i just had a thought… what about lip gallagher fucking ian’s best friend while everybody is around the house? also she is a virgin😋
take heed: loss of virginity, finger sucking, references to past oral and fingering, praise, dirty talk.
you can’t stop it.
a high-pitched whimper slips from between your lips, your brain too slow to catch onto what you’ve just done.
lip’s eyes widen, a split second passing before his hand flies up to your mouth and he covers it with his palm. he clenches his jaw shut, only a few inches in, but he wills himself to hold still where he is. a whine vibrates into his skin, because you feel him solid, throbbing with expanses that stretch you further, the new sensation trembling your body like a fucking leaf.
“hey, quiet. don’t want ian to hear, do you?” he whispers in a husky rush.
but he regrets saying it as soon as he does. your glassy eyes look up at him. they held trust and a need for guidance when he first pulled away from a sloppy kiss and started to push in. and now he sees the offense written there, perceiving his words as scolding, when he’s trying his best to be conspiratorial.
he lifts his hand from your kiss stained lips, pecking you softly, apologetically.
“m’sorry, sweetheart. know it’s a lot for you, know you don’t want ian to know.”
lip doesn’t want ian to know, either. you’re his brother’s best friend. some lines, that he’s crossed before, shouldn’t be recrossed. plus, you’ve maintained the facade that you can’t stand him. you’d be embarrassed if ian knew you fell for lip’s charm after mocking it for so long.
“if you want me to fuck you, you can’t make those pretty noises. have to keep ‘em in.”
he slides another inch in, and fuck, your tightness almost absorbs him further as he does. it draws a shaky breath from you, another squeak, this time much quieter, but struggling. he should’ve known he’d run into this issue considering how much he’s used his hands and fingers on you before this. you’re loud and unabashed. and while he loves that about you, and he definitely wants to hear you moan his name as he takes your precious v card, he has to think clearly. one of you has to through the haze.
he won’t be able to in a minute. he knows by how you’re sheathing him thus far that he won’t.
“want to suck my fingers?”
he offers them up to your mouth. it’s evident why he’s doing this, to silence you, but you eagerly take both of his digits into your mouth. your tongue busies itself and laves at them, suckling, soothed by oral fixation. he bites back a groan and you whimper as he involuntarily shifts another addition of his length into you.
“good girl,” he says gently, resuming his task.
it’s not long for him to fill you, locate that dip that resists at first, and then accepts him. you continue to whine around his fingers, but he slides his fingers back and forth into your mouth, causing you to refocus on sucking, to distract you from the sting.
“yeah… there… you feel so good.”
he already feels drunk off this, high off you. he strokes your hip back and forth, watching your face for signs of discomfort. the pinch in your eyebrows slowly lessens, an exhale floating from your nostrils, ghosting the back of his hand.
“can i move, baby?”
you nod, holding onto his wrist to keep his fingers where they are. he smiles at the sweet gesture, his free hand tracing down your thigh, all the way to the bend of your knee. he hooks it and bends your leg, opening you up enough for him to begin rocking. the slide in and out of you morphs into pleasure far more intense than when his fingers are curling inside of you. his tip continues to press where your whole body tenses and arches to its own accord. the moans around his fingers are wet and keening, drool covering them to his knuckles.
“mmhh, mmhh, fuck… fuck, fuck,” he grunts and rasps into your neck.
your muffled moans he feels vibrating down his hand and wrist stroke his ego, your lovely, euphoric heat around him, and he speeds. the sensation builds with every thrust, the two of you lost to your devices, to each other.
lip only wishes he could hear you better, booming and pornographic and unrestrained. next time, you guys are doing this at your place.
it’s rare for you and your boyfriend lip to go this long without sex.
one week.
seven days. seven long days.
that’s how long it’s been since you and lip last slept together.
before you and lip got together, you both had dry spells in your love lives. it was normal to go extended periods of time without sex. but it’s not as normal for you two to go that long now without each other. saving the melodramatics, you’ve seen each other almost every day, what with brandi attending ballet, and you coming over to see him and his kids. it’s just that his kids haven’t granted you two any alone time. they’re staying up late and wanting to do more activities being out of school.
outside of that, with your studio and lip’s computer job, you haven’t had time to take care of one another. it’s one of those rare droughts where the second you get into each other’s beds, you both prioritize sleep. that’s not to say it’s not nice being in each other’s arms after a long day of work and straining your brains, but it occurs to you how busy you’ve been one night when you doze off and lip’s lightly snoring while simultaneously being hard against your thigh.
“good mornin’, baby,” he rumbles, sleep thick on his usually soft tone, his small smile growing wider on his face as you greet him with gentle and attending kisses.
“morning,” kiss, “how’d you sleep?”
he inhales sharply as your hand traces down the lines of his stomach, your fingertips playing at the sensitive patch of skin right above the waistband of his boxers slung low on his hips. his stomach caves in as he breathes out around the same time your hand daringly slips beneath the cloth, palming the erection already prominently at attention. goddamn morning wood, vulnerable as his body wakes further and heightens his sensation.
“hmm, good,” he replies lazily, with a deep hum of pleasure to start as your hand wraps around his base.
“you?”
“good; still a little tired.”
he chuckles at your attempt to make small talk with him while your hand’s on his dick. it morphs into a groan as it begins to move, an unhurried up-and-down motion, one drawing sparks up his groin, tempering a crackling fire in his belly.
“baby, do you want somethin’?” he asks, unable to maintain the charade of pretending you’re not driving him wild with budding desire. you like the slight husk he adopts further from the lust in his system.
you nod coyly before you answer him. tease.
“i do.”
lip cups your jaw to kiss you deeper than the kisses you started with. his tongue slots against yours, grunts pour into your mouth, and your hand adjusts with clumsy speed. it’s harder to concentrate on touching him with his persistent, greedy mouth on yours, but you manage to administer more for him, twist your hand just right for him to hiss into your mouth. emboldened, you squeeze his girth, maintain your hold so he can thrust up into your fist a few times in desperation.
“what do y’want? tell me.” he sounds like he’ll give you the sun out of the sky if you asked.
his breathing shallows out as your hand strokes his cock, his heavy exhales pet your lips as he pulls back to press his forehead to yours. he’s so attractive when he’s needy like this, when he can’t think with anything else besides his dick. you want it inside you, want him losing himself, want him switching between moans and stuttering, blasphemous praise.
but you also need to make him writhe. you need to hear him, every raucous noise, pitch in tone, breathy whisper. you need to make him swelter with the instinctual rise of body temperature and the influx of a well-deserved, impending end.
you need to make lip gallagher feel good. you, wholeheartedly, you.
“i want to suck your cock.”
you watch live as lip’s heavy-lidded gaze widens. his head retreats inches, enough to view your face and all its sincerity, the genuine desire there to please him and engage in a filthy, lecherous blowjob. he somehow doesn’t cum on the spot as your thumb grazes his sensitive tip and he envisions your pretty lips around it.
“b-baby… i… you, you don’t have to,” he utters with a swallow that visibly jostles his adam’s apple in his throat.
“can go down on you, can fuck you. you don’t gotta—”
“but i want to,” you assert.
he curses as you stop dragging your hand on him, instead trailing fingertips up his length. particles of interest rack up his body, sparse nerve endings begging him to reconsider.
as a selfish lover growing up, he learned his style and attitude towards sex through a number of experiences with different women. he learned how to be more of a pleaser, the benefits of a woman’s orgasm, what it does for his ego, how much he revels when he does well for his partner, how hard it makes him to earn praise. when he makes you cum, it’s his love letter for being as amazing as you are to him, for being a salvation and a miracle. he’s never been religious, but the way your walls wrap around him, the way your back arches against his tongue, the way you yelp his name as he simultaneously erases every other word in the english language from your pretty head, it feels ascending. it feels aligned, like his contribution to the world.
and you, his gorgeous, gorgeous girl, you want to suck him off?
“… o-okay,” he acquiesces, because he has no idea how to tell you no when he wants it so badly himself, and he sees in your eyes that you somehow want it just as much (which he never thought he’d witness due to how he consistently prioritizes your pleasure).
“yeah? you want it?”
he huffs when you repeat the same words to him like he did when he first ate your cunt, especially with that smug, sly smile gracing your lips. it transitions into a sharp intake of air however when your hand regains momentum on his cock. he doesn’t think he’s ever been more solid with blood.
“yes, fuck… i want it. want you to suck my cock,” he drunkenly blurts. as always, without a morsel of shame as he bucks into your hand.
you beam with his eager compliance.
you’re surprised it took this long to get to this, but it’s hard when you’re both always so willing to get to the part where he’s filling you, stretching you, and fucking you. it occurred to you the other day how he’s seemingly distracted you from attending to him from how much he does it for you. and that’s a criminal fact, in your opinion. you’re going to rectify it starting today, make him remember you want his enjoyment, and not just the kind he gets from getting you off. he deserves a hummer as often as you get the chance to.
there’s less precision as you throttle his cock and kiss him at the same time. his tongue dips and delves with growing hunger, solicitous as he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth first. as much as you wish to kiss him breathless with the morning light pouring in through your curtains, you recall your mission, and reluctantly (because you love kissing lip, not because you don’t want to descend, because you really fucking do) kiss an untrained line down his jaw, down his neck, down the middle of his chest. it rises and falls with timorous tides; lip resists the urge to follow you and reattach his mouth to yours as he watches you reach his happy trail. it goes against his nature and his doctrine when it comes to sex with you, but he has to relinquish some control. he has to trust you, which he does, to please him and bring him to a newfound territory sculpted by you.
“wait,” he utters as you settle between his legs on your knees.
the sight alone is tantalizing. his pretty girl, the woman of his dreams, sat perched on her haunches for him.
“what?”
lip pushes off his elbows to sit up. in the process, he picks his pillow, the one designated for him, as well as a few others from your collection, up and stuffs them all behind himself against the headboard. you smile at his adjustments to be comfortable.
“wanted a better view,” he explains himself slyly.
you playfully roll your eyes before you return to your position from before. and that’s kissing down his stomach, now inclined. the stamps make it over his v-line and then your fingers curl around his waistband. he lifts his hips to help you take his boxers off, momentarily bending his knees to get them all the way off, and then the underwear falls to the floor. as he resettles against the pillows, you glance at his erection. the tip glistens with arousal, flushed crimson, visibly twitching and pulsating under your observant gaze. you come forward and kiss the head of his cock, each one sticky, each lingering, each one creating strings of pre cum connecting to your lips, only to break as soon as they’re made. lip’s eyelids lower halfway as he watches, the way you’re choosing to start teasing and stoking flames.
“so pretty,” he says in a light tone, one arm draping over his stomach, the other maneuvering to the back of his head. he offers himself up for your discretion, for your exploration, relaxes beneath you knowing this is going to be everything to him, for him.
your lips slightly part as you rain kisses down his shaft next. just enough to flick your tongue over sensitive flesh and then administer a light suction, leech and deliberately choose random spots. you feel him thicken against your mouth, a heady groan surpassing his lips. part of the fun in this is racking up his need for you, already insurmountable on its own. it rises in amount, the twitch in his hips signaling how he wants more, but he retrains himself to let you set the pace. if he thinks you’re pretty worshipping his dick, he has no idea how he looks underneath you, flushed and breathing shallowly, the muscles in his body flexing with protruding, tattle-telling veins.
“oh fuck me,” he blurts, unbridled and impassioned, eyes shut closed for a moment like he can’t believe it, as you finally take him into your mouth.
to confirm it, to relish in it and savor it, he opens his eyes to the sight of your lips stretched around his tip. he releases a lost moan as you daringly take more of him, sliding inches of his cock further into your mouth, tongue swiveling over him as you do. it’s a surge of sensation that zips up his spine feeling your tongue undulate against the ridge between his cock head and shaft, the suckle you grant him with hollowing cheeks. in that instance, you look up at him, the eye contact telling him it’s you who’s got him this coiled up, it’s you who’s making him feel this good, and it’s you who begins to bob your head on him back and forth.
“shit, fuck, baby,” he groans.
“look at you… suckin’ cock like a good girl.”
his words come out thick and dense, in a growl, pushing boundaries. you have to clamp your thighs together to relieve some of the ache between them, your arousal from this debauched act and his vulgar speech sticking your panties to your cunt. you’re not throbbing like lip is in your mouth, but you’re hyper-aware of your heartbeat in your pussy, currently thumping for his attention, like a homing beacon calling him home.
he notices your legs close due to the angle and he feels for you. he’s got a love-hate relationship with the current circumstances. he loves what you’re doing, loves you and that perfect fucking mouth, but he hates how he can’t help you out from your positioning, hates how his baby’s aching for him while he moans and careens towards an intense orgasm.
“touch yourself f’me, baby. gettin’ off from my dick hittin’ the back of your throat, aren’t you? fuckin’ filthy, holy shit.”
you whimper around him as his hips buck up involuntarily. before you obey his command, you move his hand from his stomach and place it onto your head. he sucks in a sharp breath.
“you sure?”
you nod. or at least try to as you swallow collecting spit around him, which causes a contraction around him that makes him mutter more curses. he gets the memo, his fingers splaying out over the back of your head as he starts to thrust up into your mouth. and there’s something to be said about the love of your life fucking up into your mouth as he freely grunts and moans, letting him use you in a building rhythm as he approaches his climax.
you do as previously told and stick your hand between your legs, sliding your fingers over your clit with ease due to the arousal pooling from your empty hole. he’s treated to the beautiful view of you touching yourself, of your spit trailing down to his base and over your fingers you’ve got wrapped around him that don’t make it into your mouth. he feels your occasional sputter, but you’re the one who insists on keeping him inside your mouth, a fact that drives him as crazy as this whole thing.
“m’gonna cum,” he heaves, trying to slow his hips and remove his hand from your head to let you come up, but your own hand flies from his base to his wrist to keep it there.
you share a look together. your lashes flutter as you resume the jostle of your head in your attempts to replicate his rough fucking. without needing to ask, he knows what you’re doing and saying, what you’re permissing.
you fucking angel.
he croaks your name, unable to last any longer, head thrown so back that it knocks the headboard. but he doesn’t seem to care or even register the thud because he has single-minded focus on his cum shooting down your throat. you swallow the viscous load with a bit of a struggle and an admitted gag that has lip almost whine from sensitivity because of how your throat momentarily grips him tighter. you stroke him as he rides it out, finally lifting your head to kitten lick him clean. he’s half hard as you bathe your tongue over his spit-covered cock, capture the remnants of his cum, offer lip a lecherous and addictive sight that he wouldn’t mind seeing again and again in his lifetime. he should’ve let you do this, and asked for it, a lot sooner.
once he’s twitching and clean, you sit back on your knees. your lips are slightly swollen and dewy, lust visibly swimming in your dilated pupils, and you’re a dream come true to him.
“thank you,” you say, your voice corrupted and sore from his cock in your mouth.
he can hardly believe it. you’re thanking him like he did something for you when it should be the other way around. fuck, he loves you, he loves you, he loves you.
“get up here,” he practically growls.
you ascend lip’s body quicker once his hands tuck under your arms and suddenly pull you in with masculine strength you sometimes forget about. a noise of surprise leaves you as you wind up in his lap, mindful of his length leaning to one side, and his mouth crashes against yours unashamedly. he kisses you with a fever that you ignited, licking into your mouth, sloppily fusing his with yours as he grabs ahold of your hips. your lips tingle with his deep, starving kisses, inhaling the groan that comes from him with the lingering taste of his cum, a reminder of what you’ve done to him, what’s driven him this crazy and worked up. he uses his grip on your hips to grind your center over his length, your clit rubbing him just right through your sodden panties. lip kisses you as you whimper, kisses you as his cock stiffens once more, kisses you as he circles his hands all the way to your ass to grope and knead. your mouth opens in shock and need as he delivers a firm smack to one side. you don’t know how, but it makes you clench around nothing, doubling down in your rocking atop of him, glissading the damp fabric trapping your center over his springing arousal.
“on your stomach,” he mutters with a tap onto your hip before he uses his hold on your hips to drag you off to the side onto the mattress.
as lip gets up from bed and rummages through your bedside drawer, you rid the rest of your clothing and follow protocol for the position he implies. and that’s placing a pillow beneath your pelvis as well as one under your chin as you wait for him in anticipation. you’re picturesque, absolutely stunning, to lip, so much so that you distract him as he attempts to find the box of condoms you purchased together not too long ago.
“fuck!” he suddenly exclaims.
you turn your cheek and notice his head back, his frustrated expression on his features… the way his cock is sticking out and heavy between his legs.
“what’s wrong?”
instead of verbally answering you, lip presents the aforementioned box of condoms. once he knows you’re looking at it, he flips it upside down and shakes it, not a single packet falling from inside. you understand instantly, a small pout forming on your puffy mouth with what this could mean.
he sets the empty, betraying box onto the nightstand with a bit of force. normally, he’d go to the nearest convenience store amid your lovemaking and restock, return and wind you up all over again, but he’s so fucking hard right now that he thinks he might die.
his mind races with what can possibly be done. he’s not against using condoms, which is the issue that had him produce two kids, but he knows it’s what makes you more comfortable. it’s what he’s been stricter with on himself in past hookups and flings. but you’re not a hookup or a fling; you’re the love of his life and the only woman he wants to be inside of for the rest of it.
so he approaches the bed, planting his hands on the edge as he surveys your tantalizing body ready and willing for him, stretched out like you could will and make a condom appear yourself.
“i know we always use condoms,” he begins, “but, baby, i’m fuckin’ hard as a rock and i need to fuck you now.”
he falters in his speech as you eye him with those beautiful eyes. there’s coyness and a search for guidance as he explains himself. he doesn’t want to sound so demanding, like he’s pressuring you.
“you can say no…” god, please don’t say no.
“but i promise, i’ll be careful. i’ll-i’ll-i’ll pull out and make sure i finish somewhere—”
“i’m on the pill.”
his jaw slackens as he parrots your revelation in his head. he recalls you saying how you didn’t like the side effects and what it did to your body when it previously came up (since it’s not the first time he’s asked about going without protection).
“we have a lot of sex… wanted to be extra safe,” you murmur sheepishly. you feel a bit of a thrill in your belly seeing him continue to stare at you with an open mouth of surprise.
“i just started almost two weeks ago. was going to tell you, but…”
you were both busy. lip knows that. he’s been painfully aware since the last time you two had sex was longer than usual for you two.
“so it’s okay. you… you don’t have to pull out. want it inside me.”
he seems frozen in place as he processes what you’re saying. you don’t know how to feel about him gaping at you like this, expecting him to be thrilled, to have a more jovial reaction to the news.
as you’re about to ask if he was uncomfortable with it, you let out a small breath, lip’s body suddenly covering yours with lightning speed. he molds his chest to the curvature of your back, noses his way to your neck to kiss and suck on first. his cock nestles against the cleft of your ass as he works his way up your jaw, turns your chin with his hand, and kisses you with longing and promise and what feels like gratitude.
“wanted to fill y’up for so long,” he confesses. you whine as he shifts so his dick rests right in the snug valley between your folds. his hips maneuver so he can coat himself with your slickness and allow you a preview of his motion, of what he’ll do to you.
no strangers to this position, his arm carefully snakes underneath your neck. your cheek leans into his bicep, trusting him fully to constrict just the way you need it as he pounds away into your willing body. then lip prods your entrance with his tip, gives a gentle push to notch and breach the crown of himself inside your ready heat.
“fuck, lip,” you gasp.
“mhm, i know,” he agrees with a kiss onto your temple.
“feel you tryin’ to pull me in. pussy’s needy for my cock, ain’t she?”
he inserts every inch in a singular, gradual, decisive push into you. the skin to skin contact, flesh on flesh, is incredibly different than when the two of you have a latex barrier dividing you a layer apart. but that extra layer matters, because you both feel the stark rise in temperature coming from your cunt and his dick, and lip heaves as your tightness envelopes him into a gripping embrace he’s never felt so inviting, so sheathing, he has no fucking idea how you two didn’t do this sooner. you’re fucked, in more ways than one, because your thoughts are basically where his are, in that now you have no clue how you’re supposed to go back with him stretching you this perfectly, every pulse of his cock lighting inner nerves with vast, volatile sensation. your head falls limp, choking yourself further on his arm, a lovely pressure that crackles fireworks in your sense of equilibrium.
“feels so big like this, baby,” you mindlessly utter.
lip groans; you can’t say shit to him like that right now. don’t you know his control is precariously hanging by a thin thread?
“s’cause you’re grippin’ me to death,” he responds with a husky breath.
once you’re adjusted, he starts to move. his hips softly collide with your ass each time he thrusts into you, ensuring he doesn’t withhold pressure in his slow strokes. he pushes forward as deep as he possibly can before he pulls back, up until your pussy’s clamping on the ridge beneath his tip, and then he’s gliding back in. he reaches something deep inside of you with the way he’s prioritizing the exploration of your depths, orchestrating higher pitched moans from each plunge, each pound that he works into a rhythm that has you both filling the room with pleasured, raucous noises. he squeezes you shoulder as he offers more exertion, as well as those purred grunts right next to your ear, another sign of what he’s doing to you, what you’re doing to him. pure euphoria sinks into you much like lip is sinking into you, until it feels like it’s a part of you, like lip feels a part of you.
“lip, i’m close,” you chirp, strained from his arm on your neck.
“i got you, i got you… you’re goin’ to pull it right out of me,” he slurs, like it’s a fact, foreshadowing and inevitable.
his free hand reaches around your thigh, mindful of the pillow under your hips, and locates the button above the silk he’s percussively drumming into. you whine as he pets it in circles and ovals, your walls clenching around him, drawing a fucked out noise from him. he sharply thrusts at an angle, timing this just right as you cry his name and reach your high, in tandem as he jerks as into you as humanly possible and climaxes with a loud moan. his arm involuntarily constricts tighter around your throat in turn for a few incredibly blissful seconds. you’re still clamping on his girth as you feel liquid warmth join his moored cock, the amount leaking around his base. he fucks it into you with a lazy, wet plap, plap, plap before he ceases in holding himself up and drops his full weight over your back. that’s when his arm lets up, smushing apologetic kisses onto the juncture between your neck and shoulder, his breath tickling your sweaty skin.
“i fuckin’ love you.”
you chuckle against his arm, finding it funny how easily he says it now when you both first had trouble letting it out.
“love you, too.”
he nuzzles his nose into your neck, the side unoccupied by his bicep, the two of you becoming quieter as you catch your breaths. it takes minutes before you’re regulated to somewhat normal and lip starts to push up off you.
“gimme some time and i’ll get hard again,” he says with a sated tone. your cheeks flush with his promise.
“am i supposed to rot in your mess until then?” you mumble playfully.
lip carefully, and reluctantly, pulls out. he sees the said mess dripping out of you, your pretty cunt covered in a pearly, milky substance that glistens on your inner thighs. he can’t take his eyes away from the sight.
“i’ll clean it.”
you squeak as lip tugs your hips up, your upper body not bothering to follow behind.
“baby,” you gasp, croon into your pillow as his hot tongue laps at your folds. his nose glides against your soft opening as he curls his tongue for more.
you knew your man was dirty, but not that dirty.
it seems you’ve unlocked another side of him. one that’s going to be fucking cum into you for the next few hours and cleaning it just like this until you’re both ready to leave bed and finally have breakfast.
en avant masterlist
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there’s one thing single(?)dad!lip hasn’t had the opportunity to eat do.
“hey, hey, no time,” you breathe heavily, your body humming with endorphins from lip’s particularly giving mood this morning.
“there’s time,” he defends, kissing down your stomach, his mouth never leaving your skin as he lowers himself and continues to descend.
he manages to stamp three kisses underneath your navel before you reach your hands out towards him and cup his face. his eyes lift up and land on yours, maintaining that contact as he dips his jaw and licks the soft skin near his mouth.
your hazed out mind almost releases him, almost allows him to pick up where you stopped his journey southward, but you instead turn his face enough towards the clock at bedside.
09:21
“fuck… where’d all the time go?”
he sighs and pecks your abdomen one last time, crawls up the length of your body, pauses when his arms cage your head. he’s so goddamn addicted to how bliss shades your features after you orgasm, how your eyes glisten from the overwhelming swell of sensation, how you always sink into the mattress in deserved, well-earned relaxation. it’s the perfect mood for you both to attend work in.
lip attaches his mouth to yours, slow and equally ravenous. he maneuvers your arms around his neck since you’re slightly checked out, happy as you comply and tighten the hold so he can fully press against you.
“you’ve been dodgin’ me,” he mumbles into your mouth, uncommitted to cease kissing you, utilizing every precious second.
“hm?” your confused little sound vibrates on his lips. cute.
his nose brushes yours as he slightly pulls back. his hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek.
“think i don’t notice how somethin’ always comes up when i’m about to go down on you?”
realizing what he means, your head plops into your pillow, eyelids shutting, inhaling a deep breath. he wants to do this now?
“but we really don’t have time.”
the truth is, he probably can make you cum with his mouth in less than ten minutes (he’s out of practice), but he wants to savor the first time you let him. that is, as long as you quit alluding that first time from happening.
“i know,” he says with a nod, “and it’s not the only excuse you’ve reused on me.”
“i’m not making excuses, li—”
he effectively shuts you up with some greedy kisses, repeatedly stealing them in succession. you huff; it’s not lost on you how he cut you off. he hopes you don’t see the amusement on his face while light annoyance decorates yours.
“yeah you fuckin’ are, sunshine. so tell me why before i gotta head to hell.”
a small smile worms its way onto your mouth as you think about him referring to work as hell. however, being honest about this subject is an intimidating endeavor.
“i didn’t mean to turn you down so much, sorry,” you mumble.
“don’t be. i want you to be comfortable. just tell me if i’m doin’ somethin’ wrong.”
your gaze softens as he says this. he’s not scolding you for what you’ve been unintentionally doing, but more so trying to understand why and what he can do to fix it. you appreciate him so fucking much more than words can convey.
“you’re not doing anything wrong,” you clarify, first and foremost.
“it’s not… my favorite thing. i really do prefer regular sex—not that sex with you is regular.”
he nods as you speak, physically displaying his understanding.
“so no one’s ever done it right, have they?”
his question derails your thought process, slyly catching onto the underlying subtext. while he doesn’t full on smirk, there’s knowing in his eyes as he stares at you, a lurking reading of you he’s managed. sometimes it’s terrifying how easily a person can detect when there’s foul play.
to lip, he’s never heard of many women who don’t like it. he likes to think he’s gotten particularly good at it, with raving reviews from past sexual partners to attest. so he wants to share that with you, but it seems to him your reluctance to do so comes from previous men in your life simply not getting the job done.
to you, however, it’s invasive… and the subject matter is risqué. you don’t want to dive into how accurate his presumption is.
“why do you want to so bad?”
he has to hold back a laugh in disbelief and at how you didn’t answer his question. he assumes it’s because you don’t want to talk shit on your (unskilled) exes.
“you fuckin’ kiddin’ me? ‘cause i wanna hear you moan and i wanna make you feel good. cock’s not the only way to do it.”
the crude and dirty way he puts it makes you close your mouth. you don’t want to be defensive of this and you didn’t mean to be. he reminds you how he wants to share an intimate act, something more unselfish than not. it’s about you.
still, you bite your lower lip. something else nags at you. a bit of insecurity you’re positive other women have, a subtle fear despite your confidence.
“… and if you don’t like the taste?”
lip smiles gently, your concern heard, but it’s unfounded. he leans in nice and close like he’s about to whisper a secret, like you’re not all alone in the privacy of your bedroom.
“baby, i’ve tasted you off my fingers. why do you think i want more?”
heat pools in your cheeks and in your belly, a familiar and expected surge of arousal lights your system that neither of you can attend to at this moment. he always looks so fucking hot when he licks his fingers clean after bringing you to ecstasy.
“i want to let you, we just haven’t had time,” you say. he looks very pleased with this response.
“how about saturday? don’t got the kids, we won’t have work, no interruptions.”
well, that was fast.
you reflect his smile, unconsciously nod your head before your mind catches up. good thing too, don’t need to second guess yourself.
“saturday works.”
with your eager agreement, he cancels the space between your mouths. the tension from before rapidly fades as he slips his tongue against yours, maintains his steadfast weight over your body despite how he has to go soon. he lingers like he doesn’t, initiates another pass of his lips when they separate a millisecond for air, and his enjoyment renews in the throb of his length into the flesh of your thigh.
the anticipation builds within you, wondering how saturday will go, the absurdity of scheduling the event, and you giggle into his mouth.
“why’re you laughin’?”
he lazily retreats, his grin just as lazy as he inspects your face.
“we’re so fucking old,” you mutter while giggling, “we have to plan when we’re going to fool around.”
he hums an amused noise himself.
“tell me about it. can’t believe i finally got myself a reservation between your legs.”
and then he huffs as one of your pillows goes flying from bedside to thwack him in his side profile.
“don’t be nervous, i got you.”
“trust me; i’m ready.”
your answer soothes lip as he pushes your shirt up and unveils more of your skin to himself. he only uttered his reassurance because he felt how shaky your breathing was when he kissed you and laid you down. but by the look of your bra of choice, fully revealed once you remove your shirt the rest of the way and over your head, he knows your words are true.
his hands maneuver to the eye-catching periwinkle balconette cups, the raised, raspberry embroidered hearts in the fabric covered momentarily, but wonderfully textured for his callouses to recognize the craftsmanship. his thumbs reach up to brush the accenting bows acting as sweet partitions between the base of your bra straps and the perfectly fitted cups.
“this new?” he asks, aware that it is since he hasn’t seen it in your collection before.
“yeah… you like it?”
one of his thumbs slips under the bra strap, viewing the lacy trim of it closer. he nods absentmindedly, his cock swelling further in his pants at the idea of you buying and wearing something so fucking pretty just for him to gawk at and defile. he’s the luckiest motherfucker alive, he has to be.
“i fuckin’ love it. leavin’ it on.”
not without kissing each breast’s soft curve peeking above the material. goosebumps sprout on your body, reacting to how gentle he’s being, and understanding it won’t last from how drunk off lust his dilated pupils convey he is. he kisses down the middle of your chest and then down the center of your torso. he solely gets up to shed his shirt and then unbuckle his belt.
“got nothin’ special like that for you, sorry,” he mumbles as he unzips and pushes his pants down his hips. your eyes find his prominent erection in his boxers and the slightly damp patch at the tip of his tent.
“looks special to me,” you tease.
he lets out a breathy laugh, ridding his pants and then settling back between your legs, continuing where he left off on his path of kisses along your stomach. his fingers curl into the waistband of your sweats, and the lower he travels, the more he tugs them down. as the clothing comes off, his head twitches, realization dawning on him.
“… you’re a fuckin’ tease,” he groans, his cheek falling against your thigh with the silky garter wrapped around it.
he doesn’t know where to look, from the matching periwinkle panties with the raspberry hearts etched over your center, the familiar bows on your hips, to the hem of sheer stockings he wouldn’t have caught otherwise.
“don’t know what you’re talking about,” you attempt to innocently say.
“save it. you knew i was gonna be down ‘ere,” he grumbles, getting the sweats out of the way to really drink you in.
this fucking color on you is gorgeous, on the bra, the panties, and on the stockings. he doesn’t know what possesses him in that moment, but he acts on instinct as he nudges your thighs apart and presses stamps of affection along the inner portions. you shudder, his destination clear as he continues up and up, reaching one side of the underwear’s edge.
“look at you…” he murmurs in awe, his breath close enough to heat a path through the material.
his index and middle fingers trace the seam of your entrance without plucking your panties from where they sit snugly and slickly against you. you let out a quiet sound, his touch unhurried and methodical.
“already so wet. fuck, i don’t wanna take it off.”
it’s hard not to watch him. you don’t consider yourself a shy lover, especially not with lip, but a part of you does want to hide behind your pillow as he prods at you and dissects you with such careful observation and deft ministrations. another part can’t look away, how his lips part as he easily works more arousal from you, coats his fingertips despite the mottled palisade.
“lip,” you sigh, inhaling a sharp breath at the same time.
“sorry… s’fuckin’ beautiful,” he mumbles.
“this still okay?”
he rips his eyes away from your panties with great effort, his digits pausing from their stroking motion. it’s maddening, stopping at any point to you when you’re this needy.
“uh huh. more than okay,” you reply in a shrill tone.
“yeah? you want it?”
he slides his arms under your thighs, spreading them open for him. mild nerves overtake your stomach, but it’s because you know what’s to come. if lip’s good at intercourse, you have more inclination to believe he’s good at this. it thrills you, a man needing to please you like this, so willing and earnest. he smears kisses on your thighs again and then onto your panties, the heat of his mouth a preview to how intense it’s going to feel. those pecks alone are already ramping up sensation.
“yes,” you gasp.
“i want it, baby. please.”
he groans, “whatever you want” flying from him before his tongue snakes out his mouth and he laps at your covered slit. the taste hits his tastebuds, fabric and saline, a hint of saccharine, all triggering additional saliva he lewdly lavs over your clothed entrance. it would certainly feel different if he took your panties off, but he did mention how he doesn’t want to remove them much like your bra. yet, it’s a euphoric combination of pleasure and urgency, his lips and tongue smacking, his drool and your pussy’s soaking, ruining, baptizing the material of your new panties. he secures your legs over his shoulders, his face sinking deeper, his nose bumping your clit. it’s as if he’s attempting to devour you through your underwear, thrusting his tongue with escalating pressure, fucking you with a part of it, whatever the give of your panties allows. it’s intoxicating, your internal temperature high, moans shrill and tight as he ushers you to a place he’s taken you many times before, but never this quickly, never this debilitating. it’s causing your thighs to quiver, practically vibrating against his ears.
“oh, fuck, lip! fuck, uh, lip!”
“mm, not yet, baby. calm down.”
much to your dismay, he reduces his licking to indulgent kisses, and his palms press and flatten your hips to the bed. it alerts you how you were jolting them up against him, and rather than feeling embarrassed by your lack of composure, you groan in frustration. you had already been so close, about to crash into your climax, and he read it and chose to stop instead of pushing you over the impending edge.
“why’d you stop?” you ask, intending it to sound inquisitive, but it sounds more like a whine.
“‘cause you can wait. we’ll get there, sweetheart. don’t pout.”
you feel your pout exacerbate. your lips twitch as he flashes you a small smile, his lips and chin glossy, glazed with your slick. instead of quipping with something clever or taunting, lip administers more kisses, each one wet, suctioning, and then he hooks two fingers in the outside stitching of your panties and slides it aside out of his way.
his tongue broadly stripes the bottom of your slit, the flat of it smarming through the silkiness of your outer lips, teasingly close to dipping right inside. instantaneously, simultaneously, your hips jerk up, partially bump his nose, and he slings his forearm casually over your lower abdomen to hold you flush to the mattress. a pitiful sound stutters out of your mouth, gripping the back of his hair for purchase, your other arm covering your eyes to tame yourself because you can’t run from the pleasure. your hips, with a mind of their own at this point, attempt to buck, but he maintains a firm vise as he continues to repeat the motion, glissading his tongue through your folds until the tip of it comes up to just the underside of your clit. you form a fist, whimpering from the way he savors you, how you hear him gulp you down, breathe against you, and then do it all over again.
“keep makin’ those noises f’me. best pussy i’ve ever fuckin’ had, i swear.”
lip kisses your inner thighs as he grabs your hand out of his hair. he holds it, intertwines your fingers, keeps it like that on the bed as he picks up his spot.
“god, i love y-… y-your cunt. tastes incredible.”
his fingers crush yours as he focuses on your clit, the pink muscle in his mouth lapping hungrily, a feline’s length cleaning its young, only he’s voracious and exceedingly determined. as his tongue slithers up, slobbers over it, his bottom lip continuously catches and rubs your fluttering hole. but none of it, strangely enough, is hurried. it’s lasting, passionate, and at lip’s pace, which isn’t merciful since he’s milking this orgasm out of you, goading every tendril, tempering glass until it has no option but to shatter. and you’re certain it’s coming from how the fragile surface, and within the flesh, of your thighs ripples with how you’re hanging by a thread. your heel slips higher on his shoulder, squirming as the telltale rings alarms, what you can’t possibly hear above your squeaky yelp.
“ah!” a sputtering breath.
“lip, i—!”
“let go. give me your cum, baby. m’starvin’ for it,” he coaxes, messily suckling and kissing, losing rhythm as the bed rocks from his hips suddenly thrusting into it.
his thumb replaces his tongue on your clit, oscillating the bud tenderly, skillfully prying your panties open, and then unhinging his jaw to push his tongue into your cunt. you cry out from the sudden intrusion, every muscle in your body tenses, and that peak finally arrives. his name parrots off your lips, the only word you can remember and muster, gripping his hand tight as your release faucets out of you into lip’s open mouth. he moans at the taste, at how it drips down and off his chin, beads he somehow misses despite his perpetual lapping landing on the sensitive skin of your ass. it feels crazy how those beads of spit and your cum slide between your cheeks, how you add onto the puddle already underneath your body, how white specks dance in your vision as you undergo the explosive orgasm’s effects. he sloppily licks what he can as his thumb slows on your clit. you’re so sensitive to it, whimpering as you start to descend back to earth, clit pulsing to the same beat of your energized heart.
“my legs are tingly…” you pant, smiling from the chuckle it gets out of lip.
“did my job then,” he murmurs, gently lifting his thumb away from you, to then kiss up your tummy, over each breast, and then up your neck.
“new favorite thing?” he asks. he’s cheeky as he stares down at you. you can’t get over his glistening face, from the juiciness of his lips, to the glint on his chin, cheeks, and nose. it’s a heightened image with his face so satisfied and red as if he was the one who just came from one of the best orgasms of his life.
“mhm…” you nod, at a loss for words. he laughs a little harder, nosing under your jaw.
“m’glad. wanna do it more often. fuckin’ beautiful when you cum for me.”
you’re in the midst of a haze, but you manage enough coherency to cup his face. it doesn’t take much more than that for lip to know what you want, easily parting his lips, molding them to yours for a smoldering kiss. you share your scent and taste, a fire in you lighting with the knowledge that you’re so permanent on his tongue at this moment. and something in his system flips and twists knowing you’re willing to see how good you are, why he can’t get enough, and how you’re both hooked on each other past a point of return.
“you can do it anytime,” you say softly, kissing him one last time.
and it’s only your last time because he smirks and kisses the column of your neck, creating a trail to your cleavage, reaching up to squeeze your breasts. the balconette style of the cups causes some spillage and he takes advantage of your sunrising nipple, thumb hovering and then dragging over it back and forth.
“good. now’s perfect.”
“w-what?” you mutter in disbelief, one of his hands staying on your chest as he kisses past your ribs, nips above your navel.
“you said anytime,” he offers as his explanation, plain and simple to illustrate the reason behind his expected destination.
you can’t protest, lip doesn’t give you a chance to. you can only whine from overstimulation as he spits on your clit and licks it back up, initiating his intentions, exploiting the permission you just gave him.
en avant masterlist
if you would like to be tagged in future installments, please let me know; ageless blogs will not be tagged so be sure to add it to your bio
summary: as a single dad coparenting with his frigid ex, lip gallagher is a different man compared to who he was years ago. he’s sober, he has a job he hates but maintains for his two children, and one day, he decides to enroll his daughter into free ballet classes on a whim. abandoning the idea of a stable relationship occurred even before he met tami, but he can’t deny there's something about his daughter's ballet instructor that pulls him in. it can’t hurt getting closer to you... can it? (fem!reader x lip gallagher)
take heed: balletinstructor!reader x singledad!lip, typical shameless topics and illusions, hurt/comfort, commentary on addiction, fluff, angst, slow burn, cursing, mutual pining, eventual smut.
preface. understanding lip gallagher, single dad
headcanons surrounding where lip gallagher is at physically and mentally at the beginning of the story.
i. introductions and ballet slippers
since he missed you the first time he dropped his daughter off at ballet due to rushing back to work, lip takes the time to introduce himself to you properly.
ii. trauma dumping and apple pie
lip comes to your rescue after your car dies. you thank him with a meal and he accidentally lets you into his less than savory past.
iii. toddler tears, dinosaurs, and braids
incapable of doing his daughter’s hair on his own, lip seeks your help, and you finally meet his son freddie while paying a home visit.
iv. zucchini muffins and tami’s call
lip has gotten into the habit of bringing snacks for your ballet class. oh, and tami has something to say about it.
v. kitchen venting and an unexpected invitation
while creating a vision board for the upcoming recital, you and lip speak freely at your kitchen table.
vi. an injury, transformers, and an almost
you attend freddie’s tee ball game and meet tami, lip’s aforementioned ex. freddie gets hurt, but luckily, you always carry a travel sized first aid kit.
vii. fuck walter, fuck tami, and fuck ballet
as previously prophesied by tami, juggling everything in his life has become too much for lip. you just so happen to be around during his tipping point.
viii. need for speed and shady business
this is not how you thought you’d meet lip’s family. life’s too hard and it throws you a curve ball with lip’s apologetic and yet thoughtful acts of service.
ix. attitude, poise, and cherry stems
accidentally stumbling in on you dancing, lip watches fondly and later fulfills something you’ve dearly missed with your lack of family, friends, and a relationship.
x. space, venus, and z’s
after lip asks if you can pick up freddie from school while he runs an errand, you get some one on one time with his oldest. you recount it later over a facetime call with lip.
xi. hershey’s kisses, bambi, and the step stool
dress rehearsal and the recital are finally here. not only do the events land on tami’s days, but lip’s doing his best to help ensure the recital’s overall success for you… and brandi. he means brandi.
xii. deny, deny, deny
monday rolls around, days after your shared kiss with lip, but he doesn’t show up to drop brandi off for class. sometimes it’s best to save face than unveil your true hand.
xiii. ex, ex, and anger’s eruption
a week passes after you and lip agree to being friends. but there are consequences to repressing true emotions. you both realize this in your studio after the vales leave.
xiv. bargaining sister to sister
you and lip confide in your sisters about the mess of emotions your shared argument has caused. what if things had been different?
xv. observing depression
the recognition of some heavy signs through the eyes of your peers and what they do about it.
xvi. rip: your friendship with lip
determined and motivated by his daughter’s connection with you, lip drives to your studio. you may not be the one he finds there, but there are still necessary apologies spoken.
xvii. meeting once, thursday night, meeting twice
lip and brandi meet your sister. she mentions her favorite dive bar, and now lip’s taking the two of you on friday night… that doesn’t mean nothing happens thursday night.
xviii. billy and stevie nicks
at ricky’s, anna questions lip, and he discovers something tantalizing about you.
xix. dinner, suspicions, and the it complaint
you stay for dinner with lip and his kids, mickey has his presumptions, and lip deals with a complaint during a busy day at work.
xx. kitchen flowers and kitchen dancing
on sunday, you spend the day with lip and his kids, and as promised, the night. while doing so, there are some new things you notice about your dynamic with lip as well as freddie and brandi.
xxi. pillowcases and rightful fears
fiona has news about the new building she’s closed in on, ian feels conflicted, and lip invites you to another upcoming event. he also unveils a tidbit of his past he’s not so proud of.
xxii. dinner reservation for gallagher
there’s something lip has been asking for that you haven’t granted him until now.
xxiii. happy birthday, bambi
the tamiettis and the gallaghers gather at the park for brandi’s birthday party. two types of crazy in one place.
xxiv. the computer scanner, the bills, and what does and what doesn’t last
after a crucial meeting with walter, lip knows he has to tell tami about it. he’s not sure how to tell you, though.
xxv. communication and the diamond earrings
lip sees your ex and currently has an insecurity around money after losing his job. it doesn’t stop him from trying to get you something expensive.
xxvi. a week without sex and zero condoms
since getting together, you and lip make the time to satisfy one another’s needs. after a week without sex, it’s obvious you were both pent up.
fin. forward
a number of milestones set up your future with lip.
bonus:
en avant (spanish playlist on spotify) 🎧
en avant (english playlist on spotify) 🎧
on brandi’s first day of pre school, lip ties her shoes
lip’s remorseful as he yaps to ian about yelling at you
you daydream at home after dancing with lip
calling tech support, you don’t expect lip to answer
lip’s joy of finally kissing you doesn’t last
lip has a wet dream about you after you make up
the monday morning after sleeping at lip’s
some headcanons about e sex with lip
when lip runs late, you and brandi have a chance to chat
how you and lip spend halloween together in the near future
tami decides to come in during a gallagher christmas celebration
you’re there when freddie gets in trouble at school
lip visits your studio after allegedly forgetting your anniversary
warning: do not wear a skirt around lip gallagher.
not unless you’re strong enough to sacrifice the tantalizing view of his mouth groping your sex, the fabric an obscure veil over his head. it pathetically masks him, the shape of him lewdly rocks underneath, a visible reminder he’s present, hiding the obscenity of his actions as if your thighs don’t shake from the intensity and you’re not aware of him on his knees for it. the flat of his tongue swipes the sticky webbing at your hole, drool and slick travel down the dip of his lower lip, mix messily onto his chin. one hand rests right where your ass connects to your thigh, his other arm unconventionally slung atop of your open leg the same way one would hold a guitar. fine tunes your shrieks, plucks sensitive strings. you tiptoe your foot on the coffee table, tilt your head back, join the back of it with the wall behind for purchase, for solid foundation, for solace from the wicked poke and prod of his nose on your clit and his mouth slurping and tonguing your folds.
you reach for his hair and meet the heated texture of your skirt draped over the tufts, curl intentional digits around the cloth and his hair simultaneously, securing his partition, binding him to you, a part of your outfit, an accessory to your fitting. and, fuck, only one thing on him fits better inside you than his flicking, greedy tongue, which you’ve no doubt you’ll feel after he stops.
his girth stretching and molding, notching inside of you, bless it, his wet lips heaving near your ear: “skirt stays on.”
when singledad!lip needs help doing his daughter’s hair for ballet, he turns to you.
“fuckin’ shit,” lip mutters, the small elastic in one broken piece thrown down to the floor along with the other remains of the deceased rubber bands.
“shit!” brandi exclaims, a proud smile gracing her features. she meets lip’s gaze in the mirror ahead and a giggle that usually pricks his heart strings only causes his head to shake in his growing frustrations.
“no, baby, don’t say that—your mom would kill me,” he manages softly somehow.
fucking tami. she should be here doing this for brandi since she has way more skill when it comes to doing hair, but on top of the fact that lip and tami barely get along, she’s out of the state for the next two weeks. leaving this along with other responsibilities of his kids in a longer period of time than usual.
honestly, a large part of him is elated to have his kids for more than four days in a row before inevitably surrendering them over to tami, but the other part, the one needing some quiet time and a nap, it’s creeping its way out of his skin as he fumbles with his bambi’s hair. the curls relentlessly slip from his fingers and every time he glances at the tutorial on his phone, he winds up screwing up, brushing the tangles as carefully as possible without hurting her.
“ow,” she blurts and lip refrains from letting another curse slip.
“sorry, sorry,” he says, kisses the top of where her hand flies to nurse the sting.
brandi’s a toddler, continuously maneuvering her head as lip tries to braid portions of her hair, losing the parts he’s successfully made when she gets so excited about something she has to tell him or hop in her spot just because. these are traits he admires, yes, but in this instance, after forty minutes of trying to deliver a braided bun, his fingers twitch, in dire need of a cigarette and a break.
“bam, i don’t know if i can do your hair, sweetheart. i’m sorry,” he declares in delving defeat.
then he sees what he’s avoided in the reflection. her smile slowly drops and forms into a pout that is gut wrenching, soul crushing even. how the hell did his father have the carelessness in him to witness something as pure as a child’s disappointment and not act on instantly turning it around? lip’s jaw clenches, never wanting to be like frank, but maybe if he were, it would save him the current blooming ache in his chest observing his bambi’s fallen face.
“but you promised, daddy!”
he did promise. in this moment, he remembers what landed him here. he can’t be mad at tami when he’s the one who signed brandi up for ballet classes in the first place. she doesn’t take brandi to them, he does, for the three days of the week you conveniently have them on during his common routine with the children. he attempted to suggest brandi wait for her mother to do her hair like the other girls in class after his baby asked, but it’s not the same.
the same tremble wobbles her bottom lip. fuuuck, he knows the tears are coming. much like when he tried to insist she wait for tami to help her and maybe teach him, but tami’s further away, and to a toddler, it feels like eternity to wait more than ten minutes for anything at all.
“i know, i know, i did promise, but bam, i’m… shh, shh, s’okay. no tears, baby, c’mere.”
he turns her tiny frame and hugs her against his chest. he feels heavy for various reasons, her muffled whines being one, his incompetence being another.
“hey, brave face f’me, please. you’re a big girl, right?” he gently presses, thumbing away the tears that have escaped.
he refrains from grinning as she sniffles and nods her head. that’s his girl.
“… daddy just meant… he can’t do it now. he needs some time, okay? i’m not good at this stuff like your mom is. how about we take a break? don’t wanna pull your pretty hair,” he jokes, smooths her curls down for good measure. her face is still red, but she giggles and lights up with hope again. relief spreads throughout him.
“okay. snack time?”
“snack time. go get freddie and we’ll party in the kitchen,” he reassures.
with a resolute expression, brandi runs off from the mess of the bathroom. he hears, “freddie! come eat!” from the hall.
alone in the room, this is one of the only moments he’ll have to himself. he runs a hand down his face, scratches the side of it as he tries to rack his brain for a solution. he’s not a ballet mom. he’s not tami. he hasn’t the slightest clue about hairstyles besides the ponytail he wrangles brandi’s hair into, not even as he tries to recall playing dolls with debbie in her formative years.
if there’s an obvious option, he can’t place it. the sole thing he comes back to through all of it is…
deep breaths filter from his worn lungs. he’ll serve the snack and then he’ll have a smoke break. first, however, lip pulls his phone out. he locates the proper message thread already filled with other entries, sends another, and then he attends to the kitchen where his kids await his presence.
sos. i need your help.
you emerge from your car to an unfamiliar street, a bag in hand as you walk up the porch steps. this has to be lip’s place. he mentioned something about graffiti being on the house nearby and a tabby cat that loves to lounge on the fencing.
he texted you earlier seemingly out of the blue, asking if you could drop by and help him figure out brandi’s hair. it feels weird showing up on a friday afternoon, but it’s not like you had other plans outside of grocery shopping and binging your favorite show for the tenth time.
you knock onto the door in front of you, hearing a flurry of footsteps on the other side. when it comes open, a young boy with another vivid set of blue eyes stares up at you, the resemblance to lip uncanny.
“are you miss dancing lady?” he asks.
you chuckle, finding it humorous brandi talks about you to her older brother.
“you must be freddie,” you muse. freddie presents you a half crooked grin.
“fred, don’t open the door without me,” lip grumbles. he appears from behind freddie, glancing first at the child before he turns his attention to you.
“come on in. sorry about the mess.”
you follow lip inside the humble home. he picks up toys and clothes as he walks, some pink, some cars, a few stray socks. it’s not as bad as he thinks it is to you. it’s a normal state to have with two energetic kids close in age.
lip leads you into a small room, brandi sat in front of a tv she watches from her bed. it’s appropriately decked in purple. she shoots up upon seeing you, exclaiming your real name as she hugs your legs. freddie lingers in the doorway.
“i’m here to help with your hair,” you explain to brandi.
you spot a table set nearby and point to it. the princess chairs are adorable. some are lined with stuffed animals.
“bring that chair over.”
as you unload the bag of hair products and tools you brought, brandi picks the chair up and hobbles with it back to you. you sit at the edge of her bed, her in front of your knees, and lip sits beside you. his thigh meets yours, a wave of heat radiating off him, warmth from hard muscle in his leg. the faint smell of nicotine and fruit rollups mix up to your nostrils.
“she tends to move around a lot,” lip warns.
you purse your lips in thought for a moment as you begin combing through her unruly curls. they begin to frizz as expected.
“easy fix.”
your phone leaves your pocket. you settle on tiktok and hand it to her. she excitedly scrolls with the content, lip giving you a weary gaze.
“i know,” you say with a laugh noticing his apprehension, “but it’s just to keep her distracted while you learn.”
“learn…? not gonna just do it?” he hesitates.
“how else will she come to the recitals nice and prepared?”
lip groans at the sound of the word recital. did he really think you’d do her hair once and brandi would be pacified with that alone?
as you brush brandi’s hair, you look up at freddie standing and staring at the three of you. lip follows your gaze, the same thought coming to him about leaving his kid out.
“come pick something to watch while we do your sister’s hair,” lip encourages. freddie reluctantly enters the room further. you smile as he chooses to sit at the other side of lip as he wordlessly fiddles with the remote.
he goes for an animated show about dinosaurs already halfway into its playtime.
“okay, first thing is the parting,” you say. you show him some mousse you foam into your hand before applying the product. it helps with brandi’s hair texture, easier to work with and lip already seems in awe. he leans in closer, his shoulder against yours.
“then we braid,” you say simply after tying the bottom portion of her hair away. you meticulously braid the section as lip watches.
“your turn.” you gesture to the other section. he huffs and scoots closer to you and brandi.
“i kept grabbing too much hair this morning,” he mumbles in annoyance.
“that’s why we tied this portion away.” you point out the bottom section in a hair tie.
he inhales and exhales slowly before nodding and beginning to try and repeat the braid on the other side. he looks concentrated. you notice how strands of hair slip from his fingers.
“keep the pieces between your fingers and hold them while you braid,” you explain. you go as far as touching his cautious hands, maneuvering the hair to the right places, which leaves him loose and pliant as you guide him.
“it feels weird.”
“it will, but the more you practice, the more you’ll get the hang of it.”
as lip gradually braids his section, freddie peeks his head to get a better look at you from where he sits.
“do you have a favorite dinosaur?” he asks.
“hey, fred, she’s not here to—” lip starts.
“triceratops. easy,” you reply and freddie’s neutral expression breaks into a wide smile.
“i love the t-rex!” freddie shouts.
lip finishes his braid at the same time that his stare lingers on you longer. you try to ignore the fluttering sensation in your stomach as you clear your throat and observe his lumpy braid.
“it’s not as good as yours,” he mumbles.
“that’s okay. it’s still good. and we can always start over, right? one step at a time.”
as you begin to undo his braid and murmur tips on how to improve it, he finds his eyes glued to your features rather than brandi’s slick hair. he listens, but he’s not as immersed as he is with the movement of your lips, the bob of your head, how you continue to smile in your instruction. you feel his eyes, but you don’t turn your face. it’d only bring your noses that much closer together and… you resist the urge with his kids around.
“mhm… we can always start over,” he agrees quietly and thoughtfully.
when in vegas, one should always expect the unexpected. still, you aren’t prepared for what’s suddenly in your boyrfriend lip’s head. but it’s the first big milestone before the ones that follow after.
blow on my dice, baby.
it’s the last thing lip says to you at the craps table before you put your lips together and blow a streamline of air into his hand. that alone gives him confidence you’ll achieve the number you need, your belief and added luck, but he still steals a kiss from you for himself, for the illusion of good measure. then he spills the dice from his hold and listens for the thud of the cubes over the table, only slightly populated by a few strangers, and veronica and kevin.
lip’s siblings are elsewhere in the casino, no doubt causing havoc to increase their wealth, scheming as best as they can with the added inspection of nearby security. yours are tagging along with ian and mickey. you still can’t believe elliot agreed to coming to vegas considering how married he is to his job, but it’s one of those things where everything fell into its right place. everyone figured out a week in their schedules to come down to vegas for much needed, unadulterated fun. even lip’s sister fiona is here, someone you’ve finally met in person outside of saying hi to her during her facetime calls with lip, before coming here.
she mentioned something about having the privilege to have a real vacation without the stress of worrying if everyone would be okay or not. the way she talks about her siblings and acts towards them makes you realize how much lip’s like her. although everyone’s successfully navigating their lives, the older sibling syndrome hasn’t shut off.
the only one who’s not engaging in anything, under any watchful gazes anyway, is liam since he’s technically too young to play anything. that doesn’t mean he’s not guiding debbie in blackjack as subtly as possible.
you like kevin and veronica, lip’s lifelong neighbors. apparently they have kids at home in kentucky. lip’s agreed to visiting them sometime, but he told you on the side that he really doesn’t want to go to kentucky. he had anxiety leaving chicago for this trip, something you soothed him through in the leading weeks and the plane ride over. he didn’t want to be away from the kids for so long and he has this thing about being from home. chicago, and all its fucked up flaws, is his safe place, an important factor in his stability and sobriety. you told him that you both didn’t have to go, but he insisted on this being something he had to do to grow, as long as you helped him through it. and you did, because your man asked, so it was a no brainer.
after cashing out on some winnings between you and lip, which is about a profit of $5,000 (you know when to quit, but it took quite a lot of convincing for lip to leave when he’s on a streak with you), you two decide to take a walk through the night without any of your siblings around. while this trip has been fun with all your collective people, you relish in the alone time. his hand is in yours, fingers interlaced, thumb stroking back and forth as you observe the surrounding buildings and other tourists out this late. without the overcrowd, you’re able to appreciate the city for what it is. it’s alive and dazzling and yet it has its own stench like chicago has, but it’s a different kind.
the air’s dry and it has a chill. the temperature in chicago would be lower during this time of night, however, so it’s more on the warmer side to you and lip. you still tuck yourself against lip for his warmth and he chuckles as he slings an arm around you.
as you walk, an inevitable chapel greets you in the distance. vegas is lined with these spots, but this time, you see a couple barge out from the exit. they’re giggling and a few of their friends are taking pictures with them. the woman’s in a cream dress and her husband is in a nice collared shirt. it’s telling of how they all planned this out and it intrigues you because normally, at least what you’ve seen depicted in movies and tv, it’s spontaneous. a spur of the moment decision.
“congrats to the newly weds,” you say to lip from the side of your mouth.
his gaze is already on them, pausing his gait to watch from where you two are. the celebration is heartfelt, even with the limited amount of people gathered. but this is huge for the couple, giddy as they kiss and pose and throw rice into the air.
“think the chapel provided the rice?”
you shrug.
“maybe. definitely the bouquet. i saw the attendant take it back when they walked out.”
lip snorts in amusement. he stares over at them longer, lost in thought. you’re not sure what’s going on in that head of his, but you’d like to continue sight seeing. so you tug his hand and gesture with your other arm.
“let’s keep walking. we’re almost at fremont.”
but for some reason, lip continues to keep his gaze on the couple and their perceived friends and family. he scans the chapel, a small smile forming on his lips.
“don’t think they’ll annul it.”
“… me neither?” you say in confusion. you have no idea why he’s so invested in these people. lip hardly likes people in general.
“nah… i don’t think they’ll regret a thing.”
you don’t know what realm your boyfriend’s traveled to as he vaguely interprets the feelings of the couple ahead. there’s a far away look in lip’s eyes. you like to think that you know him well enough to understand what he may be doing or possibly contemplating, but this stumps you.
you gently turn his chin towards you. he follows with little resistance, his eyes back on yours.
“something wrong?”
he laughs shortly and kisses your palm.
“you always ask me that when i get quiet.”
defensiveness comes over you. you huff and furrow your eyebrows.
“you’re usually thinking too much when you get quiet.”
he lets out another hum of amusement. now that he’s not looking at the couple, he’s focused on your features. you recognize that look. it’s the one he gets when he sees you interacting with brandi and freddie, who are currently both at tami’s for the duration of this vacation. the kind when he lingers in the back of your class and you’re still in the middle of teaching. the way he looks at you when you’ve both been intimate, a longing in his intense eyes, yearning that feels like he invented.
“so what are you thinking?” you ask, recognizing the tonal shift. you tried to approach it in a humorous manner, but it’s clear there’s depth you’re not picking up on as easily.
his smile quirks, barely there, but sincere.
“marry me.”
the air leaves your lungs instantaneously. you blink rapidly at lip to try and make sense of this, if he’s joking, if this is his stupid way of attempting to make you laugh and then ultimately wave it off.
“that’s not funny,” you reply anxiously, your voice stern as you try to pull your hand away. his grip tightens a fraction to keep it in his hold.
“i’m serious.”
“no, that’s not funny, lip!” you say, louder this time like it’ll emphasize your point.
“that’s a very big commitment you’re talking about and it would change everything.”
“i know.”
“you can’t throw it around like it’s nothing, like it’s not heavy and important, because it is heavy and important to me.”
“baby, i know.”
“do you? because i don’t see marriage as something that’s… impromptu and rash and the decision you make based off a night of gambling—i’m not a gamble, lip.”
“hey, hey, i know. i know that, c’mere.”
he cups your face into his hands. it soothes the nerves rampant in your system. you didn’t notice how worked up your panic made you until he touches you with softness, tenderness, his thumbs on your cheeks grounding you to this spot here with him.
this conversation has come before. lip expressed how he was open to the idea of more kids with you in the future about seven months into dating. it led to you telling him how you wanted to be married before you had any. which then led to lip discussing with you how skewed he saw marriage as an institution, how the few successful ones he saw worked, but there were so many others that made him apprehensive towards it.
and then he started to ask what flowers you’d like at your wedding a month later. he mentioned how brandi would make a cute flower girl, freddie a dutiful ring bearer. he asked what kind of music you should play, if you two should eventually take ballroom classes. he’s been warming up to it more and more, asking questions to ian, to kevin, to brad, unbeknownst to you.
“i know i blindsided you, and i’m sorry,” he says, licking his lips between.
“but i mean it. i wouldn’t fuck around about this, especially not with you. i know it’s important to you and i know that you saw this for later down the line, but i felt it… i feel it. i want to marry you.”
him saying it again doesn’t make it any less flooring than when he first did. your knees still feel weak as you look into his eyes, oxygen not filling your body quickly enough, your heartbeat escalating like before.
“lip, i… i love you, but i… i don’t want you to do this if you think you’re going to lose me or something.”
it’s a concern that’s bubbled within you since the topic first emerged months ago. you tried to hide your disappointment when he explained how he perceived marriage, so much so that his later approaches almost felt a bit mocking. you know that’s not how he meant it, but how else are you supposed to feel when the love of your life almost subtly claims he doesn’t want to marry you and then continues to tease you with allusions of what it could be. at least, that’s how you took it, because you’re human. lip was only communicating with you how he felt on the matter and you couldn’t help but feel a sting over it. it’d be a dealbreaker for other couples, but you love lip so much, you were willing to hang on longer.
“i’m not, it’s not that,” he says with a rapid shake of his head, anything to dispel that from your mind.
“i’ve thought about it more… a lot. and yeah, i don’t want to lose you, but i also want to keep you. for the rest of my life, i want it to only be you, and i want to be the only one for you, too. i want us to share everythin’, be a family, grow our family, all of it. i’m not talkin’ out my ass,” he states with an addition of your name at the end.
it occurs to you now that lip consistently bringing around the idea of marriage stems from annihilating his fears and concerns towards it. your boyfriend didn’t mention possibilities to be cruel, but to display to you he was thinking about it more in-depth, considering it because of your wants, and preparing himself.
to lip, even before with his doubts, this was the inevitable. he was just making sure he was ready for it to be the man you needed and deserved.
“and i don’t want to leave vegas without you as my wife.”
a knot corrodes your throat, your eyes welling with tears from the moment’s intensity, from emotions overwhelming you from the inside out. you glance at the chapel and search for the couple and their friends only to find they’re already gone. in the dead of night, it’s only you and lip, and the various flashing lights of the city. it almost feels like it continues to breathe in its glamor and tawdry propaganda.
“… but i… i-i wanted—i want—an actual wedding surrounded by the people we love. gosh, the kids aren’t even here,” you utter, your tone unsteady, cracking the slightest bit.
“i know, baby, i know,” he says and gently pecks your lips a few times. you kiss him back, his scent infiltrating your nostrils.
“i’ll give you one. a big one, a small one, an expensive one, whatever you want. i’ll figure it out,” he says as he grabs your hands.
“but i want you to be mrs. gallagher before we get back to chicago. i’ll marry you fifty times over, i don’t care… we’ll do the big ceremony and the big party and the honeymoon, but please, baby, marry me here and now and i’ll be the happiest motherfucker alive.”
the tears in your eyes create a blurry mask around lip’s face, part of it glowing from the nearby chapel’s sign bathing it in magenta. his eyes almost look violet as a striking result. you’re still stunned by the night’s events, by his impromptu proposal, but it aligns with his character and who he is. while this is impulsive, he acts with his heart, with how he’s feeling, and that knowledge alerts you of how real this is. you marry him tonight and soon you’ll marry him again in white, you’ll have the dream wedding, but he’ll already be exclusively yours, and you can sort the rest out later.
when you don’t answer fast enough, lip drops to one knee in front of you. it’s the hammered, definite nail in the coffin, his deliberate squeeze of your hands leading you from your head to the present.
“i’m in love with you. i don’t think i’ve ever been more certain about anythin’ else. you’re… you’re everythin’ to me and you love my kids and they love you and i know i don’t have a ring, but i’ll get you one, and i’ll spend every wakin’ moment tryin’ to be the man you deserve.”
it’s no use. the tears you held back start to fall down your ducts, down your cheeks, but your lips can’t stop smiling. you can’t come down from how over the moon you are.
“so, please, baby… marry me. marry me and, and i’ll—”
“i’ll marry you.”
despite how lip’s the one who’s asking and pleading and convincing, literally kneeling before you, your admission rings his ears, his entirety’s first instinct to be stunned. he stares at you and searches for any sign of second thought, anything that indicates you feel otherwise.
“really?”
“yeah,” you laugh and nod, “i’ll marry you right now.”
“right now?” he asks as he stands up to his full height. his arms wrap around you and pull you flush against him.
“yes… right now.”
joy explodes, expands, overtakes lip by his last remnants of control. he secures his arms firmly around you, his mouth latches onto yours, and you melt against him, the taste of light salt on your tongues from the happy tears you can’t and don’t dare to bother and suppress. his mouth glissades with ease and it occurs to you this is the one you’re going to kiss for the rest of your life, and you know he’s going to do it just like this, this impassioned and enamored, every fucking chance he gets.
“i love you,” he murmurs against your mouth.
“i love you, too.”
he has one hand cupping your face, his thumb caressing your cheek.
“come on.”
you and lip walk together into the chapel with surprisingly eager steps. now that you’re on the same page, it’s the only option that makes sense. the most logical and coherent.
you speak to the attendant and she explains the process you’re about to embark on. there’s paperwork, discussion of the officiant, possible witnesses that you and lip consider.
it’s when you’re holding hands together, waiting on a bench outside for them to get everything ready, that ian calls lip. lip looks down, his leg bouncing, his hand over yours in your lap. and he answers the call with his free one.
“yeah?”
“yo, where you guys at? debbie almost got us kicked out and carl’s shitfaced.”
“no, she did get us kicked out. they said either we get escorted by security or we leave,” fiona’s voice chimes from nearby. ian must have the call on speaker.
“my sister with you?” anna asks. lip smiles softly, able to recognize her voice.
“mhm, she’s here.”
lip squeezes your hand. you lean against him and listen to the call from there. you understand why he doesn’t want to put it on speaker. the night is nice and quiet and electric, and the voices of your siblings may disrupt that peace.
“so where are you?” ian repeats and redirects the conversation.
lip swallows the anticipation and nerves building in his throat. he glances at you and smiles, the step you’re about to take one of the most pivotal points of your relationship. you look beautiful where your head’s tucked on his shoulder, fluttering lashes at him that he feels his heart skip a few beats for. how abysmally cheesy, but how fucking wonderful it is to have someone who could render him helpless and powerful all in one, vulnerable and uplifted, weak and strong.
“we’re…”
he pauses, unsure if he should tell the truth or not. according to the plan, they can all come to the next wedding you and lip will eventually have, but it doesn’t feel right to leave them on the outside when everything feels special about tonight. everyone managed to get here to vegas, people you and lip care for, and while you two will do your best to find a date to recreate attendance as well as for others, like tami and his kids and friends and more of your family, you don’t want strangers to be your witnesses. he won money tonight, with lady luck by his side, and you both stumbled upon a happy couple emerging at the right moment. it feels aligned. red stringed. one coincidence after the other.
but while lip thinks all of this, what gets him to talk again is the nod of your head. the subtle go ahead because you want everyone here and your mind’s mulling it like lip’s is.
“we’re at a wedding chapel… we’re gettin’ married.”
“what? married?” ian croaks in disbelief.
“give me that! gimme!” debbie says, the phone picking up a bit of feedback from where they’re likely passing it around. or somewhat fighting for it.
“what do you mean married? are you serious?”
“yep. we’re waitin’ for them to clean up,” lip says. he wonders if they can hear the smile in his voice.
“where?” fiona asks. she sounds closer now. he pictures them huddling around the phone.
“i’ll send ian the location and—”
“hurry up. we’re on our way,” she says definitively.
you sit up without creating distance between you and lip. it feels more real knowing that both of your family will be here soon. it’s a good thing you two didn’t walk very far to locate this chapel. they’re everywhere in vegas.
soon, his siblings are here, your siblings are here, kevin and veronica are here. you and lip are hugging one after the other, congratulations spewed, tears in your sister’s eyes, her and elliot asking if this is what you want before they’re gathering you up in a group embrace and pre-celebrating. they tell lip to take care of you and he proclaims he will with the utmost sincerity.
the gallaghers joke about you becoming their sister-in-law. fiona, for example, says she just met you not too long ago and you’re already part of the family. your interactions with her are only low because of how she lives outside of chicago. you’ve met her a few times before this.
carl congratulates you and gives you a hug longer than necessary because he’s swaying. debbie tells you to hit her up if it doesn’t work out, to which lip glares at her for. ian and mickey make their promises to be there for you if you need anything. liam welcomes you in, but explains how you’ve already been part of their family for a while now.
kevin and veronica remind you and lip to keep things alive and to call if you need tips.
but what can feel more alive than waking up to a regular vegas day and then going to sleep married in your hotel room at night?
the officiant makes the next part rather simple. you both repeat after her, holding each other’s hands, lip’s having a gentle tremble. it’s thankfully not out of fear, but it’d be crazy if neither you and lip had some kind of nerves. you’re about to leap into something a lot different than either of you have experienced. but at least you’re doing it together.
“it’s you and me, baby,” lip whispers to you as the officiant speaks. you smile at him, clutching a bouquet provided by the chapel in the other hand.
but it winds up falling from your grasp since you need both arms to wrap around lip’s neck as he decides to dip you post i do.
lip’s been working so hard lately.
either he’s studying or he’s improving his sales at his computer job. he sits in front of the screen for a long period of time, but he’s putting in the work to finish his degree. it’s closer and closer to where he needs to be, and not at the expense of neglecting you and the kids.
but fuck, he’s tired.
you lie with him at the end of sunday night after a day of preparing the kids for school tomorrow. they’re not in bed yet, but lip plops himself onto you, not paying attention to much else besides his head in your chest, his lips brushing your upper breast. it’s not out of lust, but pure exhaustion. he’s already dozing atop of you.
“still need to tuck the kids in,” you gently say. your hand slides through his hair, currently being grown out, due for a haircut sometime soon. before you break out the sheers and his shaver, you’re enjoying this look on him.
it makes him look younger. like photos he’s shown you from college, the period before he became a dad.
“i’m so sleepy,” he mumbles, voice vibrating on your flesh.
“you got it?”
you chuckle to yourself. the sound buzzes on his head and creates a smile you feel broaden on your chest.
“i can do it, but you have to let me go.”
he groans at that option. his arms tighten around you, snuggling further against you. in turn, he further entraps you beneath him.
“they can’t tuck each other in?”
“don’t let bam hear that you don’t want to tuck her in.”
he grumbles a little. he turns his head, his chin near your sternum as he looks up at you. the strain in his eyes is evident through a slight pink tint behind his captivating blues. you push some strands away from his visage.
“you’re s’posed to be on my side.”
“says who?” you tease.
“our vows.”
he kisses up your chest, lingering to lavish your collarbone with pecks.
“pretty sure i said i’d honor your kids in those,” you remind him softly.
he pauses what he’s doing, his eyes shifting to meet yours again. without saying it, the look conveys his silent scolding. you realize your mistake; he’s been getting onto you more and more recently about that.
“our kids,” you correct.
lip’s lazy smile returns. he resumes his kisses, planting them in random spots up your neck.
“you know i would, baby. but i’m so tired. can barely keep my eyes open.”
“and what are you going to do when we have another set of feet running around?”
“stock up on red bulls.”
your laugh half makes it out. the rest of it winds up smothered as lip’s mouth descends upon yours. although his exhaustion is tangible, he doesn’t half ass kissing you. he never has and you’re certain he never will.
“don’t know if our fridge has much room,” you mutter between those moments where your mouths slide apart, the interludes for air.
“i’ll make room.”
“give her back, fred!”
“then give me my ball!”
you and lip break away with simultaneous sighs. you both heard freddie and brandi, can still hear them arguing back and forth. they usually get along well, but they both are less agreeable around this time of night, a signal they’re ready for bed.
“i’ll take care of it. try not to fall asleep.”
you pat lip’s arms to release you. although he doesn’t want to, he reluctantly lets go and shifts to his side so you can get up. his eyes follow you as you walk out of the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
he musses up his hair a few times as he stares at the ceiling. he shouldn’t fall asleep, not when he knows he should help you tuck the kids in once you resolve this spat between them. they’re bickering more as they’re getting older. while time has definitely been kind to him, he’s not enthused at the prospect of his kids needing him less and less.
but he’ll be there when they do. so he needs to get up and stay awake just a bit longer so he can join you in tucking them in. freddie will soon be at an age where he’ll refuse it. then brandi shortly after.
he yawns as he subtracts himself from bed and pads like a zombie to the bathroom. to spark some life back into him, he decides to brush his teeth. he grabs his toothbrush and… and then he searches for the toothpaste which isn’t lying around or in the cabinet.
curiously, he walks to the bathroom closet and opens it. maybe you put away an extra tube somewhere and he doesn’t have to make a stop at the store tomorrow.
but as he does, he notices something vibrant sticking out from under the towels. his eyebrow raises, lifting the tin material out. as he unfolds it, he recognizes the shape, silvery and full of gold and pastel colored stars. at the center of the balloon reads hello, baby.
he pauses as he reads the simple, cursive words a few more times. there’s another balloon just like it, strings of ribbon coming off them. it pulls more of his attention, wakens him up, now scanning the closet for more evidence of what’s currently springing around his head. below the shelves on the closet floor is a canister of helium tucked away. he probably would’ve missed it if he hadn’t found the balloons.
then lip checks behind the towels, now unable to stop himself, and there’s a small box with a bow sitting atop of it. seeing as he’s gotten this far, he opens it, letting out a breath of relief, one that confirms his thoughts, his eyes welling.
inside is a white onesie, lettering across the front of it, “coming soon.” he sees the tiny beige booties and then the paper tissue beneath. he sets the box down on the bathroom counter and finds the pregnancy test at the very bottom. it’s in a plastic bag, the top of it capped pink, the two lines that have him realizing just how real this is.
“there you are!” you huff as you enter the doorway.
“i got the kids to say sorry to each other and now they’re waiting on us.”
you point with your thumb vaguely behind you. lip looks up with barely contained emotion on his features, his smile broad. you look from his face to the open box, the balloons he has laid out on the counter, the pregnancy test in his hands.
“fuck, you weren’t supposed to see that yet!”
he says nothing as he laughs. it’s more so out of disbelief, setting the test back into the box as he slowly approaches.
“i’m so sorry, baby,” he says softly.
“so, so sorry… but… you’re… it’s for real?”
you flutter your lashes a few times. he may have ruined your surprise, but you’re still able to see his raw reaction. it appears as if he only just discovered all of this. the only part you missed was his face upon seeing the onesie. but you see him now and he’s tinged pink, his eyes glassy, most likely that way from the current influx of shock and undeniable joy.
“… yeah… i’m pregnant.”
he releases another breath of air, crossing the short distance in a stride towards you. his arms engulf you and for a moment, you don’t feel the floor underneath your feet. he lifts you in a bear hug and you embrace him back, overwhelmed by him finding out early, by how he’s squeezing you like you’re everything and more.
he eventually sets you onto the counter, making his home between your legs (which is the kind of behavior that got you here), and he presses kiss after kiss over your face. you giggle at the sporadic affection, a sound he muffles with his mouth. you feel his smile in full force as he kisses you, moisture you’re not sure is coming from his eyes or yours.
“i love you… god, i love you,” he mumbles. he doesn’t bother to separate much from your mouth. it elicits another laugh from you.
“i take it you’re happy?”
he properly looks at you and raises his eyebrows.
“thrilled,” he corrects you softly.
“no wonder you said the fridge didn’t have any room. i was like, ‘why would we need to worry about that now?’”
you shake your head in amusement as lip wipes your tears with his thumbs. you return the favor, but your hands stay on his face.
“i was going to set everything up tomorrow before you got back from dropping the kids off at school.”
he sighs. he’s apologetic, but he can’t rid of the stupid grin on his lips.
“sorry again,” he murmurs.
“it’s okay.”
you’re a bit bummed he stumbled upon your announcement before you could make it yourself, but you’re much happier knowing that he knows.
“when’d you find out?” he tenderly strokes the outside of your thighs. you have no idea how much touchier he’s about to get.
“a few days ago. noticed i was late and remember how i was feeling nauseous?”
he nods. he picked you up over-the-counter medicine and laid with you during his breaks from the computer. he convinced you to call your dance classes off since you were sick, something you didn’t want to do, but lip gallagher has a persuasive tongue.
“i took a test, went a little crazy in here by myself, and then took another one to make sure. positive each time.”
he chuckles at the revelation.
“did you tell your sister?”
he knows you too well. that was actually your first initial instinct, but you decided against it.
“no. wanted you to know first. i mean, i was going to send her and elliot a video of you finding out, but can’t do that anymore.”
he sheepishly sneaks himself another kiss, touched by your prioritization, and the decision to make him the first of everyone. it is his baby after all, but he appreciates how special you… tried to make it for him.
since you still have those balloons, he can help you set them up. he might get a little flack from debbie and carl, but you two can still film a video announcement and send it off to your siblings and his as well as others like brad and veronica and kevin. he’ll have to tell tami face to face.
“not my fault we’re out of toothpaste,” he mutters in mock defense of himself.
“that why you were snooping?”
he playfully scoffs.
“it’s my house.”
“our house.”
he closes his mouth once he realizes you’ve turned it around on him. he can’t even argue because honestly, that’s exactly what he wants to hear. this is your guys’ house, and he couldn’t be happier.
lip intends to kiss you again, but he has to create some separation from your body as freddie pushes the door open. brandi is right next to him, a teddy bear hanging from her hand. they’re both in pajamas, ready for bed, and lip marvels over it and your ability to wrangle them so easily. you’re going to be a great mother. not that he doubted that whatsoever since technically you already are.
“did you forget about us?” freddie asks with furrowed brows.
“we’ve been waiting forever!” brandi exclaims.
they really were not waiting forever. it must’ve felt that way though since you told them to put their pjs on and that you and lip would be over to tuck them in.
“sorry,” you say to the kids softly.
“she was tellin’ me some good news,” lip adds.
he can’t hold it back. not from his kids. they were very grumpy when you and lip first came back married from vegas for about twenty minutes, but it quickly morphed into elation since it meant you were now officially part of their family.
they forgave you two at the actual wedding not too long ago for it, gleeful for their designated roles and participation.
lip looks at you, however, as if asking for silent permission. you rub the side of your face, not having to hear him say it. no, your mind is there, too. and it’s in agreement.
you nod subtly, nerves in your chest as the kids look back and forth between you and lip.
“what good news?” freddie asks.
“… your mom’s pregnant,” lip says, gesturing his head to you. although they’ve started to call you that for the past six months, it’s jarring to hear every time.
even with tami’s acceptance, which came so long as the kids know you’re their step mom. no one’s replacing tami. and you, nor lip, are cruel to try.
the kids gasp in shock as they look at you in surprise. you slide off the counter, fidgeting a bit with your hands. no matter all the love between you, being centerfold like this makes you nervous. you don’t know how they’re going to react. you didn’t know how lip would despite how long he’s asked for a baby, for when you could start trying.
relief hits you hard as they scream in mirth and then run straight to you. you kneel to the floor and hug them both. then lip’s there with all of you, attempting to wrap his arms around his little family.
“you’re going to have a baby?! really?” brandi asks.
“mhm. and you and fred are going to get another sibling.”
“a brother?” freddie interjects.
brandi huffs at him.
“no, a sister!”
before they can start arguing, lip rubs their backs and laughs.
“we don’t get to decide that. so we’ll see when they get here and once they’re here, we’ll love them no matter what. right?”
although the kids groan a little, they nod their heads.
“we knooow,” freddie says. you know lip’s just making sure there aren’t any ill feelings. you’ll all figure out how to make this work.
“when’s the baby coming?” brandi asks.
you shrug your shoulders.
“i don’t know. i’m going to schedule an appointment at the doctor’s so i can find out soon.”
“we,” lip corrects.
there he goes again. it’s a game at this point. of course he’ll be there for the appointment, for every appointment. you can’t exactly guess how long from now since it could’ve been a number of times… you and lip weren’t exactly careful, even less so after your wedding.
“we,” you say with emphasis as you look at lip and then back at brandi, “will find out soon.”
“okay! and you’ll tell us?” freddie asks with bright eyes. his father’s. you wonder if your baby will have lip’s eyes.
“absolutely. we’re a family.”
the kids stay up later, too excited after the news about the baby. they linger in your bedroom with lip as you discuss nursery ideas, what to stock up on, when you need to start perusing new houses since this one is about to feel a lot smaller.
eventually, freddie and brandi fall asleep. they’re in spots between you and lip, tuckered out, and you don’t have it in you to pick them up and take them to their rooms. lip’s also passed out, something you saw as only a matter of time since he was incredibly tired. you cast your gaze across the three of them, thinking about how you got here, how jarring it is, and yet it feels so right. you couldn’t think about being anywhere else. everything fell into where it was supposed to.
with your husband, your kids, and the one currently growing in your belly.
inhaling a deep breath, lip blows it out through his mouth, staring forward at his reflection. he takes in his recent haircut, the hanging, undone tie around his neck, the collar flush to his skin. he’s comfortable, and he looks good, you told him he did and he believes just about anything you say. these nerves in him contrast his appreciation of his current appearance. it’s foreign. after all this time, he’s still getting used to things being celebrated, to the feeling of accomplishment alongside his innate doubt and fear.
“hey, still not ready? do i have to help you, too?”
lip turns his head. a small smile springs onto his lips, easily, instantly, not that he was resisting it. you’ve returned from wrangling the kids into their formal clothes. you, yourself, are in a longer dress, your round belly filling it out, in lip’s eyes, perfectly.
“yeah, i’ll take some help.”
you hum in amusement and step closer to him. your hands claim both sides of his tie, beginning to fix its position on his neck first. his palms wind up on your stomach, thumbs stroking, soft kicks greeting him, which he still can’t get over.
“you’re a lot better at this than i am,” you say. he admires the short line between your eyebrows as you concentrate.
“maybe, but i like how you do it.”
you playfully glance up at him, a knowing grin on your mouth. it’s not exactly that lip likes your version of tying a tie more than his own, but that he enjoys you fussing over him and offering your attention.
reverting your eyes back to his tie, you carefully start to fold and loop.
“thinking?”
right on the money. he is thinking. of course you can tell. you read each other like nobody else.
“mhm… wonderin’ if somethin’ll happen before i get it.”
you flick your gaze up to him again and then refocus on his tie.
“your degree?”
“yeah.”
you push the knot up his tie until it’s snug, but not choking him. then you tuck the tail end into the pocket behind the larger portion.
you cup his face, warmth he needs and thrives off spreading over his cheeks. he rubs your belly softly, bringing himself towards his picture-perfect reality.
“nothing will. you’re going to get your degree whether we celebrate tonight or not.”
“i know.”
he’s just so close. in his past experiences, that progress usually shatters before he’s about to approach his goal. good things come with time limits and expiration dates. he’s not superstitious, but going through with tonight spurs a fear that it’ll jinx him. all his hard work will drain out and he will lose one thing after another.
“but… that’s not all i’m thinkin’ about.”
“no? what else are you thinking?”
he examines the look of concern on your beautiful face. you’re preparing to comfort and redirect his train of thought. lip’s familiar with this expression. he appreciates it when he spirals, that you’ll be there to uplift him again, like what he does for you. he’s been more on that side of things these days since your pregnancy hormones are no joke. one second he’s rocking you and kissing your tears and the next he’s smiling as you giggle with an acquired craving.
but that compassionate look isn’t necessary right now. because while lip is thinking about worst case scenarios, there are other things floating around his head.
“thinkin’ what i’m goin’ to do with my degree… gettin’ a new job, sellin’ the house, buyin’ a new one, makin’ room for her.”
your countenance softens as he explains himself. his eyes dart down to your stomach, your baby girl to arrive relatively soon. it’ll change so much, but not the care and love you have for each other and for your family.
“a whole house for one baby?” you slyly ask. you already know where his head is and he confirms it with a sheepish grin.
“or two… three…”
you laugh as he kisses your neck. you’ve both discussed this well enough. you need a place big enough for the incoming baby, freddie and brandi, and should you and lip decide that you want to expand further.
“we’ll see,” you say as you pet through his short hair.
“we will.”
he continues to trail your neck, occupies his mouth against your flesh, ignites ticklish nerve endings from there down your spine. goosebumps form on your skin, forever affected by the small things lip does. he still can hardly keep his hands off you. you’re astonished how he’s managed to meet just about every need you’ve had pregnant. sure, you have your tiffs, but he tends to fold the second he feels tears are coming.
“stop,” you playfully scold and swat his arm, “or you’re going to convince me to stay.”
lip hides his smirk against your neck. in the meantime, the hot breath from his nostrils ghosts your skin.
this celebration dinner was your idea after all. the kids will be out on vacation with tami within a week so you thought it better to celebrate early rather than later. debbie and carl won’t be attending, but ian, mickey, and liam will. it took some persuading on your part to get lip to begrudgingly agree. he didn’t seem too keen on the spotlight being on him for that long.
except, lip has all the power right now. pregnancy has made you particularly sensitive to stimulation of any kind. sometimes those crying sessions end with food or his head between your legs, his digits inside of you, or him praising you as he guides your hips over him. you’ve found he’s a patient and attentive lover during the duration of your pregnancy thus far. if he wants to, he can derail your plans and spend the night wrapped up in his personal slice of heaven.
but you’ll inevitably pout tomorrow if he takes that route. you’ll reschedule. he won’t truly be free of his celebration dinner. either it happens tonight or at a later date.
so while he greatly considers taking the risk, and because he’d rather be lost in the throes of passion with you than anything else, he uses vast willpower to step back and sigh in mock defeat. it’s very dramatic how he groans at his own decision, smiling gently as he hears your laugh.
“can’t ditch, need to eat… ‘less you’re offerin’ yourself up?”
it earns another mild smack to his arm, as he surmised it would. he chuckles and kisses you.
“was worth a shot.”
you mostly expected to enter the bedroom and talk to lip about attending tonight’s dinner again. he’s expressed his thoughts and concerns, his fears and misgivings, and each time, you’ve coaxed him back into believing that things will be okay. you understand where he’s coming from. changes are hard on everyone, especially those they’ve been unkind to. it’s a layer of protectiveness he has ingrained within himself.
but right now, in this moment, although he’s having those heavy thoughts, he’s not panicking or running high on emotions. it takes a while these days for him to get to that point. it’s something he’s actively working on.
“so you’re good?” you ask softly. you still want to check in on him and how he’s doing.
“… you know what? yeah… i’m good. i’m ready.”
he leans forward and kisses you tenderly, one hand under your chin, the other on your stomach.
while it is true that his brain is conjuring the worst things that can happen, it’s also doing something else. he’s thinking about how everything can go wrong, but he’s also thinking about everything that can go right. for so long, he didn’t let himself dare to think too much about the best things that could happen to and for him.
and then you came into his life. he figures if he has the best thing already, it won’t hurt to hope and predict how things will continue to go up. you may have had something to do with that.
“ready to eat, honey? goin’ to make sure your mom gives you the best stuff,” lip coos as he bends towards your stomach. it’s the cutest thing to you; he’s spent a lot of your pregnancy talking to your belly, from rambling about work, to complaining about customers, and narrating stories about his family and from available children’s books.
“don’t know if dinner rolls and cake are what’s good for her,” you muse. he glances up at you with a crooked grin before he refocuses and spreads soft kisses over the expanse of your stomach.
“if they’re good for you, they’re good for her. whatever you want.”
he stands back up to his full height and envelopes your hand in his. you could cry over how sweet he’s being. tonight will definitely be a good night.
“let’s get the kids in the car.”
lip follows your lead out of the room and the two of you are treated to the sight of brandi and freddie watching television. she’s in a pale yellow dress and freddie has a blue button up.
“what happened to your tie?” lip asks with a furrowed brow.
“i didn’t want to wear it,” freddie mumbles with a shake of his head.
“mom said i didn’t have to.”
lip looks at you as you help brandi from the couch. she hops off and giggles at the interaction, looking at lip’s expression of betrayal and yours in sheepishness.
“all spoiled, i swear,” lip murmurs. he gestures to the door.
“let’s go. best behavior tonight, please.”
lip helps you into the passenger seat. you initially try to get in without him, but the extra baby weight has made things a lot more difficult for your equilibrium and strength. so he stands by as you awkwardly try to get in for a minute and then wordlessly approaches and offers aid. you know he just gets a kick out of this, you needing him for almost everything these days. he has plenty excuses to touch you and be near you.
you both make sure the kids are buckled up before he gets into the driver’s seat and pulls out of the driveway. then you’re soon playing songs at the kids’ and lip’s requests. the kids interrupt of course, talking about how excited they are for vacation, the baby, what they have on their bucket lists after hearing their aunt fiona talk about having one last christmas.
brandi wants to eat twenty ice cream sandwiches in one night. to which sparked a craving in you and you pouted at lip until he agreed to buy some tomorrow morning or after dinner depending how it late it is. his own sweet tooth may have further persuaded him without saying.
freddie claims he needs to go to space at some point. he still hasn’t let go of that dream that lip thought he’d outgrow a while back now. and you’re hoping fred has more sense when he’s older because he was talking about you coming with him like you previously discussed. you’re all for his big dreams, but you’d rather stay on earth, thank you.
at the restaurant, you all arrive for your reservation of seven. ian and mickey are a few minutes late, but liam is right on time. they groan alongside lip as you make them scooch in together for a picture. but it’s quite a downside to you that carl isn’t here to complete the brother portrait.
you sit next to lip, freddie at your side, brandi at his, liam at hers, ian at freddie’s, and mickey at his. there’s mini conversations after you all order your drinks. you talk with freddie and ian about school and ian’s neighbors, the possibility of him and mickey considering a kid, something that isn’t new, but they’ve been lingering on the topic a lot more these days. mickey chats with liam and brandi, how she’s going to take lots of pictures using the polaroid camera liam got her while on vacation, how liam’s enjoying college, how mickey is thinking about finding a new job that will use him for more of his skills other than driving, packing, delivering, unpacking, and intimidating.
“daddy, what’s inti… inti… inti-ma-mating mean?”
lip sighs fondly in brandi’s direction. she has spaghetti sauce on her cheek that he wipes first with a napkin.
“somethin’ mickey does at work to scare people. you think uncle mickey’s scary?” he says in a low tone.
she glances over at mickey. he’s in the middle of trying to shove as much garlic bread into his mouth as he can as ian makes an annoyed expression beside him. brandi giggles and turns back to lip.
“no way! uncle mickey’s not scary, daddy!”
lip smiles and nods. it’s flooring how far mickey’s come in his own right. there used to be a time when mickey’s presence meant trouble for everyone. but so much has changed. so, so much.
he reflects on this as he looks over the table amid the eating and the random conversations his family engages in. fiona, debbie, and carl might not be here, but they’re busy with things they’ve made for themselves. fiona texted him a congratulations first thing this morning and when she’s coming down next. debbie’s spending time with her new girlfriend, but promised a play date soon with franny and the kids even though his niece is starting to get to the age where almost everything is lame. carl has patrols to do, but he’s arriving tomorrow for breakfast to see lip and the kids before they’re off for vacation.
lip’s proud of ian for the support groups he’s running and mickey for taking such good care of his brother. and liam? the strides he’s making in college? taking full advantage of the scholarships he’s been granted and excelling like everyone knew he would and knows he will continue to do? it’s astonishing. lip only sees great things for liam.
he’s going to miss the hell out of his kids. they’ll only be gone two weeks, but he always feels lost without seeing them longer than one. by then, he’ll have his degree, and he wishes he can fast forward to that moment to have them back in his arms again.
but there’s an upside to them being away. and that’s having you all to himself. he’ll fawn over you as he’s done your entire pregnancy thus far, and even before, and you two will spend the quality time you crave together. you’re someone he never thought he’d have. while he would rather his kids stay here with him, he’s looking forward to the alone time with you. sleeping in, cuddling, dates, sex, walks you insist on despite how pregnant you are. he’ll grumble as he fits compression socks onto your feet for you, slip your comfort shoes in place, and bundle you up so you’re not too cold. truthfully, he enjoys these long walks. he just wants you to be as relaxed as possible. he prefers you lying down like a dream, head on his shoulder while you eat fruit and he rubs your stomach.
noticing his far away expression, you turn to look at him, glowing.
“you okay?”
he takes a glance over the table again, feeling a number of emotions churning throughout him. among it all, he senses that quiet ache, the idea that he can’t misstep if he wants to keep everything in front of him, because things can change at any moment and the survivor in him is cautious of so called “stability.”
but as time goes on, it’s fading. more distant. not a buried trauma, but a mere, accepted memory. an acquaintance of the past rather than the mortal enemy he used to regard it as.
so this… this moment, surrounded by people he loves, all of them celebrating him and his accomplishment he used to doubt would ever come into fruition, he sees it beyond the pessimistic perspective he used to rely on.
“yeah,” he mumbles as he turns to look at you.
you’re so beautiful. all his.
“yeah… i’m good. thank you for this.”
he takes your hand and kisses the back of it, lingering a few seconds with his lips pressed against your flesh. you smile at him, squeezing his hand once he lowers yours.
“okay, pretty girl, put those eyes away. you’re hoggin’ all of mommy’s attention.”
“don’t tell me you’re jealous of a four month old.”
“no… but it’s like she knows how cute she is.”
as if on cue, celine gurgles from her carriage. she hums the coo of a dove, her tiny covered feet kicking back and forth. both you and lip look at her and her bright eyes, the gentle sounds seemingly plucking the strings of some nearby invisible harp. her cherubic face is too damn cute.
“see? she’s weaponizin’ it. needs everyone’s focus at every second of the day. right, baby? want us fallin’ over how sweet you are?”
his voice lowers in volume, a particular gentle quality to it, his hand migrates to her chest, and his fingers tickle her soft skin with little taps. she gurgles a breathy laugh, mimicking your wide smiles. toothless and gummy, but happy and adorable. just as much as the attention thief as lip claims.
“hey, now you’re stealing your daddy’s attention from me,” you playfully quip. lip grins and looks up at you, retrieving his hand back from your daughter.
“can’t help it. she looks just like you.”
you pause for a moment. for some reason, despite how often it happens, lip’s casual flirting catches you off guard. he hasn’t lost that skill of his that triggers an ambush of butterflies in the pit of your stomach. so infuriatingly charming.
“relax. we’re already married.”
lip chuckles at your response. it’s not like either of you will honor that. you’ll continue to flirt no matter the title your relationship holds. and even if you’re teasing, you flash him a smile. a sly one, a sultry one. the kind that warns him he’s going to get lucky soon (once celine actually falls asleep and you two have a short window of time).
“how are we doing over here? need anything else? refills?”
“no, thank you. can we get the ch—”
“could use some slices of pie,” lip chimes in.
you realize you almost forgot what you two were doing here in the first place. of course lip wants his pie. it’s become tradition.
“right, right. what is it now? eight or nine years married?”
do you feel guilty that susan, the waitress from one of the diners you and lip frequent, still thinks you two have been married that long when in reality, you’ll be going on two years this year? somewhat. you don’t have the heart to tell her the truth, that you and lip have deceived her, and others, for free dessert.
it’s a staple of your relationship. the first time you and lip went out anywhere together, you scored him the free pie, he overshared, and you displayed to him that he could tell you anything without you judging him too harshly. he’s not his past. he’s the man in front of you, the family kind, a good father, and you love him, as he loves you. growth can feel slow at times, but it’s satisfying to look back and see how far you’ve really crossed.
and he’s miles from where you two started.
“… m’eight years sober,” lip says, surprising you and susan.
you blink at lip, schooling your face to keep the shock off of it. while that is the reason you two are here today, it’s usually something lip avoids discussing with people outside of his family. he veils it and its possible repercussions and incoming judgments.
but lip smiles at you softly. it conveys that things are okay, that this is his choice, that… he’s proud of how far he’s come and he wants to celebrate today honestly and transparently.
“oh, well… congratulations. i’ll get you two that pie,” susan says after a momentary pause. she shuffles awkwardly away. she clearly didn’t want to be rude.
“we probably won’t get that free now,” lip murmurs. his smile broadens as you laugh.
he’s unbelievable. still astonishing. you could cry over what this means. you probably will later when you two are in private and you inevitably reiterate how proud you are of him.
“that’s okay. it’s on me,” you reassure.
“and then i get the rest of the check?”
you sheepishly hide your smirk as you glance at celine. you rock her carriage, busying yourself from his knowing stare. it’s hard to treat each other when mostly everything has become the both of yours.
but lip doesn’t care. he’s too excited for his pie and to give celine her first taste of the decadent filling.
“where are we?”
“grab cece and follow me.”
you huff in suspicion as you click your seatbelt off and get out of the car. you extract celine from her carseat and lip shuts the door gently behind you.
you’re not sure where you and lip are. he drove you here, a few buildings in the area, traffic light, but continuous. you were positive you two were going home after lunch at the diner together, but it seems he has other plans he didn’t discuss with you.
“what are we doing?” you ask, trying to get an answer despite how he wouldn’t budge on the way here once you realized it wasn’t the route to the house.
“shh, come on.”
you grumble and adjust celine. she babbles her noises as you walk into the building with lip. he doesn’t bother with the switch, and given the state of open space, it doesn’t look like any electricity is running through it. there’s scuff marks on the floor, but it’s wide, and the walls appear to have some dust. you hope celine won’t get any in her little nose.
lip puts his arms out. he gestures to the general room.
“what do you think?”
your confusion further manifests as you look at lip. you even turn your head to see if celine understands anything, but as surmised, she’s glancing around, taking in her surroundings with the wonder she looks at everything with, with her big, curious, delicate eyes.
“what do i think? about what?”
he grins at your endearing bewilderment. he should’ve anticipated you wouldn’t get it off a look alone, but he’s far too elated himself at the prospect before you two.
he steps closer, hope on his features, a soft expression he adorns. his hands take your hips, his smile growing as celine gurgles happily with his proximity.
“… your new studio,” he whispers.
your head tilts in surprise as you look at him. you’re still incredibly confused by the prospect and what he means. this is an empty place. it’s… it has a lot more room than the rec center does, but you can’t comprehend the idea he’s proposing.
but still, lip persists. he does so with strokes of his thumbs on your hips, something cheeky in his eyes, sparkling too. the same twinkle you see in celine’s. she reflects his wide grin like a mirror.
“what do you think of your new dance studio?” he asks, leaving no room for misinterpretation. he really means it.
this place… he thinks it’s yours. with so much conviction that you’re afraid he might’ve already done something impulsive without talking to you first.
“well, take a look around. go ahead.”
he reaches for celine and plucks her from your arms. in the process, he kisses her on her forehead, then lifts her up to kiss her on her tummy, her tiny giggles breaking through your stunned demeanor. he settles her into his arms, softly swaying to keep her entertained.
quietly, you walk past her and lip and look around at the scene. whoever owned this previously, or currently because you don’t believe lip did something so rash without a heads up or indication, took very good care of the area. the floor is sturdy, in need of some scrubbing, but you already picture yourself able to land gracefully without trouble against your better judgement. you imagine brandi running across with all of her never ending energy and freddie stretching with lip when they’re all waiting up for you. the walls may be bare and barren, but they’d do nicely with floor to ceiling mirrors. the potential is there. a blank canvas for you to play with.
shit… you’re already envisioning and feeding into lip’s suggestion. you don’t want to jump the gun, but it’s hard not to imagine all the ways you can transform the space now that lip’s planted this into your head.
“m’thinkin’ we can build a stage. debs will help map out the construction and then with the actual project,” he explains. you turn to look at him, still trying to wrap your mind around the idea.
“there’s like two back rooms and some restrooms. could use ‘em for storage or for meetings… or a backstage area before the recitals. there’s room to work with. whatever you want.”
whatever you want. you don’t know how you’re supposed to respond to that. while you want to leap for joy, you also have to inhale a deep breath and be realistic for a second. which is funny, because that’s usually more of lip’s area, pulling you down from the clouds when you’re overzealous.
“and how are we supposed to afford all of this?” you ask cautiously. you don’t want to hurt his feelings when this is such a thoughtful gesture. yet, you’re also unsure how this will be in the budget when you two are supposed to be house hunting.
but he still looks enthused as he fixes celine’s shirt and then looks back at you.
“fiona made an investment for me and bought it. so, technically, it’s hers and we gotta pay her back in payments, but i know it’ll be easy with how much your students love you, and she said not to worry too much about doin’ it all at once.”
you stare at lip and as you do, it hits you just how much he’s considered behind your back. he found it, talked about it with his sisters, and it didn’t come at the expense of the money you two are saving for your future.
“don’t stress, alright? we’ll pay her back and i’m pretty sure i’m gettin’ a new job soon. this hot chick i know told me she can feel it.”
normally, with an obvious comment of lip referring to you, you’d playfully roll your eyes. but instead, as you stare at him and his smirking face, your lips quiver as you try to hold back your smile. you told him that after he complained about sending so many job applications out with no response the other day. it seems to have comforted him more than you originally thought.
if he can think negatively, he can think positively. he actively chooses more of the latter these days.
“what?” he asks as you stare at him.
you’re too in awe, too gracious. for the man he is, for the man he’s become, for how he’s yours. holding your daughter that he had a hand in giving you while standing in a new to-be-dance studio he acquired for you to continue in your career you’re still severely passionate about. eight years of sobriety, chain-smoking, shit talking, shamelessly himself—your husband who you love, who loves you, looking forward with chosen optimism.
“i love you. thank you for… everything,” you mutter, feeling tears spring to your eyes.
“of course, i love you, too… please don’t cry, baby, you’re gonna get cece goin’.”
you enter lip’s embrace and hide your face into his neck for that reason. you don’t want to make celine cry, but the happy tears are coming full force. he rubs your back soothingly with his free hand, adjusting celine so he can hold you both at the same time.
“you’re going to build me a stage?” you ask in a muffled voice. you smile wide as his chuckle vibrates against your body.
“mhm… for all your little nightmares to prance around on.”
you laugh softly. you know damn well he cares about your students considering how involved he’s been throughout the years. and not just because of brandi.
“and we’re still going to see that house i told you about near ian’s?” you ask hopefully.
he nods.
“yeah. we need more room, don’t we?”
you most definitely do. that dream is still bright and alive.
a forever house with multiple rooms for you, lip, celine, brandi, and freddie.
… and the set of twin boys you’re currently carrying that neither of you have any idea about yet. it’s too early to tell.
it appears that your boyfriend lip has forgotten your one year anniversary.
“that’s today?”
“uh… yeah.”
“oh, right. it is… happy one year anniversary.”
and that was that. not only did lip not know, he didn’t have anything else besides the celebratory sentence. it was enthusiastic, at least, he seemed happy about it.
but you’re unsure about the feeling that settled in your chest this morning at his quickness to wave it off. how all he offered was a kiss onto your cheek before talking about the possible customers he had virtual meetings with later in the day. it’s at the tip of your tongue, that sort’ve emptiness that encapsulated you, disappointment you shoved deep down because lip is always trying, always doing his absolute best.
you realize as you prepare for your next dance class that the word you’re looking for is underwhelmed.
you love lip. you’ve come to find you love him more than you’ve loved anyone else in a romantic relationship. that’s saying something since your last one lasted years longer than the one you currently have.
so you’re making your excuses for him.
he’s reiterated to you how he’s never been good at serious relationships, never once recounting an instance where he prioritized an anniversary, he didn’t have the best examples of such growing up, and maybe it’s not that big of a deal.
it’s not that big of a deal, you repeat to yourself as you examine the routine scheduled for today. you look up to see your sister texted you, lighting up your phone with a picture of you and lip, and you have to tell yourself to let it go despite the way your eyes sting suddenly and a lump forms in your throat. ugh… sometimes trying not to cry is harder than the ordeal.
what were you expecting exactly? a parade? it’s one year and knowing that should be enough.
sure, you got him a new watch and some new boots, but you’ll hand them over later, maybe tomorrow so you don’t seem overzealous and appear to misread today’s importance.. or lack of.
to compress those pesky emotions flitting around your head and heart, you inhale a deep breath, focus and count to eight seconds, and then breathe it out for six. while it’s not enough to quell your confusing and disruptive feelings, you have to be okay. it’s not an option to be otherwise.
because the first kid comes bouncing in for your preteen class, accommodated by two other girls through the door in a short line. they greet you with vibrant his and waves before finding spots to place their bags down. you smile at them, genuinely no matter your current inner turmoil, and mentally ready yourself for the stretches you’ll be leading.
usually, you have one of your students do so, but you need as much of the distraction as you can so you stop thinking about lip and his chaste acknowledgment.
the room then fills out with your beautiful pupils, all eager to learn what you have for them today. you make your way to the front of the class, about to start it and call for their attention, when there’s a heavy, familiar knock on the open door.
heads whip over, silence befalling your studio, and in comes a bouquet of pink roses, lavender carnations, daisy and bottom poms, and gorgeous greenery. the extravagant bouquet has a pair of legs beneath the bottom, lip peeking his head out from behind them.
the girls know he’s your boyfriend, so there are collective squeals and awwws.
“are those for her?” daphne asks excitedly. she’s at the front of the class, one of the closest to the bouquet besides the others in the front row and you and lip.
“dunno. you guys see another pretty ballet teacher around here?”
he smiles as they all giggle. you feel floored where you stand as he approaches and gives the flowers a gesture.
“happy one year,” he says quietly, careful not to alert all the girls who are meticulously watching on.
the vibrant cool toned colors steal your attention. you’re not sure what to say, scrutinizing each petal with a reminiscent and surprised expression.
“these are beautiful,” you murmur.
“did you just buy them?”
he chuckles a little and shakes his head.
“what? i bought them a month ago. i didn’t realize what today was until you reminded me earlier. i had to pick them up at 1.”
he leans the bouquet more to one side in his arms.
“i’ve also got us a dinner reservation for tonight. didn’t book that a month ago, but it was around two weeks ago or so? emilio’s doesn’t take them that far in advance,” he says with a bit of annoyance at the end of his sentence. you feel your grin growing at the thought of lip struggling to acquire a reservation the same day he bought the flowers.
relief hits you like a freight train. not only did he not forget, he planned ahead of time. he just didn’t know what today was until you said something this morning. which is probably why he started working on this earlier so he wouldn’t run into any issues.
“you like ‘em?” he asks earnestly. oh, he already knows he has your enthusiastic approval, but he wants to hear it. you nod and sheepishly touch your cheek.
“i love them. thank you.”
lip takes another step, his voice a whisper, still mindful of your audience who are half trying to listen in and half speaking to each other.
“you love me?”
typical lip. drawing your attention back to himself as if it ever left.
“absolutely,” you answer without hesitation.
his gaze softens.
“enough for a thank you kiss?”
with how gradually he uttered that, you’re both aware that you wouldn’t be too keen on it. you are, after all, supposed to be beginning your class and there’s mini onlookers at the moment. you don’t show pda in front of your students, not even in the class brandi’s in.
“… lip, the kids,” you mumble and tilt your head towards them without removing your eyes from him.
he glances over at them and then lifts up the comical bouquet closer to your heads. it conceals the both of you and you realize his intention. it makes you smile so hard that your cheeks hurt.
“how ‘bout now?”
you have a feeling the girls figure out what’s going on behind the bouquet as your mouth meets lip’s. their hollers and giggles resound as his nose brushes yours.
