her notebook.

Mickey smirks because just a few hours earlier Professor Gallagher had him on top of that very desk eating him out like he was a man starving. Gripping his thighs so hard he left bruises.

Moaning and slurping him up. Fuck, Mickey. Taste so fucking good. Sweetest ass I’ve ever tasted.

Mickey woke up late in the night to an empty bed. It wasn’t unusual these days but it was still startling sometimes.

A noise comes from down the hallway. A sound he knows all too well by now and smiles. He gets out of the bed and quietly makes his way down the hallway, to the room at the end, leaning against the door frame.

The sight before him is one he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of. One he’s maybe cried about a time or two.

A shirtless Ian, wearing only sweatpants. His thick, muscular torso and arms on display…he looks so good. Yeah, Mickeys obsessed with his hot husband, sue him.

But more than that he’s rocking side to side, swaying as he softly sings the lyrics to My Girl. Ian turns slightly, must catch sight of Mickey in the corner of his eye and turns to face him completely. A smile of warmth stretching his face.

“Hi, did we wake you?” Ian asks, and Mickey’s focused on the bundle in his arms.

Their beautiful baby girl. Swaddled snuggly against Ian’s chest in a soft pink and white blanket, eyes wide open and staring up at the stars projected on her roof.