#lip x karen

[strnqer]

TEN THINGS I HATE ABOUT U

pairing. lip gallagher x afab!reader

synopsis. lip gallagher believed he had it all: a best friend who always had his back and loved him unconditionally—the same girl he thought he had fallen for—and a dysfunctionally perfect family. but one day as he climbed her window in search of her, he stumbled upon a list detailing all the ways in which he had hurt her. and suddenly she wasn’t just his best friend, she was the girl he had taken for granted, knowing or believing she would always be by his side. what would happen when, one day, she simply wasn’t there anymore?

content warning

i. the beginning of the end

ii. one: his voice

iii. two: his smile

iv. three: his laugh

v. four: his eyes

vi. five: his hands

vii. six: his looks

viii. seven: his scent

ix. eight: lip gallagher

x. nine: the way he knew me

xi. ten: you

[tzpscuckchair]

Fav Shameless Trope; Lip being attracted to girls who give him shit.

[zutaralesbian]

The “I promise I don’t love you” scene between Lip and Karen was such good quality ship angst. Why lie

[guraiuna]

to this day, season 1 karen and lip have some of the best chemistry i've seen in the show

[lipgall4gher]

Algún día tendré este escenario

Y no estoy listo

Para ver tus decisiones

[bumblesimagines]

Ride or Die, Remember?

Request: Yes or No

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

Summary: When his life takes a swift and abrupt turn, Lip Gallagher is left feeling a storm of emotions such as heartbreak and anger. In the midst of the hurricane, he doesn't realize what's standing right in front of him.

CW/TW: Typical Shameless warnings, Karen's assault on Frank mentioned, angst(?), the best friend trope

~~~

He had to find Lip before the Gallagher took a nosedive into manslaughter territory. 

The cold nipped annoyingly at his exposed face, the viciousness of the freezing temperatures having luckily gone down with the slow arrival of spring and summer but still cold enough to give someone hyperthermia if they weren't careful. He fiddled with his fingerless gloves, clouds forming from his lips each time he huffed out some air. His legs maneuvered him down alleyways and sidewalks; be it by luck or a divine deity being merciful, he hardly had a rough time with the slippery, iced-over ground. 

(Y/N)'s eyes locked on the familiar figure crossing the street who slammed his hand into the back of a car that drove by him without slowing down or stopping, relief feeling his veins at the sight of him. Lip looked too relaxed to have heard the news of what Karen had done. Good, but it only meant (Y/N) had the horrible job of breaking it to him. He crossed the street and weaved around those bustling around the sidewalk, almost wincing when he heard Joey and his brother giggling at the bottom of the stairs when Lip stepped by them.

"Be a pal, Lip. When you and Frank get done passing around, uh, 'Daddyz Girl', why don't you send her over to our place?" Joey snickered again, his cheeks a rosy red from his laughter and the cold. (Y/N) groaned internally and slammed his shoulder against Joey's as he stepped past him, shooting the boy a withering glare. 

"Get lost." He snapped at him and watched Joey snatch the back of his little brother's hoodie with a grumble before he walked away scowling. (Y/N) licked his dry lips and turned his head upward toward Lip, a grimace forming at the dumbfounded, near puppy-eyed look on Lip's face. His best friend stared down at him from his spot on one of the steps, head tilting ever so slightly to the side.

"You have any idea what the hell he's talking about?" Lip questioned, the metal clanging beneath his boots as he slowly stepped down the stairs toward him, bits of snow flying from his shoes. (Y/N)'s eyes flickered desperately between Lip's vibrant blue ones, words heavy in his throat but his mouth refusing to form any of them for the sake of Lip's heart. The Gallaghers were a tough family but each of them had their weak points.

Besides, how the hell could you break the news about a video floating around showing their best friend's dad and crush fucking? (Y/N) certainly had no idea.

"(Y/N)..." Lip lifted his brows at him, a frown beginning to tug at his lips when the teen in front of him remained deathly silent. The suspicion seeping into his eyes only made (Y/N) wince and avert his gaze. "Who the fuck is 'Daddyz Girl'? Is it about Fiona? Is it- is it Debs? V?"

"I..." (Y/N) clamped his mouth shut and rolled his head back, releasing a low groan into the cold morning air. He stared at the gloomy gray clouds floating overhead and dropped his head back to gaze at his friend again, his hand reaching out to pluck the cigarette from between his fingers and take a deep inhale. Lip watched him closely, his brows only furrowing further. Releasing the smoke in a sigh, he pursed his lips. "It's honestly better if I... if I showed you, Lip."

It certainly hadn't been any better showing him, perhaps it'd been worse.

The agonizingly long wait for the site and video to load with Lip's face right up on the laptop's screen definitely hadn't soothed his jittering nerves. It'd nearly given him a headache when the video finally loaded and Lip's eyes almost bulged out of his head at the sight of Karen naked as the day she'd been born on his father's equally bare lap. The silence from Lip - horribly filled in with pants, moans, skin slapping on skin, and Frank's drunken mutterings - only forced (Y/N) to tear himself away from his windowsill and close the laptop before it drove him crazy. 

"That fucker." Lip snarled, and the typically calm boy (Y/N) knew was replaced with a rage-filled Gallagher. Lip shot up from the desk chair and snatched his coat, slipping it on hurriedly as he stumbled out of (Y/N)'s bedroom and practiced raced down the hallway toward the front door. He tossed it open and stomped down the porch, a gust of cold wind slipping into the house. 

"Fuck," (Y/N) hissed, almost tripping over his untied laces trying to follow his friend out the door, the cool metal of the doorknob making him flinch when he shut the door behind him. His eyes tracked Lip storming down the sidewalk and toward the Jackson house just down the street by the elevated train tracks. Shit, shit, shit. (Y/N) called out to him as he attempted to catch up. "Lip! Jesus, Lip, just- let's think about this, huh? What- What are you even going to do, Lip?"

"He fucked my girlfriend, (Y/N)! What the hell do you think I'm going to do?!" Lip snapped over his shoulder, his trembling hands curling and uncurling. (Y/N) knew Lip well enough to think of just a few things Lip was capable of, with murder as a very slim option for the otherwise Harvard-smart teenager. 

(Y/N) bit his lip "Lip, you know Karen has been fucking half the guys at school! Is she really worth being this?" He still vaguely recalled the day Karen had approached him with batted lashes and a coy smile, as well as the sullen look that fell on her face when he dismissed her with a scoff. "She's not even your girlfriend!"

Spinning around on his heel to face him, Lip snatched the collar of his hoodie and tugged him close enough for their noses to bump. "I love her." He whispered lowly, his bottom lip threatening to quiver before he released him and resumed his warpath toward the slim two-story house. Karen coincidentally stepped outside and pointedly ignored Lip's questions until she disappeared down the road with the dirty blonde staring after her hopelessly. 

His jaw clenched and his eyes scanned the area around them until they locked on one of the cars parked in an alleyway. Lip made a beeline for it and fumbled with the pockets of his coat until he pulled out a makeshift picklock to mess with the door. (Y/N) rolled his lips into his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut, groaning again when he heard the soft click of the door unlocking. Fucking Steve. 

"Fuck," (Y/N) sighed heavily and dug into his pockets until he found his phone, flipping it open and dialing in the number he had memorized since he was a child. He pressed it against his ear and watched Lip get inside the car to hotwire it. His older cousin's cheery voice greeted him sweetly. "Hey, Kev? I, uh... I need you to drive down to Sheila's place. I think Lip might actually try to kill Frank. 'Kay, thanks." 

Once he hung up, he crossed the street toward the car and grabbed the door before Lip could shut it. "What are you doing, Lip? Are you going to run your pops over the second you see him? Stealing a car is one thing, using it to commit manslaughter is a whole other ballpark. Don't act stupid when you're the smartest asshole in this shitstain of a place." 

"He can't keep getting away with this bullshit, (Y/N), he can't. That good-for-nothing piece of shit..." Lip's teeth clamped down on his bottom lip, his leg bouncing furiously and hands gripping onto the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned a new shade of white. "I love her. I fucking love her and he- he-" 

"I get it, alright? I know it sucks to get your heart broken, trust me, I know." (Y/N) released a shaky sigh and rubbed his cold fingers against his forehead. "Listen, I... I just ask that you don't kill him, okay? Get in a punch or two and leave it be. I don't want to have to visit you in the same prison my old man is locked up in, alright?"

Lip let out a deep sigh. "Yeah... yeah, fine. I... I'll try not to." He muttered quietly, his rage finally simmering down and out of manslaughter territory. (Y/N)'s lips pulled back into a tight-lipped smile and he stepped away from the car to let Lip slam the door shut and pull out into the neighborhood's main road. 

Roughly fifteen minutes passed before Frank turned a corner further down the sidewalk and made his way over to the Jackson house. Once he was close enough, the car sputtered to life and sped toward him, barreling down trash cans and swerving around to catch the panicked running man until Frank slid over the hood of another car, forcing Lip to ram into the side of it. (Y/N) exhaled a sigh of relief when Kevin finally pulled up and the two quickly rushed over to the Gallaghers as Lip began to pummel his fist and feet into Frank's body.

"Come on, come on! Calm down, alright?!" Kevin shouted and leaned down to grab Lip's arms, managing to pull him off his father for a brief moment until Lip shoved him away and went in for seconds. (Y/N) quickly dove in between the two and roughly took Lip by the shoulders, digging his fingers into his jacket and pushing him back. 

"You're bleeding, Lip, come the fuck on. You fucked him up enough, okay?" Lip's chest heaved, his lips curled into a sneer and a trickle of blood slipped down the side of his head from an injury on his temple. His feet dug into the ground, hands grasping onto the sides of (Y/N)'s hoodie to push him away. "Lip."

Kevin pointed a finger at him and planted himself firmly in front of Frank. "That's enough, Lip. Listen to (Y/N) and get the fuck out of here!" 

With one final, forceful push from (Y/N), Lip relented and swung his arm around his friend's waist, allowing the teenager to guide him away from his bloody and bruised father. He remained silent on the walk back to (Y/N)'s place, only heavy panting filling the air between them. The tension in his muscles and limbs began to disappear and the storm of fury in his eyes gave way to a look of pure heartache and betrayal. (Y/N) could only pat his side and led him to his bedroom.

Lip collapsed on the bed and tiredly shrugged off his coat and gloves, blindly tossing them aside somewhere in the room. (Y/N) searched his room and bathroom, collecting some cotton balls, a bandaid, and rubbing alcohol. Hardly a proper med kit but it was all they really had in the house. He tossed the supplies on the bed and stood in front of Lip, forcing his blank stare away from the wall and onto him.

"Ready?" (Y/N) dipped his fingers into Lip's curls and gently tugged his head back. He used his free hand to unscrew the cap of the rubbing alcohol and press one cotton ball against it, giving the bottle a quick tilt to soak up the cotton before he began dabbing at the injury with a slightly crinkled nose. Lip's hands moved to rest against (Y/N)'s thighs, his fingers digging into him with each painful prick of pain that shot through his head. 

Once finished, (Y/N) wiped away at the liquid with his thumb and released Lip so he could fiddle with the bandaid. Lip dropped his forehead onto (Y/N)'s stomach, his hands beginning to inch upward ever so slowly. His fingers dipped under the hoodie, the rest of his hands pushing up the hoodie and shirt underneath to expose (Y/N)'s stomach. Lip tilted his head and pressed his lips against the bare skin, the bridge of his nose pushing up the clothes further. 

"What are you doing?" (Y/N) asked softly, freeing one of the bandaid wings and working on the other. 

"Destressing." Lip muttered against his skin, continuing to nuzzle and kiss whatever skin he could reach. His lips felt dry and cracked against him, and (Y/N) nearly squirmed when Lip swiped his tongue over his happy trail. His hand flew down to grab hold of Lip's hair again, forcing his head back and slapping the bandaid over the cut.

"We haven't done that together since seventh grade, Lip." (Y/N) reminded him with raised brows, scooping up the bloodied cotton and bandaid papers into his hand and tossing them in the small trash can by his desk. Lip's hands dropped over his lap and his lips slightly jutted out, his sharp gaze following (Y/N) around the room. 

"So? Friends get each other off all the time." Lip pointed out, his hands shooting out to grab the bottom of (Y/N)'s hoodie and drag him closer toward him, face pressing into his side again.

"And look where getting off with Karen got you, Phillip." (Y/N) wriggled around in Lip's hold and tumbled onto the bed, his back meeting the mattress and only prompting Lip to crawl over him. Despite himself, he released a breathy laugh when Lip's mouth pressed into his neck and his cool hands slipped under his hoodie. 

"This is different." Lip's voice came out muffled, his words wiping the smile off his face and making his heart twist uncomfortably. God, how he hated it. 

"'Cause you don't love me." (Y/N) breathed and moved his hands to press against Lip's shoulder blades, effectively pushing him up and off him. Lip flopped beside him onto the mattress and blinked at him, his brows twitching down into a furrow. 

"No shit I love you, (Y/N). You've been my ride-or-die since first grade. You're basically a Gallagher now." Ah, fuck, that one stung more than it needed to. (Y/N) forced out a hum of acknowledgment and inhaled sharply through his nose, his body rolling over so he could reach out and grab his cigarette pack from the nightstand. 

"Yeah, well, last I checked-" He messed with the lighter until it flickered on, taking a deep inhale once the cigarette lit. He pushed himself up against the headboard and breathed out a cloud of smoke. "-brothers don't sleep together, Lip. Besides, you said it yourself: you don't swing that way. You only like fucked up chicks who'll never like you back." 

"I don't want to fight today, (Y/N). I'm fucking serious." Lip leaned back into the pillows with a hint of a scowl on his face. "I've had a shit enough day as is."

"Whatever," (Y/N) shook his head lightly. "We can play video games until you forget about Karen and your dad and all that other bullshit, alright? But if you want to mess around with someone, it won't be with me."

"Fine."

[baileybagel24]

So do we think Buck watches Heartstopper and aggressively screams every time Ben Hope is on screen? Like he started watching for the Bi coming of age and the fluffy gay love story but is now Invested in the gay nerd and his bisexual rugby lad boyfriend.

It’s a hyperfixation and he binges it all in one night and comes into work the next day crying because “No Charlie you matter so much stop�� and then reads all the comics between calls.

Buck won’t stop talking about it so everyone comes over to see what all the fuss is about and Buck screams at the screen while wildly gesturing to Hen, Athena, and Karen about how awful Ben is.

Tommy just stands in the back smiling fondly as Eddie stares in bemusement and horror as Buck’s arms fling around the room and his yells ratchet up when Charlie and Ben are in the music block

Tommy laughs at Eddie’s wide eyed look and just goes “yeah Evan’s invested, he’s turned this into a blood sport”

After which Tommy and Eddie always show up to Buck, Hen, and Karen’s weekly watch party-wine night, equally entertained watching the show and their boyfriend/friends lose their minds.

[zutaralesbian]

Honestly you make points. I go back and forth about whether or not I ship them because they were written pretty badly in the end. But I don’t think Lip ever loved another woman the way he loved Karen in the timeline of the show. And yeah, that includes Tami even tho I do enjoy them together.

lip x karen always idc idc

[milkovich-cigarettes]

mandy and karen needed to stop fighting over lip. they should've just kissed tbh that would've solved everything faster

[strnqer]

chapter zero: the beginning of the end

pairing: lip gallagher x afab!reader

series history

lip gallagher climbed your window once more. the same window he had jumped out of countless times before your mother had caught him on your bed.

despite being best friends, you never let lip meet her.

if anyone asked frank, your mother was just like him in every way—well, all except for franks somewhat outgoing and talkative nature, hell, he's even had a good conversation with a tree. your mother on the other hand, had a relentless need to point out everyone's flaws; she was judgmental and often homophobic. she also believed in many things, all of which were extremely controversial in their time. anyone could easily describe her as awful.

yet, if someone asked you, you’d talk about how lovely she was on her good days—those rare moments when she wasn't raising a drunken fist at your presence.

but then there were those days. the days she'd be so high off whatever drug she'd find the night before and she'd be shit. on those days you would have to physically restrain your mother to prevent her from doing whatever crazy shit she'd thought of next. it's one of the hundreds of reasons why lip despised the woman. he hadn't even met her, yet the mere thought of someone laying their hands on you overwhelmed him with rage that was often hard to control. ian would often have to restrain him before he jumped the gate at the sound of your screams.

lip grunted as he lifted himself up on her ledge, he gently slid the glass window open and hastily climbed inside almost falling on his face in the process. "fuck" he muttered, grabbing onto her shelf for balance.

lips eyes casted around the room looking for any signs of his girl, he called your name softly, subconsciously holding his breathe as he strained his ears to listen. the only sound that could be heard was the hand of the clock on your wall ticking away seconds in the silence.

he huffed, pacing slowly around the room, eyes carefully scanning through your belongings. he’d memorized where everything was from the many times he'd been there already, but he hoped that something would be different this time—something that might lead him to you. the mere thought of finding you hurt filled him with nausea.

he swallowed the feeling down.

his gaze landed on your bookshelf and there, nestled between your favorite books sat a medium-sized framed photo of you together. the soft white frame had a small red heart in the corner. lip almost laughed, a small smile tugging its way onto his mouth 'typical.' he thought.

the photo itself took him by surprise. it was from years ago, a time when he wasn’t such an asshole.

you were sat delicately up on his lap in the gallagher kitchen table, laughing at something he’d said, while he looked at you as if you hung the stars and the moon yourself. you were the center of his universe. he looked at you as if there was nobody else in the room, like it was just the two of you in that simple moment. his fingers traced it softly before wrapping themselves around the frame.

he opened it and took out the old photo, leaving its remains on the shelf. tears welled up in his eyes at the bittersweet memory but he brushed them away quickly, refusing to cry pathetically in your room.

lip flipped the picture, you always wrote some sappy shit in the back of your photos, in fact, it was one of the many things he loved about you.

his smile faded.

in the back, he saw your neat cursive writing: 'ten things i hate about you.’ beneath it was a long list of reasons of all the hatred you had for him. him. each word felt like a punch in the gut.

regret washed over him in waves. he thought of every moment you’d shared, each one heavy with the weight of his mistakes.

why had he been such a jerk to the one person he loved?

he had been a dick to fiona and even debbie at times, but those are his sisters—it was different. you were the love of his life for crying out loud.

"i'm sorry, i'm so sorry" he whispered, to who, he wouldn't know, he just... "i'm so fucking sorry"

tears streamed down his face like a fountain, and finally he broke. lip fell to the floor with their picture clutched tightly in his hand. he scanned your words again and again, each one cutting only deeper.

his sobs grew louder, and for a moment he was grateful your mother was likely passed out in the living room floor, oblivious to your absence.

why had he treated you like something so easily replaceable? you were one of the few people he relied on, the one person he thought could never leave.

why am i so fucked up.

he had taken for granted the one person willing to risk everything for him. maybe it was the fact that he knew you’d never go anywhere, or the fact that you had proved many times that despite his shitty personality you’d always remain his girl. either way he's lost you, he lost his soulmate.

in the process of finding himself he lost the person that was most important to him in his life and he didn't know if you’d ever return.

next chapter

[myocsfanfictions]

South Side Story

Shameless Fanfiction

Desna Hills has come living in the Southside of Chicago four years before. Taken in by Kev and V, Desna is close friends with the Gallaghers. Let's see how this Southside story unfolds.

MASTERLIST

《 Previous - Next 》

Chapter 22

Marty aside, Veronica and Kevin's wedding day was amazing. V and Fiona managed to tie Marty in the bathroom so that they could get married in the Alibi. Everyone was there.

Carol got so emotional. She had held Desna's hand as V and Kev shared their vows. The Gallagers, of course, had been present. Even Frank seemed genuinely happy, and not only because of the alcohol. Ian had invited Mandy Milkovich. They were still pretending to be dating, but the girl seemed to be pretty content with that accommodation. Unfortunately, though, Karen Jackson came, and she liked to be all over Lip for the entire time. But Desna noticed the way Karen observed her every time she got close to the boy.

She wanted her reaction; Desna was well aware. Karen liked to see Desna get jealous and angry as if to make a point. But she didn't want to give that bitch the satisfaction. Lip cared about her; Desna knew that. And it was enough.

"Do you wanna dance?" Lip asked her as the party started. His voice came from behind her. His lips close to her ear.

"Sure," she answered, taking his hand and letting him lead her to the dancefloor. And she didn't miss it: Karen's glare from across the room, and Desna's smile in her direction. Then her attention went back to Lip when he had pulled her close.

"You look beautiful," he said in her ear with a smirk.

"I hoped you'd like it," she had answered. Desna had chosen to put on a simple purple satin dress. It was comfortable, but it hugged her body perfectly, and when she tried it on, she had no doubt that it was the dress that she would have worn.

"I didn't see this," he said with his hands on her hips. Desna cocked her head to the side with a playful smirk.

"I wanted it to be a surprise," she said, looking into his eyes. His face was so close that she only had to lean over to close the small space between them.

"Oh, yeah?" he asked. His lips turned up in a grin, and she nodded, liking how his hands guided her body closer to his. "I really want to kiss you," he whispered, making her giggle. She wanted it, too.

"Kiss already," Kev's voice made them turn with wide eyes as Kevin and Vee danced next to them.

"What?" Desna and Lip asked at the same time.

"I've figured it out since we spoke about him," Veronica said, looking at Desna as her arms were around her husband.

"And... I mean..." she muttered, "Is that okay?"

"I don't want you pregnant," Vee warned her.

"And no sex when we are in the house," Kev pleaded, "It is traumatic enough to know that you are having sex, bug."

Desna blushed, "Kev!"

Since that day, her encounters with Lip have been easier to organize. Now Fiona, Vee, and Kev knew what was going on, so it was no longer difficult for them to justify why they wanted to spend time together. Desna has also found herself sleeping at the Gallaghers from time to time, but there had been no sex those times since Carl and Ian slept in Lip's same room.

That was why, that morning, she was in Lip's bed, his arm around her, and his eyes still closed, when she finally woke up. Desna turned towards him, smiling as she observed him sleeping. She caressed his cheek lightly as she studied his features. Lip didn't open his eyes, but his arm pulled her closer.

"Morning," she whispered with a little giggle.

"I was awake," Lip muttered. Desna leaned over to peck his cheek. That made him tiredly smile.

"You better," she answered. "We gotta go to school." Lip groaned, making her giggle again. Then, the sound of the door opening made her turn to look in that direction. Desna frowned when she saw who it was.

"Desna?" the boy that had just entered said.

"Warren," she said slowly sitting up, while Lip groaned.

"Lip," the boy said.

"Warren," Lip muttered, his arm adjusting around Desna's hip. He really didn't want to wake up that morning.

"Where's my paper?" Warren asked.

"Where's my money?" Lip's quick reply made her smile. Then his fingers lightly gripped her hip before he started to get up.

"Okay," he said jumping down the bunk bed, "I wanna see it."

As the boys exited the room, Desna jumped down too. She walked towards her clothes, glancing towards the corridor.

"Thirty-five, right?" Warren asked, making Desna shook her head.

"No, fifty," Lip answered. Then Warren started to say strange sounds, stereotyped sounds that people who didn't speak an Asian language thought Asian languages sounded like.

"Stop speaking fake Korean, Warren," Lip said, "I never said thirty-five. Des, did I say thirty-five?"

"Never heard of thirty-five," she answered.

"See, I've got a witness," Lip said. "I've never said thirty-five. Not for the paper I wrote you last month, not for the paper I wrote you last semester, not for this. All right? It's fifty." When he got back, Lip had brought her a brush, which Desna took with a quick 'thank you' as she started to comb her hair.

"Can you do thirty-six?" Warren asked, but Lip refused.

"Thirty-eight?" Desna and Lip looked at each other before Lip sat on Ian's bed. The girl went to the bathroom to quickly change into her clothes and kept listening to what Lip was saying to Warren.

"Now, the fact here is that you, the one Korean I know, made a deal for fifty bucks for an original essay about The Great Goddamn Gatsby," Lip was saying as Desna went back in the room, laying her shoulder against the doorframe, observing him as he took his shirt off, "Yet, once again, you're trying to lower my agreed-upon price. Okay? So I want you to give me fifty or GFY."

Desna smiled.

"GFY?" Warren asked confused.

"Go fuck yourself," Lip said.

Warren let out a frustrated breath, but finally, he gave Lip his fifty bucks.

"Thank you," Lip said cockily, observing Warren leaving the room. Desna let the boy pass, but her eyes remained on Lip. He smirked at her, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Desna crossed the room to stop in front of Lip, who parted his legs so that she could stand between them.

"I told you," she started, putting her hands on his naked shoulders, liking the feeling of his skin under her fingers, "It turns me on when you go all smartass on people." Lip's smirk got wider, as his hands moved to her hips.

"Does it?" He smirked, then moved his hand to the side of her neck, bringing her closer so that their lips could touch. She smiled as they kissed. This situation was becoming rather pleasant. Desna was happy that she and Lip seemed more inclined to spend time with each other, even if it did not involve sex. She liked it.

Suddenly, a buzzing sound made Lip groan as he turned towards where the sound was coming from. Desna took a breath as he stood up to walk to his bed.

“Karen, hey,” she should have known. It seemed like Karen knew when Lip and Desna spent time together. It was becoming more persistent lately.

Lip turned to Desna, who forced herself to smile before starting to put her books back in her bag. “Yeah, sure. No problem,” Lip said. Alright. See you later.”

Silence fell in the room. Desna didn't really want to give Karen Jackson too much thought; she had decided it, and she wanted to keep that promise that she made to herself.

"We-um..." Lip started to speak from behind Desna. "We'll catch up at the school entrance to talk to Oompa."

Desna nodded her head, still not turning to him. "She gave you his contact," she answered simply, "I think it's fair." She heard Lip take a breath, so as she closed her bag, Desna looked at him with a small smile. "What's that face?" she asked, observing his expression. Always thinking, Lip was always thinking.

"Nothing," he shook his head before taking her hand and pulling her closer. She let him guide her until his arms moved around her waist. On his lips appeared a smirk as she moved her hands to lock around his neck, "Where were we?" Desna giggled before his mouth was on hers. She closed her eyes as her fingers went through his locks, to keep him close in the passionate kiss they were sharing. His hands moved from her hips to her ass-cheeks to push her against his body. His fingers grabbed her flesh, and she let out a moan when her phone rang.

"Really?" Lip groaned, making her giggle.

"It's better this way," she said as she took her phone from the front pocket of her jeans, "We have no time."

"I can be quick," she rolled her eyes as she pressed the button to lit up the screen. A frown formed on her face as she saw a message from an unknown number.

Hi. It said.

It had already happened some days before. Probably, someone had just the wrong number, and they kept trying. But why say only 'Hi'. She wondered if she had to write back to tell whoever it was that they were probably searching for someone else. Or they may have figured it out at some point.

"What is it?" Lip asked, observing Desna putting her phone back into her pocket.

"Nothing, wrong number," she said with a smile before taking his hand. "Come on, let's go downstairs."

Desna and Lip made their way to the stairs, and they could already hear the Gallagher family being active and ready for the day. "Lip gave me enough for it yesterday," they heard Fiona's voice, "I picked up a shift and forgot to walk it into the payment center." The oldest Gallagher had Liam in her arms, and she was finishing preparing the lunch for her siblings.

"Everything okay?" Desna asked as she noticed Steve running behind Fiona.

"I just forgot to pay the bill, Des," Fiona said as Steve looked at the money jar with wide eyes.

"Four hundred and thirty bucks?" he asked, "Lip's flushed this month." Desna smiled at Lip as he get past her to go around the counter.

"It's SAT season," Fiona explained.

"He is always flush during SAT season," Debbie explained as she was finishing to get her bag ready.

"SAT?" Steve asked, confused.

"College tests," Ian answered, giving Desna's shoulder a squeeze as he passed behind her.

"He tutors?" Steve asked, but Lip shook his head.

"No, takes," he said with a cocky smile that made Desna chuckle as she fixed Carl's hat.

"Oh, hey!" Ian said to get his older brother's attention. "I got another lead for you." Desna looked at Lip.

"Aren't you fully booked this week?" she asked, and the boy smiled.

"Yeah, I am," he answered before looking at Ian, "Set it up, duche. I'm taking it for someone else today, but there's another session in two weeks." Desna observed Lip with admiration; she knew he was smart, but he always surprised her with how smart he was. She was sure he could have a great future before him. And she hoped he would.

"Don't take the phone today, okay?" Fiona said, "I need it."

"I need it!" Debbie said, making all of them frown.

"For what?" Ian asked.

"Cold calling for babysitting gigs." She explained, "I sound more mature on the phone." Desna smiled fondly at the girl.

"Have you eaten?" Lip asked her as he walked behind her with Liam in his arms.

"Not hungry," Desna answered, "I'll grab something at school."

Finally, Fiona managed to get everyone ready for school, so they left the house to get inside Steve's car. He was a good addition; now they had free rides to school every day and no more waking up early to walk the streets of Chicago in the freezing cold of the morning. His car was big enough for them all to sit inside. Of course, Carl and Debbie would end up on one of their laps, but the ride was quite comfortable.

First, Steve dropped the kids off, and then he drove them to high school. Desna had to keep herself from rolling her eyes when she noticed Karen already waiting for Lip at the school entrance. Lip was sitting in the front, so he didn't notice Desna's reaction, but Ian was sitting next to her, and he caressed her back with an encouraging smile.

Let's do this, Desna said to herself.

*************

Tag List: @th3h0nkz @aunicornmademedoit @g0thchick @britbratface

If you want to be add to the tag list just let me know.

If you liked it, please leave a ♥️ and reblog!

[theonethatwatchesalotofshows]

Heather by Conan Gray fits the Mandy- Lip- Karen situation in season 3 so well

[fushitoru]

all i want for christmas is you! a gojo satoru fic

pairing ⸺ bf!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ after a well needed rest from the kids, you and your boyfriend focus on baking christmas cookies for your pta responsibilities. however, it ends up taking a naughty twist when satoru finds out the surprise you've planned out for him.

warnings ⸺ FLUFF, smut in the form of fingering and p i v sex, reader has a vagina, fem reader implied, some jealousy, but mostly crack, pta cookie baking for megumi, very domestic, not edited, “good girl,” teasing, use of pet names like “baby,” gojo is a warning in himself

a/n hbd to my husband and loml 😚😚 i hope you guys enjoy this it kind of made me realize only long fics heal my soul but this is anticipation of holidays :33

general masterlist

You sometimes did not know what to do with Satoru.

When he told you to come over to make Christmas cookies that are part of his PTA commitments for Megumi, you really didn’t expect him to come out of his room with that sweater on. It’s an ugly sweater—so he’s got the holiday spirit nailed down—that has printed “BIG PACKAGE JUST FOR YOU.” Below it, a cartoon Santa stood pantsless, strategically holding a neatly wrapped gift box over his crotch.

You give him a look as he comes out to join you in the kitchen. “Please don’t tell me you wore that in front of Tsumiki and Megumi.”

He has the gall to look offended as he puts on his even stupider “Your opinion wasn’t on the recipe” apron. “Of course, what kind of father do you think I am?”

You sigh, moving to put in the last of the dry ingredients. “I saw Megumi watching Breaking Bad on his iPad last week.”

“What?” he gasps dramatically as he pauses while moving for the fridge. “I swear I downloaded Youtube Kids!”

Look, Satoru is a good dad. Foster-dad. Whatever. He’s been taking care of Megumi and Tsumiki for ages now, ever since that incident happened, and he’s been doing his best. But, unfortunately, his adult life and burdens and responsibilities cause him sometimes to be a absent father. He makes up for it—goes shopping with Tsumiki for her clothes, spends quality time with Megumi.

One thing he’d never miss, however, are those PTA meetings.

He is the PTA mom final boss. No matter what event is being held, he’s going to go all out. You don’t miss the smirk he gives to Karen everytime he brings an even bigger cookie platter for Megumi’s homeroom than she did for her son Sam’s, nor the sassy pursed lips as he donates artist-grade markers from Michael’s instead of Mia’s cheap ones from Walmart.

Yea, he is just petty like that, but it’s always the moms whose sons have gotten into fights with Megumi that he outdoes everytime. You know better than to question his peculiar form of revenge.

“I think that means he found a way to break through the parental controls. He’s definitely your kid,” you reply with a bit of mirth in your voice. Then, you quickly move to intercept Satoru’s journey to get the eggs as soon as you notice a miniscule movement of his. You were not about to let Satoru force another trip to Whole Foods with the clumsiness you’re all too familiar with in your five years of dating.

Grabbing the eggs before he can, you turn around to find him staring at you, a dazzled look on his face.

“What?” you ask, already smirking. The view of the outfit you’d worn today had been obscured by the apron when he first came in, but when you moved to get the eggs in front of him, he definitely got a view of your ass in your tiny red skirt and fuzzy, festive top.

“Why the hell are you wearing a sexy Mrs. Claus outfit?”

“I was thinking we’d watch Christmas movies and chill today after the cookies!” you exclaim, just as Satoru interrupts with, “We’re baking cookies for children, you freak.”

The room went dead silent.

Your cheerful smile dropped instantly. Meanwhile, Satoru’s face lit up like he’s just won the lottery, full of pure glee.

Both of you shout at the same time, “What?”

You slam the eggs down onto the counter with just enough force to make him flinch, narrowing your eyes at him. “Excuse me? Did you just call me a freak?”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” he yelped, backpedaling so fast you were surprised he didn’t trip over his own feet. “It’s just—” He gestured wildly at you. “—that outfit is… is…”

“Is what?” you demand, crossing your arms and daring him to dig himself deeper.

“Babe,” he starts to whine, apologetic like a wet dog and padding his way back over to you while pulling you in for a back hug. “It’s hot, okay? Don’t get me wrong, it’s driving me crazy. I’m trying to focus on cookies, and you’re over here looking like every Christmas fantasy I didn’t know I had.”

“Get off me,” you grumble, shooting him a glare as you try to shake him off. “You are not touching these cookies. Sit on the couch.”

He yelps as you slap his hand. “Babe, but I’ll just be reinforcing the patriarchy if I let you stay and do all the work in the kitchen.” Then, he moves closer to your ear like the chronically online loser he is and whispers, “6’ 3’’ btw.”

“Go away!” you shriek, waving him off. This process would indeed be two times faster if Satoru was on his couch. There wasn’t any rush, but you’d really appreciate getting to the dicking-down part of tonight after much appreciated privacy from the kids for the first time in forever. You take a mental note to thank Yuji’s grandpa and Nobara’s grandmother with extra cookies for the sleepover as you shoo your boyfriend to the couch.

You get back to work on the wet ingredients by cracking the eggs, but not before you hear a “I’ll be reflecting on the systematic oppression women face in the workforce.”

Pulling off the oven mitts on your hands, you wash your hand but not without sneaking a peek over the kitchen counter. You were locked in on the cookies, paying no mind to Satoru’s existential bemoaning, and now that you’re done, you can’t wait for the fun part of tonight.

After waiting a few minutes and checking and rechecking the cookies to make sure they’re done, you set them aside to cool and make sure to turn off the oven. Tonight, you were determined to get that big fucking package Santa owed you, and your boyfriend was going to be the one to deliver it.

As you walk out, you know the strat you’re going to use: innocently suggest a Christmas movie to watch, snuggle close to him, and he’ll fall into the trap you set for him like a bear towards honey. You know your boyfriend all too well, and today, you were feeling coy.

He’s stretched out on the couch, scrolling on his phone, his posture as awful as ever. But the second he hears your footsteps, his head snaps up. His eyes immediately dart to the movement of your bare legs, lingering on the tiny red skirt you’re still wearing, before slowly traveling back up to your chest. Wow. He really wasn’t making this difficult.

You plop down next to him while grabbing the remote, pulling up Netflix. “What movie should we watch today?”

He blinks, clearly distracted. “We’re watching a movie?”

The Princess Switch catches in the side of your eye as you scroll through the options. Without looking at him, you answer, “Yes? What else were we going to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he drawls, his voice already dipping into that teasing tone you know so well. “Maybe something that doesn’t involve Vanessa Hudgens playing herself two times.”

You roll your eyes, nudging his shoulder with your own. “Don’t knock it till you try it, Mr. Holiday Spirit.”

His gaze doesn’t leave you, though, and when you finally glance at him, his expression has shifted. He’s not teasing anymore. His eyes are a little darker, his lips twitching like he’s holding back a grin. “What?” you ask, already smirking.

“Nothing,” he says, his voice lower now. “Just... you look really good in that outfit.”

Your cheeks heat, but you play it off with a laugh. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Satoru.”

“Won’t it?” he murmurs, leaning a little closer, his hand brushing against your knee. The heat of his palm lingers even after he pulls it away, and you feel your heart skip a beat.

You’re about to respond—something witty, something to keep the banter going—but then his hand moves again, this time resting firmly on your thigh. “You’re really going to make me sit through a Christmas movie when you look like that?” he asks, his voice a low rumble.

Your breath hitches, and you can’t help the way your body reacts, leaning just a fraction closer to him. “What would you rather do?” you challenge, your voice softer now.

His gaze dips to your lips, and that’s all the invitation he needs. In a second, he’s closing the distance, his mouth pressing against yours in a kiss that’s anything but sweet. It’s hungry and demanding, like he’s been waiting for this all day, and when his hand slides higher up your thigh, you realize you’ve completely forgotten about the movie and the preview playing. Satoru, clearly a little annoyed judging by the pout on his face, moves to close the preview featuring Vanessa Hudgens’ obnoxious British accent and then the room is silent except for the wet sounds of your sloppy kissing.

When you’ve both made out for a while—now with you on his lap—you both pull back with fastened breaths, looking at each other’s glistening lips. Finally, from Satoru comes out a, “That. I wanted to do that.”

Maybe it’s the attention whore in you always looking to rile up Satoru and get his affection, but you couldn’t refrain from blurting out a “Are you sure you wanted to do this with me, or would Linda have sufficed?”

At the scrunch of Satoru’s nose, his face practically spells out a Who the fuck is Linda? “You know, the one that gets really friendly with you when I’m going to the bathroom at those PTA meetings.”

Satoru sometimes did not know what to do with you.

Here he is, trying to make out with you when you’re looking like that, makeup done perfectly and looking beautiful as always. He hasn’t gotten laid with you in a hot minute, and here you are, picking at him. He has no fucking clue who Linda is, but what he does know is that you’re really cute when you get jealous. “Yeah?” he teases, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your cheek. His grin is maddeningly smug, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “Linda sounds nice. Should I call her up?”

Your jaw drops, but the sharp retort forming in your head is lost when his hand slides from your cheek to your neck, his thumb brushing lightly along your jawline. He leans closer, his breath warm against your skin. “You know,” he continues, his voice a low murmur, “if you’re jealous, you could just say so.”

“I’m not jealous,” you shoot back, your voice unconvincing even to yourself. You shift under his gaze, trying to keep up the façade, but it’s hard when his lips hover so close to yours.

Satoru’s grin widens. “No? Then why are you bringing up some imaginary PTA Linda when I’m clearly only interested in you?” His lips press against the corner of your mouth, a slow, deliberate kiss that makes your breath catch.

“You’re clearly only interested in being annoying,” you quip, but the words lack their usual bite as his hand slips lower, trailing down your side until it rests on your bare thigh. His touch is firm, possessive, and it sends a shiver through you.

“Annoying?” he echoes, his tone mock-offended. “That’s a big word for someone who just ruined a perfectly good makeout session to talk about Linda.”

You glare at him, but the effect is ruined when his thumb begins tracing lazy circles on your thigh. “I didn’t ruin anything,” you argue weakly.

“Didn’t you?” He dips his head, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot just below your ear. “Because now, instead of kissing you like I want to, I’m stuck reassuring you that Linda doesn’t stand a chance against my very sexy, very jealous girlfriend.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, but it turns into a soft gasp as his teeth graze your skin, his tongue soothing the faint sting. “You’re insufferable,” you mutter, but your hands betray you, tangling in his hair and tugging him closer.

“Mm, but you like it,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck. His free hand slides higher, skimming under the hem of your skirt, his fingers teasing against the soft skin of your hip. “Admit it.”

“Shut up,” you manage, though your voice is breathless now. He’s too close, his scent overwhelming, his touch setting your nerves on fire. When his hand tightens on your thigh and he pulls you closer, you give in, letting him capture your lips in a kiss that’s all desperation.

Linda, whoever she may be, is long forgotten as Satoru kisses you like he’s trying to make up for every second you’ve spent apart. His hands roam, his touch firm and confident, and when he pulls back just enough to murmur against your lips, “You’re all I want,” you believe him completely.

A breathless “Satoru” leaves your lips as he gently–but hurriedly–lowers you down to lay on the couch while he bends over you, inching down the hem of your top to bury his head in your tits. “Oh my god,” he groaned. “I missed my girls.” He starts to leaves rough kisses, an occasional bite and suck, and then stops. Takes in a deep breath. “Wow, you smell good babe.”

You look at him, flustered. “Stop smelling my tits, oh my god.” For good measure, you grab his hair to bury his face against your breasts once more.

“No,” smooch, “it’s,” smooch, “smelling good. Like the new holiday scents from Bath and Body Works.” He then abandons your chest to kiss his way down your body, sliding your skirt down as he kisses around the edge of your panties. “I’ve missed her, too.”

Despite yourself, you moan, spreading your legs to give him full access. He takes it enthusiastically, giving you a little kiss in your middle. Then, his eyes don’t leave yours as he uses his teeth to pull your panties down, slowly and sultry. Your pussy leaks even more, and the motherfucker notices, because there’s a faint smirk on his face as he hones back in your wetness, running his fingers to spread your slick. “Wow, my girl must have been sooo pent up,” he croons, eyes not leaving your hole and the way it clenched every time he spoke. “My good girl is soo desperate.”

Without missing a beat, you sneakily reply, “Don’t call me that, that’s so corny oh my god—-“ You’re interrupted with your own gasp as he enters a finger in. When he finally curls it, hitting your g-spot dead on, you suck in your breath. You really missed this.

“Oh, really?” He giggles, clearly amused by you trying to rile him up. “If my baby doesn’t like being called a good girl then why is she clenching so hard on my—“ thrust— “fingers?”

And suddenly the feminist in you leaves as his big, thick fingers ram into you faster than ever, and you start squealing like the slut you are for your incredibly hot boyfriend who’s equally as much of a slut for you, judging based on the rock hard erection against your thigh. Take that, Linda.

You’re in a daze of pleasure, too fucked out to notice Gojo wrenching down his sweats to pull out his throbbing cock, to pump it to full mast. It’s only when he rips his finger away from your cavern that you start to whimper, clawing at his arms to continue fingering you.

And he starts cooing, giving you a small kiss on your cheek as he aligns his dick with your pussy. “I know baby, I know,” and he groans as the soft, wet heat of your pussy grips on him hard as he pushes in. It’s not long before he starts thrusting, wiping your tears while driving in even faster. “Wow, good fucking pussy.”

“Satoru,” you whine, but you don’t even know for what. You were close enough when he was fingering you, but now you’re steadily approaching your climax. But Satoru, who’s attuned to what your body needs, readjusts himself to go even deeper.

It’s when you gasp loudly that a glint lights up in his eyes. “That’s the spot, isn’t it?” He drives into that spot like a jackhammer, savoring in your little squeals and moans of his name, until finally, he feels you climax.

“Oh my god,” you says breathlessly as your orgasm takes over you, convulsing while Satoru doesn’t let up, continuing his pace until his hips become more sloppy. After a few off rhythm thrusts, he comes in you, collapsing on top of you.

He’s breathing heavily from exertion, and you run your nails on his back and hair gently. You both bask in the glow of your orgasm. Of course, that is until Satoru perks his head up. “Do you think I can eat that kid Martin’s cookie? Megumi told me he doesn’t like him and that he’s annoying—-OWWW, what was that for?”

[bellaxgiornata]

Under the Influence

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Reader Word Count: 2.8k [Tuna-Tober Masterlist]

Tuna-Tober Prompt: Drunken Confession

Warnings/tags: 18+; Fluff, light humor, drunk Reader, pining

Summary: Drunk after a girl's night out, you accidentally slip up about your feelings for Matt.

a/n: This fic is literally months overdue, but it was written and I finally was able to edit it and share. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Stumbling into your apartment, you felt far less capable of walking in the heels you’d put on earlier than when you'd first slipped them on and left to grab drinks with your friends. But tonight's girl's night out with everyone had been long overdue with how constantly busy everyone had been, which meant you'd accidentally gone a little overboard with the drinks. In all honesty, you’d drank a bit more than you usually did whenever you went out with Foggy, Marci, Karen, and Matt to Josie’s on your usual Thursday night outs. So now, admittedly, you were a bit drunk.

Slipping out of your heels after you shut your apartment door, you balanced yourself with a hand against the wall. The room around you spun ever so slightly and you tried to blink away the sensation, focusing on removing the uncomfortable shoes from your aching feet one at a time. It had been so long that you’d forgotten just how painful it was to go out drinking and dancing in heels. Shoving your shoes to the side with a foot once they were off, you pushed yourself off of the wall and nearly tripped over your own feet in the process of turning around.

“Far, far too much alcohol,” you mumbled to yourself. 

Barefoot, you sluggishly padded your way over to the kitchen and stopped in front of your fridge, pulling the door open to retrieve a bottle of water from the side door. You twisted off the cap, letting the fridge door fall softly shut as you drew the bottle up to your lips. Beginning to chug the cold liquid down in the hopes that it would help to ease your growing headache, you closed your eyes and internally begged the room to spin less–or at least slower. 

Lowering the bottle from your lips, you wiped the back of your other hand across your damp mouth, feeling your exhaustion from the evening beginning to finally settle into you. But just as your body had begun to relax, a sound from outside your living room window quickly caught your attention and caused your eyes to snap back open. Growing alert, your head darted over your shoulder in a delayed response, the room once more spinning in your vision as you squinted at where you thought you’d heard the noise. Another metal groan from your fire escape met your ears and a brief surge of fear rushed through you. 

“No need to panic,” Matt's familiar and somewhat muffled voice called out from behind the glass. “It’s just me.”

You almost immediately relaxed at the sight of him rising to his full height on the dark fire escape. Expelling a soft sigh of relief, a little smile slipped its way onto your lips next, thrilled that he was here even if you hadn’t been expecting a visit from your masked best friend this evening. 

“Why’re you out there?” you called back. 

“Because I'm…on patrol?” he answered through the glass. 

Your grin grew wider as you turned more fully towards the window in your living room, the red form of him more noticeable with how he was standing on your fire escape just beside your window, the faint light from inside your apartment washing over him. Or rather washing over the two red forms of him, but you assumed the second was due to the alcohol in your system and not the sudden existence of a second Daredevil. 

“You can come in,” you called out again, taking a few unsteady steps towards the window before immediately halting and grabbing onto your kitchen counter to steady yourself. “‘S’always unlocked for you,” you slurred out. “Unless you're–you're waiting for me to play you a theme song to enter to.”

“Theme song?” Matt’s confused voice called back.

“Y’know,” you continued, an amused grin pulling at your lips, “like if–if superheroes had a theme song or…something.”

You caught the sound of his laughter from out on your fire escape, the noise drawing forth a warm, pleasant feeling in your chest. You loved making him laugh. 

“I’m not even going to ask what you’d suggest that would be right now,” he called back.

Teetering unsteadily on your feet, one hand still clutching the kitchen counter to keep yourself upright as your other hand still held onto the cold bottle of water, you giggled at the idea as he raised your window wide enough to climb through. The first song that came to mind was “Birthday Cake” by Rihanna, most likely due to it having been one of the last songs playing before you left the bar tonight, but also because you’d noticed how nice of an ass Matt had from the moment you met him–even if that was not what the song was about. Though the idea of him easily slipping through your window right now as that song played had you biting your bottom lip and fighting down a laugh. But of course Matt's sensitive ears still caught the sound, his head darting up before he smiled in your direction. A pang of sadness punched you in the gut at the sight of his charming smile beneath his cowl.

Why was he only your friend?

“Keeping this unlocked just for me?” he asked, righting himself in your living room before turning and closing the window after himself, shutting the sounds of the city back out of your apartment. “I'm touched but also now greatly concerned about your safety,” he teased as he focused back on you. “You're just on the third floor, don't assume I'm the only one willing to risk climbing up that.”

Your eyes followed the movement of his gloved hand, watching as he gestured at the fire escape behind himself. Before you had a chance to respond, the sound of his voice drew your vision back to the red lenses of his cowl, your hand gripping the counter even tighter in your grasp.

“But a theme song?” he asked in amusement. “Really? How much have you had to drink tonight?”

You laughed lightly, the thought of that particular song being the theme song for Matt's alter ego becoming more entertaining by the second. 

“You're so dramatic,” you teased back, your words slurring together a bit as you ignored that little ache in your chest at the continued sight of his handsome smile. “You'd definitely have a theme song playing as you enter places.”

His head cocked curiously to the side at your comment and you couldn’t resist the grin at the sight. You always thought his head tilts were adorable; the way he listened closer to what you were saying often reminded you of a dog. The image of him on all fours hovering over you in bed briefly surfaced in your mind at the thought and you felt your pulse accelerate. Faintly through the haze of alcohol you caught the briefest twitch of his lips before he was speaking again.

“Excuse me, but, dramatic?” he shot back.

His voice quickly pulled you back from the mental image in your mind and you felt your face growing flushed. You hoped he’d blame the alcohol for the shift in your body as you nodded, the movement causing Matt to once more double in your vision. 

“Yeah, I mean you–you're wearing a costume, Matt,” you said as you gestured at him. “That's pretty dramatic.” 

He placed a hand against his chest, your eyes following the movement. You knew how strong and solid that chest was from the few times you'd had an excuse to hug him, but now you were itching to place your hand against it, too. Or to run your hand along the mysterious material of his tight-fitting suit in general.

“This is armor,” he pointed out simply. “It's not a costume.”

His voice once more drew you out of your thoughts, your attention returning to his mouth. The earnestness in his words had you biting your lip and fighting back another giggle. You noticed his smile had grown at the sound, his ears having still caught the noise.

“Matt, it–it has horns,” you countered, biting back a smile.

The corner of his lip twitched at your comment. “Fair point,” he agreed. “But you are drunk.”

“And that–” you said, swinging a finger towards his chest, “–is a poor change of topic.”

His head further canted to the side, his lips straightening along his face. “From the ever so important costume discussion?” he asked.

“No,” you said, setting your half-empty water bottle down and taking a step towards him. You stumbled and threw a hand out, catching yourself on the counter beside yourself with it again. “From why you're here.”

An amused chuckle rumbled out of him and you swore the sound itself vibrated through your entire body. Dammit, you would never cease loving being the cause of his laughter, even if somewhere in your mind you were aware he was laughing at you a little right now.

“Sweetheart,” he began, “we weren't discussing that even remotely. I can’t change the subject from a subject we weren't even on in the first place. I mean I know I smelt the alcohol on you from the sidewalk but…you’re far drunker than I anticipated.”

A heat ignited in your stomach at the term of endearment Matt occasionally threw out at you, your ears hardly hearing much else he’d said. Matt and you had only ever been friends, and in the years you'd known him he'd never called anyone else ‘sweetheart’ before–at least, not from what you'd ever heard. It both confused and excited you every time he called you that, the term slipping out of his mouth almost as if by accident each time.

“I uhm,” you began, pausing as your inebriated brain tried to catch up. “I may have…drank quite a bit tonight.”

Matt expelled a breathy laugh, one hand finally reaching up to remove the cowl from his head. You watched with bated breath as his handsome face revealed itself to you in the dim light of your living room. His other gloved hand reached up, combing through his dark strands of hair. Your heart clenched at the sight of how beautiful he was–as if you needed the reminder right now when you were about to go to sleep alone and drunk.

“I know,” Matt told you.

He took a step towards your coffee table and placed the cowl down on it, the gesture so casual that you wished it happened more often. Licking your lips nervously, you forced your gaze to return to Matt’s face once he began speaking again.

“You mentioned going out tonight, so I figured I’d make sure you got home safe,” he told you. “It wasn’t a busy night so I came up to check on you once I noticed just how much you smelled like alcohol. Wanted to make sure you were doing alright.”

“Oh,” you breathed out, surprised at his concern. “You–you didn’t have to…”

He grinned back, shrugging a shoulder. “I know,” he agreed. “I wanted to.” His expression shifted to something softer, his eyes focusing down on your body. “You sound very tired though. Maybe you should get to bed?”

Nodding your head, the room once more spun around you as you tried to push away that part of your brain which was still stuck on the way he’d called you ‘sweetheart.’ There was a nagging thought somewhere in your brain telling you that him showing up like this was something he never did for your other friends. Instead of focusing on that, you took a few steps towards your living room in an attempt to make it to your bedroom, but you swayed so much that your foot caught along a floorboard and began your inevitable drunk descent to the floor. 

Matt immediately darted forward as you'd begun to fall, his gloved hands catching you by the shoulders in a tight grip before you'd gotten too far. Your hands instinctively flew up in response, grabbing onto Matt’s biceps to further steady yourself as your eyes snapped shut, a wave of dizziness rolling through you. Somewhere in your mind, though, you still noted how firm his muscles were beneath your death grip.

“Okay, you’re incredibly drunk, sweetheart,” Matt teased, your ears catching the affection in his voice and the term of endearment again. “Maybe I should help you.”

Swallowing hard, you slowly opened your eyes. His face was right before yours, the concern written on his expression was plain as day even with the hint of amusement. For a moment you lost yourself staring at him though, almost as if you were in a trance examining the laugh lines beside his eyes and the flecks of color inside of them as they focused on your chin. He had the prettiest eyes.

“You alright?” he asked.

Blinking rapidly, you realize you’d just been openly gawking at him. Flushing, you nodded and tried to right yourself, your hands releasing his biceps. “Yeah, sorry,” you muttered.

Matt didn’t completely release his hold on you, though he did instead wrap one of his arms around your shoulders as he began to help guide you through your living room and over towards your bedroom. The walk felt like it was longer than it really was with your mind hyper-focused on the weight of his arm around you, gently leading you across your apartment and into your bedroom. 

When you reached your bed, Matt’s gloved hand darted out and pulled back the bed sheets before you had a chance. Not feeling as if you could easily slip out of the dress you’d worn tonight, and far too shy to ask Matt for help with something like that, you carefully climbed up into your bed still dressed in it. Sliding your legs beneath the sheets, your earlier exhaustion once more washed over you, your eyelids growing heavy as you began to lower your head down to the pillow. Beside the bed, Matt gently tugged the blankets up and over you, a hard to read expression on his face that was a vast difference to the amused one he’d had when he first showed up. Briefly you wondered what was on his mind before the thought vanished.

“You should get some rest,” Matt said softly, tucking you in. “You’re going to be feeling that in the morning, I can promise you that.”

Groaning at the truth in his statement, you rolled onto your side towards him. “I hate that you’re right,” you grumbled.

He chuckled lightly, the sound drawing a faint smile to your lips as you continued to stare up at him. The urge to reach out and touch him grew so strong that you had to force your hand to hold onto the sheets of your bed, fisting the material in your fingers. What you wouldn't give to trace the line of that jaw, to feel the scratch of his stubble along your fingertips.

“Close your eyes, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Get some sleep.”

Eyes growing half-lidded, you emitted a discontented groan at his words. You much preferred the idea of staring at his handsome face with that confusing expression on it instead. Matt’s amused chuckle met your ears in response.

“You’re clearly exhausted, are you really going to fight me on going to sleep?” he asked.

The words tumbled out of your mouth in a tired jumble, your brain too exhausted and inebriated to know what you’d even said even after you’d said it.

“I’d rather look at you.”

Somewhere in your mind, you registered that Matt had stiffened beside your bed. A soft, warm look grew in his eyes as he gazed down at you lying there, but you weren’t fully aware of everything coming out of your mouth at this point, so the words only continued to spill out.

“‘Cause you’re so beautiful,” you continued. “And I like looking at you. I could stare at you all night, really.”

Matt paused for a moment, a crease forming between his brows. Silence momentarily fell over the bedroom as the exhaustion continued to drag you under.

“You…like looking at me?” he hesitantly asked.

Eyelids lowering against your will, you faintly nodded against the pillow. “Mhmm,” you hummed out, sleep gradually beginning to take you. “Always…liked you.”

“You–you have?” Matt questioned in surprise.

Barely awake, you hummed out an affirmative. “Shame we’re just…friends,” you murmured.

You swore you felt something rough brush gently along the side of your cheek, but with your eyes closed you couldn’t tell if you’d imagined it or not. And then just as quickly afterwards, you’d fallen asleep.

Matt Murdock One Shot Tag List: @pazii @shouldbestudying41 @kmc1989 @ebathory997 @yeonalie @shiorimakibawrites @xxdrixx @wkndwlff @leikelle @pinkratts @lazyxsquirrel @1988-fiend @marvelcinematiquniverse @carstairswife @stilldreaming666 @kiwwia-wiwwia @willwork4dilfs @will-delete-this-later-probably @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @theetherealbloom @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @ladywholikesreading @millennial-birkin @tartbeanpuzzles @harleycao @sunflower-tia @gamingfeline @juskonutoh @kezibear @ninacotte @withyoutilltheendoftheline @justanerd1 @scriptedmoon @lucienofthelakes @sarahskywalker-amidala @flowher @loves0phelia @a-half-empty-g1rl @zomtart @justvalkyrie @steve-chandler

[eddiazx]

buck wild - evan buckley x reader

Buck has always been beautiful. Over the past year though, he had an even bigger glow up, which you didn’t even think could be possible.

His golden hair had furled into soft little coils, his stomach was fuller, his arms were so muscular that you were slightly concerned he was going to rip through his all of his T-shirts, and his thighs. Lord, his thick thighs were built like tanks. All in all, Buck looked comfortable in his own skin, in being himself, and in being enough, and you were obsessed with it.

Of course, you might be biased, but you think the general public can agree with you that your boyfriend is a smoke show.

The 118 and their families were currently gathered at Athena and Bobby’s house. It was one of those rare weekend nights where everyone was free, so the couple had invited everyone over for a barbecue.

Dusk was falling, and the kids were planted in front of the downstairs television watching a horror movie. The adults were sitting in the backyard, chatting over drinks. You were sitting sideways in Buck’s lap, one of his hands bringing a beer bottle to his lips every few minutes, while the other rested on your leg. Both of you were immersed in the story that Karen was recounting about an incident that happened in her lab.

When you decide that you needed a sip of water, you shift yourself up from Buck's lap and the comfortable position you were in. You put your feet on the ground, lean forward and oh-

Your legs were on either side of Buck’s thick left thigh, and whether it was due to the booze or the angle or the solid muscle underneath hitting you just right, arousal zips through you.

You gulp and get up on shaky legs with Buck’s help. You make a beeline to the kitchen and grab a water bottle, pressing the cool plastic to the side of your neck in attempt to calm down.

“Hey, you okay?”, you hear Buck behind you. You turn around to see your sweet boyfriend who had trailed after you in concern.

“Yeah... but do you mind if we go home?”

“Of course. Are you feeling sick?”

“No, but I am feeling hot.” You say, trailing a nail down Buck’s chest to his tummy, biting your lower lip.

Buck, quickly understanding, smirks, and takes your hand in his, guiding you back towards the group to bid your hasty goodbyes before walking out the front door. You don't quite catch the knowing looks and smirks that Eddie and Hen give Buck.

Buck's warm hand never leaves yours, except to help you into his Jeep. He buckles himself in, and starts to drive, but not before asking,

“So, what was it that turned you on?”

Your cheeks warm. You look pointedly at his thighs, and he chuckles. He eventually pulls the Jeep into park in front of your shared apartment.

You move to open the passenger door, but Buck pulls you back. He brings you in for a kiss and shuffles you over the centre console to make you straddle him, adjusting his seat back to make room for you.

“Buck”, you pant breathlessly into his mouth, before sliding your tongue over his. His big hands caress your back and down your butt, before you feel him guide your legs so that one of his thighs was between them.

“Okay, baby. Ride me. Take what you need.”

He didn’t have to tell you twice. You hold onto Buck’s shoulders, grinding your hips back and forth over the corded muscle. Buck looks up at you like this is the hottest thing he’s ever seen, his own dick straining against his jeans. He bounces his leg up into you experimentally, and when you react positively, he continues to do so in an unrelenting pace. Buck can tell by your whines and breathing that you were close, so he finally grasps your hips and pulls you down hard onto his thigh. Within seconds, you’re shaking with white-hot pleasure.

Buck coos and rubs your sides, grounding you after your high. It's unspoken between you two, but this was most definitely not the last time you'd be doing this.

[rafesapologist]

strangers ─ drew starkey; ch. 1

summary: getting casted on outer banks threw you into overnight stardom, and an unforeseeable off-screen romance with one of hollywood's newest and biggest heartthrobs.

warnings: nothing yet, just not proof read fully

author's note: i want to preface that i was heavily influenced by karen x graham from daisy jones and the six (iykyk) as well as chase and madelyn's irl relationship for this story. i'm really excited for you guys to read this and as usual, if you'd like to be on the taglist please let me know!

You couldn’t sit still, fingers twisting the hem of your shirt while your knee bounced uncontrollably in the backseat of the rented SUV. The soft hum of the engine only amplified your restlessness. Your eyes flickered around, catching glimpses of palm trees and blurred tourists through the tinted windows—offering a momentary shield from the unforgiving Los Angeles sun and the bustling crowds beyond.

“How are you feeling?” Kendra, your manager, chimed in from beside you, her smile perfectly in place, glossy lips forming a curve that felt rehearsed.

You forced a chuckle, though it barely masked the pounding in your chest. “Just a little nervous, that’s all.” The words came out flat, a thin veil over the tension twisting inside you.

Kendra gave your leg a quick pat, her reassurance as smooth as ever. “Nothing to worry about. You’ve already nailed the hardest part—the audition. A chemistry read? That’s a breeze in comparison.” Her voice was soothing, but her focus never left the phone in her hand, the gesture feeling mechanical—like a line delivered without thought.

Auditioning for the show had been a gamble, and the stakes felt even higher now. You were still a relative unknown, and Outer Banks wasn’t just any show—it was the show. A streaming giant. You’d almost declined when the offer came, the weight of its success pressing down like an invisible hand. But here you were, convinced by the right mix of encouragement and blind hope, about to see if that gamble would pay off.

"You just need to go in there and feed off your co-star’s energy. Whatever emotion they’re giving you, absorb it and give it right back," your manager instructed, her voice firm as her eyes finally lifted from her phone. She leaned forward slightly, her hand resting on your arm as if to ground you, while the SUV glided through the final stretch of traffic. The weight of her words settled heavily in the air, matched only by the tension in your chest. The destination loomed closer, visible just beyond the tinted windows, and her gaze locked on you, expectant and unwavering, as if her will alone could push you over the finish line.

“Got it,” you replied, forcing another thin-lipped smile—polite yet distant, as if dismissing her with the same gesture. Your attempt to stay cordial was barely masking your desire for space. Just then, your heart gave a hard thud, perfectly timed with the jolt of the SUV rolling over the first speed bump in the studio parking lot. The looming reality hit you like a wave, stealing the air from your lungs, as the building came into full view. Each second that passed only deepened the pit in your stomach, the dreadful weight of what was to come pressing harder.

“Thank you,” you murmured to the driver, slipping a small cash tip across the center console as your manager was already halfway out of the SUV. It was a quiet gesture of appreciation, a way to acknowledge the small but crucial role he’d played in getting you there, to this moment. He turned, offering you a kind, knowing smile before you stepped out, gently closing the door behind you. As you straightened your skirt, you couldn’t help but stare up at the building in front of you, its towering stature appearing overhead.

Kendra strode ahead, confidently leading the way as she pulled open the door and gestured for you to step inside. Though her presence could be demanding and stern, in that moment it offered a small but necessary comfort amid the unfamiliar sea of faces that now surrounded you. The room quieted as you entered, and a dozen pairs of eyes turned in your direction, their stares heavy and intense, making you feel small under the weight of their scrutiny. You forced a smile—thin but polite—trying to seem more outgoing than you felt, hoping to project the right impression even as your nerves simmered beneath the surface.

“Well, look who it is—the girl of the hour! Y/N! So nice to see you again,” an unfamiliar voice rang out, though the man’s face sparked a vague sense of recognition, likely from the audition. He stood up, extending his hand with a broad smile that was meant to put you at ease.

"Hello," you replied warmly, masking the swirl of anxiety inside as you shook his hand, maintaining a steady grip. “Thank you again for allowing me this far into the audition process. I’m very grateful.” Your voice remained poised, calm, even though your insides felt like they were twisting into knots.

Your manager’s approval resonated softly behind you, a gentle hum of reassurance as she watched the exchange unfold. “I’m not sure if I introduced myself properly last time we met. My name is Jonah; I’m the director for the show,” he said, his voice rich and authoritative, each word heavy with expectation. A lump formed in your throat, the gravity of his presence amplifying the stakes, pressing down like a lead weight.

“Today, we’re going to have you do a chemistry read with who will be your love interest on the show.” His words hung in the air like a charged whisper, and your eyes widened, disbelief swirling within you. The truth struck with the force of a summer storm; you hadn’t fully grasped the role awaiting you until now.

The thought of embodying someone’s love interest sent a ripple of exhilaration and fear through your veins, making your stomach tumble as if caught in a tempest. Would it be a playful spark, filled with laughter and fleeting glances, or a brooding romance, steeped in longing and tension?

You nodded, a practiced motion that belied the ball of anxiety swirling within. Each beat of your heart echoed the dread tightening in your stomach, the sensation bubbling up like a restless tide. The thought of being paired with one of the actors to portray a romance on-screen sent a shiver racing down your spine.

You swallowed hard, trying to push the lump in your throat aside, your gaze flickering around the room, desperate for any hint of who your co-star might be. Each unfamiliar face felt like a potential source of scrutiny, and the air thickened with tension as you scanned the room, searching for clues amidst the sea of strangers.

“Okay!” Jonah clapped his hands together, the sound sharp and authoritative, breaking the taut silence that had settled. “Let’s get Drew out here.” His voice rang out, clear and commanding, drawing every eye to the door, where a buzz of anticipation rippled through the room. You felt the air shift, charged with expectation, as if the very walls were leaning in to hear who would step through that doorway.

A wave of heat washed over you at the sound of his name, igniting a fire of recognition deep within. You had seen him countless times in glossy magazines and flickering screens, caught glimpses of him at film festivals where the air buzzed with admiration, yet never had your paths crossed until now. Though he wasn’t the biggest name yet, he was a force—a powerful actor whose presence resonated through the industry like a distant thunderstorm.

As the thought of sharing the screen with him settled in your mind, your heart fluttered, a nervous bird trapped in a cage of anticipation. How could you possibly keep pace with someone whose talent seemed to flow effortlessly, whose performances were a masterclass in emotion? Doubt began to coil around your thoughts, tightening like a vine, each tendril whispering fears of inadequacy.

The room felt like a distant echo, the chatter of voices fading into a soft hum as you waited for him to enter. Your heart raced, a wild thump that reverberated through your chest, each pulse a reminder of the anticipation coursing through your veins. The other directors and screenwriters settled back into their seats, alongside your manager, their eyes fixed on you like an audience eager for the first act to begin.

Just as you began to drown in the weight of their stares, the atmosphere shifted, the air charged with electric anticipation. The door creaked open, and time seemed to stretch, every second hanging heavy. Your gaze snapped toward the sound, and your throat tightened as a tall, brooding figure stepped into the room. His presence filled the space, his stature both commanding and slightly intimidating.

For a brief moment, your mind went blissfully blank, as if time had paused to let the reality of him sink in. He moved with an effortless grace, each step purposeful as he greeted the group at the table, his voice smooth and resonant. You could see Jonah nodding in acknowledgment, and then, as if drawn by an invisible thread, he turned his gaze toward you.

Suddenly, he was there, standing before you, and the air between you felt impossibly thick, heavy with the uncertainty of what lay ahead. The moment was alive with a sense of anticipation, the unknown curling around you like smoke. You straightened your posture instinctively, trying to summon every ounce of composure, as if by holding yourself steady, you could convince the room—and yourself—that this was effortless, that you weren’t rattled by the sheer gravity of the encounter.

With a smooth, fluid motion, Drew extended his hand, the gesture both graceful and commanding, his fingers outstretched with a quiet confidence that spoke of experience beyond his years. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Drew,” he said, his voice unexpectedly soft, a gentle warmth woven into the words that caught you off guard. His tone was far kinder than you’d imagined, the kind of voice that could lull a room into ease.

As you reached out to meet his handshake, his touch was firm yet light, grounding yet unassuming, and in that brief connection, the world around you seemed to pause. The noise of the room, the watching eyes, the weight of your nerves—all of it faded, if only for a heartbeat. His presence was commanding but not overwhelming, his demeanor holding the delicate balance between strength and gentleness.

"Hello," you replied, your voice lifting an octave higher than usual, a subtle attempt to come across as feminine, poised. "I'm Y/N." As his hand met yours, your attention flickered to the way his fingers moved—effortlessly, fluidly—sending a tremor through your chest. Your heart skipped a beat at the touch, your pulse quickening under the gentle but assured pressure of his grip.

You couldn’t ignore how small you felt beneath his towering presence. The realization that you had to tilt your head slightly just to meet his eyes made the knot in your stomach twist tighter. His height, his frame—it all made the space between you feel charged, his presence simultaneously grounding and intimidating.

“It’s a pleasure,” he said again, his voice smooth as honey, the warmth in his eyes unwavering. His gaze was soft, kind, a contradiction to the commanding figure he cut. You could feel his energy, an unspoken ease radiating from him, as if he could sense the nerves bubbling beneath your surface.

"If you're feeling nervous or uncomfortable at any point, just let me know," he added, his voice dropping lower, as though he were shielding his words from the watchful eyes of the casting directors around you. "But I'm sure you've got this." His tone was gentle, reassuring, his words slipping through the space between you with a quiet confidence.

You nodded quietly at his gesture, a soft acknowledgment of his awareness and kindness, the unspoken "thank you" hanging between you. Before you could find any words to respond, one of the casting crew approached, handing each of you a script for the audition. The weight of the paper felt heavier than it should, the magnitude of the moment settling in deeper.

Chemistry reads had never been your strong suit, not in the brief time you’d been working in this industry. And this? This felt like a leap into a whole new realm, with expectations looming over you. Your eyes flicked down to the script, scanning the lines with the practiced speed of someone used to absorbing words as if they were lifelines. You read them once, then twice, allowing the emotions on the page to sink in and swirl around your mind, even as the undercurrent of nerves made it harder to focus.

Drew stood calmly in front of you, his presence steadying but no less overwhelming. You could feel his quiet confidence as he glanced through his own lines. The room was still, save for the soft rustling of papers and the occasional murmur from the casting team in the background. You straightened your back, holding onto every ounce of composure you could muster, and waited for the director’s cue.

"Alright, you may begin whenever you're ready," Jonah announced, his soft smile doing little to ease the weight pressing on your chest. His eyes flickered between you and Drew, expectant, watching for the magic to unfold. As his words sank in, a queasy wave rolled through your stomach, the weight of the moment pressing harder against your nerves. There was no turning back now—any hesitation would be a glaring failure, something that could follow you like a shadow in this unforgiving industry. The thought of being blackballed clawed at your mind, and you suddenly longed to disappear, to slip into a place where eyes weren’t always watching.

But before you could let the panic take hold, Drew stepped into the moment, his voice cutting through the tension like a lifeline. He began his lines effortlessly, the words rolling off his tongue as though they belonged to him, his presence filling the room with a quiet confidence. It was as if he had taken command of the space, a seasoned professional steering the scene with ease.

As if possessed by his character, Rafe, Drew dove into his lines with raw intensity. "Maisy, I care about you. But I-I can't risk it. I would never forgive myself if I got you involved in my mess and you got hurt because of it." His hand trembled slightly, betraying the emotion he was drawing from deep within. He pointed to his chest with a shaky finger, his voice quivering just enough to feel real, to pull at the heartstrings. His head hung low, the weight of sorrow written across his face, his entire presence drenched in regret.

You stood there, momentarily in awe of his transformation. The way he embodied Rafe with such vulnerability fueled your own performance, making it impossible not to feel the emotions he was radiating. It lit a fire within you, urging you to dive into the scene, to match the depth he was offering.

"Rafe," you spoke, your voice slipping into the soft, pleading tone of Maisy, letting the character take over your body as effortlessly as breathing. The words trembled on your lips, each one laced with a quiet desperation. "I don’t care what happens to me. I just want to be with you. Don’t… don’t do this."

You shook your head slowly, your movements measured, deliberate, as you stepped forward, closing the space between you. Your hand reached out, grazing his cheek, the tender contact filled with unspoken emotion. As if on cue, tears welled in your eyes, the sting of them amplifying the moment. You gazed up at him, your expression filled with a mixture of pain and hope, as if you were begging not just for Maisy’s life, but for everything she believed in. It was a skill you prided yourself on—channeling emotion so deeply that it felt like it bled from your very soul, and in this moment, you were no longer yourself. You were Maisy, standing on the edge of heartbreak.

Drew’s eyes, glossy with unshed tears, locked onto yours, his sorrow so palpable it seemed to seep into the air between you. His hands ran through his hair in frustration, fingers gripping the ends as if trying to hold himself together. He began to pace, his movements restless, the emotional weight in his voice thick and raw.

"You don’t get it, Maisy," he started, his voice breaking with a mix of frustration and pain. "Everything I’ve ever cared about in my life has abandoned me. I’ve never had anybody who cares about me like you do. I love you so much that it hurts—it hurts me," he cried, pressing a trembling finger into his chest, the gesture full of anguish. His blue eyes, once so calm, were now brimming with tears that slipped down his face, streaking his cheeks as he stood there, vulnerable in a way that left him utterly exposed.

"I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you," he continued, his voice cracking, "but I have to protect you, even if that means letting you go." His brows furrowed deeply, his entire expression twisted in agony, his gaze never leaving yours. It was as though, in that moment, Rafe was no longer a character—he was real, and the pain etched on his face was authentic, an outpouring of emotions he couldn’t contain.

But you didn’t miss a beat. Despite the intensity of his performance, you held steady, the emotions boiling within you just as fierce. "You can’t make that decision for me, Rafe," you pleaded, your voice rising with a mixture of desperation and defiance. Your hands flew into the air as if surrendering to the chaos of the moment.

"If I get hurt, that’s on me. I knew the risk of being with you, and I don’t care!" Your words spilled out with conviction, each one wrapped in the weight of Maisy’s determination. "Nothing is going to make me leave." Your voice was firm but edged with vulnerability, the sternness in your tone undercut by the undeniable pain that flickered beneath. You stood there, watching him, as if your very heart was on the line, a pitiful sort of strength anchoring you in place, demanding that he listen—that he understand.

"Being with you is worth it all," you added softly, your voice tinged with a raw desperation that could only come from someone who had lived through heartbreak. The vulnerability in your tone wrapped itself around the moment, thickening the air between you. Drew’s blue eyes, glossy with emotion, flickered between yours as if he were trying to decode the tragedy etched in your expression. It was as though, in that fleeting silence, his heart was breaking too, caught in the moment of the scene you were creating together.

Then, without warning, his large hands cupped your face, his touch sending warmth rushing to your cheeks. His palms, rough yet tender, cradled your skin, and for a moment, the world outside the scene seemed to vanish. "Promise me you won't go anywhere," he pleaded, his voice trembling with the same desperate intensity that mirrored your own. The emotion in his words was so intense, it felt as if the two of you were teetering on the edge of something irreversible.

"I promise, Rafe," you reassured him, your voice soft but unwavering, a soothing balm to the storm brewing in the room. Despite the emotional intensity, you held steady, grounding both of you in the moment.

For a brief second, the world paused. There was silence—a sacred, fragile quiet—allowing the vulnerability between you to speak louder than any dialogue could. The casting crew sat in rapt attention, witnessing the depth you had both drawn from. Drew’s thumb gently grazed your cheek, his gaze locked onto yours, as though he couldn’t bear to break the connection. The moment was electric, heavy with meaning, as if you were no longer acting but living the characters’ truths.

"I won’t let anything happen to you, alright? I swear on my life," he vowed, his voice deep and resolute, yet drenched in emotion and passion. His words hit like a surge of energy, drawing you in, making your heart skip in response. There was something in the way he spoke that made it feel real, as if this promise wasn't just for Maisy, but for you too.

You nodded up at him, chest heaving as you breathed in the weight of the moment, each inhale heavy with the raw intensity of the scene. It felt as if the world had shrunk to just the two of you, emotions pulsing between your bodies like a silent current, your heart racing to keep up. You weren’t acting anymore—every word felt lived, every gesture steeped in the desperation and love your characters clung to. The air between you and Drew hummed, alive with the electricity of shared vulnerability, a fragile bond that tethered you both to this moment.

Then, like a sharp crack in the stillness, a clap echoed through the room. The spell shattered instantly, the delicate tension that had built between you dissolving as reality rushed back in.

"That was incredible," Jonah’s voice broke through the haze, his head shaking in awe, a grin of disbelief spreading across his face. "The chemistry between you two is beautiful." His words were thick with praise, and you couldn’t help but glance over at Drew, a faint smile teasing the edges of your lips. The connection you’d forged in those few minutes lingered, a quiet understanding that neither of you spoke aloud.

"I think we’ve seen enough," Jonah continued, his tone final yet filled with certainty. "I think you’d be perfect as Maisy."

The world around you stilled, sound fading into a distant hum as his words sank in. Your heart seemed to pause, suspended in disbelief, before it raced forward, pounding against your chest like a wild drum. It was as if time itself had slowed, every second stretching out as the magnitude of what he’d said enveloped you.

"Oh my God, thank you!" The words burst from your lips, a mix of breathless excitement and overwhelming gratitude. Your cheeks flushed a rosy pink as joy flooded through you, warmth spreading through your body in waves. It was impossible to contain the wide, radiant smile that broke across your face. The world blurred around you, your focus narrowing to this single, life-altering moment. You felt lighter, as though all the doubts and fears you’d carried had evaporated into thin air.

Your eyes darted between Jonah and Drew, the weight of their gazes making everything feel real—so achingly real. You had done it. You had stepped into the role, not just as Maisy, but as someone who had finally claimed their place in the world.

"You did great," Drew said, his smile wide and genuine, a warm glow in his eyes that radiated excitement. You could feel his energy wrapping around you, a comforting embrace that mirrored your own joy. As your smile blossomed, his grew in tandem.

Your manager beamed, clapping along with the group of directors, her expression a blend of pride and exhilaration that you had never witnessed before. The room buzzed with energy, each person caught up in the moment of celebration.

"Thank you so much for this opportunity," you replied, your voice a melody of gratitude, bubbling up from within. "I won’t let you down." You stepped forward, reaching for Jonah’s hand, your heart fluttering with excitement as you shook his hand firmly. It was a gesture of gratitude, a promise of your commitment, and you felt a rush of warmth at the connection—a shared understanding that this was just the beginning.

You moved down the line, shaking hands with the rest of the crew, each grip solid and reassuring. Their smiles met yours, each one a testament to the hard work and passion that had brought you to this moment. In those brief exchanges, you felt the weight of the world lift off your shoulders, replaced by a sense of belonging and purpose that ignited a fire within you.

You made your way back to Drew, and to your surprise, he enveloped you in a hug that spoke volumes, his arms wrapping around you in a warmth that felt both comforting and exhilarating. "Congratulations," he murmured softly in your ear, his voice a gentle melody that resonated in the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. The embrace lingered, a moment suspended in time, before he pulled back, his smile radiating a bright, infectious joy that lit up the room.

"Thank you. You were awesome, by the way. I'm excited to work with you," you blurted out, the words tumbling from your lips, raw and unfiltered, yet undeniably true.

Drew chuckled, a rich sound that sent a ripple of warmth through you. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he nodded, "Likewise," he replied, adding a playful wink that sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. In that fleeting exchange, the connection deepened, an unspoken promise of collaboration and creativity.

Turning towards your manager, you embraced her, feeling the solid weight of her pride enveloping you like a soft cloak. She returned the hug with a firm pat on your back, her touch both grounding and uplifting. "You did great, kid. I'm so proud of you," she said, her voice thick with emotion, wrapping around you like a warm embrace on a chilly day.

You left the studio with a sense of accomplishment unlike anything you had ever experienced before, a buoyant feeling that danced in your chest like a flame ignited by success. The joy radiating off your manager only amplified your triumph, her excitement palpable, like the warm glow of the sun on your skin.

As you slipped into the black SUV parked outside, a smile crept onto your face, blossoming with every heartbeat. The vehicle felt like a cocoon, enveloping you in a new sense of pride, a sanctuary that held the promise of new beginnings.

Your manager, brimming with enthusiasm, quickly dialed your agency, her voice animated as she relayed the news of your audition triumph. You could hear her words spill forth like a rushing river, each syllable a testament to your hard work and dedication.

As you absorbed your newfound outlook on life, the sunny L.A. sky seemed to sparkle with an ethereal clarity, its azure expanse stretching endlessly above you like an artist’s canvas, brushed with hues of hope and possibility. The golden rays cascaded down, bathing the city in a warm embrace, each glimmer igniting your spirit as if the universe itself were celebrating your triumph alongside you. In that moment, it felt as though no force on earth could disrupt the intoxicating high that enveloped you, each breath filled with the sweet essence of achievement.

"You better get ready for tonight, 'cause we are celebrating on me!" your manager exclaimed, her voice a jubilant melody that danced through the air, weaving joy into the fabric of the day. Her enthusiasm sparkled like champagne bubbles, promising an evening alive with laughter and camaraderie.

With a smile stretching across your face, you realized that this was just the beginning. The night was a canvas yet to be painted, and you were the artist, ready to fill it with laughter, joy, and new memories.

And in that instant, you understood: you were no longer the girl who had once doubted herself. You were a force to be reckoned with, ready to embrace every opportunity that lay ahead. The chapter of uncertainty had closed, making way for a new narrative, one filled with passion, courage, and the promise of dreams finally taking flight.

And maybe even something more.