hi and welcome ! you can call me blanche ⋆˙⟡ i’ve been on tumblr for a while now - but this is a brand new writing blog i made for some of my favourite fandoms and characters (see below)
requests are very very open - i love them, please send them in ! ⋆⭒˚.⋆
fandoms and characters ⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆
you can expect to find content on my blog about the following fandoms ! ⋆˙⟡
shameless ⟢
brooklyn nine-nine ⟢
the phantom of the opera ⟢
the umbrella academy ⟢
and these are some of my favourite characters to write ! i can and will write for any other characters in my list of fandoms - although i feel like i write the following characters best :-)
lip gallagher (shameless) ⟢
jimmy lishman | steve wilton (shameless) ⟢
jake peralta (brooklyn nine-nine) ⟢
requests ⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆
requests for x reader fics - including smut - are very very open ! ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ however please do note that smut will likely be in headcanon format since i can’t for the life of me write a smut scene :-)
this does include mature/dark themes - however chances are that i will post them on ao3 instead (they’ll still be visible on the masterlist !) ⋆˚☆˖°
navigation ⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹₊⟡ ⋆
you can find my masterlist(s) here ! ⋆⭒˚.⋆ and you can find my queue of requests here !
This au/concept was originally made by my mutual @j4ckr4bbits, go check them out!!
Tags: Readers implied to be an alcoholic, cheating, lip is his own warning, reference to sh if you squint really hard, slightly suggestive but only for angst purposes, criticizing someone’s trauma responses (lip -> Carmy), slight bit of toxic masculinity, mostly just dialogue, themes of self hatred, hurt/no comfort
The first time you called Lip Carmy you're black out drunk.
After picking you up from whatever shitty dive bar you were at he brought you back to his place.
He wasn’t gonna risk leaving you alone in this state. So that’s why you’re in his bed cuddled up right against him.
“I’m so sorry carm…” You mumble.
He doesn’t even think you’re talking to him at first, considering your eyes are shut. That is until you look up at him with those glazed over eyes.
“I’m sorry I keep lying to you. I love you…ok?”
“Mhm, just go to bed and shut the fuck up” lip sighs, rubbing a hand over his face as he tries to pretend that you didn’t just call him, the guy you’ve been hooking up with for weeks, by your boyfriend's name.
He doesn’t know how to process this whole situation you guys are in, so he doesn’t. He'd rather you’d just pass out already.
“I’m trying to stop…” You sniffle out.
He doesn’t know if you’re talking about the booze or him, it’s probably both.
Either way, he knows it’s a lie.
The second time you called him Carmy it was during sex.
Everything goes as normal, or as normal as it can be fucking your friend because your boyfriend won’t, until you moan his name.
In a matter of seconds Lip’s already pitting his clothes back on as you cover yourself with your bedsheet.
“Lip–wait I didn’t mean to say that.”
“You know if you love your boyfriend so much maybe you should stop fucking other guys and have him drag your sorry as home every night you're piss drunk.” he scoffs as he zips up his jeans.
He doesn't even bother to look at you while he speaks. But the worst part is that he's not mad.
Well, he obviously is mad, but not mad in the way that Lip Gallagher usually is. He feels things deeply and always ends up lashing out in sine way
But he's disturbingly calm.
“You know it’s not like that…”You're glad he's not looking at you, it would only amplify the feelings of guilt and self hatred that you try to keep buried deep.
“Then what the fuck is it like, huh?”
“Because I have needs, and I’m not gonna pressure him into having sex with me!”
The feeling of tears building up behind your eyes is scolding hot.
You don't want to cry, you aren't trying to guilt him, you're not even sure why you're crying.
If you actually felt that bad you wouldn't have done any of this in the first place, no?
“Ok fine, sure, if that’s what you wanna believe…”
You do believe it, but there's a difference between truth and beliefs.
“…then tell me why he's not the one being called in the middle of the night to come pick you up?”
“I've told you already…” Your voice is incredibly quite to match the fact that you feel ten time smaller than you actually are. Even with the sheets wrapped around your bare skin you feel naked.
It's like your skin's been peeled back to display how you actually are, and not the version of yourself you want people to see you as.
“You tell me a lot of shit when you're drunk so sorry if I can't exactly remember what bullshit you spew.”
“He doesn't…his family has a bad family history with alcohol, he gets uncomfortable around nd that kind of stufff...”
“Yeah, Well tell him to get his ass in line, because he’s not fucking special. You wanna talk about a bad family history with alcohol? My dad practically invited that shit!”
You know that. The Gallaghers remind you far too much of the Berzattos.
So why are you fine with making one of them constantly relive the bad memories that have shaped their lives but not the other?
Lip huffs “He's just a fucking pussy. Maybe he should grow some fucking balls sometime”
Because you love Carmen more or because you know that Phillip could never accept being loved? I don't know, I don't want to think about it.
“Find someone else to call the next time you ruin yourself” He says as he leaves your home, not even giving you the privilege of hearing him slam your front door.
summary: your neighbor is very enthusiastic about his new hobby, and you're tired.
a/n: there is no last name that i could find for daniel which really sucks </3 anyways i want to smooch him
You're going to kill them. You're actually going to commit homicide, perhaps you'll even take one of those damn drumsticks and use it as the murder weapon. One through the eye would be a good start, right? You'll stick the other one where the sun doesn't shine.
Your slippers scratch noisily against the pavement leading up to your neighbors' front door, and you hear the incessant drumming grow louder the closer you get to their house. Finally you're on the porch, and you think something in your ears may have ruptured by now.
You raise a fist to the door, but quiet, polite knocking won't be heard over the racket inside. You have to pound against it instead, and you'd cringe at the aggression if it weren't necessary.
Ten seconds pass, and you're almost convinced that you've gone unheard despite your frantic knocking. The chilly winter air stings your ankles where your pajama pants have rucked up near your thighs, and you shimmy them back down your legs to rid your skin of goosebumps. Your sleep shirt is warm but not snow-worthy, and you seriously consider giving up to dive back into your warm bed. But sleep won't come unless the drums cease, and you're determined to get your rest.
You're nearing the twenty second mark, close to driving your car straight through their front door just to be heard, but you hear the soft click of a lock, almost inaudible over the drumming, and the door swings open. A rush of warm air hits you and your bones ache with cold, but you're quickly distracted from any trivial concerns such as hypothermia when you see the man standing in front of you.
He's nearly as tall as the doorframe, but he's got an air about him that's so gentle you'd have expected him to be a mouse in a kids' cartoon. His face is kind and his smile only helps, a soft, welcoming curve that feels just as cozy as the inside of his home.
Suddenly, the drumming doesn't seem so bad.
"Hello," He greets, his voice a deep timbre that carries warmth but not heat, a lilt to it that's not common in your region, "Can I help you?"
If you'd known you would be faced with the human embodiment of a crackling fireplace, gentle and cozy and irresistible, you might have chosen more respectable attire than pajamas. As it stands, you're on his front porch in slippers and flannel pants, so you inhale and square your shoulders, powering on regardless.
"Hello," You return the formality, desperately searching for some of the guiding fury you'd felt only seconds ago, "I know it's broad daylight, but I worked the night shift last night, and- well, I was trying to get some sleep. I was wondering if the aspiring musician could postpone their practice for a little while?"
When you get to the point of your visit the man's face drops, his lips turning down and his eyes glinting with something akin to worry. It's sweet and undeserving of the rage you'd wanted to inflict on him when you'd first set out, and you tamp down guilt that tries stabbing at your heart.
"Uh, give me just a moment," He chuckles weakly, still supported by background percussion, "I'd call for him to stop but he wouldn't hear me. Wait, uh- y'can step in if you'd like," He steps away from the door, holding it open for you. You feel awkward accepting the invitation, but you'd feel worse declining it, so you let him usher you inside, relishing the warmth that surrounds you as he shuts the door on the cold outside.
He starts down the hallway and you linger in the entryway, stuck between looking around and keeping to yourself. You finally give and glance to your left, catching sight of a framed picture on a table in front of a trinket tray.
"Sam-o," The man calls, but despite being right outside his door, the drummer doesn't hear him, "Sam! I'll-" He turns back towards you, a sheepish grimace on his face, "I'll go in."
"Right," You nod, happy to turn back towards the photo you'd seen earlier while he wrangles who you're sure is a very surly, very rebellious teenager in the midst of his rock 'n' roll phase.
The picture is of the man and a little boy, presumably his son, taken on a dock overlooking a lake. The boy is holding a fish that's almost too small to be seen, but his grin is wide, making up for the less-than-impressive catch. He's clearly proud of himself, and the man looks to be as well, holding him up with an equally large smile.
They look like a very happy family, and your heart beats faster at the endearing display. The drums cease from the other room, and you hear muffled voices take their place.
You notice more photos of the boy scattered around, but no other children; perhaps he's an only child. You don't have time to evaluate much more, though, because the man returns, and tucked beneath his arm is the boy from the pictures.
Where you were expecting a jaded seventeen-year-old rockstar, you see a four-foot batman, the black-and-grey hoodie zipped up over blue jeans. His apologetic grin is very unlike the surly protector of Gotham, though, and you consider telling his father to buy him a CareBears sweatshirt next time.
"Hello," He nods, voice soft but polite as his dad stands beside him, "I'm sorry my drumming woke you."
"He's practicing for a big showcase," His dad informs you, a large hand squeezing the boy's shoulder encouragingly, "But he can practice tomorrow."
"Oh," You're nearly lost for words, caught in a whirlwind of unexpected fondness for the pair, "I- I don't mean to slow you down, I'm sorry. It's just that the Christmas season is very busy at work, and I need to be in tomorrow morning. So- uh, my schedule is a little thrown off."
"It's alright," The man smiles, kindness etched into every crease of his face, "Sam has plenty of other opportunities to practice. And I'm- Daniel, by the way."
Daniel holds his free hand out, the other still comfortingly closed around Sam's shoulder. You're quick to join them and the handshake is firm, Daniel's hand much larger than your own, and much warmer to boot.
"My goodness, you're frozen," He chuckles sympathetically, a chill surely lingering on his skin the same way his warmth does on yours, "Would you like a cup of tea? I can brew chamomile, it'll make you sleepy."
Basic etiquette would be to kindly refuse, to not overstay your welcome, and to thank the boy for postponing his drum practice. But your still-racing heart is not one to listen to logic or etiquette, and you find yourself bashfully accepting his offer.
"Oh- um, if it's no trouble. Chamomile sounds nice."
"No trouble at all," He smiles, patting Sam on the shoulder, "Would you like some tea, Sam-o?"
The boy's button nose scrunches, and he shakes his head, "No thanks. I'll be in my room."
Daniel chuckles, and you find yourself grinning with shared amusement as the boy retreats.
"No drumming!" Daniel calls after him, and Sam turns in the doorway, teasing exasperation on his features.
"Alright, no drumming. Y'know, I'm trying to get a girl to fall in love with me," Sam informs you, speaking with the matter-of-factness that you'd expect from a professor, not an elementary schooler, "But I think learning to play the drums was a waste of time."
Daniel's brow furrows, probably lamenting the hours of noise he'd endured for nothing "Oh, why?"
"I could have just offered her tea instead," The boy grins, slipping into his room before either of you can stop him.
His childishly brazen comment leaves you and Daniel stiff with awkwardness, and you feel his eyes upon you. You meet his incredulous gaze with one of your own, and a breathy laugh escapes from his lips as he lingers near the kitchen.
"Well. Perhaps I've shown him Titanic one too many times as of late. But if you're going to fall in love with me, I think I should know your name first."
His smile is cheeky and you run with it, letting him lead you to a kitchen island. You sit at one of the stools as he occupies himself with a kettle, retrieving a box of chamomile tea from a nearby cupboard.
"I'm Y/N," You laugh, "And if you're able to help me get some sleep before work in the morning, there's a very good chance that I will fall in love with you."
ok but drug dealer lip jealous fucking shy!reader after she gets assigned tutoring a guy and didn’t tell him (manhandling her and all 🤭🤭)
the summer air hangs heavily in the dingy ice cream truck, and in efforts to be able to breathe, the door is cracked open an inch. however, it leaves an invitation to anyone searching for an extra gram, or for kevin, who should be returning soon from his recent trip to the dollar store. but that's not a thought when lip's hand nearly slips against your skull, your cheek pushed angrily against a sticky wall.
saccharine whimpers roll off your tongue when rough fingertips pinch and roll over your clit, and lip huffs hungrily between your pinched shoulder blades. "don't fuckin' move," he commands, releasing the pressure against your head to ease out his stirring cock from his tightening briefs.
you obey with another tepid mewl, nearly gasping when a thumb pushes into your weepy hole and massages roughly at your ribbed walls. "since when are you smart, huh?" he taunts, chin kissing his chest when he looks down to drop a globule of saliva onto his throbbing dick. "thought i figured out a way to make you stupid."
your eyes close, and you lick over your lips in anticipation. "it's just.. it looks good on my resume."
lip scoffs, legs bending in an awkward squat so he can gently ease the head of his cock between your trembling legs, and into your dewy cunt. "you don't need a resume. don't think i can take care of you, huh?"
you gasp wetly at the sudden intrusion, pussy tightening around his thick shaft. "just wanted t'help," you cry out, groaning when his hands find your pelvis so he can properly start up his abrasive rhythm.
his hips pound against your backside, and your head clunks slightly at the metal wall of the vehicle. his thumbs press bruises into the dimples of your back, and the man's not hesitant to start jackhammering up into your sweet cunt. "only thing you should be helping with is taking my cock, alright?" he hisses, removing a hand at your hip to resume its previous position against your skull. "quit fucking moving."
his dick presses rough kisses against your cervix with each rough thrust, and every once-existing thought is drifting away from your mind in the form of pert, desperate whines. "i'll cancel," you drawl between heavy breaths. "i'll cancel the meeting. promise i won't do it again."
lip's grin grows and he drops his rough facade to sear a kiss over your cheekbone. "atta girl. knew you'd learn. "
who will be there for you? comfort and care for you? ⋆˙⟡
pairing: erik | the phantom of the opera x reader
synopsis: erik has endured a lot of cruelty in his life - but you, his angel, the light of his life, must never know. that is, until you discover a memento from his distressing past on accident.
tags/notes: mentions/depictions of child abuse, no use of y/n, no physical descriptions of reader, hurt/comfort, slightly alternating povs, elements borrowed from phantom by susan kay and the 2004 film, erik is bad at feelings, soft!erik, not beta read !
word count: 1.3k
anonymous prompt:
hello!!! It's SO SO rare to find an active blog that writes for poto, so can I request an Erik x reader who's, like, sunshine and rainbows all the time and she's super touchy/affectionate? Hes so used to hate and sadness and people recoiling from him + he deserves somebody sweet who adores him for who he is!!! It could be hcs or a oneshot or literally anything you want, I will take LITERALLY ANYTHING lol. Thank you so so so much!!! Also no pressure to write this if you don't like the prompt or you just don't feel like it. Have a wonderful day/night! :)
author’s note: sorry this took so late nonnie (and sorry i couldn’t attach the ask - the formatting was a bit wonky) ! i loved this prompt and really wanted to do it justice :) the plot just kind of just came to me as i was writing it ⋆⭒˚.⋆
ao3 link
touch. some associate it with the tender caress of a lover, others, the cruel sting of a palm hitting skin. for erik, it had always been the latter; every instance of touch he experienced was accentuated with a pure, unbridled hatred.
until he met you, that is.
he flinched whenever your skin brushed his, at first - too used to the biting ache that would follow - but you persisted nonetheless, gradually familiarizing him to the fact that he was loved. you held him with a tenderness that he never had the chance to experience; brushed your fingertips over his deformity, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
you were an angel, his angel, and erik wondered what he had done to deserve you; he knew full well that he was by no means a ‘good’ man. following the euphoria of your kisses, reassurances, and affection, erik found himself plagued by lingering feelings of inadequacy and the thought that it was all fleeting; that you would eventually turn against him as well.
but how could he burden you with that knowledge? the knowledge that he would never deserve you, and that you would be better off being the bride of a vicomte, instead of being dragged down to the dungeons of the palais garnier with him. the knowledge that his self-loathing was a lasting consequence of the cruelties that were inflicted upon him.
no, you were a glowing ray of sunlight in the darkness of his life, you were the personification of kindness itself, and erik could never forgive him if he somehow sullied the pure joy you radiated with every action. so you must never know.
you must never know, and so erik did his best to hide his past from you: brushing it off with a wave of his hand, an absentminded comment about how “it was nothing, really”, and tying it together with a genuine compliment for you.
you must never know, and erik intended to keep it that way.
one day, whilst finding yourself stuck in a queue at the market, parcels of food under your arms, your eyes wandered onto a rather peculiar poster - one you had never seen before: it advertised a freak show, with the focal attraction being a young boy, no more than twelve, billed as ‘the devil’s child’. although the poster was worn with antiquity, and the illustration was a caricature, you still managed to instantaneously recognize its subject.
could it be?
sacrificing your spot in the line, you moved to grab the decaying poster, attempting not to rip it in the process. as you returned to the queue, the poster in your hands caught the attention of an older woman, similar in age to madame giry.
“ah, i remember going to this show when i was a young girl. it was a long, long time ago,” she remarked, gesturing at your poster.
sensing your opportunity to garner some much-needed information, you asked, “do you know what happened to him? the boy, i mean?”
the older woman grimaced, “they say he killed the carnival-master, strangled him to death with a rope,” she paused, “the police never caught him, and some say he has taken refuge beneath the opera house, and hasn’t surfaced ever since.”
you swallowed. so it really was erik. and yet, you felt a pang of pity and grief for him; all that time you’d been together, you’d hardly learnt anything about his past, about his life before he assumed the title of ‘the phantom of the opera’. what was so dreadful, so distressing, that erik felt like he couldn’t confide in you about it?
paying for your goods, you quickly rushed back to the opera house, masterfully navigating through the numerous caverns as you made your way to your subterranean home. quickly setting down the bags of food onto a nearby surface, you called for a preoccupied erik, composing his latest masterpiece.
“ah, my dear. forgive me, but i did not see you coming in,” erik answered, slightly apologetic.
you smiled in return, although that smile was tainted with the faintest traces of trepidation, as you found yourself completely uncertain at how to ask him.
erik, with his gift for reading people, could sense it too, as he mentally braced himself for your seemingly inevitable declaration that you would be leaving him.
“my love? what is wrong? what is it you want to say?” he asked, voice tinged with fear.
“at the market today,” you started, your voice nervous, “i came across this poster. and i was wondering… if you had any knowledge of it,” you had dropped to a whisper, as you gingerly handed him the poster.
erik staggered back at the sight. how could this have happened? how could you know? his mind was racing, trying to conjure up a multitude of deflections, diversions, and vague explanations that wouldn’t taint your view on the world - the view that there was some innate good in everyone.
“it’s alright if you don’t want to tell me,” you spoke, as gentle and caring as ever, before a hand moved to grasp his cheek, “but, erik… i think it would be really good for you to tell me. you deserve to be unshackled from your past, and i deserve to know about the man i love.”
“no, my dear, i am sorry. i cannot bring myself to burden you with the truth,” erik quickly answered, tears seeping into his voice.
“it’s not a burden, erik,” you countered, “you think of me as too pure for this world, too inexperienced with its cruelties, but i am not. believe me, erik, you wouldn’t be burdening me with the truth. not at all,” you reassured, placing a soft kiss on his cheek.
erik practically shuddered at the contact, as you led him over to the bed. “very well, then,” he finally responded, as you moved his head onto your lap.
“i might as well start from the beginning. my mother was,” erik choked back a sob, “she was cruel to me. she beat me constantly. refused to nurture me, raise me, or even look at me without derision. the first scrap of clothing she handed to me… was a mask.”
erik let out a gasping sob, as you moved to stroke his hair, murmuring sweet nothings into his ear. after what seemed like hours, he finally continued, “i ran away from home at the age of 9, and not long after that… i became part of a travelling freak show, and was exhibited and billed as…”
“...the devil’s child,” you completed his sentence.
“yes. they… they kept me in the cage, hit and beat me in front of those crowds– before taking the sack off of my face, so that the audience could mock and jeer at me. day in and day out, i endured at. after three years, though, i presume that i snapped— and strangled the showman. madame giry helped me escape, and i took refuge beneath the opera house.”
as his tale came to a conclusion, erik finally felt free enough to completely break down crying, to let out the sobs that he’d restrained himself from for who knows how long; he felt free enough to let himself go, with the knowledge that you were beside him, that you would be there to hold and caress and kiss him.
“oh, erik,” you hummed, “thank you for telling me,” and erik only seemed to relax further into your tender touch.
“no, thank you, my love. for giving me the freedom to tell you,” he responded, eyes looking up at you with an all-consuming desire and devotion, “what can i ever do to repay you?”
a suggestive smile appeared on your face, “i know one way.”
🥀 with lip - being best friends and him putting you to bed when you’re drunk and you grabbing his hand and asking him to stay (or other way around)
"Watch where you're—" his hand flies to grip at your arm, hauling you up right for the nth time that night right before you kiss the floor face first "Jesus Christ"
"Oopsie" Your giggles are slurred as your hand comes to cover your mouth, and your eyes are unfocused as they flitter around the dark living room. The second you spot the stained old couch, your feet start a bee line towards it "mmm, sleep"
"Nope, no you don't" his hand is back on your arm and you can only whine as he drags you away from where you planned to take a nice warm nap, pulling you hurriedly up the stairs "C’mon, watch your step"
"But m'tired" Lip doesn't know how someone can be so whiny, and he also doesn’t know why the hell he’s finding it so endearing; but he bites his tongue and ignores the butterflies in his stomach while he continues to guide you upstairs.
"I know. I promise my bed is much more comfortable though" You pout, but stay silent as you stumble up the final steps and into his room, squinting when he flips the lamp on his night-table on. By the time he turns around you're already face down on the bed, moaning happily as you rub your face contently against the pillows. He scoffs, but moves to take off your shoes, pinching at your toes when you wiggle them in his face.
"Owie"
"Be quiet" he smirks.
"Mean," you grumble grumpily into the mattress.
Lip digs through his bag for a bottle of water, loosening the cap before flipping you over. "Drink"
You're drunk, but you're not stupid, so you lift yourself onto your elbows and chug eagerly, washing away the bitter taste of liquor and nicotine from your mouth. Your smiley eyes flicker to his when he wipes a the droplets dribbling down your chin. "Thanks, Lippy"
He grimaces at the nickname while you melt back into the mattress, eyes closed and a blissful smile on your face. While you hum the melody of a song he's convinced only exists in your head, he goes into the bathroom to get ready for sleep. He smirks at his reflection in the mirror when your pitchy voice tries to hit a high note.
By the time he comes back into the room you've made yourself right at home, cocooning yourself under his blankets, fist knuckling tiredly at your eye.
His hand brushes hair away from your face before pinching playfully at your heated cheek. "I'll be downstairs, shout if you need anything. But if you wake me up, you better be dying"
"Wha—" Your tired eyes struggle to open, but your hand comes out of the blanket to grip tightly at his wrist, pulling with all your strength (which at the moment is not very much) "Don't go"
"S'okay, not my first rodeo on that couch."
"Nooo" He pinches your nose to stop the drawn out whine. "You said the bed is more comfortable than the couch" Your pout shouldn't have this much power over him. "Stay." A beat of silence. "Please?"
He gives in, like he always does, but still mutters a “damn brat” to save what little backbone he has around you. He strips out of his jeans and gets into a pair of old sweats before joining you in the little cocoon you’ve created.
“Hi”
His nose is a breath away from your nose and he’s holding his breath. Your eyes are closed. You’re smiling.
“Hi”
You’re moving, and before he can react you’re landing a chaste but wet kiss on the corner of his mouth, and then you’re snuggling into his chest. “Night Lippy”
He falls asleep to the sound of your soft snores, one arm securely around your waist. And when he finally breathes again, it feels like he’s tasting oxygen for the very first time.
PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE NEVER STOP WRITING FOR LIP GALLAGHER I NEED HIM 😩😩😩
of course ♡ we desperately need more lip fics and i am willing to do my part ! and please do keep sending in requests, i desperately need more lip ideas to write 😩
i just woke up and this is based off my dream enjoy | lip gallagher x reader yes my dream was ab lip
lip had you on your bed, you guys were just supposed to go on a date not end up in your room. bending over in a skirt was maybe not your best choice especially where you lived, the men were dogs but your boyfriend was worse.
you tried to close your legs after a hard smack landed on your cunt, you propped yourself up on your elbows.
“don’t hide your pussy now, you wanted to show it off earlier didn’t you” lip spoke, his tone mean and rough. his hands pushing your thighs apart and another rough smack.
his fingers sliding through your folds, grazing your clit before he pushed one in. you breathed in.
“trying to show off my cunt, what would you have done if i did this then? touch what’s mine” he scolded? adding another finger for a minute then pulling out and smacking your clit. you yelped.
“lip i didn’t mean to” you said as he shook his head.
Girl, Thinking about reader loving a cowgirl w Lip...
oh my god yes ! anyways cw for smut & kinda switch!lip
lip gallagher is a cocky bastard, but not a picky one. any position where he can see your face contort in pleasure, beads of sweat decorating your face, and jaw go ever-so-slightly slack - because of him - would make him happy.
you could be straddled on top of him, legs on either side, holding in place, palms flat on his toned body, and he’d still take his time in admiring you in all your beauty
he’s not much of a talker - that’s the effect of growing up with 5 siblings, any of whom could walk in at any moment - so the only sounds reverberating off the two of you are the vulgar noises of skin slapping skin; and dazed moans and sighs, that gradually increase in volume, as you both get close to your breaking point
“jesus f’ck,” lip murmurs, struggling to form his words, as another moan slips out of him, “look at you— look at what y’do to me”
and when you do reach that breaking point, the piercing cry you let out is nothing short of carnal; beads of sweat are sliding down your body; and your eyes are glossy with tears as your breath tries to steady itself.
lip loves seeing you like this, loves knowing that it’s him and only him who gets you like this. he is a cocky bastard, after alll.
just updated my layout !! ⋆.𐙚 ̊ hope you like the new theme ♡
also my apologies for the lack of content recently - i’ve been pretty busy and have not had much inspiration but i hope to get a few fics out pretty soon 𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡
Im wondering if Lip would like more rap music or rock music like if he would like Limp Bizkit or Eminem... or both! 🩷
sorry this took so long anon!
music was… mainly an afterthought for lip
growing up in the gallagher household, there was never a chance to put in a pair of headphones or listen to music; not when there were at least 3 people giving him shit at any given time
(not like he had a pair of headphones or a music player, anyway)
so when he finally managed to get some semblance of privacy after leaving for college, lip found that he initially appreciated the peace and quiet…
…before deciding that he needed something to distract himself with
music was the obvious choice, and his roommate ron was more than happy to oblige his request for a playlist
it predominantly served as white noise for lip - but every once in a while, a lyric would stick with him, and he’d find himself listening to that song on repeat
and, in just a week, lip found himself singing (screaming) along to any hits on the radio - preferably grittier ones - even going as far as to amass a playlist of ones that really stuck with him
(of course, he never sang with any other gallagher in the car. he’d never hear the end of that, and he knows it, too.)
it becomes a useful ice-breaker for lip
in addition to the usual, awkward “so… where’re you from?”; “what do you do for work?”; and “do you have any… hobbies?”; lip can now add “so… what kind of music do you like” to his roster!
of course, he’d gladly try out any music that you like - even without needing a recommendation; odds are, lip would manage to notice on his own
overall, i feel like lip’s really versatile (in more ways than one)
I wonder if lip would like a Latina... how he would react to her spanish/portuguese :))) love your writing btw!!!
thank you lovely anon ⋆⭒˚.⋆ full disclosure: i am not latina so my apologies for any inaccuracies - i mainly wrote this as i would for lip x poc!reader in general :)
lip hasn’t known many latinas throughout his life. if he had to recall, there was what - este?
so when he met, and eventually started dating, you, he found himself eager to learn more about you and your upbringing - inordinately so, seeing as he’d never bothered to do so for a previous girlfriend before.
when he first hears you rambling on, lip tries to piece together your sentence using the fragments of the language he’s picked up through his mediocre public education.
eventually, fearing he may have missed some details, lip decides to default to a live translation app. soon enough, it seems like the app is perpetually on.
you give lip an incentive to pay attention in his languages subjects, which he’d previously regarded as irrelevant for his future career and higher education.
he’s strangely proud when something he picked up translates into his day-to-day life with you, but tries his best to not admit it.
of course, moments like those seldom happen.
you’ll gladly teach him whatever you can, occasionally sprinkling in a few glaring inaccuracies to giggle at him about
as well as intermittent rewards of another nature - you know, to boost his morale
lip catches on borderline instantly, but as long as he’s able to grant you some fleeting joy? he’ll gladly play along for however long you’ll let him
lip’s a fast learner, that boy. (even more so when he’s in love)
happy 35th birthday to the talented, irreplacable, amazing, gorgeous, stunning, iconic, unforgettable, 3x golden globe winner and 2x emmy winner jeremy allen white ♡
who will be there for you? comfort and care for you?
synopsis: erik has endured a lot of cruelty in his life - but you, his angel, the light of his life, must never know. that is, until you discover a memento from his distressing past on accident.
