summerboy with dilf!liam but it’s him and his younger gf that he’s so desperately trying to keep up with her…. oh i’m sick that should be me…. just her walking him like a dog and using him as an accessory….someone help me. he’s taking you out on cute dates and shopping sprees to keep you happy bc he’s so desperate to please and he doesn’t want some younger guy snatching you up from him. but also…him being desperate to please in the bedroom and fingering you, eating you out and using toys to make you cum at least 3 times before he fucks you bc he’s not in his bachelor days anymore…..oh i’m actually sick i need to be hospitalised.
pairing: dilf!liam gallagher x younger!reader
cw: smut, age gap, discussion of contraception, condom use, withdrawal method, birth control pills, unprotected sex within an exclusive relationship, creampie, cum play, and brief pregnancy-risk discussion.
wc: 1,3k
author's note: This takes place during the first few months of their relationship, when neither of them is entirely sure whether they are officially exclusive yet. Then the condom conversation happens: are they ready to take that step, and is it really necessary to keep spending that much money on condoms? Reader definitely does not want to get pregnant (joke’s on her btw). Anyway, enjoy!
The condom conversation started because Liam could not find one. Again, for the third time in a week. He was kneeling between my legs, completely naked and painfully hard, emptying the bedside drawer onto the floor with increasing irritation. Receipts. A charger that belonged to neither of us. Two pens. An ancient packet of chewing gum.
“No condoms.”
“There were three last week.”
“Used them, didn’t we?”
“That sounds like poor planning.”
Liam looked at me over his shoulder. “Maybe we stop using the bloody things.”
I raised an eyebrow. “We’re not having a baby.”
“I know that.”
“And I’m not getting pregnant because condoms inconvenience you.”
“They don’t inconvenience me.”
“You’ve spent five minutes swearing at a drawer.”
“They interrupt the flow.”
“The flow?”
“Very important.” I laughed and reached for my underwear. Liam caught my ankle. “Where are you going?”
“To buy condoms.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then what’s your brilliant plan?”
He crawled back over me, settling between my thighs. “I’ll pull out.”
“That was an isolated incident caused by extreme circumstances.”
“I touched you over your trousers.”
“Exactly.”
I tried not to laugh. “You genuinely think you can pull out?”
“Course I can.” He kissed me, already smug about a victory he had not achieved yet. “Trust me.”
He managed it the first time. Barely. He pulled out with a strangled curse and came across my stomach, one hand gripping himself while the other pressed so hard into the mattress that his arm shook.
Afterward, he collapsed beside me. “That,” he said breathlessly, “was horrific.”
I looked down at the mess across my skin. “You survived.”
“Had to stop at the best part.”
“That is generally how pulling out works.”
“Primitive system.”
The second time, he left it so late that I panicked and shoved at his chest. He stumbled backward, swore loudly and finished against my thigh. Then he glared at me as though I had personally invented contraception.
“You nearly broke my cock.”
“You nearly got me pregnant.”
“I was getting out.”
“You were giving a farewell speech.”
“I had it under control.”
“You absolutely did not.”
The third time lasted longer. Liam remained inside me until his entire body tensed, then pulled out with visible anguish and came into his hand. He lay beside me afterward, staring at the ceiling.
I kissed his shoulder. “Alright?”
“No.”
“What happened to your excellent control?”
“Control’s fine. Quality of life’s suffering.”
I laughed. Liam turned his head toward me. “I’d rather bring the condoms back than keep doing this.”
“What about the flow?”
“Flow can wear a raincoat.”
I traced a finger down his chest. “I don’t want condoms now.”
His eyebrows rose. “You don’t?”
“I’ve got used to feeling you without one.”
That wiped the annoyance from his face. “Have you?”
“Yes.”
Liam shifted closer. “What exactly do you like about it?”
“The warmth.”
His hand moved onto my hip. “What else?”
“How much more I can feel.”
His fingers tightened. “And?”
“I like knowing there’s nothing between us.”
Liam kissed me before I could say anything else. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark. “So what are we doing?”
“I’ll speak to my doctor about the pill.”
He became serious immediately. “Only if you want to.”
“I do.”
“Not because I complained about condoms.”
“You complain about everything. I’d never make medical decisions based on that.”
“Good.”
“And we keep using them until the doctor says I’m protected.”
Liam sighed dramatically. “Back to the raincoats.”
The doctor explained the options, the possible side effects and when the pill would become effective.
I started taking it the following Monday. Liam became obsessed with whether I had remembered. Every evening, my alarm went off and he would look up from whatever he was doing.
“Take your pill.”
“I know.”
“Did you take it?”
“I’m holding it.”
“Swallow it.”
“You’re enjoying this too much.”
“Just being responsible.”
“You’re counting down the days.”
“That as well.”
When the doctor’s recommended waiting period finally passed, Liam checked the date twice. Then checked my pill packet.
I stared at him from the bed. “Do you need a written certificate?”
“Wouldn’t hurt.”
“You watched me take every single one.”
“Because you forget everything.”
“I forgot where I left my keys once.”
“Three times.”
“Are we having sex or conducting an audit?”
Liam dropped the packet onto the bedside table and climbed over me. “Sex.”
The first time he pushed inside me without a condom was not technically new. We had already done it while he was pulling out. But this felt different. There was no deadline waiting at the end. No moment when he would have to wrench himself away just as both of us stopped thinking clearly.
Liam seemed to realise it too. He stayed buried inside me, forehead pressed against mine. “Fuck.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’ve gone quiet.”
“Taking it in.”
I laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”
He pulled back slowly and pushed inside again. The movement felt impossibly smooth, every inch of him warm and bare against me. My body tightened around him.
Liam groaned. “That.”
“What?”
“Do that again.” I clenched deliberately. His hips jerked forward. “Careful.”
“You don’t have to pull out.”
The words changed him. Liam’s eyes locked onto mine. “Say it again.”
“You can come inside me.”
“Jesus Christ.”
His next thrust was harder. I wrapped my legs around his waist, keeping him close while his pace increased. He had always liked to talk, but now his voice became rough and broken, every sentence dissolving into curses.
“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”
“It’s been three weeks.”
“Longest three weeks of my life.”
His hand slipped between us. I was already close, the uninterrupted rhythm building faster than I expected.
Liam watched my face. “You want it?”
“Yes.”
“Want me to fill you?”
The bluntness sent a sharp pulse through me. “Yes.”
His thumb moved faster. I came with my legs locked around him, my body clenching so tightly that Liam swore and lost whatever control he had left. He pushed deep and stayed there.
The first warm pulse inside me made me gasp. Then another. Liam groaned against my neck, holding me firmly against him while he came.
Neither of us moved afterward. I could feel him still inside me, softening slowly, and the warmth beginning to spread.
“Fuck,” I whispered.
Liam lifted his head. “Good?”
I nodded. “I didn’t know it would feel that different.”
His expression became unbearably smug. “Knew you’d like it.”
“You didn’t know either.”
“I had suspicions.”
When he finally pulled out, the sensation made me shiver. Liam sat back and looked between my legs. His release was already beginning to slip out of me. His eyebrows lifted.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That face is never nothing.” He dragged one finger slowly through the mess. “Liam.”
“What?”
I expected him to wipe it away. Instead, he pushed it back inside me. My breath caught.
Liam smiled. “Seems rude to waste it.”
“You are gross.”
“You liked that.”
“I didn’t say that.”
He repeated the movement, watching my face. My hips lifted toward his hand before I could stop them.
Liam laughed softly. “Thought so.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“And you’re already getting wet again.”
I caught his wrist, but did not move it away. Liam leaned over me and kissed my mouth. “No condoms,” he murmured. “No pulling out,” he kissed me between words. “Best medical advancement in human history.”
“It’s the contraceptive pill, not penicillin.”
“More useful to me.”
I laughed against his lips. Liam’s fingers moved again between my thighs. “So,” he said, looking far too pleased with himself, “when do you take the next one?”
thinking about laying liam down and kissing his neck and slowly peeling off that beautiful beautiful suit and feeling his hair beneath ur fingers and the way his cock stiffens against you the lower and lower you get until you’re on your knees before him, playing with his zipper and he’s so smug with his hands behind his head, lips all swollen and sick. and he’d nod down at you like ‘go on’ and his cock would be soooooo hard and leaking and pink once you take it out and he’d raise his hips and let you drag down his pants and he’d try not to bust the second your lips meet his cock but he’s so fucking hard and you’re so fucking sexy he can barely stand the feeling of your mouth around him and he starts whimpering like begging for you to go slower so he can enjoy it and so u do but he gets more than he bargained for bc then ur teasing him and bringing him right to the edge before popping off him with a wet noise until his whole body’s covered in a sheen of sweat and his bottom lips all bitten from trying to smother his moans
ok so update. i did spray this yesterday at sephora and at first i didnt like it ok….. too strong and overpowering …. but i put the little sampler stick in my bag and forgot abt it … then this morning when I was leaving for work I opened my bag for my glasses and it smelled SOOOOO good.
like insanely good. and i was thinking how good liam must smell after a long day coming home and smothering u with a hug and the smell of his cologne still faintly on his clothes and in his neck and jeixksdioskwdk it smelled like so man
redwinesupern0va tagged gallaghergirl: this guys moans kinda sounding like liam???? me when i pretend it's him
gallaghergirl replied to redwinesupern0va: wait omg it does
redwinesupern0va replied to gallaghergirl: having delulu thoughts
“Well, it’s clearly my bedroom.” Though it’s only a phone call and he can’t see your face, Liam has been dating you long enough to be able to perfectly envision the exact look of worry you’re probably pulling right now: nibbling on the end of your painted fingernails and furrowing your brows together in the same way you do when you’re rereading an essay before you’re about to submit it, asking him to read it over in hopes of getting second opinion, only for him to reply with a quip about him probably being the least academic person you know.
“How the fuck are they supposed to know that’s y’bedroom?” Halfway across the world and still lounging in bed, Liam’s voice sounds all groggy with sleep as he replies. It’s undeniable to him that it’s your room, with all your decorative cushions thrown haphazardly to the side and that framed photo he’d bought for you from some museum gift shop in France hanging on the wall, though to the average person scrolling through the app in hopes of finding some sort of entertainment, it’s just another twenty-something-year-old girl’s pink-hued bedroom. “No one knows what it looks like but me.”
“I suppose.” It’s obvious that you know he’s right, but you’re so startled by the whole thing that it’s impossible for you to retain any of the information. For a second, when his publicist had emailed him about it, he’d had to reread it a couple of times to make sure it wasn’t a dream, or that his half-lidded eyes hadn’t misconstrued the sentences; there’s something so retro about having a sex-tape leak that he didn’t even realise it was still a proper thing, and that it hadn’t been left behind in the late-nineties along with brick phones and platform shoes.
“The teddy bears are scared.” Yawning as he speaks, Liam stretches his free arm up and rests it lazily behind his head. The video’s been playing on loop for probably about ten minutes now, all forty-five seconds of it in all its low-quality glory with the indistinguishable body of a middle-aged man trailing kisses up a woman’s spine as he takes her from behind; the line of teddies you’d collected over the years sitting at the foot of the bed as if they were judging him for what he’d been doing to their owner, perhaps mistaking your moans of pleasure as whimpers of pain.
“Liam, it’s not funny.” With the way you’re scolding him, he suddenly feels remarkably guilty about how turned on he’s getting. Despite the footage being grainy as ever, and awkwardly clipped by whatever sick person had got their hands on it, he can still make out all the telltale signs it’s you, even with your hair covering your face from where you're all squished up against the pillow; how your pelvis twitches when he manages to hit the top of your cervix with a particularly hard thrust, and that your hand reaching out to grab his forearm is a silent plea for a kiss, which is why he seemingly plants one randomly to the back of your head, with the shitty mic picking up the sound of his lips puckering together.
“I’ve not traumatised them, they’ve seen worse.” Liam remarks, moving his hand to toy with the waistband of his boxers. He’s up to the part of the clip where he leans down to whisper something in your ear as his hips slam into yours, and he wishes he could remember what he said, because it makes another whine escape from the back of your throat; trying to wrack his brain, he wonders if it’d been something about giving you babies, since despite your protests about such thing in normal circumstances, it still manages to make you ridiculously wet whenever he mentions it during sex.
“I’m not talking about the teddies, I’m talking about the video.” It’s as though he can hear the cogs turning in your head, forming all your anxious thoughts, and though he can’t help but joke in his own quintessential way, he still wants to squeeze you into a hug so tight that you complain about not being able to breathe. If he knew this would happen, and that your voice would go all wobbly and heart-breakingly uneasy like this, he would’ve put a stop to it right as it happened; closed your laptop from where it’d been propped up recording the whole thing, and left the use of the photo booth app to take selfies together in bed with all the stupid filters on.
“Nah. I know, sweetheart. I'm just being a dickhead, m’sorry.” Hardened by years of being prime tabloid fodder, this was like water off a duck's back, and he doesn’t mean to upset you with his indifference. In times like these, he detests the idea of touring and the thousands of miles it constantly puts between you both; if you were here, he’d be able to pull you into his side so you could rest your head against his chest, where he’d be able to read you the email from his publicist aloud, assuring you that she’d used the exact words ‘not much to worry about’ as he smoothed out your messy hair and pressed kisses to your forehead.
Scrolling down towards the comments, Liam’s met with a lone mention of his name and the remark that it ‘kinda’ sounds like him coming from someone who’s got his face set as their profile picture; it’s funny, he thinks, how a measly comment like that could be flagged up and then mentioned in an email before he’d even had the chance to brush his teeth or pull back the heavy hotel curtains to reveal the morning skyline. Truthfully, it makes him quite thankful that they didn’t have this sort of technology when he was in his twenties, since he’s sure his phone would overheat with the amount of notifications he’d get about his questionable antics and public outbursts.
Along with that, there are the usual comments expected under a dirty Twitter account, even though the post itself only has a few hundred likes and maybe ten retweets at best: ones thirsting over the sound of your moans and the curve of your spine as you rut back into him, making Liam’s stomach do that funny lurch of jealousy, however irrational it might be. There’s more about wanting an older man too, how they’d seen ‘what god has done for others’ and were hoping for it themselves in that sort of internet speak he’d gotten used to seeing in his replies, and had learnt to respond to accordingly.
“Is it really bad?” Though he’d assured you multiple times now that a faceless sex tape would be the least of people’s worries compared to the other things hackers had leaked about celebrities in the past forty-eight hours, you still needed that extra layer of reassurance; especially since this had been the most private relationship Liam had ever been in, with you barely even showing your face except for a few lone paparazzi shots that his fans lovingly reposted every week or so. It feels like his heart is about to break in two imagining you all curled up under your duvet with worry etched all over your face, and all he wants to do is cuddle up to you, or maybe tickle your sides in an attempt to see you laugh.
Studying the rest of the video’s replies and filtering through the plethora of bots, he notices there’s one mistaking his Mancunian accent for a ‘sexy’ cockney one, and another from a girl claiming she needs to charge her ‘rose toy’ to properly watch this, which is a phrase Liam is seeing rather frequently nowadays, though he still has no idea what it means. There’s a comment with almost twenty likes sitting there at the top, exclaiming that the way he ‘talks her through it’ makes them ‘sick with jealousy’ with a variation of crying emojis at the end of the sentence.
For a moment, Liam pauses to hear what they’re referring to, though all he can make out is the sound of his own incoherent mumbling, clearly stunned speechless at the feeling of your walls squeezing around him, caressing that vein that bulges on the underside of his cock, and making his eyes roll into the back of his head and his mouth fall agape in pleasure. Through the love-drunk babbling, the only sentence he can properly make out is ‘y’cunt’s so pretty’ as he watches the low-resolution version of himself adjust the position so he can watch himself bottom out of you; if your laptop wasn’t so old, he’s sure the mic would’ve picked up the obscene squelching noises that had made the tops of your ears turn bright red with embarrassment.
“No, it’s a good video.” He can’t help but blurt out, even though he knows that’s not what you meant. His hand is all the way down the front of his boxers now, trying to trace over himself in the exact way you would if you were here, all sleepy at his side in your cotton pyjamas and smelling of peach soap; all gentle movements, maddeningly slow in that way which always makes him feel like he’s teetering on the edge of insanity, before squeezing at him or stroking him in just the right way to turn the borderline pain into pure bliss.
“Liam, stop. It's making me nervous” It’s a horrible mixture of emotions: the kind of horniness that makes both the head of his cock and his temples throb, blended with the horrible gnawing feeling of worry at how apprehensive you sound, is enough to make any person’s head spin, never mind a man in his fifties, who’s exhausted from a world tour with his limbs aching after having just woken up. The video automatically starts replaying on the screen, and the sight of your headboard and your mismatched, colourful bedsheets beneath where both of your bodies are pressed together is enough to make him feel painfully homesick.
“I wouldn't joke if I thought there was anything to worry about.” Judging by the date and time, it was posted just shy of twenty-four hours ago now, and though a few people had clearly taken some interest in the unknown couple, the rest of the internet had more pressing matters on their hands with the amount of photos and texts leaked from some of the biggest pop stars in the world, and a messily edited clip of an unidentifiable older man shagging his younger girlfriend is easily the least of people’s troubles. “It’s okay. I promise, yeah?”
“Okay, yeah.” Finally, your voice sounds less wobbly, and Liam can finally swallow down the lump of worry that’s been sitting uncomfortably in the middle of his throat from almost the exact moment this call had started. Gazing out the window, fingers wrapped lazily around himself as he still throbs against the palm of his hand, he wonders how on earth he’ll be able muster up the courage to get up for the day, instead of sitting in this exact position talking to you about complete and utter nonsense until the sun goes down, and all the little building lights switch on like the fairy lights you’ve draped over your vanity table at home.
“No one’s got a clue. It’s fuckin’ three pixels anyway.” If anything, this had spurred him on to perhaps buy you a new laptop, since if this was the shitty camera quality you were working with, he couldn’t imagine how slow it’d be typing out an essay or downloading a bunch of files; he’ll add it on to the list in his notes app of all the other things he wants to buy you, that he always has to save for your birthday or Christmas because otherwise you’ll refuse it, proclaiming he’s being too extravagant and that you didn’t need anything but him. “At least I’ve got a copy of it now.”
“Oh, my god.” It’s the first time Liam’s heard you laugh throughout this entire conversation, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders and he can finally breathe properly. In a way, it reminds him of your first date, and the relief he’d felt when he’d finally managed to break the ice on the way to the restaurant as the car stopped at a red light, making a joke that he couldn’t remember now but that had once made you giggle into the palm of your hand, and the memory makes him grin ear to ear as he stares up at the hotel ceiling. “Shut up, you’re so annoying.”
