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 🤗
That thing happened where I forced myself to write and I wasn’t totally happy with the end result but now writing is coming easier (for the moment at least).
I just updated Chapter 12 of Dear Mickey yesterday, and I struggled writing it but I received so much love on that chapter. Today, I’m presenting you all with Chapter 13 (Read Here) with Chapter 14 already started and I hope you all love it just as much! I feel like we’re finally getting to the meat and bones of seeing their relationship start to knit together in those beginning stages!
Hoping I can extend some of this to my other WIPs but I’m not gonna force it. Much love - Chey
Yeeee thanks @crossmydna for this weeks @galladrabbles prompt! This is kinda sorta based on the first time me and my sisters talked to my dad about pimple patches 😂
“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.”
My headcanon of the day is that Ilya is not used to getting calls from family members unless they need something from him. Nobody ever calls him (maybe apart from Shane) to just simply check up on him. So the first time David calls him on a random day of the week, asks him about his day, hands the phone to Yuna to do the same—Ilya is a little confused as to why these people are just randomly calling him. He even texts David after they've hung up to confirm if they needed something and have just forgotten to mention it. When David texts back "no son we just wanted to check up on you" Ilya sits and stares at that text until he feels his throat close up and there's an odd sting in his eyes.
Ilya would panic seeing his phone light up. That horrible cold feeling of anxiety would twist his stomach. He’d been waiting for this. When someone else in his life would want something from him. He answers and steels his voice as usual, waiting for the request, the demand, the yelling. But the call is pleasant. Kind. It doesn’t stop Ilya’s throat from tightening, his mind from spiraling.
The Hollanders hang up and Ilya’s heart is still racing. There’s got to be some kind of catch. He’d rather know now than live in this horrible, dreadful unknown until the Hollanders tell him what they really want. He texts David.
Did you need something?
Those three cursed little bubbles.
No, son. We just wanted to check up on you.
Ilya reads that text over and over until his vision blurs. No. He will not cry over a text message. His throat is tight, and the anxiety hasn’t completely calmed, because there’s no way. There’s no way this is actually why David Hollander called him.
Day One: Trying to get myself back into writing! I’ve been struggling, hoping I’ll stick with it, all I know is I miss writing but my attention span has not been cooperating enough to focus on any of my WIPs. So here this 380 word ficlet and I hope y’all enjoy :) NSFW under cut!
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.
“F-fuck, I’m close,” Mickey moans, turning his face to seek out Ian’s mouth.
Ian happily obliged, tongue meeting Mickey’s before their lips ever touched. Ian pulled them closer together with a roll of his hips and Mickey gasped into his mouth.
“So good, baby, so fuckin good,” Ian breathed against Mickey’s lips, nipping at the bottom one.
His hand starts slipping lower, he desperately wants to jerk Mickey off but his hand stops when it reaches Mickey’s lower belly. Fuck. He thinks as he drops his face to Mickey's sweaty neck and breathes him in.
“CUT!”
He knew it was coming before the word actually cuts through the air. Ian instantly lets go of Mickey and stops but that doesn’t stop their bodies from resting together for a moment as they pant through heavy breaths.
Theo, their director, is talking to them animatedly, his hands waving around wildly but Ian’s not paying attention to the his passionate triad about their improvs this scene, not with all of the blood in his body still located in his cock that was pulsing in his cock-sock between his thighs directly under Mickey’s ass—his thick, round, beautiful ass.
Ian blinks back to reality when Mickey shifts and goes to move off the bed. Ian wants to grab him, pull him back, keep him right here. But he doesn’t. He’s not allowed to keep him when other people are around.
Blue eyes catch his and pink lips are parting in a wicked grin. “Good scene, Gallagher. Can’t wait to finish after break.” And with a filthy wink he turns away from Ian.
He watches Mickey go, heading in the direction of his manager who is waiting for him with a robe, when a hand clamps onto his shoulder.
“Man, you are so fucked,” Jackson chuckles. Ian groans and drops his head down, shrugging Jackson off of him which only make his best friend—and manager, laugh harder.
You are the one escaping, you are the one
breaking free. I understand your astonishing
dash to freedom, done with the estranged wind,
done with frost and storm, orchids curling
outward beyond grief. The road widens
to glory. The road disappears. Color, Tina Chang
He was just here, picking up a few things. It was supposed to be quick, in and out. His husband had been tired after work and requested to stay in the work truck.
Fine with Ian.
Three minutes in he’s in the produce section trying to decide what veggies he’s gonna force Mickey to eat this week—because his husband's diet is horrifying, when his phone dings.
It was Mickey letting him know he needed to piss and would meet him inside. Again, still fine with Ian, he’d never complain about extra time in his lover’s presence.
No, see the issue came in when Mickey messaged again letting Ian know he was in the chip aisle looking for pringles. So, Ian being his golden retriever self happily goes in search of his husband.
And what does he find? Some forty year old man checking out his husband's ass.
Now he’s standing at one end of the chip isle deciding if he wants to punch this mother fucker in his face. Because is he blind to the wedding band or does he just not fucking care.
Ian watches the guy step away from his cart, towards Mickey and immediately abandons his own shopping cart. He doesn’t stomp over. He walks over calmly, though if anyone were to look at him he’s sure he is no longer giving off the golden retriever vibes.
Without sparing a single glance at the man, who is still blatantly staring but stopped mid stride, Ian walks behind his husband completely blocking the view of the man.
Mickey straightens up quickly and honestly Ian’s surprised it’s taken him this long to realize he’s not alone.
Instead of letting him turn around Ian wraps an arm around Mickey waist and holds him—pressed his face into the soft crook of his neck and kisses it.
“Ian—”
“Put the pringles back,” Ian breathes against his ear. Quiet. Only for the two of them. Feels the way his husband's breathing changes at the closeness. At the words. At being touched like this. “Wanna get out of here.”
“Yeah? What about the groceries?” Mickey asks, sweet and breathless. Turned on. Completely unaware of the retreating man.
“I’ll come back later,” Ian immediately says, “Wanna fuck you in the truck. Right now. Then I wanna take you home and fuck you in our bed.”
The Pringle cans are tossed back onto the shelf haphazardly and they’re rushing down the aisle towards the front of the store. Ian doesn’t bother to look back and see if the man is still watching. He just follows Mickey out into the chilly evening air and guides him to the passenger side of the truck, where they’re shielded from the store.
The nearly empty parking lot only had three other cars and was dimming by the minute. A dark golden hue set over everything.
“The back?” Mickey asks quickly, reaching for Ian because he needs to touch him.
“Nuh-uh,” Ian shakes his head. “C’mere.”
Then he’s pulling Mickey in, grabbing the back of his head with one hand and kissing him. Deep and hot and a little messy. Biting at his bottom lip and sucking on it.
He backs his husband up roughly, pushing him up against the side of the truck, devouring that perfect mouth.
Fuck, the things he’s done to that mouth.
“Gonna fuck you right here in the front seat, Mick.”
“But people might—”
“Don’t care,” Ian growls, claiming his mouth again. Possessive. Pushing his hard on against Mickey, grinning when he moans in return. “Gonna do it, baby? Gonna ride me in the front seat?”
Mickey's responding kiss is enough for Ian. He reaches out blindly for the door handle and pulls it open. Breaks away just long enough to climb in pulling his husbands along with him and getting him in his lap.
The grinding is immediate and Mickey clings to him as Ian attaches his mouth to his neck.
“The fuck got into you, huh?” Mickey moans reaching between them to start working on Ian’s belt.
“Can a guy just wanna fuck his husband?” Ian asks, but he looks up at Mickey, a look in his eye he knows all too well.
“The fuck did you get all possessive over?” Mickey asks, finally getting the belt undone and the camo pants unbuttoned. His hand slips inside, grasping his cock. “Was it the Pringles? Was I looking at them to seductively?” Mickey teases, pulling Ian’s cock free from his pants.
“More like someone was staring at you to seductively,” Ian growls, groaning when Mickey's thumb spreads his precum and works against that sensitive spot right under his tip. “Fuck, baby!”
“All this just for a guy looking at me?” Mickey asks, pressing against that spot a little more firmly. Ian moans, arms wrapping around his husband. Bites his throat, his jaw, his earlobe—sucks on it.
“You’re mine,” he breathes harshly against Mickey’s ear. One hand sliding up his spine to grab his neck, the other down to grab his ass. “Only fucking mine.”
Mickey gasps bucking his hips against Ian's, his hand trapped in a way he can’t jerk Ian off any more.
“Fuck, fuck,” he moans, grinding in Ian lap. “Shit, lemme go, need to get my fuckin’ pants off.”
Ian releases him without another word but the heat exchanged in their looks…fuck.
It’s fucking cramped but Ian pushes the seat back as far as it goes, pushes his pants down to his knees and fishes a packet of lube from the console. As soon as Mickey freed one leg from his boot and pants Ian’s tugging him back into his lap.
Hissing moans fill the space when their bare cocks rub together. Ian wastes no time slicking his dick up, spreading the lube over Mickey’s hole and pushing the last bit of it inside of him. Gets him nice and fucking wet.
“C’mon give it to me, please,” Mickey moans, lifting up enough to get Ian lined up with his hole, teasing the tip against himself. “Wanna be so damn possessive, better give it to me before that guy comes out and really gets an eyeful.”
And it shouldn’t spur Ian on so much. After all, he's pretty sure Mickey never even saw the guy. But it makes him fucking feral. Makes his skin buzz and heat.
He grabs his dick, presses it up into that tightness, so fucking wet and warm and oh—holy fuck, he loves when Mickey clenches around him like that.
“God, that’s so fuckin’ good,” Ian praises, grabbing Mickeys hips and pulls him down, filling him up hard and fast.
“Shit!” Mickey cries out, fingers digging into Ian’s shoulders, shuddering at the feeling of being so full so suddenly. But he doesn’t take a moment, loves every second of it.
Mickey lifts himself up and happily lets Ian pull him right back down. And it so fucking hot. Filling him up like that over and over.
But Ian needs more—plants his feet on the floor and fuck up into Mickey, grabbing his ass and thighs and gripping him hard enough to leave bruises.
“Gonna fucking cum, Ian,” Mickey moans, sliding his arms around Ian’s neck, just holding on while Ian fucks up into him like a goddamn sex machine. “So fucking close, please just-just fuckin’ hit that spot—fucking shit! Yes, right there!”
Mickeys fucking loud and Ian’s not going to do anything to muffle those noises. Why would he? He keeps thrusting, keeping that consistent stimulation against the spot that has his husband screaming and biting into his shoulder.
Movement out the front windshield catches his eye. Comically wide eyes stare back at him through the partially fogged glass. He thrust up particularly rough, “oh my fucking—ungh!” Mickey shouts.
The man’s mouth drops open and Ian flips him off. He smirks watching the man scurry off to the black sedan parked a few spaces over. Hastily tossing his bags into the car and driving off.
Mickey is so fucking lost in the pounding his prostate is taking that he had no fucking clue of the exchange that just happened.
“Come here, baby,” Ian coos, grabbing his lover by the back of the neck and bringing their mouths together—wants to cum with their tongues tangled together.
It’s only a minute or two more before Mickey is shaking and cumming between their bodies. His husband's whimper moans and clenching around him is Ian’s undoing as he unloads inside of him.
Mickey's head drops down onto his shoulder and Ian just holds him.
There's breathless panting. The cab of the truck feels humid and smells like sex. Ian can’t help but bend his head and kiss his husband again, lazy. Soft and slow.
By the time they leave that parking lot the sun has already set and their groceries are long forgotten about.
And if Ian fucks him again when they get home, slow and possessive, Mickey’s hands pinned into the bed, slow deep strokes—well that’s his business.
And if Mickey secretly knew the whole time that he was being checked out and purposely called his husband over—well that’s his business.
Oof, been a hot minute, but here’s my @galladrabbles contribution for this weeks prompts of ‘fantasy’ from @ianandmickeygallavich1 🏰👑✨
A castle of blankets, lit by twinkle lights. Ian in a crooked paper crown, their daughter waving a glittery wand, and Mickey crouching low, growling, pretending to be a fearsome beast.
Evie squealing delightfully as Ian declared, “the princess has tamed the dragon!”
Mickey watching her beam with triumph, shrieking laughter free and unguarded.
Freckled cheeks, tiara and one of Ian’s t-shirts as a dress.
No fists. No shouting.
Just joy.
His heart clenching, realizing she’d never have to flinch at slamming doors or angry footsteps. She would never learn fear before love.
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