Hi hi! You could write a fanfic where Carl is in this "white boy carl" phase and, since you don't like his new attitude, you decide to break up with him, and he asks you not to leave him, saying that in private he can be your Carl again.
“Y/N…cmon. Don’t be like that!” Carl argued as you walked into his bedroom, grabbing your stuff. Even the house had seemed different. Everything had changed in so little time, it made your head spin. You were grabbing anything of yours you could find, shoving it into your bag.
I couldn’t help but be pissed. You had every right to be. “No. No. You don’t get to do this to me.” You say to him, turning back to look at him. His cornrows looked a mess, they needed to be taken out. “This whole,” You pointed at him and looked him up and down. “Act, needs to quit.”
You looked at him as if he was someone new. You didn’t like this whole drug dealer, gang member act. You just wanted that awkward, a little pervy Carl back. Not this wannabe. “Get your shit figured out.” You say, grabbing one more thing.
You turn to your door, yet was stopped as he stood in front of you. “Wait, wait,” You could hear it, the slight change in his voice. The Carl you knew. “I…I’ll stop. Around you.” He said quietly, as if afraid of anyone else hearing. “I can be who you want me to be. I can be…just don’t go.”
He begged, looking at you. His eyes seemed soft, like he was truly trying to get to you. And your heart seemed to ache seeing him all sad. You bit the inside of your cheek, thinking for a moment. “You get those cornrows out, come over.”
You tell him, turning around to leave. As you left, you could see that small smile on his face. You were giving him a chance, he still had a way to fix everything.
synopsis: he's got the biggest, most appealing nose you've ever seen. all you wanna do it feel it inside you.
✧.*
lip gallagher loved eating you out—more than anything. he loved the sight of your pretty, sopping pussy catching the light in the rays of light that peaked through his bedroom curtains. he loved inhaling your sweet, intoxicating scent of arousal. he loved the glacé, delicious taste of your juices that flooded his tongue. most of all, he way your body trembled beneath his touch—how your thighs shook as he groped your ass, spreading your cunt apart to devour you the right way. or when he'd crawl in between your legs, legs shakily wrapped around his neck while you tugged at his locks. it was insatiable—he couldn't get enough of you.
on this particular day, you had chosen to do something different, something more vulnerable and compromising. he knew you loved his nose—the shape, the sheer volume and size—so when he called you into his room, you didn't know what to expect.
“i wanna try something with you,” you raised an eyebrow at his statement, curiosity awakening. “you've always had a thing for my nose, am i right?”
your cheeks flushed at the brutally honest question. of course, there wasn't a single gram of dishonesty in his inquiry—the both of you knew all too well what the answer was. you shrugged, almost casually. “i mean, yeah. you've got a pretty nose, lip.” he smirked at the answer, as if he was pleased with it.
“how would you feel about sitting on it?”
there was no rational way for you to react. the question made you shiver, his words shooting straight to your core. you scoffed, breaking into a nervous laugh. “that's ridiculous, lip.” he gave you a look, as if he was telling you he wasn't buying your act.
“is that how we're gonna play?” he fixed his posture, leaning forward as he straightened his back, sitting on the bed, just a few feet away from you. “gonna act like you don't want it as much as i do?” he could see right through your act, a malevolent smirk playing on his face. he analyzed the way your walls crumbled, the way you squeezed your thighs for an ounce of friction. he leaned back, propping his elbows against the back of his neck, using two fingers to motion you over.
while hesitant, you knew you couldn't resist him. his smile only widened when you crawled over to him, straddling his hips before pressing your lips to his. the world seemed to fade away as your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you even tighter against him. the softness of his lips against yours sent shivers down your spine, and you felt the heat between you intensify with each fleeting moment. as the kiss deepened, the world around you ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you lost in the enchantment of the moment.
“panties, babygirl,” he muttered under his breath. he licked a long stripe along your neck with his tongue. you let out a soft gasp as you obliged, hastily pulling down your shorts and panties, leaving your cunt bare as the cool air sent tingles down your spine. “just like that, keep going.” you followed his directions, tossing your panties aside.
you melted into his touch, bare cunt grinding against his clothed boner. he let out a soft grunt, hands gripping your ass, pulling your cheeks apart as he pressed you further into his boner. with a free hand, he tugged his shorts off, proceeding in nothing but his boxers.
“c'mere, baby,” he cooed, motioning you to position yourself above his face. you grew more shy by the second, but you listened to him, holding onto the headboard in order to hover above his face. “look at my girl, dripping all over my face already.” you whined, knowing there was some truth to his statement—you were wet and it was an understatement, slick dripping down your thighs, drops forming and threatening to spill onto his face.
lip was a dedicated boyfriend, and he knew just how to please you. that was precisely why he wasted no time, hands wrapped around the back of your thighs to slam you onto his face, your arousal practically drenching him. you moaned out his name, a string of curses passing your swollen lips as he went to work, tongue pushing past your cunt. he lapped at your juices, tongue wrapping around your clit as he gave it a few aggressive sucks. his tongue was way past your entrance, lapping at your tight walls, sucking at your sensitive bundle of nerves. “lip, fuck—too fucking much,” your moans only encouraged him, your eyes locking as he swirled his tongue around. that wasn't the end, though. it was only the beginning.
when he grabbed onto your hips to lift you up, you were taken aback, but the shock didn't last long. he slammed you right onto his nose, hips holding you in place as he began to bounce you—up and down, up and down. your cries of ecstasy were like music to his ears, his nose acting as your own personal sex toy. it didn't go deep, but it pushed well past your entrance, the width caressing your inner walls. he brought you back up, nose pressing harshly into your clit as he inhaled your sweet slick, right before he began to bounce you once more.
“you like it, don't you? using my nose to get yourself off?” his words were hard to make out, but you understood him. at a certain point, you didn't need him doing all the work anymore—you found yourself bouncing willingly, your orgasm creeping up on you as he groped your ass, leaving definite bruises. “so good lip, 'm so close,” you cried out, your bounces growing quicker and more aggressive as you found yourself grinding onto his nose, loving the way it made you feel.
when he stuck his tongue out, the pleasure only doubled. the strong, wet muscle gave him leverage as much as it gave you pleasure—you swore you could see stars. you pushed harder against his face, his tongue caressing your outer bits while his nose did all the inside work. when you came, you did it was a sob, fingers grabbing onto his hair for dear life, pushing him even deeper into your wet cunt. he groaned from beneath you, lapping up all the wetness you had to offer him as you rode out your orgasm.
you were a fool for thinking this would be the last time.
Okay but what about a shy/crybaby pregnant reader with lip and she's insecure about her baby bump? Like she's happy she's growing their baby but nothing fits, she doesn't like maternity clothes, and she can no longer button or zip her favorite pair of pants and she just loses it, and Lip comforts and reassures her?
having to drop your own pair of sweats for a similar pair of lips' is humbling enough, but the stretch of the waistband around your swelling belly is too taught, and the grooves that are melting into your sore flesh is too much. wearing your birthday suit is an option, lounging around in the bed that calls your name in its sultry tone, but there are groceries in need of purchase and errands in need of running.
but your feet find the entrance of the alibi all too soon, however; a loose skirt hung low around your hips to avoid the protrusion of your tummy, with an old t-shirt that resembles a bandeau with the way your chest has grown. kevin's hand looks like it's stuck in a glass as you slink over to the bar, sandals gliding against the sticky floor. "hi," you grumble into lip's shoulder when you find him, not even bothering an attempt up onto a stool. "you left early."
he spins slowly, releasing the bottle he's nursing to find your hands, and giving them a squeeze. "yeah, had a few papers i needed to grade. y'alright?"
his voice is hoarse with fatigue, twinging at the edges with a delicacy reserved for the sweet, weepy eyes you're blinking up at him with. "yeah," you whisper, scared to knock it up an octave and reveal the crack in your tone, bottom lip already breaking the facade. "just tired."
"hey," kevin snorts. "don't you think you should stay away from places like this?"
the ever-repeated joke still lilts your spirits up, and you slink further into lip, finding a way between his parted knees. "i can't afford to get more clothes again, lip," you fist at his t-shirt, twisting at the worn fabric. "i feel like a cow."
lip nestles his fingers into your hair, scratching at your scalp with trimmed fingernails. "you're not a cow." he hums into your hair, pressing a kiss there. "and it's hot. y'don't have to wear a lot."
"that's not the point, lip!" you're trying your best to keep your voice down, but the frustration that simmers in your bones is bleeding into your tone quite obviously. "nothing fits. not even your clothes anymore - everything is way too small. stupid baby is taking up all the room in there."
you poke at your exposed abdomen, watching as the fetus responds with a fervent kick against your belly button. "she's just getting big, sweetheart," he coos, hand coursing over tummy in search of some more movement "she'll be out in no time."
you shrug.
"your tits look great," he snarks when you peel yourself away, catching your temple in another kiss. "i like 'em like that."
you groan, and tommy raises his drink beside you. "here's to your tits!"
lip kicks at the gross male from underneath the bar counter, scowling. "hey. fuck off."
Summary: Lip Gallagher has a shitty life, but he still has a chance of a happy future with you. [2.4k]
Fluff, comfort, slight angst, insecure Lip
♡
Lip Gallagher has always considered himself unlucky for as long as he could remember. If you asked him to describe his life in five words he’d use shitty, really shitty, and extremely shitty.
He was dealt a crappy hand since the beginning not standing a fighting chance even as a kid.
There was always so much crap to deal with, whether it was bills that needed to be paid, kids that need to be taken care of, or anything dealing with Frank and Monica, sometimes he felt as if the weight of the world was resting on his chest and the only breath he’d be able to take peacefully would be his final one. He’s grateful for all the help he has because everyone pulls their weight as much as they can, but sometimes he just wishes life was just a little bit kinder to him. He wishes that he was able to do something with his high IQ, make something of himself and finally get out of this hell hole, but that didn’t roll over so well. But just as he was slowly losing hope the universe finally took pity on him and gave him you, so now he’s hanging onto you with everything he’s got.
_
It’s quiet in the Gallagher household when Lip shuffles out of bed. He can’t remember the last time he was able to sleep past 7am, so when he wakes up to birds chirping at 9am instead of the usual yelling and chaos, he’s surprised and even a little scared. He makes his way towards the bathroom getting ready to fight whoever is next in line, but finds it empty and even clean. He’s shuffling around, looking through doors to find a sense of life in his otherwise loud home when he hears a squeal from the backyard. He doesn’t think twice before grabbing a nearby bat and hurtling through the backdoor towards the pool, but he stops once he sees the atmosphere is anything, but fearful. Frannie is being tossed back and forth between Carl and Mickey in the pool, Fiona and Ian are chasing Liam with the garden hose and Debbie is bringing in watered down lemonade from the kitchen.
He has no idea what caused this change of pace, but he isn’t mad about it. Just as he’s about to make himself known, he feels a soft touch caressing his back.
“Hey baby,” you whisper, brushing your lips against his neck.
He turns his head at your sweet voice finally fully awakening his sleepy trance. Lip tugs you towards him by the belt loops of your, too short, cut off shorts and breathes into your neck. Hands slowly creeping down towards your ass to grab and pet, not socially acceptable in front of family, but he couldn’t care less.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he rasps into the valley of your chest, slightly picking you up to hug you closer. “What’s going on out here?”
“Thought everyone could use a day off especially in this heat, so Debs and I planned a pool party. Wanna join me?”
He pulls back on slightly to finally get a look at your face, your eyes are kind and happy followed by a mischievous smile.
“Sure, let me get my trunks on and I’ll be down soon.” You reward him with a soft peck on his chapped lips and an arm squeeze before moving out of his hold and grabbing some leftover toast.
The day goes by without a hitch. Everyone enjoys the much deserved break filled with laughter, junk food, and only a few fights. You’re nearly on top of Lip as you cuddle as close as you can basking in the happiness before you get ready to go out. There are only a handful of days that you and Lip both get off at the same time, so any day given is taken as a golden opportunity to spend some time together, leaving your worries at home. You plant a small peck to Lip’s cheek before untangling yourself from his hold as he answers the ringing phone.
You don’t hear much of the conversation, just faint hmms of acknowledgement as you're flying past rooms trying to get ready as fast as you can. You’re struggling with your heels as Lip comes over and steadies you, your smile meeting with his frown.
“Sweetheart, they called me in to cover someone else’s shift and you know I hate to do this, but they’re offering me time and half..” he trails off.
A quick look of disappointment flashes on your face, before you cover it up with a reassuring look. You’re disappointed, sure, but not at Lip. Never at Lip. Just the shitty circumstances that forces the both of you to work as much as you can just to make ends meet.
“It’s okay, I get it. We can always reschedule, don’t worry about it.” You pull him in and hold on to his waist hoping to ease his guilt, but your efforts go to waste as his eyebrows stay furrowed and his frown deepens.
“I’ll make it up to you, I swear it,” Lip murmurs against your lips before squeezing your arm and letting you go.
You watch him leave, slowly pulling off your heels and plopping yourself on the old couch, sighing already missing Lip. Your eyes shift trying to think of things to do now that your night opened up, but your mind keeps drifting back to Lip. You had eaten dinner earlier with everyone, skipping out on dessert and opting to get your fill when you go out, but now that plans have changed you were now missing both your boyfriend and something sweet to nibble on.
You quickly change out of your clothes and put on a pair of old shorts before deciding to make a batch of brownies. Lip works hard and if you guys couldn’t go out for dessert tonight, then you were going to bring dessert to him.
He’s halfway through his shift when he spots you coming in, hands holding a tupperware to your chest.
“Honey, what are you doing down here,” he shouts from across the room.
“Wanted to spend some time with you before I leave for my shift. I made some brownies since we missed dessert, care to join me?” you plead hopefully.
Lip’s heart aches with love and a lot of guilt. He can’t believe you would go through all that trouble just to see him. He calls out to say he’s taking his break before leading you to a secluded corner.
“I’m really sorry about today,” he hugs you from behind swaying back and forth, mouth opening occasionally as you feed him a chunk of the sweet treat.
You squeeze his wrist in response, “s’lright you can’t help it. I just like spending time with you.”
He smiles softly for the first time that night, stress immediately leaving his body. “Though, I love that you did all this for me, I don’t love the idea that you were walking alone this late at night.”
“Guess I’ll have to keep you company until you can walk me home then,” you compromise.
Lip’s shift goes by somewhat fast now that you’re here to keep him company. He’ll leave his station sporadically to check up on you and to keep you from falling asleep. He’s in the final stretch now, only 30 more minutes before you get to go home and fall asleep holding each other, after a long day. He looks over hoping to catch your eye and send you a smile when he feels his face slowly morphing into a glare. A glare aimed at the guy standing way too close to you, a guy whose intentions go beyond a friendly conversation, and a guy who on paper was everything you deserved, but Lip couldn’t be.
You finally glance at Lip sending a small wave and smile as you keep nodding along to the fucker next to you. He had fluffy brown hair and honestly looked quite plain if it wasn’t for the gleaming rolex on his wrist and the shiny Gucci emblem on his belt. He was a rich kid, probably from the nearby university, wasting away mommy and daddy’s money, chatting up pretty girls and sweeping them off their feet with his money. Lip’s never felt insecure about your relationship, you never gave him a reason too, but once he compares his ratty jeans and stained shirt to the pristine polo of Richie Rich he can’t help but wonder if he’s good enough for you when you can do so much better.
_
Lip was struggling. He never learned how to tie a tie before and now that the time has come, he’s racking his brain trying to get the knot perfect. He knew you couldn’t care less about a stupid tie, you were anything but superficial, but since that dreaded night when he witnessed you being chatted up by Richie Rich, Lip’s come to the conclusion that he was going to try his hardest to give you the perfect life.
When Lip proposed going up to the north side for dinner, you were shocked. You’ve been there a few times mostly on walks or running errands, but you’ve never been there to spend actual money considering neither of you could afford it. The most you and Lip would do is windowshop and daydream about the things you would buy if you had the money, before being chased off by the glaring sales people.
He picks you up at your door, pecking your cheek softly and telling you how beautiful you look. He takes your hand and leads you to the borrowed car before pulling out an expensive bouquet from the backseat. Your hands flatter as you mutter a quiet thanks. You’re a little confused at the grand gesture since Lip’s never gotten you flowers before, at least not without reason. He’s gotten you flowers exactly four times since he’s known you: the first on your first date, the second for your graduation, and the last two times for your anniversary. And all those times the flowers were below 5 bucks, something he picked up from the corner store. But the bouquet he gave you now had to be worth at least a day’s salary, you and Lip had a mutual understanding since the start that since money was scarce you wouldn’t spend it on materialistic things for each other, but lately it seems like he forgot that promise. He’s been taking you out to eat nearly everyday, always putting money down and never letting you pay, surprising you with little gifts, but worst of all he’s been running himself haggard, taking up as many shifts as he possibly could.
He notices your quiet demeanor as he starts driving, “You okay, baby?”
“Yeah, I just…” you hesitate, not wanting to offend him. “I’m grateful for all of this Lip, really I am, I love everything you’ve gotten me, but I’m confused about where you’re getting all the money from and why you’re doing all this in the first place.”
Lip tightens his grip on the wheel, “Isn’t this what you want? Isn’t this what all girls want?” Lip scoffs the memory of Richie Rich slowly coming into picture.
“I don’t understand what changed, everything was fine before, why are you spending money you don’t have? You don’t think I know that you’re working yourself to death trying to afford this shit?” Your voice raises in annoyance.
“Yeah, well that’s my problem, it’s none of your concern how I get all this as long as you get it.”
“It is when you’re burning money on materials that won’t even last the year instead of investing in our future.”
Lip pulls to stop as the words leave your mouth. “Our future?” He asks.
You lick your lips, trying to think of a way to backtrack but his eyes plead with you to tell the truth. “Yeah, our future. You know when we eventually move out, get a place of our own and have a kid or two?”
Lip smiles at the thought, “You want all that with me?”
You nod incredulously, “What did you think this was you idiot? That we were just playing boyfriend/girlfriend? Look I appreciate all these gestures, but the way I see it you’re burning 50 bucks on flowers that are gonna wither in a week instead of spending that money on something like our future house.”
Lip cups your chin in endearment before pulling you in for a quick kiss. “I’m sorry, I let everything get away from me.” He huffs in frustration before letting your chin go and clenching his fists. “It’s just when you visited me at work a few weeks back you were talking to this guy. This very rich guy who… I don’t know… I know you aren’t like that, but I couldn’t help but think this is all I’ll be able to offer you, at least right now. I will never be able to whisk you away on a private jet or buy diamonds just cause.”
You giggle as you hold his face in your soft hands, his head tilting to lean into your palm. “Lip Gallager, for someone with an insanely high IQ, you are so incredibly stupid, ” He huffs out a laugh in embarrassment as you continue, “That guy, that fool was annoying as fuck. I was just trying to get him off my back. And not to mention incredibly fucking stupid. Everything that was coming out of his mouth made me cringe and thank the stars that you’re nothing like him.”
He kisses your palm before pulling you into another kiss. “Can we skip the fancy restaurant now?” you ask as he presses kisses to your pouty lips.
“Where do you wanna go instead?”
“Family dinner, and then out for ice cream?” you suggest. He nods before putting the car back in drive.
_
Lip Gallagher was all sorts of fucked up. But somehow in his fucked up life, he managed to find you, his light at the end of a dark, narrow, and gloomy tunnel and he thinks, maybe, he isn’t so unlucky after all.
summary: Neither you nor Lip can focus on anything else except each other.
content: jealously, established relationship, f oral (insinuated m oral), unedited
He can't but watch you as you talk with your friends. You're wearing the dress he had hoped you'd wear. Every time he sees you in it, there's just no way his focus can be on anything else.
"If you're gonna keep eye-fucking your girlfriend, Lip, then I'm gonna go find Trevor," Ian says, eyes rolling simultaneously and it snaps Lip back into his actual being.
"Sorry, man. What were you saying?" he stammered, hand rubbing at the back of his head. Ian just walks off and leaves him standing there. He isn't completely opposed to it. Now he can focus all his attention on you without interruptions.
And he does just that. He finds a good spot on a couch near you, close enough for you to notice him without being close enough to draw you over just yet. You look over and smile at him, he nods at you, legs spreading out on the couch. The action makes your mouth dry and you quickly look away, suddenly flustered.
He laughs to himself as he watches you regain your train of thought and rejoin the conversation. His tongue darts out, wetting his lips as you look over at him again. Your bottom lip is immediately drawn into your mouth and it takes everything in himself to not go over to you right now. He's having fun making you really want him.
He slightly waves at you, barely lifting his hand and his nonchalance is making you want him more than ever. You see the girl before he does. A pretty blonde girl in a tight dress stopping to stand right in his line of sight, blocking him from your view and you from his view.
"Hi! I'm Caroline," she introduces herself, her hand moving out to shake his. He does and gives her a tight-lipped smile.
"Uh, Lip," he greets. She beams, giggling slightly.
"That's a different name, I like it," she smiles, taking the empty spot beside him. Her thighs touch his and Lip isn't sure how your burning stare doesn't set her on fire. He gets an idea, a way to really make you come over to him.
He doesn't stop the way Caroline starts sliding her foot up his shin and it makes you furious. He's your Lip and he's not doing to show this random girl that he's yours. You decide to play just as dirty, excusing yourself from your friends and finding a lonesome guy even closer to where Lip is sitting.
You flutter your lashes and poke out your chest a little more than usual. Lip wants to kill the guy that has a perfect view down your top. He cracks when he watches you lean in to whisper something in his ear and the random boy's hands move to your waist.
He's stomping over, hand stretching over your back to guide you out of this house party. You don't speak as you walk to the car.
The tension is thick as both of your car doors shut loudly. He doesn't move to start the car, idly sitting there staring out the windshield as you look over at him. You want to apologize, and as soon as you open your mouth he's throwing himself at you, lips pressing onto yours.
You moan into his mouth, hands grasping at his hair. He sighs into yours, hands feeling over any inch of your body he can get.
"Never do that again," he grumbles.
"Wouldn't have done it if you weren't letting that girl flirt with you," you huff back, pulling away from him. He knows he shouldn't have but he loved seeing you riled up. It was just unfortunate that you got him back this time.
"Never again," he agrees, starting the car. His hand reaches out, landing on your thigh. The car ride is just as quiet as your walk as he massages at the bare skin. You're glad he doesn't live far, you need him now.
Both of you are immediately stripping each other of your clothes as soon as you step into the house. No one is home as he pushes you up the stairs to his room.
"Fuck, you can't wear that dress ever again," he teases, teeth nibbling at your ear as his hands run down your sides. Your back is pressed against his front and you're completely intoxicated with him. "You look gorgeous in it, baby."
"Thank you," you giggle as his lips move down to your neck. He presses firm kisses onto the delicate skin, hands traveling up to cup at your braless breasts. "Lip, need you."
He obliges, turning you in his grip and helping you out of your panties. Another one of his favorite items on you, a cute black, lacy pair that you had bought for him on your anniversary. He pushes you onto your back on the bed as he rids himself of the rest of his clothes.
Your eyes are trained on him as he undresses. He smirks at you as he takes off his boxers. The way your breathing increases and your thighs press together has his head filling with fog. Yours is practically a cloud with how foggy you are by the time he's crawling up the bed to hover you, hand brushing a stray hair out of your face.
He's slow with the way he kisses you. It's delicate like he's savoring every little bit of it. His tongue explores your mouth messily, saliva sloppily covering your lips. You lick at his lips desperately when he pulls away, just wanting him back.
Lip doesn't say anything as he moves down the bed, kissing down your body as he goes. He stops at your core as he presses kisses onto your inner thighs, hands grabbing at the skin to hold them apart. You think you could pass away when he finally licks up your pussy, tongue briefly dipping inside of you.
"Oh, Lip," you moan out, hands tangled in his hair as he continues. No man should ever be could ever be as good at eating pussy as Lip is. He knows just how to have your back arching off the bed, hands pulling at his hair, and his name falling out of your mouth.
He's messy with it too, lapping noisily at you. His lips suction around your clit as he teases your hole with two of his fingers. You squirm underneath him and his grip tightens on your hip. He has you pressed so firmly into the bed it makes your head dizzy.
"L-oh, fuck! Holy shit," you whine, tears brimming your eyes as he looks up at you. This is his favorite view in the entire world. You falling apart simply because of his mouth. His ego is huge as you choke on your words. All he has to do is look up at you with those wide eyes, big hands holding you down and it throws you over the edge.
You moan out his name as he licks at you. He's not ready to stop when you finally push at his head. He kisses your thighs as your breathing evens out.
"Good?" he smirks, moving up to lie beside you. You turn into his body, resting your head on his chest. You huff, squinting your eyes to look at him.
"Shut up." You kiss him, being able to faintly taste yourself on him. You reach down and he huffs pulling away to rest his head on your shoulder. "What's wrong? Why aren't you hard?"
"Uh, I- I, holy fuck this is embarrassing, I came when I was eating you out." He expects you to laugh at him, but your eyes somehow glaze over even more.
"Well, can I help you out?" you ask, moving down the bed. His hand subconsciously moves the hair out of your face as he takes a breath. He's already getting hard again.
Most days Ian doesn't notice them. The blanks, the disconnect in his mind, the gaps in his memory like potholes in a road filled with oil slick and rainwater. They've been there since his late adolescence, weaving their way into his consciousness and embedding themselves into the membranes that separate his brain from his skull, so that he's used to them. He doesn't have to notice them, not when he can get by just fine without acknowledging them. But that's only on most days.
Some days the blanks are deep and pitch black, tripping him up or even swallowing him whole. His mind becomes a black hole, everything in disarray and stretched, twisted, deformed until it's all unrecognisable. His childhood is a jumble of scenes from a movie watched on a drunken night, parts of it covered with lumpy, expired Wite-Out and others blotted with blood, smeared and dirty. The confusion makes his head pound and bile rise in his throat. For the longest time he didn't connect the two things. He's been having depressive episodes since he was seventeen, always accompanied by aches and nausea, and it was easy to lump the blanks and gaps in with everything else the depression brought on.
But he's older now, taking medication and watching his routine so that the depression rarely rears its ugly head anymore, yet the days of darkness, confusion and agony persist. They come when he least expects them, when he has a day full of errands to run with his brother or a day he's promised to spend babysitting his niece or nephew. He goes through the motions the way he's taught himself to do on even the hardest days, but it feels like wading through raw sewage in nothing but his boxers, grime and filth splattered against his thighs and clinging to the inside of his nose. He barely survives it, throwing up everything he eats, sometimes before he can reach a toilet bowl, and crawling into his bed deaf to the worried murmurs of his husband.
It takes him years of survival, white-knuckled and tense-jawed, before it begins to make even a little sense to him.
"Hey, Ian."
Liam's voice pulls Ian's attention from the comedy rerun he and a sleepy Mickey are watching on the TV. He looks to where his youngest brother is sitting at their kitchen table, school laptop illuminating his face and an old, chewed-up pen in his hand.
"What's up?" Ian asks, lifting a hand to run his fingers through Mickey's hair. His husband grunts softly, pressing his face down against Ian's shoulder. Liam takes a breath, hesitating before he speaks again.
"You know the club you worked at?" he asks. Ian feels Mickey tense against him, and has to stroke his thumb against his forehead to keep him from cussing at the kid.
"Yeah, what about it?" Ian asks, trying to keep his voice lighthearted. "You aren't thinking of getting a job there, are you?"
"No," Liam says quickly, grimacing at the suggestion. Ian feels something in his chest relax. "I'm writing a paper on CSA for my psych class - you think it'd be okay if I interview you? Interviews get us extra points."
"CSA?" Ian asks, raising an eyebrow. Liam hesitates again, looking sheepish and guilty all of a sudden.
"Childhood sexual assault," he clarifies after mulling it over for a long minute. The second the words leave his mouth Mickey lifts his head from Ian's shoulder and glares at the teen.
"Write a paper on those fuckin' drooling dogs or something, man," he says, which would be funny if it weren't for how his jaw clenches once the words have left his mouth. "Leave your family outta that shit, we got enough people lookin' at us like social experiments already."
"Right," Liam mumbles, but his eyes don't move from Ian, who feels his face stiffening like concrete. "Okay, sorry."
"Nah, it's fine," Ian whispers, his voice barely audible even though he tried to speak normally. He turns his head away from his brother, back to the TV. The blue light of the screen suddenly takes on a purple tinge, spotlights moving against the inside of Ian's eyelids and illuminating dark, dirty floors soiled with bodily fluids and pills that had been crushed beneath someone's shoe. His veins throb in his arms, skin suddenly too tight for his flesh, like he's waking up with a bad hangover, dry-mouthed and disoriented.
"Ian."
He feels his lips forming a frown on his face but they don't belong to him, invisible fingers pulling down the corners of his lips to turn him into a sad mime. Mickey's hand, warm and rough cups his cheek. He blinks and the dirty floor disappears, replaced with worried blue eyes and dark, furrowed brows.
"Hey. Baby."
"I'm fine," his reply comes, automatic and without thought, before he even thinks the words. Clearly, this does nothing to soothe Mickey, eyes darting around Ian's face. His thumb rubs Ian's temple, stroking the vein that feels like it's about to burst. "I'm... I'm fine."
Mickey draws in a sharp breath, looking like he's ready to scold him, but he doesn't say anything. He shoots Liam a brief but withering look, before leaning in to kiss Ian's forehead.
"Okay," he mumbles, and slumps back against the sofa, but not without guiding Ian's head to rest against his shoulder.
Ian's chest is tight and aching, but he's fine. He's totally fine.
When he wakes up the next morning it's to Mickey yelling from the kitchen.
"Ian! You want coffee?"
He stiffens in their bed, his husband's voice sounding foreign.
"Ian?"
No, it isn't his husband's voice. It's the name. Ian. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to recall the last time he heard that name, but all his mind can offer are broken, fragmented memories of strangers whispering Curtis or Clayton or Benjamin in his ear, their breath hot against his skin. The familiarity of the names is soothing and torturous all at once, and before he knows what's happening his stomach is squeezing, pushing. He sits up but barely manages to lift his head from his pillow before a stream of weak, beige-green liquid pours from his mouth, puddling on the sheets and dripping down his chin. He stares at the pool of vomit, gears moving in his head like he's looking at an old friend.
"Hey, man, you want coffee or-"
Mickey's voice stops just as abruptly as his movements, the man standing in the bedroom doorway like a statue. Ian turns his head to look at him, the small movement dizzying, and feels that same squeeze in his stomach. This time he has the foresight to move his hands, catching the little mouthful of hot, caustic stomach acid in his palms.
"Ian, c'mon, don't do that," Mickey whispers, approaching slowly and taking hold of Ian's wrists. He allows himself to be manoeuvred, watching as the vomit sloshes from his palms and lands on the bed sheets. The name on Mickey's lips makes Ian's skin prickle, and he curls into himself. He's too big for it to really work, but he must have been small enough once. Must have been small enough to fold into himself like an ashen baby bird, all skin and bone and ruffled feathers. He tries to curl into himself further, trying to remember where the instinct comes from, but all he sees is a bottomless pit. Panic curls around his throat like barbed wire. "Come on, you gotta wash your hands. I can help you."
"No, I..." Ian mumbles, his own voice startling him. He stares down at his palms, feeling fabric against his skin. Expensive fabric, yarn woven into fine cotton with 2% spandex, fabric he's never been able to afford, not even on his wedding day, but that he must have touched at some point. Blearily, he looks at Mickey, meets his worried gaze through thick tears that refuse to pour down his cheeks even as he blinks over and over. His breath catches in his throat. "I don't feel right."
"That's okay. I got you," Mickey reassures him. Lips press against his forehead in a sweet kiss. "Come on, babe. It's okay."
Mickey takes his hands, not recoiling or frowning when the still-warm vomit touches his skin. He smiles, soft, small, scared, and helps the redhead stand up.
"You're fine. I got you," he repeats, and kisses the dense patch of freckles on Ian's shoulder. The touch is familiar, and this time the familiarity is comforting without also being nauseating. He holds on tight to Mickey until their hands are under the running water of their bathroom tap, and as soon as their palms are separated he finds himself leaning into the other man, curling up again, trying to make himself smaller. He can feel Mickey watching him, gauging his condition, taking in his expressions and reaction to every little touch. "You're okay, Ia- baby."
Ian looks up, looks at Mickey's wet lashes when he bites back the name on the tip of his tongue. He doesn't understand why or how, but Mickey always knows what to say and, more importantly, he always knows what not to say. He drags in a deep breath that doesn't really reach his lungs and drops his head so he can hide his face against Mickey's shoulder. Hiding. Even if he can't seem to think of much right now, he knows he's good at hiding.
"Sorry I threw up," he mumbles into Mickey's shoulder, which makes his husband chuckle.
"I've seen you puke before, man," Mickey says. "That fuckin' sushi Debbie made us all eat last year? Playing drinking games with Sandy?"
Ian recognises the memories like the face of a quiet classmate in a yearbook - he can place them in the right environment, but can't picture them doing anything, not even opening their mouth to say 'present' for attendance. He winces, the effort of trying to pull forth images he knows are there making him dizzy.
"C'mon," Mickey whispers, turning off the tap. "Let's get some breakfast in you. Pepto Bismol with your meds maybe."
"Wait," Ian pleads, not ready to open his eyes and face the world yet. Not when he can't remember his place in it. Again, Mickey takes it in his stride. He pulls Ian into a hug that's firm enough to ground him and gentle enough to remind him that Mickey loves him. The reminder is enough to ease the jelly feeling in his joints just a little, Mickey's thumb moving back and forth against his shoulder blade like it's all he's ever wanted to do, and Ian takes a deep breath. The just-woke-up smell on Mickey, a smell that he knows he's always loved, even if he's never been sure why.
"I love you, man," Mickey murmurs sincerely. Ian relaxes just a little more.
"I love you too."
The day goes by slowly, every bit of it like pulling teeth. He downs his medication and food Mickey gives him even though his stomach twists nervously with each swallow. They watch cartoons on the sofa and Mickey smokes through a pack of cigarettes before dinner, his eyes flicking back and forth between Ian and the TV so often that he must not be getting any of what's on the screen. The vigilance is comforting, a reminder that he really is sitting on their sofa and not just dreaming up the four walls around him, so he doesn't mention it to Mickey.
By the late afternoon he's falling asleep, tired just from keeping his eyes open and his food down. He lays his head on Mickey's lap, nose pressed into his husband's thigh and shuts his eyes when fingers immediately find their way to his hair, running through his curls and brushing stray hairs from his forehead.
"You wanna head to the clinic tomorrow, check your meds?" he asks.
"Maybe," is all Ian can muster the energy to say. Mickey hums, thumb rubbing his brow bone.
There's a long pause, long enough that Ian almost falls asleep, before Mickey speaks up again.
"You did good, Ian."
Ian. The name finally sounds familiar again. No bile rises at the sound of it and there's no ache in his chest as he tries to place it. Relief washes over him, icy and overwhelming, and pulls him under.
The next day he wakes feeling disoriented but not nauseous. His head is on Mickey's chest, his heartbeat steady and reliable where it thumps against his cheek. He takes a deep breath in and lifts a hand to trace a fingertip along the tattoo of his name on his husband's skin, his heart fluttering the same way it used to when they were kids and Mickey would show up at the corner store looking for him. His body feels like his own again, every organ, capillary and freckle back in its rightful place.
He makes coffee while Mickey sleeps in. He knows after a day like yesterday that Mickey must've been up half the night, watching him sleep as though his next breath might not come, and feels a little guilty at the thought. When he carries two mugs of coffee back to the bedroom and a pack of Oreos pinched between his teeth, Mickey is waiting for him, a smile on his lips.
"Morning, mister," he grumbles, voice sleep-rough in a way that makes Ian giddy. Ian drops the Oreos on the bed and leans in for a kiss, hungry for Mickey's touch more than anything else.
"Good morning," he replies, handing Mickey his mug and settling in next to him.
"You feelin' okay? Wanna hit the clinic after breakfast?" Mickey asks cautiously, watching Ian's expression for any telltale signs that he's hiding something.
"Nah, I'm... I'm okay," Ian mumbles, shrugging. "I don't know what was up yesterday, it was like everything was a few inches to the left or something. I couldn't remember shit."
He looks at Mickey and smiles at the crease between his worried brows.
"I'm okay now, Mick. Seriously."
Mickey grunts, frowning in a way that lets Ian know he's sorting his thoughts into words that make sense. They're halfway through their coffee before he's ready to speak, but Ian doesn't mind the waiting. He doesn't mind much when it comes to Mickey these days, at least not as much as he claims to.
"Y'know, Svetlana had days like that," he says, slow and unsure. "She'd get pukey and shit, couldn't hold a conversation... It was weird, 'cause she was always so fuckin' headstrong y'know? Seein' you like that..."– Mickey pauses, reaches out to cup Ian's cheek for a moment and rubs his thumb over the freckles on his temple. –"Maybe you should see a shrink, talk about the stuff that happened at the club."
Something clicks in Ian's head at the mention of Svetlana, all of the blanks, disconnects and gaps in his mind making a little more sense now.
"Yeah. Maybe," he sighs, and turns his head to press a kiss to Mickey's palm. "Thanks for not freaking out."
"Anytime," Mickey says with a small, worried smile. Just a couple of years ago Ian would've felt guilty for being the cause of his worry, but he understands it now. They're husbands. They're always going to worry about each other.
"I love you," he tells Mickey, which earns him one of those shiny-eyed smiles he adores with all his heart.
"Love you too, Red."
Maybe tomorrow he'll book himself an appointment at the clinic. Today though, all he wants to do is make up for the time he lost yesterday.
warnings; mention of death & reference to death. sad, grieving reader. mentions of pregnancy. takes place after season 11. real tear-jerker plot, angst.
side note; I'm traumatizing myself by writing this so I apologize in advance to everyone else lmao.
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the photo between your fingertips felt crisp... a warmth that was once brought by it now gone. your touch was cold, but the sleek lining of the polaroid was colder. no longer a brightening memory, just a numb remembrance of what shouldve lasted.
tears drizzled down your cheeks like rain on a window pane, dripping over the shininess of the photo that reflected light off of it from the moon above. as you stared at it - smiles and laughter and joy in a moment that felt like just yesterday - you couldn't stop the continuous ache in your chest from increasing. throbbing, and growing, like a large damn tumor. It was painful.
a hiccup escaped your mouth from the oncoming sob that bubbled from your throat. you slapped a hand to your mouth, silencing yourself, squeezing your eyes shut while the tears kept flowing.
it wasn't until you sniffled did you gain the idea.
shaky digits sat the photo down, beside you, onto the sleek wooden planks of the porch. the droplets of rain that stuck to the porch bled through the polaroid, but you were too distracted to notice; grabbing for your phone out of the pocket of your coat.
you switched the screen on and the white glow blinded you through blurry vision, yet you didn't mind. fingers moved quickly in typing in the code to your phone, before you accessed your contacts.
you scrolled, and scrolled, up until you came across his name.
thumb hovering over the highlighted contact hesitantly, before pressing down onto the screen. the screen flashed, before the dial screen loaded; making you lift the phone to your ear.
your sniffles were silent while you painlessly waited through the rings of the other line.
one ring. your breathing came out shaky. heartbeat picking up, startling you.
two rings. your hands were shaking more. you nearly dropped your phone, but managed to squeeze it tighter into your palm.
three rings. you had to bite your bottom lip to keep from crying more.
finally, you were met with nothing but a voice box.
“ hey! It's carl. ” a wobbly grin etched onto your lips at the sound of his voice. “ I probably can't come to the phone right now — stop it, debbie! — but I'll get back to you as soon as i can, alright? just leave a number and name! ”
the phone beeped, signaling for a message to record...
“ hey, carl. ” your voice was scratchy as you spoke form all the sobbing you had done previously. It made you laugh, the irony, “ it's... It's me. It's y/n. ”
you paused, swallowing down your saliva. it was so hard to speak, to think. you had no clue what to say — yet you had so much to say.
“ I don't even know where to start, ” your voice cracked, head angling down as you looked to your feet. you were wearing the vans carl had bought you... “ I just- I just really miss you, ya’ know? ”
you let out a sniffling, pain filled laugh. it was hard not to. the way you were only making the pain worse? you were such a fool.
“ I can't... ” an intake of a large full of air, “ it's just hard to accept that you're gone, ya’ know? I.. when we saw it on the news last week... ”
you had to press a hand to your mouth for a moment. breathing becoming ragged, continuously coming out in short yet fast puffs. you felt as if your lungs would burst.
then, you continued, “ I just couldn't believe it. neither could debbie, or lip, or liam, or Ian.... ” swallowing thickly, you let out a noise of distress. “ or fiona. fiona came back, carl. she was going to surprise you, but you were working- and then the shooting happened- ”
by now, your lips were curling in; cheeks indenting from the rough burrow the motion created between your teeth and the corners of your mouth.
“ why the fuck did you have to leave? ” you sobbed, pressing your hand to your forehead; fingertips bending inward and nails digging into your upper palm. “ why? why?! you- you couldn't have just taken off that day?! ”
the raising of your voice caught the attention of the neighbors, but of course you didn't mind - didn't care. the hallow, yet cramping pit in your stomach is the only thing you were focused on.
your shoulders shook. arms trembled. legs shuffled, until your feet were pressing together. it was hard to calm down, especially with the loathing anger you felt, but... you managed to after a moment.
just sitting there, breathing in and out. In and out. and then sniffing loudly, to clear your nose of the clog.
“ .. I got the blue roses. ” you whispered, voice raw and raspy. your hand was combing though hair, giving your scalp a thick scratch to relieve stress. “ the ones you ordered me the day before... I love them. they're.. they're dying now, but I'm gonna’ press ‘em in a photo album. ”
you licked your chapped lips.
more tears threatened to fall, but you quickly wiped them away.
“ ... and, there's something I didn't get to tell you. ” a shaky exhale was taken, with a small tremble of your hand - it moved, gliding across your jacketed arm before squeezing. trying to comfort yourself.
“ I'm pregnant, ” you croaked, “ have been for a few weeks now. I... I haven't told the family, either. I wanted to tell you first. ”
pausing.
“ of course, it's too late for that... ”
that's when the phone beeped twice, signifying the recording went on for too long. you squeezed your eyes shut then, biting your bottom lip. frustration, sadness, pity - you felt it all and then some in between.
the urge to throw your phone flooded your veins, but you didn't. not with a comforting hand meeting your shoulder.
you looked up, only to see a familiar brunette.
turning your head, you silently averted your gaze away from the female; her presence welcome, always is, but you didint have the strength to greet her. you were just too... tired.
“ ... It'll be okay. ” fiona said after a moment. she too was looking straight ahead as she sat - not at anything particular, just simply basking in the night air and after-chills of the rain that had passed. her eyes seemed dead, not lively and excited like they were when she first arrived...
I mean, how could she be happy? her brother passed away... before she could even see him again.
“ how? ” you sniffed, letting out a chuckle that held so many emotions - but the number one thing that stood out, was disbelief. “ how could it be okay, fi? my boyfriend's dead. ”
“ and so is my brother. ” she dryly replied. It came out a bit harsh, but that was the reality of it. you weren't the only one to lose someone.
and she knew that, which is why her arm wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you close. she felt like crying, but stayed strong - she always had to. “ it'll be okay, because we all have each other. we'll get through this together. ”
her words were met with silence. “ ya’ know, ” as tears gathered over her waterline, fiona chuckled drastically, “ I remember the first time carl told us about you. said he swore he was gonna’ marry you one day. ”
“ he did? ” you mumbled, eyes downcasted towards your touching knees. she nodded in response, with a hum.
“ yes. ” she bit the inside of her cheek, “ I couldn't believed my ears... we all thought he was nuts. ”
you hummed a laugh, the tears sticking to your cheeks and lashes slowly drying up. “ he was... very nuts. I never did get a ring, so I guess he was just yappin’ like always, huh? ”
a reply was never given. several seconds passed by, before you pushed yourself off of fiona and looked at her expectedly.
she was already looking at you, a look of fondness and soft, sisterly love in her doe eyes.
“ what? ” you questioned quietly. your eyes were darting between her own, and then over her face, and then down-
a small, black, velvet box was in her palm.
you sucked in a sharp intake of air, eyes widening with disbelief at the object in fiona's hand. your lungs... they felt like they were burning. like you were drowning.
your heart beat... It picked up vastly.
and your brain - you couldn't think, it was blanking at this point.
Lip finds out that you’ve been trying to apply for college scholarships on his behalf and without his knowledge (angst/fluff)
pairing ➵ boyfriend!lipgallagher x reader
words ➵ 1.4k+ (short + sweet)
warnings ➵ 18+ a/n ➵ 18+, usual shameless themes made light, jokes of killing future partners, implied sex (no smut),
"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Lip's voice blared from the hallway, drowning out his charging footsteps as he entered his small, shared bedroom.
"What's wrong?" you asked from your seat on his bed.
"Don't you fucking give me that," Lip rolled his eyes, "Why the fuck do you have to always be in my business y/n?"
You sat up to face Lip, noticing the paper scrunched between his white-knuckled fist. The college application paperwork you found for Lip must of been sent to his home address and your heart dropped.
"Lip, I was just trying to-" You admitted, getting down from his bunk and down to his level and explain how you thought he could make it.
"Help? I've gotten myself this far on my own without Frank, without Monica, I don't need your fucking help," Lip interrupted.
"I know you have, I know all of it Lip. I know you're been responsible for your brothers and sisters, and so loyal to your family that I knew you wouldn't of put yourself and your future first. Just this one time you can Lip, you can do really well in college-"
"So what? So I have to be the fucking golden goose?" Lip mocked, "We can hardly afford rent, how the fuck did you think I could afford to waste time at college? We need money y/n."
"You can get out of here! You can get a degree and a good paying, real job! You don't have the be the sole provider. You might not be able to see it for yourself but you have so much potential Lip, you can break the curse, just please don't waste it here".
"You're fucking delusional y/n, it's so easy for you to say. You have good parents, but who's going to take care of Liam now that Fiona's in jail? Ian supposed to babysit during his manic episodes? Carl's going to pay for electricity from juvie? Debbie's just a kid." Lip questioned rhetorically and raised his voice.
"I can-"
"Oh fuck off," He laughed enraged, "Don't give me that shit. You want to tell me not to waste my potential here but you want to piss yours away? For what? For Me?" Lip threw his hands behind his head and exhaled with frustration. The anger coursing through him hadn't yet dissipated.
Your eyes began to sting, you didn't want to cry but you just wished he could see himself how everyone else did. His siblings admired Lip as the closest thing they had to a father figure and you could understand the pressure that followed, but they wanted him to do well too.
They understood sacrifice more than anyone. Banding together as a unit since Fiona was only 9 years old, the Gallaghers saw the opportunities and life she gave up to raise her siblings and there are still no guarantees on how they would turn out.
It was so hard on everyone to see Fiona fall, you couldn't take the thought of anything close happening to Lip. Not just for everyone's sake, but also his survival. His subconscious to self-sabotage broke your heart after you'd seen him take shit from Karen more times than he deserved.
Getting out of the south-side just while he studied could be just what Lip needed to catch a break from dysfunctional life and never ending pain.
"I'm not a fucking broken thing for you to fix y/n," Lip spat, his blue eyes poisoned with temper, "You need to fuck off."
"Fuck you Lip, I love you just listen to me-" you began to reason.
"Fuck me?" He spoke under his breathe trying his hardest not to blow up any further. As Lip ran a hand through his hair in frustration, you could notice the protruding veins that stuck out of his henley, peppered with worn out holes.
“Yes fuck you! How many of the kids that we hate have you set up for college but you won’t do the same for yourself, the one who actually deserves it?”
“They don’t have a fucking functioning brain cell but they have money. If you haven’t noticed the world is set up for them to win, I can’t get that far with nothing. How would I afford fucking tuition?”
"Your intelligence is a fucking gift okay, more than you realise. You're lucky to have it and you set the curve so don’t give me that. Lip you can get places with a scholarship, you don’t have to believe me," You held his arms, "If that means I take your place here for the mean-time I’d jump at the chance. It's what you do for people you love, you've done it for your family forever. Let me just lessen the load."
"I can't leave them like our parents left us," Lip whispered in anger. His deepest fear became realised. Whatever he did, he didn’t want to turn out into the thing that burdened his siblings for their whole life like his parents had. Just speaking the words was too much to bare, he didn’t even want to risk it becoming manifested somehow.
He was now leaning his forehead down against yours. He was so tired of barely surviving. So tired of the cycle he felt stuck in, no matter how hard him and his siblings tried to better their lives. Their reality became impossible to escape and began to feel like any way out was only a dream.
"You aren't leaving Lip. You can come home and visit on weekends, for movie nights and birthdays. Everyone would love to see you do this, just for you and if you do this now you can set yourself up for forever.”
You tried to draw Lip’s eyes back to your own. Those sea blue eyes were your safety house, and much like yours to Lip. Sometimes words weren’t as powerful as the look of love that you’d shared within many hard moments you’d found yourself in, like whenever Monica came back or seeing your almost shared family fall.
“Who knows, it might inspire them to do the same and make it out after only seeing Frank fail them so many times, you've given us all so much hope since just achieving your diploma." You gently pleaded, not giving up so easily.
You brushed Lip’s jaw and held the back of his neck, giving him comfort and support the way only you knew he liked best. Placing soft and gentle kisses over old scars from fights within his hair line and forehead.
"Do you really think I can do this?" Lip muttered, he'd never been one to question himself so you both knew he was seriously considering this.
“Even college professors think you’re a genius easily Lip. You don’t have to just take it from me, but if it helps I’ve always known you could do it.”
Lip held your hands in his. A gentle gesture as if to say thank you without needing to mouth the words. He’d never felt so loved. Your approval was all he needed now, and growing to trust and believe in himself was a journey he’d only began since knowing and loving you.
“You know what else,” you smiled up at your boyfriend after Lip kissed you passionately, “You’d only have to share your room with one other person at college.”
“Oh is that right?” Lip smirked.
“Mhm,” you agreed, “Perhaps more time alone for me with a hot college boy.”
“No more little brothers and Debbie’s daycare kids around all the time huh? Not that you’re quiet now, but we can really make some noise whenever we wanted there hey?”
Lip pulled you closer to him and peppered you with more kisses. You tried not to laugh and give into his dirty mind too early as you finally had some power in the argument.
“Oh so now I have your attention Gallagher,” you teased him smartly, “I should have started with this point all along.”
“You know me so well,” Lip whispered into a kiss.
“Oh I definitely do. If I ever catch you with a little, trashy, blonde sorority chick I will have cut your dick off though,” you joked, landing your hands on his broad chest.
“Lucky for you I’m over those kind of blondes now. But if you run off with some dumb college football jock I’ll kill him on sight, you’re stuck with me forever.” Lip bantered with you.
“I’d like to see you try,” you teased him back and he grabbed your ass playfully.
“What the fuck did I ever do to deserve you.” Lip admitted, looking at you with complete adoration. Taking in every inch of you as he swayed your smaller frame between his arms.
"You're not so bad for a Gallagher" You winked before kissing him lustfully.
"Hey smart-ass, one day you’ll be one too,” Lip breathed, “I’ll make fucking sure of it.”
Your boyfriend couldn’t wait another second, his hands roamed your body lasciviously. Words weren’t enough to show you his adoration and passion for you. He was going to love you harder than ever.
He didn’t even know he could be the type to make love or go to college. It seemed like everything in his life he endured had lead him to this. As corny as it sounded, since loving you Lip had learnt both were possible. Everything you’d tolerated from him in the past hadn’t phased you, you passed every test of Gallagher life with Lip. He wondered what else could become possible in the future with you beside him and he didn’t want to leave it up to chance.
