#gallagher x reader

⚘ The last dance under the moonlight

⚘ Even if my mind forgets my heart will always love you (Yandere)

⚘ Safer in my arms than in the world (Yandere)

⚘ Kisses

In hindsight, you figured that you had to be some kind of fool for letting yourself get attached to Gallagher of all people. After all, everyone in Penacony knew that man eternally lived his life on the edge of a lie. 

Or perhaps it would be better to describe him as an amalgamation of tiny truths woven together to form one gigantic, almost flawless lie. 

And you’d fallen for that lie.

You inhaled as the jukebox in the background noisily loaded the next tune. Uncaring of the tension that spread out and filled the space between where you stood and where Gallagher remained. Staring at you with at least a small amount of remorse in his gaze. Though that hardly redeemed him or lessened the emotional sting you felt.

You met his gaze though, pressing your lips together into a too tight smile, “So, how much of it has been a lie?”

He shifted, adjusting his glove in an almost awkward fashion as he let out a sigh and glanced down before finally speaking. And his voice came out low, “Most of it…?”

His tone lifted at the end, almost as if he was asking you if what he was saying was true, and you almost scoffed. Crossing your arms and summarizing the intent behind his uncertain words, “So not all of it.”

His gaze drifted back up and those orange eyes of his that had always reminded you of dying embers in steadily cooling ashes locked with yours in a manner that was far too steady for a man as treacherous as he was, “No. Not all of it.”

You hated the way your breath caught at his words. Hitching treacherously even as your hands curled into determined fists. And at some point the jukebox had selected a new tune. One that was stupidly romantic and whose lyrics were all but begging for a second chance. Almost as if the world itself were mocking this entire scene. And a small part of you couldn’t blame it if that were the case.

You swallowed thickly, stubbornly dipping your head to sever eye contact with him as you took off. Making for the door in a split second decision only to find yourself stumbling to a halt as he stepped in front of you. Deftly blocking your and holding up his hands in a faux surrender. You knew the actual intention was that he would’ve been ready to catch you by your shoulders had you not gotten stopped in time, though.

You still looked up at him in disbelief as your words failed you even as your mouth opened slightly. Wanting to say something but failing all the same.

 And, in response, he only offered a lift of his shoulders in a half-hearted shrug as a smile that danced on the edge of being apologetic played about his lips.

You held his gaze for a moment before pressing your lips together and twisting. Angling your shoulders and stepping on around him.

But before you could make it hardly any ways at all he’d reappeared back in front of you. Leaning back into view with his wide shoulders and causing you to stop with a slight huff. Barely shooting him a look before you turned on your heel and went the opposite direction. Heading for the side door instead without pausing for even a second.

This time you could hear him behind you and you sped up. Refusing to look back at him and instead marching on the door only to get blocked last second again as you practically stumbled to a halt. 

This time his arms were spread so that his hands were held out as if to catch you should you try to shove past him. And you were half-tempted to do just that. Your hand even lifted to hit him in the chest, but as much as it might make you feel better you also knew it wouldn’t do any good. 

Largely fictional backstory or no, he was still a security guard with the scars and skills to match. There wouldn’t be any just pushing past him if he didn’t want you to leave.

Your eyes snapped back up to his for a fraction of second and he tilted his head in some form of silent request. But you didn’t linger long enough to interpret his expression before you’d turned again. Hurrying back across the room as if that could change anything. Because you already knew what would happen.

Or at least you thought you had.

Because rather than Gallagher blocking you with his body again, you felt a warm hand curl around your wrist as he pulled you to an easy stop. Firm enough to actually stop you, but gentle enough that it promised that if you fought, you would go free.

And against your better judgment, you looked back at him this time. Fully intending to snap and ask what was wrong with him. 

But you didn’t. Instead you watched him as he looked up from under his long bangs without his gaze wavering for even a second. And in some impossible way his words still seemed to echo around the room even despite how long it had been since he’d said them.

“Not all of it.”

You pressed your lips together, fighting against your own emotions until a wavery smile finally made it to the surface, “You really are unfair.”

He straightened, a weary looking smile appearing on his face, “And you really are too much trouble.”

You let out a soft but bitter laugh as you shook your head and pulled your hand back toward you. Not fully breaking his grip but still reestablishing your position in this conversation, “Haven’t we done this enough times, Gallagher? This same song and dance?”

He was silent for a moment, not denying your words for even a moment before he shifted. His hand sliding down to your hand as his grip tightened like some sort of promise. Or maybe it was an omen.

And the smile that he wore somehow coalesced everything that had haunted you since the day you'd met him into one thing.

“What’s one more time then?”

He gave your hand a light tug as he spoke and you turned to face him fully. Almost hating the way you slipped right into his hold as if it were exactly where you were meant to be. As if nothing you did could ever change this.

And it was almost instinctive to let your free hand rest against his shoulder as one of his hands pressed against your back while the other remained curled around yours.

He walked backward, his motions somehow melding with the low music as his gaze stayed locked with yours. And again, you distantly wondered if you were some sort of fool for being drawn back into his orbit. Because nothing could come of this but heartbreak. Or at least that was the only foreseeable ending. But here you were. And the worst part was that you weren’t sure if there was anywhere else you’d rather be.

His hand left your back and you spun out, leaning back before he twirled you lightly, and then you were back in his embrace.

And it was almost laughable. To think that a man with perpetually wrinkled clothes, an askew tie, and who spent his free time at bars could dance this gracefully.

But then, if he were a fictional entity, then you supposed that he could truly be anything he wanted or needed. Even a good dancer.

Your motions sped up as you spun a couple of rotations together until you gradually slowed. Leaning to the side dramatically as you let out a slight laugh despite yourself. And the mere sound of it had his lips twitching up slightly as he rocked you to the side for a fraction a second before he was pulling you back toward him.

But this time you resisted, spinning across the floor until you were only connected by your interlocked hands. And for a second the two of you just looked toward each other. Something unspoken flickering there. 

Perhaps it was an apology, and perhaps it was simply the recognition that things could never just exist peacefully for you. Because even if Penacony was a land of dreams, this was one dream that could never be. Not with it not being a part of his story.

You exhaled softly in something akin to a sigh before you twirled toward him. Stopping just short of re-entering a closed hold with him. But even then, you could feel the warmth of his arm wrapped around you..

He walked forward, looking your way with the slightest tilt to his head. Almost as if he was waiting for you to say something even as you held his stare in silence. Not sure what to say as you matched his steps. Swaying across the floor with him as you inclined your head slightly.

He hummed and you spun out once more, parting from him before he spun toward you. His arm lifted along with the hand that held yours. Causing you to twirl as he spun around you until you found yourself facing him once more. 

And the two of you continued that way. Dancing to the music of the jukebox as an infinite number of feelings and thoughts drifted between both of you without a single word being said as you parted. But then, you would inevitably join back together to continue in your dance. Sometimes fast, and sometimes slow. Almost as if the two of you couldn’t decide if you wanted to rush through the rest of your time together or to prolong it.

Until finally, you found yourself spinning back toward him. His hand catching yours as your gaze caught on his once more and you finally spoke. Your voice coming out softly, as if you were afraid your words would shatter this strange moment you found yourself trapped in with him, “You said that most of it was a lie, but not all of it.” 

You paused, swallowing slightly as your grip on his hand tightened and you pressed forward. Determined even despite the mixed feelings that still filled you, “So how much of it was real?”

He sighed, a tired sound that perfectly matched his indolent appearance and personality. But his eyes held yours, perfectly pointed and unwavering as always. A part of him that had never truly fit the lies he wove around himself. 

The part of him that  left you hoping, perhaps foolishly, that he would be honest with you.

Your motions slowed as the two of you swayed lightly and he spoke in a quiet tone, “I’ve always followed my script, but all of my actions are not scripted.”

His hand left your back and reached up to curl over where yours rested on his shoulder, slowly pulling it over and until it rested flattened against his chest as he spoke, “This right here…”

You inhaled at the steady pulse of his heartbeat under your hand as his eyes never left yours, just as steady as the constant beat of his heart, “This has always been real.”

You pressed your lips together, fighting against the wetness that pricked at your eyes before you leaned your head forward. Resting it lightly against his shoulder, and after a brief moment he let out a sigh and tilted his head so that you could feel the gentle pressure of his chin against your head.

But at the very least you knew now, for better or worse, not all of it had been a lie. And some of it had always real and just as steady as you’d always hoped it had been.

So even if you were a fool and had found yourself essentially dancing with death, you didn’t really care. Because it was real.

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Previous

if you're a smoker like him (or want to try it with him for the first time), he enjoys sharing a lighter when smoking your cigarettes together. if you catch him already smoking outside of the bar and want to join him, he'll happily give you a spare from his packet. but instead simply handing it over like you expect, he takes one hand and cup your chin, holding it in place and effectively keeping your gaze on his. the faint smell of booze mixed with ash curls around you in wisps, embracing you delicately.

he takes out a cigarette with his free hand and places it between your lips, the hand holding your face slightly smushing your cheeks and parting your lips for him. and in the same way he'd kiss you, he leans forward and lets the fading sparks from his cigarette butt meet yours, keeping his eyes on yours all the while. smoke wisps out of the place where your cigarette butts meet, and he pulls away as though nothing happened.

if you don't smoke, however, gallagher will respect that to whatever means. he never smokes around you, and in the case you insist on staying when he does, he'll turn his head to the side and blow out the smoke elsewhere, exposing the expanse of his scarred neck (and maybe even some marks you might've left on him). the last thing he'd want is for you to get his secondhand smoke.

but secretly… he does like it when the scent of his cigarettes cling to your clothes after you've been around him for too long. he's even switched to certain cigarrettes with a more distinct smell so that it sticks around like a cologne would. he hopes that when his regulars smell those cigarettes on you while you visit him at the bar, they know you're his.

# what drives him crazy…

conversely, he loves it when you leave your scent on him. he doesn't care if it's your natural scent or if it's your perfumes— he graciously takes anything he can get. if you do show interest in perfumes, he'll happily take you to the shops at the penacony mall, and you can't help but notice that he seems way more invested in this than you are.

he'll lie to you that he prefers sleeping over at your place because "your bed is more comfortable," but in reality, he just enjoys having your scent suffocate him completely. and on the days that you do sleep at his place, he has to have you pressed up right against him, his nose right against the crook of your neck or buried against your chest. sometimes it even weirds you out when he just takes a deep breath of your scent, let out a quiet groan, then close his eyes in bliss like you were the answers to all of his problems and questions in the universe. but you let him, and he likes being a little selfish at times.

what he loves even more, though, is when you boss him around. he's used to doing the opposite as the security officer, barking orders and scolding the rookies at work all day. but when he's in the peace of your presence, he wants to turn his head off. he hardly gives in to the idea of being the "head of the household" nonsense. besides, he thinks you look irresistible when you're irritated.

not that he wouldn't take you seriously when you're genuinely upset, of course not. but, you know, when you're standing in the kitchen scolding him about not keeping his space tidy… he can't help the way his lips stretch into a cheeky grin. your lips are forming a small pout without you even noticing, your arms are crossed to emphasize your chest, and your eyebrows are furrowed juusst enough to make you look stern and cute at the same time.

when you finish ranting with a huff, he bolts up from the sofa and is immediately on his way to the kitchen as if he were your servant (which he's not exactly against the idea of). he chastely pecks your temple with a "yes, chief," the same title that his subordinates call him at work, as he passes by you. he's just grateful to have someone to put him in his place and keep him in line. "it keeps me humble," he tells you.

so slap him around a little more, yeah?

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❝ dr. ratio ❞

cw: ratio has no sense of personal space, allusions to making out, he's lowk horny but nothing explicitly stated

# what drives you crazy…

he enjoys standing or crowding behind you while teaching or correcting you. when you use the wrong formula while solving a problem on the chalkboard, he stands closely behind and takes your hand in his, puppeteering it to write the correct formula off to the side. his hand is much larger and warmer than yours, with several callouses on his fingers from the years he spent writing with chalk. you can feel his chest lightly brush against your back and his breath graze your neck, not to mention the way his sculpted biceps and forearms contrast with your own arm.

it's the same for your essays and writing as well. rather than simply taking your paper or laptop from your desk to read by himself, ratio stands right behind your chair and plants his hands on the desk, caging you in. his head is placed right on the crook of your neck, his hair tickling your cheek and his warmth crowding all around you. you notice just how close his hands are to yours, your pinky finger twitching with the urge to interlock with his thumb.

you don't dare to turn and face him either, but you can feel his reactions— the agitated sighs when he notices a spelling mistake, the slight huffs of amusement at an interesting point, or the low, gentle hums when he approves of your argument. once he's done skimming through, he slightly turns his head towards yours, his lips dangerously close to your cheek.

"acceptable," he simply says, but in a low, intimate baritone that makes you shiver. "but i'd suggest varying your sentence structure. your arguments also lack… passion. but you're halfway there, which is more than what my students and colleagues are capable of." if he's feeling particularly affectionate that day, he'll kiss your shoulder before leaving to attend to his own studies.

he also insists on adjusting your accessories and clothes despite them looking just fine (to you, at least), and you wonder if it's simply a poor excuse to touch you. he meticulously adjusts your glasses, the collar of your shirt, and smooths out the wrinkles from your clothes, his hands brushing over your waist, hips, and thighs in the process. he even goes as far as to make sure the charm on your necklace is perfectly centered between your collarbones, his face awfully close to yours as he does so.

"students are easily distracted nowadays. if you won't wear an alabastor head like mine, the least you should do is keep your appearance tidy," he tells you with a half-feigned sternness.

# what drives him crazy…

on the flipside, ratio feels his stomach twist and flutter when he sees your tidy appearance rattled, especially if he's the cause for it. maybe your glasses are steaming from his warm breath and sitting crookedly on your nose, your makeup smudged (especially your lipstick or lipgloss, which was kissed off of you), your shirt wrinkled from the way he gripped your waist, or your hairdo now out of place from the way his other hand was holding the back of your head to keep you in place.

he finds it even cuter when you get flustered and quickly try to fix it, as if you were worried that he'd care about it. after all, he only shows this type of affection in the privacy of your home— he'd rather you show your true self to him and him only, in the same way he does when he takes off his alabastor head for you.

another important trait of your relationship, at least to him, is that you two treat each other as equals, regardless of your intelligence level— which is why he particularly enjoys it when you become argumentative and defiant against his criticisms. the only people who should take his advice as gospel are his students, and he certainly doesn't see you as one, even if you do learn from him.

he tilts his head with interest whenever you poke and prod at his reasoning. partly because he enjoys the intellectual stimulation, but also because he loves the way your soft cheek smushes slightly when you rest it against your hand, or the way you bite down on your lower lip when you struggle to understand his line of thought. in the back of his mind, it reminds him of the way he holds your face in his hands and runs his thumbs over your cheeks or the way he nips at your lip in between heavy kisses.

but of course, you never catch him daydreaming. he's too smart to let himself slip up in front of someone like you.

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❝ boothill ❞

cw: biting, hickeys, physical touch, teasing, romantic tension, there's like one suggestive innuendo

# what drives you crazy…

likes to bite or lick you, specifically your fingers. when your hands are cradling his face, he turns his head slightly to the side to bite down on your thumb ever so slightly. if you hand-feed him a dessert you were having, he'll purposefully take a bite way too big in order to lick the cream off your fingers. no matter how much you cringe, how much your nose scrunches up, or how many times you chide him, he never stops. he gets a kick out annoying you a bit, but he also just enjoys showing off his sharp teeth. his body doesn't generate natural heat in the same way it used to, which means his tongue is cold as opposed to warm— even better for making you jolt or squirm.

having sharp teeth also means leaving hickeys in the weirdest places possible, even without intending it— the palm of your hand, your earlobe, your temple, and even your forehead. his kisses always linger just a bit too long, and before you know it, there's a small reddish-purplish bruise where he had just kissed you. it gets annoying when you have to try to cover them, but there's also a weird satisfaction that comes with him marking you in places that only he could.

he also has a strange habit of patting of tapping your hips and bum, either with his whole hand, his fingertips, or just two fingers. he needs to squeeze past you? he taps your ass. you're distracted and he needs to get your attention? he taps your ass. you tell him about something you're proud of? he taps your ass with a wide, toothy grin and a "there you go, knew you could do it."

he also enjoys coaxing things out of you. he likes when you're assertive and straightforward with the things you want or the things you want to say to him. he'll eventually sit down and listen to you, but he can't help teasing you a bit beforehand.

"c'mon sweetie, what's the magic word?" he teases, affectionately brushing his fingers beneath your chin. "you gotta be clearer with your words, sweetcheeks."

even if it gets on your nerves (it does), deep down he just wants you to know that he'll do anything you want at the drop of a hat. after the teasing is over, he's already on his way to fulfill whatever mission you assign to him, whether it's getting you a late-night craving or driving you places when you don't feel like it.

# what drives him crazy…

along the same line, boothill loves when you make him work for things. whether it be your praise, your attention, or your touch, he doesn't mind it if you're being a little difficult. in fact, he prefers it when you're difficult. he loves seeing you get picky about the gifts he buys you, what restaurants he takes you to, or the gestures he does for you. knowing you from inside out is great, sure, but he hates being stagnant. he wants to keep learning new things about you.

he gets a strange thrill during that half-a-second moment where you assess the souvenir he got you after another galaxy ranger mission, your eyes dragging down the accessory in his hands. he holds his breath for a moment and prays that you'll like it, his smile hopeful. when you finally smile in return after what feels like forever, he lets out a sigh of relief and watches you gush over it.

"pshh, i knew you'd like it," he drawls as if he wasn't sweating bullets (literally?) while he was out shopping for you. "it's jus' a lil something i got. no need to get all excited, sweetcheeks."

and though he hates to admit it, he loves when you lead him on or leave him hanging. you've got this thing you like to do with his hat specifically where you'll get on your tiptoes and pluck his cowboy hat straight off of his head before wearing it on yours. he smiles slightly and sees the way you look up at him through your lashes and the brim of his hat, your hair sticking out in all the wrong ways and the hat sitting lopsided on your too-small head. your smile is soft but teasing, like you know what you're doing.

"you do know what that means, right? can't have you just wearin' anybody's hat," he says, his eyes lidded and relaxed as he tilts his head. all you do is giggle and strut off, the cowboy hat clashing with your soft pajamas. he simply clicks his tongue in response and chases after you, and even if you don't give in to his antics, at least he got to see you teasing him.

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