#lip gallagher x reader

also i’m thinking of writing fics for lip gallagher so if you’re interested let me know and send me some ideas :)

thinking about how if you were scared of thunder ur fav would automatically move to cover your ears whenever lighting went off. like he wouldn’t even stop what they’re saying or look away from the tv, just mindlessly goes through the motion of covering ur ears because it’s second nature at this point :’)

—

“Fuck, man, lift me up a little higher, would you?”

The lower half of your spine was rubbing up against the edge of counter and it was not a comfortable position to say the least.

“Sorry, if your counter wasn’t so fucking high I’d hoist you up on it,” Lip muttered, cigarette between his teeth.

Instead, you pushed off the counter and the two of you nearly crashed into the refrigerator, and you ended up holding onto his shoulders while he continued to fuck you against the wall. As you glanced up to the picture frames rattling against the wall, you could practically see your nana’s face of disappointment boring down on you.

She’d understand, you told yourself. If she were ever in your goddamn situation.

It was no-kiss sex. You had clarified that as soon as the two of you had made it into the door of your grandmother’s house, which, since she was dead, was now yours. It was an old, classic granny house, with what looked like 18th century wallpaper lining the walls and old rugs lying around that practically screamed knitting and fifty stray cats. Even if your nana wasn’t like that.

His arms gripped your legs, one in each and kept you solidly in that spot on the wall.

“Christ, Lip,” you moaned when he hit the spot just right. Even if he didn’t particularly look it, the boy knew how to give it to you.

You reached for the cigarette, plucking it from his lips and taking a long drag. Just because you couldn’t drink didn’t mean you couldn’t try to drain your lungs out. Exhaling, you let your head hit the back of the wall and stuck the cigarette back in your mouth.

God, you could really use a drink right now.

“Shit, hold on,” he grunted and slowed for a second to switch positions. Your feet finally touched the ground and you felt like they could nearly buckle under you. He grabbed you by the hips and turned you around so you were facing the wall.

Great. Now you were looking at your grandmother. Big turn-off.

But you closed your eyes and could quickly get your head back in it. Focusing on feeling good. You heard his groans as he picked up the pace, and you were getting close. His hips, hitting yours, sending you into near orgasm each time.

“Ah, fuck—wait, stand up a little bit.”

You didn’t even realize your knees were giving from underneath you. Straightening up, you shifted so your hips stuck out way back, and—damn was he good.

“That’s good, right there,” he murmured, and moved his hands up from your ass to your shoulders, stabilizing his position. He was hitting the exact right spot. Dear god.

As he pushed in and out, the walls shook, partly due to how crap the drywall was and you were sure the neighbors were getting ready to file a complaint any minute. They were an old, crabby couple, who couldn’t even stand you saying hello to them without throwing something across the yard. You figured they could stand to be a little more generous.

Your thoughts snapped back into place as he thrust his hips into you once more, then twice, bringing you to full orgasm and left you speechless with sheer and utter pleasure. So much so that he practically had to hold you up by the waist as your legs shook, and you used your hand to mask your moans that otherwise would’ve been way more audible than you felt comfortable with.

“Shit, fuck…” He grunted as his hips bucked a few last times, collapsing over you and groaning in your ear, and you almost had to remind yourself about your no-kissing policy. Even if in the moment you thought it was a stupid fucking policy.

His chest heaved, and he panted just as hard as you when he slid off the condom and went into the bathroom to toss it. Meanwhile, you clung to the wall, trying to catch your breath and your footing. Definitely had to wait for both.

After a few moments when you considered yourself relieved enough, you turned and fished out your underwear from behind the kitchen table before slipping them on. You found your shirt near the sink, your dad’s old AC/DC print, and pulled that over your head.

Lip emerged in a pair of boxers as you sank onto the couch in the living room, making quick work of tying your hair up in a bun over your head. He joined you, plopping down on the cushions with a sigh.

“So, you know, you never answered my question,” he responded to the silence that overtook the room.

You paused for a moment. “I just don’t get why you need to know.”

“I mean,” he frowned, “I don’t, but it just feels like the kind of thing I should know about you. Like, you know, knowing when your brother’s birthday is, is your gas tank at least a quarter full, why’d you decide to go to an AA meeting?”

You pursed your lips together in response, since you didn’t exactly want to give away sensitive information to someone you pretty much just met, but then again, he was on your living room couch. Your eyes just stared into the corner near the fireplace, an empty corner with little but dust and what looked to be some feathering from an old pillow.

“Not sure what to say,” you replied with a shrug. “Maybe ‘cause I’m a fucking alcoholic?” You could sense yourself closing up, your chest dragging itself deeper into a black hole. But from the way he was looking at you, out of the corner of your eye, you could clearly tell that wasn’t a satisfactory answer.

You knew you were fucked. Without a doubt, and that was the simplest way you could put it. You just knew, not when you barely had enough gas to pull up to the brown building in your shitty Toyota. Not even when you found out how many fucking people were there.

You could admit, out of all the kids you grew up with in the cruddy neighborhood you did, you were the one to be tough as nails in any situation. Be it fist fights in the schoolyard, killing the remaining wounded soldiers at a drinking party, or knowing how to make a buck or two without lifting a finger, you were known about as equally for your street smarts as you were for hardly blinking at some of the worst crap anyone could possibly imagine.

But it seemed your past caught up with you. Maybe it was ‘cause you were poor. You figured drinking all the wounded soldiers at a party probably wasn’t the best for your health. You couldn’t really figure out why, but alcohol just made you feel strong. It made you feel good about yourself, even when you knew you were doing something stupid or silly. Made you have an actual personality, other than just the sad girl who had an issue with the law.

Regardless of why, you stopped drinking primarily at parties and started grabbing a beer in the evenings to mellow out. Time seemed to switch, and soon you were day drinking. Afternoons turned to mornings, and believe or not pretty soon you were downing shots at the bar just to avoid the shame of getting idiotic drunk the day before.

“I woke up on a curb on the Lord’s day, and I was half-naked. No clue how I got there. Was fucking scary,” you let out a bitter laugh, leaning back onto the couch, eyes remaining locked to the spot it was on.

It was at that point when you realized just how fucked you were. The fact that it made you actually go to church that day was a miracle in itself. Even prayed and shit. After confessing, the pastor handed you a flier.

And now here you were. Talking your heart out with some guy who was just as low as you. Fucking incredible.

Surprisingly, when you finally tore your eyes off the spot, you saw that Lip looked… Concerned. There was some level of sympathy in his eyes. Like he actually cared to hear what you had to say. It made you just as confused as you felt uncomfortable with the situation.

So you switched it over to him.

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, soft guy, what’s your reason for coming to bible study, huh?” It was meant to sound joking, even if it didn’t play off as well. Your voice fell flat, but at this point who cared.

He seemed just as enthusiastic to answer his own question, “Runs in the family. Guess you could compare it to a bunch of King Henry’s, minus the inbreeding.” His nonchalance seemed to mask an awful truth that the two of you shared.

Well, at least the one that you knew: both your families were fucked. And God, you could use a drink right about now.