Summary: The two times Paul simply can't control himself.
Word count: 2,631
Tags: Smut, Sexual Tension, Vaginal Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Paul simply couldn't resist his insatiable nature, not even in such a hushed and professional setting. He sort of thrived in settings like this she thought, places where there was a risk, a clamp on him. In fact, there might've well been a clamp on him, he would've been better off that way.
His desire for her was overwhelming, that was undeniable.
The backstage room was greatly engaged with the group and their entourage, all sorts was going on. It made her head spin. The business centred around the group would've seemed nonsensical to the average person, it was nonsensical to the average person. All this bustle for one small interview? Who'd ever heard of such a thing?
She could feel his yearning for her growing stronger with each passing moment.
Though she often reminded him of a need for discretion, he was essentially uncontrollable, unable to control himself when he needed it badly.
With a deviant gesture, he beckoned for her to join him on the single sofa he was seated on. He communicated it with his eyes and his hands, it was a sly little gesture, one he'd done many times.
She tried to ignore it at first, as she knew exactly his intentions, she couldn't facilitate them, not in such a time and place. But he'd find a way somehow, he always did. A way to ruin any decorum she dreamed of holding onto just for the sake of himself.
She still followed his silent summons, as she would.
She found herself seated on his lap comfortably, his arms were wrapped around her moderately tightly. It had an effect, an effect that seemed to make the atmosphere fade away like he and his touch was the only thing in the world.
His lips began to graze her neck with tender, wet kisses, they merely teased her; tickled her. He left a soft trail of them along her neck, they lingered and left a delightful sensation in their wake. She couldn't help but giggle girlishly at the feeling, he knew he had gotten into her head when she squirmed in his arms.
"Oh, you like tha'? Hm?"
As the warmth of his breath caressed her neck further, a sense of anxiety found its way to her.
His mild touch predictably became more fervent, his kisses grew bolder and expanded from the crease of her neck to her jaw. Paul was tasting her with every fibre of his being, his tongue moved with integrity against her neck.
"Mmm...!"
He made the most comical noises too, like it was some sort of game, maybe it was.
His lips moved rougher when he captured sensitive places. He incorporated his teeth into it, nipping and pinching. She made involuntary noises. He hugged her chest and giggled into her, moving her around. The way she tried to inch away amused him to no end.
"Paul...stop..."
"Hm?"
He was sucking her neck now, harder than before. It made vulgar noises, it was an unreal sensation though. But one she'd rather have in private.
"Stop..."
"Hm?"
"We're in public..." She reasoned ever so sweetly.
"I know."
A gasp escaped her lips as he got feral, clearly wanting to leave some sort of mark. That was annoying.
The sounds she let out betrayed her. It was only a gasp, although it didn't go unnoticed. In that lapse of judgement, she caught George's gaze, he wasn't too far away, and his eyes ever so slightly lingered on the scene. He seemed to look away abashedly.
"Paul."
A strong embarrassment flushed over her. The reminder that she was still somewhere public sent a tinge of discomfort through her senses.
She hastily made an effort to avoid everyone in the room's eyes, trying to snap out of whatever trance Paul had put her under.
He, on the other hand, found more amusement in the situation, he couldn't help but chuckle at her reaction. He saw her embarrassment as a challenge, a chance to delve even deeper. To him, the reaction was all a part of the thrill. He found her ear again, "Don't you worry about him, love."
She became more self-aware as he grew more desperate, she found the strength to move his head away. But his hands weren't any different to his lips, his hands also seemed to be doing too much. He gave her squeezes that were borderline pornographic, one hand loitered just below her arse.
"Jus' a little bit.."
She shifted his roaming hands away from any erogenous areas. His hands found their rightful place on her waist.
He moved his mouth to her ear, his voice laden with amour, "I jus' carn't get enough of ya, please, 'm on the brink of madness." It was a warm murmur but one which uttered sheer ridiculousness. Actions clearly spoke louder than words as he pulled her closer into his lap, grinding against her bottom, satiating his stiffness. He couldn't bear to have any space between her and his crotch.
She turned to face him, "It's too early for this, don't you think?" She spoke softly, her voice had a certain concern. Ignoring her protest, he just smiled, determined to have her even closer.
"Why can ya never jus' enjoy the moment Y/N, hm?" His question dared her to resist. The feeling of his clothed hardness only heightened the moment, every effort she made to shift away only satisfied him further.
The interview loomed closer as staff started to come up to him. It was inevitable that he would have to go soon.
He reluctantly pulled away from her, a pout on his face.
Paul gave a discreet nod and a final smirk as he was led away.
He had managed to compose himself perfectly, reverting to his role.
He looked back before he walked out of the door. An unspoken agreement was made and it said, he would see her later.
*
After the interview concluded she avoided the small crowds as best as she could. The room was abuzz, of course it was, but her attention was focused solely on finding him. She wondered where he would've disappeared off to, considering he had even more trivial press-related things to do.
The hallway was fairly barren, it was narrow too, adorned with doors on either side, maybe Paul was in one of them.
She bumped into John once or twice and tried to ask him where Paul could've gone, he gave a funny look.
She retreated to the main room and found herself amid the bustling room, a subtle unease settling over her.
"Hey, are ye okay?" George questioned. His gaze seemed to momentarily avoid hers, hinting at the awkwardness.
She mustered a coy smile, thinking highly of his concern as she replied, "I'm fine, just needed a moment to gather my thoughts I suppose."
That was a lie, she seemed to be doing the contrary as she stood there flustered.
George nodded, understanding the need for a breather, "I know s'all a bit hectic, suppose it's the price we have to pay, aye?"
She nodded in agreement.
There was a stark distinction between George and Paul. Paul seemed abrasive now she chatted with George. There was a serene sense of confidence about him, it was a refreshing respite from Paul's intensity.
"Paul's left ye all alone?" He teased.
A chuckle escaped her lips, and that comment caught her off guard. She glanced around, seeing Paul was still nowhere to be seen. "Seems like it," she replied.
"Suppose yer all mine for now."
She couldn't help but laugh at his cheekiness, it eased any lingering tension.
"Suppose I can't complain."
She was surprised no one had swept him away from her at this point.
George decided to mention something, his eyes met hers briefly before returning to the surroundings again. "Are ye plannin' to attend the party tonight?" he asked.
"Not sure." She replied, her eyes flitting away from his.
George simply nodded, understanding the hesitation, kind of.
"Aye, I know it can be...too much, all these events and gatherings." He remarked with a wistful smile.
The thought of attending the party with Paul stuck in your mind, knowing he would probably extend the invitation.
Paul materialised into her periphery vision, an inscrutable look on his face.
A fleeting thought crossed her mind, wondering if what she saw was a hint of jealousy or whatever other emotion was akin to it.
She convened a warm smile and greeted him, "Paul! How was the interview?"
Paul's response was nothing more than a brief nod, his eyes fixed on her. There was a touch of suspense in his expression, a silent disapproval that she couldn't quite decipher.
Uncertain about Paul's reaction, she couldn't help but feel a weird sort of guilt. Was she crossing some invisible line Paul had drawn?
She desperately searched for an explanation, but all she could gather was that Paul's presence had disrupted the easy rapport she had shared with George.
She broke the unwarranted silence, "Is everything alright?"
"Jus' wonderin' where you've been all this time is all."
"You mean where have you been hiding all this time?" She countered.
Paul didn't react with any laughter, he just reached a hand out to her, his expression bland and unreadable.
"C'mon," he said.
She barely even got a chance to glance back at the younger boy, but when she did he had a bashful look on his face.
"Goodbye, George!"
Without wasting a moment, he led her away. She made an effort to trail him as discreetly as possible, she didn't want to be seen entering any enclosed space with him.
His excitement became palpable, he didn't even greet her properly. Disarray and reluctance filled her mind as she realised where this was going.
She knew all too well that Paul was up to no good. But against her better judgment, she still followed.
"What on earth has gotten into you, Paul?"
He turned to her, then turned back just as quickly.
"You want this. Trust me."
The first part of that sentence wasn't even a question, though it very well should've been.
She couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at his audacious remark, "What makes you so sure?" She retorted that but she knew she couldn't fool him.
Paul's grip on her wrist tightened, and his height made her feel even more submissive than before.
He began in a low husk, "I know ya want me to fuck you, y'know 'm more than happy to oblige."
He was so awfully forward and she didn't know why.
Paul couldn't help but feel a strange mix of emotions swirling within him. While he knew deep down that their connection was primarily physical, a part of him couldn't deny the odd pull he felt towards her. In his mind, he pondered their dynamic, recognizing the stark contrast between them. While he held no expectations of anything serious, he couldn't deny that being around her stirred something within him. She seemed unaware of the effect she had on him, unaware of the way he felt when he was near her. It was a strange thing they shared, where physical attraction took precedence, and emotional entanglements were deliberately avoided and only stumbled upon by vulnerability.
For Paul, it was a delicate balance. He enjoyed the moments, she was definitely a great shag but he couldn't allow himself to become too invested. He reminded himself that she was not someone he could take seriously, not for as long as she was here.
He shoved her into a secluded closet, it was fairly big, and the air felt compact. It was like he knew exactly which one to choose like there was a pre-planned intent behind it, she wouldn't be surprised.
Despite the space, he insisted on being toe-to-toe with her, leaving her no room to even move against him.
He shut the door behind him.
"I jus' couldn't resist ya, could I?" He asked dreamily.
The heat of his body was flush against hers, it was deliciously unbearable. It made her feel as if the walls themselves were closing in on her.
On a whim, she tried to convince him this wasn't the right place, hoping he would give into reason. But Paul had other ideas, he seemed determined, even in such a cramped space.
She finally met his eyes, it was initiated by him lifting her chin.
He got close.
"Why go anywhere else?" Paul muttered. "No one will see us lovely.." He had a sing-songy tone in his second sentence like he was taunting her but he had been already as it were.
He moved a hand to palm her arse, and as he did so her skirt came up.
With a specific glint in his eyes, his voice lowered to a seductive whisper. He got down on one knee and looked up with faux innocence. "Lemme undress you love." His hands moved to the waistband of her tights. He slowly peeled the tights off of her legs, uncovering her bare skin.
Once the tights were discarded, Paul's attention was shifted to the next barrier. His hands trailed up her thighs, his touch was possessive. With a gentle tug, he slid her panties down, the lace brushed against her. She still had her skirt on yet felt completely exposed.
With an intensity that couldn't be denied, Paul stood up to unbuckle his trousers, he shifted them down to his ankles. He didn't waste any time getting his underwear down either, his hardened cock was in his grip, and he stroked himself off gently.
With the necessary articles of clothing discarded, he instructed her to lie back on the floor.
Paul positioned himself between her parted legs, whatever was around her faded into bleak insignificance. He unbuttoned her blouse halfway.
He teased her hole with his tip, they ached against each other. With each brush and gentle press, she endured a comforting torture.
He leaned down and rumoured, "Imagine, imagine if someone catches us like this. Imagine wha' they'd think of you."
Paul began with purposeful and sluggish movements. He rested on his forearms as he slid in and out of her heat. She whimpered tenderly whenever he got a bit faster. Her legs wrapped him closer, drawing him deeper, the sense that the damp friction of their heats made caused her to quiver.
He lifted himself, digging his fingers into her delicate hip flesh.
With a substantial clasp on her waist, he lifted her pelvis off the floor, adding a new dimension to it all.
Her legs found their balance, her toes curled as she vividly received his strokes. The motion of push and pull made her walls engulf him tighter and tighter.
She couldn't contain herself, and a throaty moan fled her mouth, a few of them actually.
Her back arched sensually, the elevated angle felt made-up. Paul only intensified his movements, focusing on that remote sweet zone that drove her wild.
"Righ' there?"
Her natural warmth and constriction created a viscous slickness with each thrust. The sound of them meeting in the middle was provocative.
Paul was attuned to everything and took delight in it.
"Yer so wet for me, Y/N."
As it continued, Paul's pace became increasingly more relentless, each thrust more forceful than the last. The back of her head shifted against the floor, her hair was going to look like a bird's nest by the time this was done. She instinctively placed her hands firmly against his abdomen, seeking an anchor.
Paul let go of her as he felt himself on the brink of ending.
She squirmed, amid her orgasm.
He pulled out of her heat promptly yet reluctantly and wanked himself off before releasing his load across her waistline.
Warnings: Sex obvi; Oral (M receiving); No dialogue (idk I've heard that bothers some people)
Words: 1.2k
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You kneel before him, gazing up at him from between his deliciously spread legs. He loves the way you look from this angle, your half-lidded eyes and plush lips making it hard to disguise the arousal nipping at your lower abdomen.
Your longing stare flickers between his gorgeous face, jaw tightened as he's trying not to come undone before you even begin, and down to his crotch, level with your mouth, erection straining against the confines of his trousers. You decide he's waited long enough, and do a swift swipe of your hands over his navel before slowly undoing the zipper on his pants. With a low groan, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the couch, preparing for whatever you have planned for him. But, being the little devil you are, you want to see how long you can string him along, and immediately stop what you're doing. Instead of continuing your actions, you stare at him, pants now unzipped, feeling a chill run through your body as you gaze at his bulge through his underwear. You palm him softly, caressing your thumb over a minute spot of precum that gradually left it's mark on the fabric. You're not looking at his face, but you can tell he's peering down at you now. He can't see your eyes, only the fanning of your dark lashes hovering over your cheeks. But he can see your smug face as you smirk, knowing that no matter what he tries to say, you've got him wrapped around your finger.
You decided to finally meet his gaze, his expression one of tacit reasoning. He may have enjoyed your teasing nature, but now was not the time. He needed you and he needed you now. He didn't have to utter a single word for you to come to this conclusion, but as the precum spot on his underwear increased in size, you knew he was nearing his limit.
Feeling merciful, you lightly scraped your nails through the small tuft of hair peeking out from the waistband before pushing the band further down, watching as his erection sprung free and settled up against his stomach. Your eyes widened, glancing up at him once more as a look of confirmation before beginning your descent. You took him in your hands, tracing the length of his shaft with your index finger. Each time you did this for him, you studied him closely. You were determined to have all of him, every shade at his tip, every curve, every vein, every strand of hair gathered around the base, all committed to your memory.
As much as you wanted to continue your teasing, your own want was starting to get in the way. You wrapped your hand around the base and slowly guided him into your mouth. Just as his tip grazed your bottom lip, he gently brought a hand to your face to cup your cheek, assisting you by tilting your chin to make things easier. Your eyelids fluttered closed as he pushed himself in, the feeling of him entering your mouth almost as pleasurable as him entering you from below. You were certain nothing could ever come close to that.
It was quite difficult for you to take all of him, and whatever you couldn't fit in your mouth, your hands worked just fine. He took his time to help you both get more comfortable. He always felt terrible when you were stuck in an uncomfortable position which resulted in a horrible ache in your jaw for the next few days.
Once you both were settled, the hand on your cheek lovingly pushed a strand of hair away from your face and tucked it behind your ear. He smiled warmly, still trying to deliver some intimacy and romance despite wanting nothing more than to succumb to the mere feeling of your lips wrapped around his tip. You returned the gesture as best you could with your mouth being currently occupied, but the way your eyes turned into crescents translated your contentment just fine.
You began to move, and all he could do was flop back against the couch, close his eyes, and release a heavy sigh. The warm wetness of your mouth provided more than enough lubrication, as you were practically drooling at the sight of him already. You closed your eyes as well, quickly getting into a mutually comfortable rhythm. He wasn't the type to be overly vocal during sex, but you could always tell when he enjoyed something you did when it became harder for him to keep quiet. He would sigh, or groan, or if you were lucky, a small moan would escape his lips. Part of you thought that maybe, just maybe, you would eventually find the one thing that would make him be as loud as he wanted to.
Obviously it was difficult for you to talk during most of the act, but his occasional low-volume noises would keep you in your momentum. And judging by the way he was attempting to keep his hips from bucking up towards your mouth, and his hands twitching ever so slightly at his sides, you knew you were doing exactly what he wanted.
You knew he was getting close when you noticed his right hand instinctively reach up to try and hold your head, keeping it exactly where he wanted it, but he refrained, his fingers glitching indecisively next to your ear, torn between chasing his own pleasurable release and keeping you comfortable to last even longer.
But it seemed his desires had won the battle as he got closer to the edge, his hand winding itself in your hair, not pushing too hard but providing enough pressure to finish the job. You stuttered a bit at the sudden contact, but continued, perhaps due to a bit of your own chase to release as well.
He threw his head back even further, which you didn’t know was possible, as he was already resting it on the back of the couch. But he pushed his head further into the cushion, releasing a loud groan, fingers gripping your hair, unconsciously pulling you further down onto him, your hands steadying yourself on his thighs. You moaned, sending vibrations onto him as he rode the waves of his high, only heightening the experience and he gripped harder, your fingernails digging small crescents into the fabric of his pants.
He released fully into your mouth, to which you promptly pulled away and swallowed, feeling a small drop dribble down the side of your lip and onto your chin. You moved to wipe it away but he was quicker, his hand cupping your chin and wiping it off with his thumb. He then pressed his thumb against your lower lip, pushing it between them for you to suck on it, making sure you got every last drop.
A small, dreamy smile appeared on his face, a certain type of smile you’ve never seen him make before. You leaned forward again to help him get cleaned up, but he stopped you, grabbing your hand and holding it gently, his thumb softly rubbing the back of it as you felt a wave of tiredness wash over you as well. He glanced down at you through hooded eyes, figuring your sudden fatigue was due to your attempts to give him the utmost pleasure, but a lazy giggle left your lips as you felt a small patch of arousal forming in your underwear.
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This has been sitting in my drafts for a year lmao figured I'd just finish it already 😅 the ending was kinda rushed I'll admit cause it was supposed to be a blurb not a full fic so I didn't want it to get too wordy. And yes I'm still in my beta testing with writing smut lol so this might be fire it might be trash idk let me know what you think! As stated I'm still a novice so pls be nice lmao and I know it's published as a Geo fic despite his name being NOWHERE in here and I did that on purpose tbh I think that makes it more ambiguous but again it's just an experiment
Taglist: @little-bit-of-mystery @nosegoes @cocteautwiny @queen-of-stars @thatgoesinthere-misshapes @harrisongslimited @hyasynth1
If you would like to be added to this list, comment on this post or send me an ask!
john gets pistol-whipped into love at the cavern club.
you’re america’s sweetheart. john’s been waiting to meet you.
john wakes you up at 4 a.m. to eat. it’s not about food
john comforts you after cruel press comments
in a world that took from him, you were the one thing he had to earn (18+!)
john can’t keep his hands to himself. not when you’re this close. (18+!)
john’s mouth does more than sing. you’re left speechless. (18+)
you never meant for anyone to see you break. john does.
john doesn’t understand why you do the things you do until he finally listens
his eyes are on you.. and on anyone who looks at you.
john’s burnt out. all he wants is you. (18+!)
you’ve never felt confident naked. john won’t let you hide. (18+!)
you’re a first for him. john couldn’t be happier. (18!)
his glasses, a cramped flat, and you in his lap. (18!)
hard day’s night premiere. john’s got a fake date, and a real problem.
buried in fan mail are letters from home. john notices, and can’t leave it alone.
two stars, too close. not love, but almost. (18+!)
you’re a beatle too. not everyone acts like it.
you hate him. he hates you. then you fall in love.
you’re the nervous assistant with a poetry book. he reads it.
you spend the day in the dakota. john doesn’t let you leave his lap. (18+!)
paul mccartney
you have a panic attack. paul finds you
the train’s leaving. you’re not sure you belong in paul’s future. | part 2
you spend the day on paul’s farm, laughing and running wild. | more!!
he’s cracking at the seams and you offer yourself up like a prayer (18+!)
you’re john’s best friend. paul wishes you weren’t.
your song about paul turns into a hit. now he’s at your door.
paul loves you loud. you’ve never been loved like this.
you and paul were firsts. now it’s 1969, and your songs still sound like him.
the world sees you as quiet. paul knows how loud you get. (18+!)
five years ago, you told paul to wait. he did.
paul needs to unwind after the sessions. you offer your thighs. (18+!)
paul finds himself writing songs again. you're why.
he’s not the paul you loved. and you’re not sure you care. (18+!) (paul is dead)
paul takes you to the beach for quiet. but he just wants you. (18+!)
sfw alphabet
paul shows you off all night, then takes you outside and ruins you. (18+!)
paul gives you a daisy after a show. then another. and another.
you clean the flat alone. paul makes you filthy again. (18+!)
you ruin his bit. he tries to ruin your composure.
george harrison
you’re a florist’s apprentice. george listens to you talk about flowers.
you’re scared of heights. you end up on the rooftop with george anyway.
you and george are seated together on a flight. he likes the book you're reading.
you're america’s shyest superstar, he was the quiet beatle.
you’re far from the spotlight. george still finds you.
george is crushing hard. he’s really bad at hiding it.
george hasn’t seen you in weeks and he’s ravenous. (18+!)
george loses himself to fame. your door is the last place he feels whole.
years of love, never said out loud.
you’re a folk singer with a busted guitar. george thinks it’s fate.
it’s not supposed to be real. but in secret, he holds you like it is.
a joint, a smirk, your legs in his lap. george takes it from there. (18+!)
the mustache isn’t helping. george catches you staring anyway. (18+!)
ringo starr
you’re a reporters assistant. he smiles, asks your name, remembers it.
you can’t see your worth. ringo shows you, over and over.
you hate eating in public. ringo sees you struggling.
the night’s over. ringo’s still looking at you like that.
the storm hits. ringo finds you scared and stays.
you're trying to feed him. he’s just trying not to die.
ringo’s in boxers making breakfast. you don’t leave bed ‘til noon.
you and ringo spend christmas the slow way.
multiple
the beatles comforting their girl after an argument
kisses from the beatles
nsfw alphabet: john and paul (18+!)
nsfw alphabet: george and ringo (18!+)
reader with an odd name
pillow/tickle fights with them
showing you a song they wrote for you
them being protective over a reader who's also in the band
the beatles with a southern accented partner
the beatles with a plus sized partner
the beatles with a s/o in arts
the beatles with an easily startled s/o
the beatles with a s/o who has super long hair
paul and john are obsessed with you. neither backs down. (18+!)
the beatles with you cuddled up and asleep on them
the beatles with a hippie girl
the beatles with an italian partner
when there's a rumor that he's cheating
the beatles with a black cat gf
hugs from the beatles
if you wrote them a song
beatles with a novelist partner
helping you with an ed
their reaction to someone with odd colored hair
first impressions but you were wrong
taking you to a fair/carnival
the beatles with a partner recovering from a bad breakup
the beatles on your birthday
the beatles reacting to your stretch marks/cellulite
the beatles with a model girl
the beatles with a pregnant s/o
teaching you instruments
the beatles with a ftm bf
you can also comment on this post if you'd like to be added to the taglist. also, let me know if you'd like to be tagged in specific things! (example ; sfw only, gender neutral only, etc)
hallo lovee may u pls pls pls feed us george harrison smut. perhaps w overstimulation too THANK U OK BYE
𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 (𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒉 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒉 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒉)
꒰ pairing ꒱ george harrison x reader
꒰ contains ꒱ nsfw!! minors dni! female anatomy, overstimulation, george being very patient and mean at the same time
꒰ summary ꒱ george hasn’t seen you in weeks and he’s ravenous.
꒰ note ꒱ runs into george's sticky beatle fringe
The door shut behind him with a soft click.
Just a muted snap of wood and lock as George dropped his guitar case by the wall and stood still in the middle of the hotel room.
His fringe hung low over his eyes, dark and damp from the walk from the car. The collar of his shirt was askew, he’d been tugging at it, apparently, somewhere between the interview and here. You watched him from the chair, where you were curled in one of his old shirts, knees drawn up, book open but unread in your lap.
He looked like he’d been holding his breath for a week.
And when he saw you, he exhaled.
“There you are,” he said, voice low and rough with road-wear. He toed his boots off without looking away from you. “You don’t know what it’s been like, luv. All week. I’ve been goin’ off my nut.”
You smiled, half-teasing. “Ringo called. Said you cried on the plane.”
George scowled, stepping closer, unbuttoning his jacket.
“He’s a bleedin’ liar.”
“You missed me.”
“I need you,” he corrected sharply, eyes dark. “Couldn’t think straight, not with your voice stuck in me head, not with your smell all over my pillows.”
You didn’t have time to respond. His arms wrapped around you from behind in a hard pull, breath warm at the curve of your neck, and you melted straight into him like sugar on the stove.
“Missed you,” he murmured, and it was almost slurred, like the words hurt to say. “God, I fuckin’ missed you.”
His nose buried against your skin. You turned in his arms, hands splayed over his back, and caught your first full look at him: tousled hair, soft in the fringe, eyes rimmed dark like he hadn’t slept properly in days. But the way he looked at you, hungry. Like he couldn’t decide whether to kiss you or drop to his knees.
“George,” you breathed.
He kissed you. Just once, a firm press of lips to yours, and then again harder, deeper, his mouth warm and plush and needy, like he had to drink you in or die. His hands gripped your waist tight enough to ache. You moaned against him and felt it send a shock through his spine, the way his hips jolted forward like he’d barely touched you and already couldn’t take it.
“Didn’t even mean to go so long,” he said against your lips, ragged. “They said it’d be two weeks, was nearly four, ‘bout lost my mind.”
You stroked the back of his neck, your nails gently scratching under his hair. He shuddered, forehead resting against yours.
“‘Swear,” he mumbled, “I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout you all night, every night. Can’t fuckin’ sleep, can’t think. Just me hand in the shower like a fuckin’ teenager.”
You flushed hot. “Yeah?”
He grinned, slow and dark. “Yeah. But not like it helped. Never works. Just makes me want you more.”
His mouth was back on you in seconds, greedy now, tongue licking into yours, teeth grazing your bottom lip like he’d forgotten what kissing felt like. And maybe he had. Maybe he’d been so deprived he’d started inventing you in dreams just to remember the taste.
He didn’t carry you to bed, he yanked you off the chair and pressed you to the nearest wall, lifting your leg around his hip, kissing down your throat like a man gone blind with it. His hands tore at your clothes, unbuttoning and unzipping with frantic precision, dragging fabric off your body like it offended him to see it in the way. By the time you were naked from the waist up, he was already sinking to his knees, hands on your thighs.
“Fuckin’ look at you,” he breathed. “Christ alive. Never seen anything so lovely.”
He kissed your stomach. Your hip. Dragged his lips down your belly with almost painful tenderness, like he had to re-familiarize himself with every inch. When he got to your underwear, he hesitated.
“Can I?”
You nodded fast. “God, yes.”
He mouthed at the wet fabric first, breathing hard. “All soaked and I’ve not even touched you yet.”
You whimpered.
He pulled them down slowly, watching the way the wet center clung to you. He hissed.
Then his mouth was on you.
You almost collapsed.
Tongue flat, slow at first, then faster, then pointed, flicking your clit with wet pressure, sucking it between his lips until you cried out. His hands pinned your hips to the wall, and he groaned against you like you were the one giving head. He licked you through your slick like a starving man, like he’d waited years, like nothing mattered but how wet and warm and perfect you were around his mouth.
“George-fuck, fuck-”
You were grinding on his face now, his nose brushing your clit with every pass, and he loved it. He moaned like he was drunk on you, like he could stay down there for hours, and when your knees buckled he held you there, one hand slipping between your legs so he could fuck you with two long fingers while he sucked.
Your orgasm hit like lightning, sudden, shaking, full-body, and he didn’t stop. He kept going, dragging it out until your thighs were trembling and you were writhing against his mouth, begging:
“Too much, please, fuck-”
He looked up, chin soaked, eyes wild. “More,” he said, and grinned. “One more. Gimme another.”
And you did.
You came again, even harder, hips spasming in his grip, your voice nearly breaking from the overstimulation, but he held you steady, whispered shhh, shhh, good, as you shook against him.
When he finally pulled away, he looked wrecked. Hair in his eyes, lips pink and slick, chest rising hard. You were still clinging to the wall, panting, boneless.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “Look at you.”
He stood, kissed you sloppy and deep, making you taste yourself on his tongue. His cock was hard against you through his trousers, so hot it burned.
“Bed,” he said, and it wasn’t a suggestion.
You didn’t remember how you got there. One second you were dizzy in his arms, the next you were on your back, legs open, George’s shirt unbuttoned and tossed aside, his belt hitting the floor.
You reached for him.
He grabbed your wrists gently, pinned them above your head.
“Not yet. M’not done with you.”
He kissed down your chest, sucked your nipple into his mouth, groaned at the taste of your skin. “Want you beggin’ again. Want you cryin’ for it.”
You moaned, legs parting further. “Georgw, please, need you-”
“You’ll get me,” he said, sliding a hand between your thighs again. “But not ‘til I’m done. Not ‘til I’ve got every sound outta you. Yeah?”
You nodded, desperate.
He grinned.
And then he devoured you again.
This time it was slower. Meaner. He licked up and down your slit like he was teasing himself as much as you, sucking your clit just enough to make your hips jump, then easing off, whispering filth against your skin.
“You get tighter when I talk, y’know that? Can feel you clench every time I say something filthy.”
You sobbed.
His fingers pushed back in, curling just right, and you came again with a gasp that cracked open your chest. Your vision blurred. Your voice was gone.
But George didn’t stop.
He kissed your inner thigh, and kept going.
You were writhing now, incoherent, begging and babbling and grabbing at the sheets. Your clit was so swollen it hurt, your cunt still fluttering from your last orgasm, and he was still tongue-deep in you, like he could chase a fourth out of you just because he wanted to.
“Can’t,” you gasped.
“Yes, you can,” he said, voice husky. “You’re gonna give it to me. I know you are. Know this body better than you do.”
He eventually pulled back. Only then did he kiss up your trembling stomach, whispering soft, frantic things, so good, that’s it, never seen anything like it, you’re a fuckin’ miracle, as he crawled up your body.
He kissed your face all over, cheeks, forehead, the tip of your nose. Your chest still heaved.
Then you felt him, hot and hard between your thighs.
And for one awful, perfect second you realized,
He hadn’t even fucked you yet.
“Can you take me?” he asked, and his voice was wrecked. Barely a whisper. “Or d’you want me to wait?”
You whimpered, hips tilting up. “Want you now.”
He swore under his breath.
He slid in slowly, inch by inch, deeper than any toy or finger, stretching you wide. You cried out, and he groaned loud, both hands gripping your waist like he needed to ground himself or lose control.
He fucked you slow at first, watching your face. Watching the way your mouth fell open, your hands gripped his arms, your thighs shook. Then he picked up speed, hips slapping yours, cock dragging against every perfect spot, your body still soaked from everything he’d pulled out of you.
You were crying again, full tears this time, overwhelmed and floating.
“Too much?” he asked, but his voice cracked, he was so close.
You shook your head.
He groaned in relief, fucked you harder.
He growled, “Want you leakin’ me for days. You’ll smell like me, taste like me, won’t forget me.”
You came again. Just from that.
And that was what did it. He buried himself deep, cursed your name, and spilled inside you with a groan so guttural it didn’t sound human.
When he finally collapsed beside you, both of you covered in sweat and come, he dragged you into his chest and didn’t say a word. Just held you, shaking.
You whispered, voice hoarse, “Still alive?”
He let out a laugh, muffled against your neck. “Barely.”
You smiled, drifting.
And then: “Might have to marry you after that.”
You snorted, kissed his throat. “You fuckin’ better.”
I saw a gif of George smoking on Twitter and it made me go crazy so I would like to request some smut with George that involves shotgunning maybe? I just hate that the Beatles look really good when they smoke 😩😩
𐙚 summary ; it’s late, george has a joint, you’ve got your legs in his lap. things escalate the way they always do: with smoke, smirks, and that filthy mouth of his.
𐙚 note ; you are so RIGHT for this. george smoking and that lazy lil smirk?! BUSSAANUUUTTT!! i’d ruin my life!!! ARGG!!!
It’s after midnight when he pulls the joint from behind his ear like a magician revealing his final trick, sly grin catching the low light.
You’re cross-legged on the floor in one of his shirts, legs bare, feet cold on the old rug. His fingers are in your hair, lazy. He likes touching you when he’s high. Likes touching you when he’s not. Either way, you end up in his lap more often than not.
George flicks the lighter with a little snap of his thumb and leans back against the old sofa with a satisfied groan. His hair's falling into his eyes, a little damp at the nape. His shirt’s unbuttoned halfway down, collar loose, chest showing just enough to distract you.
“Y’ever done this?” he asks, cocking a brow as he brings the joint to his mouth, lighting it. “Properly, I mean.”
You blink. “Weed?”
He exhales. The smoke curls out in lazy streams, curling around his tongue. He lets it drift toward the ceiling. “Shotgunnin’.”
You cough out a laugh. “Like kissing?”
“Sort of.” He takes another drag, long and deep, holds it in his lungs, then reaches out and hooks a finger under your chin. His voice is velvet-dark. “Let me show you.”
You let him pull you in, knees sliding across the rug until you're between his thighs. His hand cups your jaw, thumb tracing your cheek.
“Open,” he says.
You do.
He leans in close, nose brushing yours, and exhales directly into your mouth. You inhale out of instinct, your lips parting wider around the breath he gives you, warm and thick with smoke. It tastes like him, sharp and earthy and faintly minty from his gum.
His mouth is still there when you breathe out, lips ghosting yours. The contact lingers. He watches you, eyes half-lidded.
“There y’go,” he murmurs. “Not bad, eh?”
You shake your head a little, dizzy from the rush and the heat. “Do it again.”
He grins, slow and knowing.
The next time, he presses his mouth to yours as he exhales, proper now, the kiss lingering as the smoke fills your chest. He sucks your bottom lip between his teeth on the exhale and lets it go with a little tsk.
“You’re gonna make me fuckin’ wreck you if you keep lookin’ at me like that,” he mumbles, hand dropping to your thigh.
Your voice comes out hoarse. “Who says I’m not already wrecked?”
His mouth twitches. Then he sets the joint down in the ashtray on the windowsill, not even bothering to stub it out. His attention’s fully on you now, his eyes flicking down to your lips, then to your neck, your bare thighs bunched under his shirt.
“You sittin’ there in my clothes, beggin’ for it with your eyes, what am I meant to do, eh?” he asks, rough now, one hand dragging slowly up your inner thigh. “You gettin’ off on it? Bein’ smoked out?”
You nod without thinking. He laughs under his breath, but it sounds more like a growl. His hand reaches the hem of the shirt, fingers skating up under it, warm and calloused.
“God, you’re unreal. Warm everywhere.“
You whimper when he touches you properly. His palm cups you through your underwear, firm pressure making your hips jump. His fingers are cold against the thin fabric. He grins, filthy.
“You are wet. Knew it.”
He shifts on the couch, spreading his thighs wider. His hands find your waist and tug you forward until you're straddling his lap, breath coming fast.
You rut against him, shameless. He’s hard in his trousers, and the friction sends heat racing through your spine.
But then he pauses, one hand slipping to your lower back to still you, the other moving down between your bodies, his brow furrowed with something more urgent now. “Hold on.”
He leans back just enough to unfasten his trousers, quick and practiced, lifting his hips to shove them down along with his briefs. His cock springs free, flushed and already wet at the tip from how long he’s been grinding against you through all that teasing. He kicks the pants off completely, a little clumsily, with one heel catching on the fabric for a second before they fall forgotten to the floor. Then he’s bare beneath you, hot skin against yours, not even a whisper between you now.
“There,” he breathes, exhaling like it’s a relief. His eyes drag over your body like he’s memorizing the view.
He yanks your shirt over your head, “Off,”
The cotton bunches under your arms for a moment, dragged clumsily over your head, and then you’re bare before him in the amber haze of his flat, skin flushed from heat and smoke and the way his eyes are raking over every inch of you like he’s starving. His pupils are blown wide. He doesn’t even try to hide the way his gaze drags down your chest to your stomach, your thighs straddled over his, the sharp hitch in your breath.
He exhales hard through his nose, reverent. “Look at you...”
His hands find your stomach, thumbs grazing upward until his palms cup your chest, gentle at first, then more possessive. He’s got that look again, quiet and intense, like you’re not even real, like he can’t quite believe you’re letting him touch you.
You lean in and press your mouth to his, slow, at first. Not demanding. You kiss him like you’re trying to feed him something warm. He breathes through his nose, arms wrapping tight around your waist, and it’s only when you grind your hips down over the hard line of his cock that he breaks the kiss with a moan.
“Y’drive me mad when you do that,” he mumbles against your jaw, teeth grazing.
You do it again, on purpose, and his head drops to your shoulder as his hips buck once, involuntary. You feel the tremor in his thighs beneath you.
“I’m gonna take these off,” he mutters, already pushing at your underwear. “Right now.”
You lift yourself up just enough for him to pull the last of the fabric down and off. Then you’re skin to skin, his hands on your hips, and your breath catches when the head of his cock brushes the inside of your thigh.
He doesn’t move to fuck you yet. Just sits there, breathing heavily, eyes tracing every inch of you like he’s afraid he’ll forget. His fingers rub slow circles into your hips.
“You alright?” you ask, voice small.
His eyes flick up to meet yours. He nods.
“Just…” He swallows. “You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous like this. Can’t believe I get to have you.”
Your heart clenches.
And then he grins, all mischief again. “Can’t believe you’re naked in my lap and still let me get high first.”
You laugh, sharp and warm. “You’re the one who started it.”
He reaches for the joint again, wedged in the ashtray on the sill. Lights it, takes a long drag, his head tilted back just enough to expose his throat. There’s a thin sheen of sweat there, glinting in the dim light.
You lean forward, hand curled around his neck, and tilt his face to yours.
His mouth quirks. He leans in and exhales slowly between your parted lips, hot smoke curling down your throat, into your chest. You choke on it slightly, cough once into the kiss, and he smiles against your mouth.
“Not used to takin’ it like that, eh?”
You narrow your eyes and lick his bottom lip, slow and deliberate. “Try me.”
That gets a groan out of him.
He sets the joint aside once again and suddenly grips your waist, guiding you upward. The heat of his cock nudges your entrance, thick, flushed, slicked already from how long he’s been grinding up against you.
You sink down slow, inch by inch, and his face breaks.
His mouth falls open, brows knit tight. “Oh, Jesus,”
You both stay still once you’re seated fully, breath trembling. He’s so deep it aches. You can feel his heart beating against your chest, fast and heavy.
Your hips roll. He gasps.
You start moving then, slowly, deliberately, riding him with a rhythm that makes your whole body sing. George’s hands grip your waist like he’s anchoring himself, guiding your movements just enough to drive himself crazy.
“Fuck, look at you,” he rasps. “Gonna ruin me.”
You smile through your panting. “Maybe that’s the idea.”
His head tilts back against the couch, throat exposed. You lean forward and suck at the base of his neck, leaving teeth and spit behind. His moan rips through the room.
Your rhythm builds. The slap of skin on skin. The soft creak of the couch. The obscene sound of you both, slick and loud and utterly unbothered by the world outside.
“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” he groans. “Squeezin’ me like you want to make me come first.”
You nod, dizzy with it. “I do.”
You cry out as his fingers find your clit again, slick and aching, and rub in tight, desperate circles, no preamble, no tease, just pressure and intent. Your body jerks like a livewire under him, your thighs trembling where they’re spread wide over his hips, and your nails dig harder into his shoulders, half in reflex, half to anchor yourself as the pleasure coils in your gut like a fuse burning fast toward detonation.
He feels it. Hears it in your breath going ragged. Sees it in your eyes, glazed and fluttering.
“C’mon,” he pants, mouth hot and damp against your jaw, his thrusts going ragged and deep, cock dragging over every swollen nerve inside you. “Come on my cock. Come for me, yeah?”
You try to answer, but your throat won’t obey, only a breathless moan escapes, high and breaking. Your stomach clenches. Then the dam bursts.
It slams through you, full-body, spine arching, thighs tightening around his waist, pussy clamping down around him so tight he nearly sobs.
Your voice is cracked, lost in the wave cresting through you. You shake as it hits, hips jerking helplessly, every nerve lit and sparking. You don’t come, you're torn apart by it. Pleasure snaps and floods, fast and hard, overwhelming.
George doesn’t stop. Not for a second. His fingers keep working your clit, slick with your come now, and his cock keeps thrusting into your pulsing cunt like he’s chasing your orgasm into the very center of you, like he wants to grind it deeper, make it last.
You moan again, this time more guttural, overstimulated, legs shaking. He fucks through it, voice low and wrecked in your ear.
“You’re squeezin’ me so tight-bloody hell, you’re still comin’, aren’t you?”
You nod, more of a twitch, really, and he laughs, low and breathless, mouth open against your cheek.
“You’re perfect."
You can’t move, limp and boneless now, gasping. But he’s relentless. He grabs your hips, slick fingers sinking in, and fucks up into you with a new kind of urgency, fast and filthy and deep enough to punch the air from your lungs. You groan, brain molten, still twitching from aftershocks.
“You gonna let me fill you up now?” he mutters, teeth grazing your cheek, his voice all gravel and heat.
You nod again, weak, eyes rolling back.
He groans as he chases his own edge, every muscle straining, his thrusts turning erratic, hips jerking up into you with raw, gasping intensity.
He spills inside you with a shout, hips bucking, cock throbbing deep in your cunt as he fills you up, thick and hot. He bites into your shoulder to muffle the sound, growling low as he empties himself in pulsing waves.
You both shudder together, bodies clinging, sweat-slick and trembling.
He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t move. Just holds you there, buried deep, breath ragged against your neck. His arms loop tight around your back, as if afraid to let you go, like he’s still feeling you from the inside.
You collapse against him, cheek to his chest, the rhythm of his heart hammering under your ear.
He kisses your temple, soft now. Reverent.
The room smells like sex and weed and sweat. The joint’s ember still glows faintly in the ashtray, forgotten. Everything around you hums with the thick, slow buzz of too much, too much pleasure, too much need, too much love.
You breathe in. Exhale with a shaky laugh. Your cunt’s still fluttering around him, twitching with the echo of your orgasm.
“Wanna do it again,” you mumble, voice wrecked and dreamy.
George lets out a strangled laugh, pulling you closer like you’re his favorite drug.
“Let me catch my fuckin’ breath, you ruddy maniac.”
𐙚 summary ; a quiet weekend at kinfauns. you have a crush so violent it makes you dumb.
𐙚 note ; i could write about mustached george until the sun dies.
The mustache wasn’t helping.
It was all you’d been able to think about since arriving at Kinfauns the evening before, tucked into one of those long silences that felt more like permission than absence. George hadn’t said much when you showed up at his door, suitcase in one hand, the other shoved awkwardly in your coat pocket. Just opened the door, looked at you for a second longer than was polite, and stepped aside to let you in.
You’d barely spoken since.
You liked his mustache. That was persistent. The way it caught in the slant of late light. The way it framed his mouth when he smirked, and he smirked more often than smiled, which somehow made it worse. The way it made him look older, wiser, a bit unkempt in that maddeningly effortless way. Bohemian by accident.
You sat hunched at the kitchen table, skin dappled by the cold spring sunlight leaking in through gauzy curtains. George stood by the stove, kettle in hand, hair rumpled and still sleep-heavy, the bottom hem of his jumper hitched from where he’d scratched his hip.
“Are you listening?”
Your thoughts crashed like glass. You blinked up at him, guilty.
George was eyeing you, the kettle paused halfway to the burner.
“Eh?” you croaked, stupidly.
He gave you a look.
“You’re not, are you?”
“Sorry,” you mumbled, warmth pooling under your skin. “Was miles off.”
“Figured.” He flicked the stove on, the gas flaring up with a hiss. “You were staring.”
You straightened slightly. “No I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“Wasn’t.”
George turned his head slightly, studying you through the curtain of his fringe. “Alright, then. What were you doing?”
Your brain scrambled like eggs. “I was… just watching the sun come in.”
He turned to look out the window, as if checking your excuse.
“…It’s cloudy.”
You groaned, letting your forehead fall to the table with a soft thunk.
He laughed under his breath, not mocking, not exactly. It was that quiet kind of chuckle you heard from him sometimes in the studio, when someone messed up and made it sound good anyway.
“Right,” he murmured, rinsing out the old teapot. “Not lookin’ at the clouds, then.”
You didn’t reply. Just peeked up at him through your lashes.
George poured hot water into the pot, then brought it over and set it in front of you like an offering. He slid into the seat beside you, close enough that his knee brushed yours and didn’t move away. Neither of you said anything for a minute. The only sounds were the ticking kitchen clock and the soft creak of wood as the old house settled.
“…You could stay another night,” he said suddenly.
You turned to look at him, surprised.
George wasn’t looking back. His fingers were tracing the swirl of steam curling up from the pot. There was something careful about the way he said it, as if testing the words.
“Wouldn’t mind,” he added, after a beat.
“You’re not sick of me yet?”
His mouth twitched into a smile. “Not quite.”
You exhaled, letting the warmth of the tea mug seep into your fingers.
George’s gaze lifted, slowly. His eyes dragged across you, the curve of your hand, your mouth on the rim of the cup, the line of your throat. He didn’t pretend he wasn’t looking. He just looked.
Then he blinked, cleared his throat. “I’ll take you up to the garden after this.”
You set your cup down. “I haven’t been to the garden yet.”
He gave you a small, knowing look. “Yeah, I know."
━━
The garden was more of a thicket really, nice and secretive. Overgrown and shadowy, sunspots flickering through dense hedges, low fruit trees knotted with green and gold.
He walked you through it without saying much.
Every so often, his hand would reach out to brush a branch out of your way. You didn’t always move in time, twice, his fingers grazed your shoulder. Light as breath. Like he wasn’t sure whether he’d done it on purpose.
The second time, you didn’t shift away.
And he didn’t move his hand.
“Here,” he said, after a while, steering you down a mossy path that seemed to lead nowhere. “Meant to show you this.”
You ducked beneath a draping willow, its leaves whispering as they moved, and emerged into a hidden clearing.
There was a bench, small and worn smooth by time, tucked beneath a canopy of green. Sunlight filtered through the leaves in long, gentle shafts. The air smelled of crushed clover, bark, and earth, tinged with something citrusy, lime, maybe, or something growing wild nearby.
George gestured to the bench. You sat.
He did too, but not too close. Just enough to be companionable.
“Didn’t bring you here yet,” he said quietly. “’Cause it didn’t feel right without the album done.”
You turned to him. “Why not?”
He shrugged, watching a bug crawl across a blade of grass. “Needed it to settle, I suppose. Wanted to bring someone once the noise quieted.”
The quiet stretched between you, not uncomfortable, but charged, now. Like something waking up.
George reached down and picked a clover. Spun it gently between his fingers.
You watched his hands, unable not to.
He caught your gaze.
“Want one?”
You blinked. “A clover?”
He gave a lopsided smile. “No. A flower.”
“…What kind?”
He shrugged one shoulder, easy. “Any kind. You tell me.”
“I don’t know,” you said softly. “What’s growing right now?”
He tilted his head thoughtfully, scanning the clearing like he was seeing it for the first time. “Bit early in the season. But violets, maybe. Bluebells. Daffodils, if you like them.”
You were quiet a moment, then said, “Violets sound nice.”
He nodded. “Alright.”
━━
That night, you found yourself cross-legged on the faded carpet of his music room, surrounded by floor pillows and a bottle of red wine between you. Records scattered like flower petals around your knees. One of the Pepper drafts lay open in your lap.
You ran your finger along a half-finished lyric, your voice low. “This one’s yours, isn’t it?”
George nodded without looking up. “Came all in one go.”
“It’s lovely,” you murmured.
He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal.
You studied him again. Really studied him. The lazy curve of his body as he lounged, the long fingers draped over his knees. His lashes looked impossibly dark in the lamplight. His hair curled at the base of his neck. That ridiculous mustache, burnished gold now, softening his mouth in the warm glow.
You’d never wanted to touch someone more.
He looked up suddenly, catching you.
You didn’t look away.
And neither did he.
“You always stare like that?”
You didn’t answer.
George leaned forward slightly. The air tightened.
Then: “Remember when I'd left you for a bit earlier? I picked something up,” he said. “In town. Meant to show you.”
You blinked. “What?”
He pushed to his feet and padded out of the room barefoot, vanishing down the hall.
When he came back, he held something behind his back.
You tilted your head.
Then he showed it.
A small bouquet, modest, sweet-smelling, a little wild-looking.
Violets. And mint.
Your heart tripped.
You looked up at him slowly.
“…Hey, you remembered.”
“Course I did,” he said.
“But these weren’t at the market…”
He shrugged. “Found ‘em.”
Your throat was tight.
“You got me flowers,” you said quietly.
“I’m tryin’ to be romantic, if you’d shut up about it,” he said, too quickly. “Took me ages to find the mint. Bastard florist said it was out of season-”
“George.”
He stopped.
You reached up, brushing your fingertips over the small bloom of a violet. Soft. Delicate. And then you let your hand drift lower, catching his wrist. His palm. His fingers.
Then your hand slipped lower, over his wrist. His palm. His fingers.
He froze. And then he melted.
The violets hit the floor like a spell. You barely heard them land.
George leaned down, one hand braced against the doorframe, the other still half-full of petals. His hair fell into his face, soft and uneven. The scent of earth and green things clung to his sleeves. He looked flushed from the walk. Or maybe from the way you were looking at him now.
“I should’ve gotten a vase,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Didn’t think it through.”
“George,” you said again.
His eyes lifted.
You stepped into him, slow and steady. Not dramatic. Just inevitable. Your arms came up to rest at his shoulders, fingers dragging gently along the nap of his collar. He smelled like rain and pipe smoke and clean laundry.
“Y’not gonna say thank you or anything?” he murmured, close now. One hand brushing your waist.
“Thought I’d show you.”
“Mm.” He looked at your mouth, then back to your eyes. “Show me what, exactly?”
Instead of answering, you kissed him.
It wasn’t practiced. You didn’t aim. You just leaned in, and he met you halfway, mouth softer than you thought it’d be, warm under that ridiculous, infuriating, filthy mustache.
He made a little noise. Not quite a moan, more like surprise. But he didn’t stop. His hands found your hips, pulled you closer, mouths moving slow, tongues brushing, then deeper, wetter.
You tugged his jumper up by the hem, palms skimming under the cotton. His skin was warm and alive, twitching under your touch.
“Bloody hell,” he breathed between kisses. “All this ‘cause of the flowers?”
“No,” you mumbled, nipping his bottom lip. “Because of the mustache.”
He laughed, hoarse. “Knew it.”
The walk back to the bedroom was clumsy. George knocked over a chair with his heel. You banged into the doorframe and didn’t care. He kissed you the whole way, slow and focused like he was learning your mouth note by note.
By the time you hit the bed, you were both half-undressed. His shirt got lost in the hallway. Yours hit the floor by the record player. You tumbled back into the pillows and he followed, crawling over you like a cat stretching in sunlight.
“Let me have a proper look,” he murmured, hovering above you, hair in his eyes. He braced one hand beside your head and dragged the other slowly down your torso, fingertips trailing sparks.
“You’re nervous,” he observed, not unkindly. Just curious.
“No I’m not,” you lied, voice shaking.
He grinned. “Right. And I’m not starin’ at you like I’m about to lose my mind.”
You reached up and touched his face, thumb brushing the edge of his mustache. He went still, eyes flicking down to watch your hand.
“Does it tickle?” you asked, soft.
“You’ll find out in a second.”
And then he kissed down your neck, your chest, pausing to mouth lazily at skin and bone and soft places. His hands slid beneath you, lifting, arranging, worshipful in a way that made you ache. Every brush of his lips left fire behind.
“George-” you breathed, one hand in his hair.
“Mm?” His voice muffled against your stomach.
“Do something.”
“Oh, I am.”
And then he dragged his mouth lower, between your legs, using hands and teeth and that goddamn mustache in ways that made you groan.
He took his time. He groaned softly every time your hips moved, every time your thighs clenched around his head. Like he liked this. Like he liked you.
And you could feel that, his mouth gentle but insistent, tongue slow in the way it moved against you, unhurried, purposeful. He wasn’t trying to rush you to the edge. He was savoring. Making a meal of it. Taking little tastes and pauses, pressing the soft, flat heat of his tongue up and circling, teasing, then pulling away just to kiss the insides of your thighs again. Your skin prickled under his breath. He’d rest his mouth there, exhale into you like you were a flame he was coaxing to stay lit.
His hands cradled under your thighs, fingers flexing slightly, keeping you open for him. Not forceful, just enough to keep you where he wanted you. His thumb brushed light circles into your skin, and his other hand moved slowly, stroking up your belly, then back down, trailing warmth wherever it went. His fingers weren’t even inside you yet and you were already slick around nothing, already arching into his mouth like you were begging without words.
When he pulled back for just a moment to glance up at you, his chin glistening, he looked ruined in the best way, hair tousled from where your hands had twisted in it, cheeks flushed. He blinked slowly, and then smiled, mouth still open, soft and low.
“You’re all warm,” he said, nuzzling your inner thigh with his nose, almost bashful.
You whimpered. Couldn’t help it.
And then, without waiting for another sound from you, he slid two fingers in.
Slow. Just to the first knuckle, then all the way, inch by inch, curling gently like he was searching for something. He kept his eyes on your face the entire time. His knuckles brushed against you, and you gasped, and his mouth was right there again, kissing you sweetly while his fingers explored with tender precision.
He moved them in tandem with his tongue, his pace slow, luxurious, like it was a rhythm he knew by heart. In and out, a steady motion that never rushed, just pressed deep and curved right where it made your thighs twitch. And the sounds, wet and quiet, nothing obscene, just the soft slick noise of him stroking into you, the occasional sigh he let out, low and content like this was his favorite place in the world.
Your legs shook around his shoulders, and his hands moved, adjusting to hold you more securely. His fingers curled again, just right, and his mouth sealed around you, suction just enough to make your back arch up off the sheets.
He moaned into you at that, genuinely, like he’d been holding back. Like you pulsing around his fingers was driving him crazy. His tongue moved faster now, but never rough, never mindless, it stayed deliberate, like he was following your breath, every pant and soft noise guiding him. And his fingers, God, they didn’t falter. Just kept stroking and curling and pressing until your stomach was tight and your chest heaving.
When your hands gripped the sheets and you let out a broken cry, he didn’t stop. Didn’t change anything. Just pressed a little deeper with his fingers, flicked his tongue with the tiniest shift, and held you through it.
He watched it all happen, quietly, calmly, like he was trying to memorize the exact shape your mouth made when you came, the exact angle your hips jolted, the exact pitch of the breath you sucked in when your body finally gave up and gave in. He just looked… content. Lazily focused. Like he'd be perfectly happy staying there between your legs for the rest of the night.
But when your legs finally stopped twitching and your chest stopped stuttering, he lifted his head, hair a little damp at the temples, lips slick.
“Y’alright?” he asked, soft but unbothered, like he already knew the answer.
You nodded, barely, head turned to the side, cheek against the pillow. Your limbs didn’t even work yet.
He smiled a little, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and kissed your inner thigh, slow and lingering. Then you heard the button of his jeans click open. A lazy little zzzip. The sound made your belly tighten all over again.
“You don’t have to,” you murmured, voice rough from all the panting.
“Mm,” he hummed. “I want to.”
He stood up to shove them off, letting them drop to the floor without ceremony. His shirt was already halfway unbuttoned from earlier, he didn’t bother with the rest. Just got back onto the bed with you, calm as anything, his cock flushed and stiff, leaking at the tip like it’d been aching for a while now.
You looked down at it. He caught your gaze and raised an eyebrow, amused.
“Gonna look at it or sit on it?”
You gave him a weak laugh, legs falling open automatically. He slid between them without rush, hands on your thighs, stroking, holding, dragging you closer inch by inch until he lined himself up.
“Gonna go slow,” he said. “Still soft inside.”
You nodded. He leaned in, kissed your mouth. This time it was warmer, heavier. Less careful.
Then he pushed in.
The stretch was deep and good, your body still buzzing and sensitive, still slick from his mouth and his fingers and everything he’d done before. He rocked his hips until he was buried to the hilt, and then stilled, his forehead pressing to yours.
You made a noise, breathy, caught between a gasp and a groan. He shushed you sweetly, then pulled back and did it again.
His rhythm stayed slow. Not teasing, not taunting, just deep. Full. A kind of slow that made you feel every single slide, every twitch of his cock as he fucked into you. His hands stayed on your hips at first, then slid up your sides, under your back. He pressed his palm between your shoulder blades and held you like that, bending you up a little so he could fuck in at a different angle, one that made your stomach clench and your eyes shut tight.
You felt him drop his mouth to your neck, teeth grazing skin, breath hot and broken. He wasn’t saying much, just the occasional grunt, soft fuck, maybe your name once or twice. It didn’t need anything else.
He started to move a little faster near the end, thrusts shallower, breath catching like it was finally catching up to him. You tightened around him and he groaned low, strained.
“Fuck-gonna-where d’you want it?” he rasped, voice rough now.
“Anywhere,” you breathed. “Wherever y'want it.”
That did something to him. He fucked into you hard a few more times and then pulled out with a gasp, stroking himself once, twice, then groaning as he came across your belly. Warm, thick, stripes of it hitting your skin. His hand slowed. His eyes stayed on your stomach, chest heaving.
For a second, he just stared at it. At you. Then he pressed his thumb into the mess and lazily drew a little circle, right above your navel. You stared at him, lips parted.
“…Jesus.”
He sat back on his heels, looking at you for a second. Then let out a breath and flopped down beside you, hand still resting on your leg like he couldn’t quite be bothered to move it yet.
You looked at him. He looked at the ceiling.
“Got bored,” he said mildly, voice still rough.
You snorted. “Right after you came?”
He cracked a tired grin. “Coincidence.”
Then he rolled to his side, nudged your arm with his nose, and didn’t move again.
Uhhhhhh idk the plot but i just need that old dude bad until theres DUST coming out
Um warning nsfw! Please dni if your uncomfortable with them getting it on freaky😛
You took a deep breath as you made your way towards the door of your boss, George Harrison’s, office. Working for Dark Horse was easy, but you had yet to meet the actual creator, the man in the flesh, the beatle of which you once adored so much during your youth.
You knocked softly. but, after not hearing a response (and being a bit too nosey) you opened the door just a smidge, and the image you saw surprised you.
You saw George at his desk, his head leaned back on his office chair, a pile of papers absentmindedly laid infront of him, a few even in his lap. He looked so…peaceful, far from the pictures of a rugid looking man you’ve saw in pictures, or the sharp, both toothed and witted, boy from his youth.
“…Excuse me, Mr.Harrison..?” You said, and jumped back slightly, startled, as he practically jumped up from his sleep with a slight gasp, wiping his eyes.
“Sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart.” George said, groaning as he adjusted his seat. He leaned a hand against the desk, looking up at you with piercing eyes, ones that left you speechless. “…your name?” He said, snapping you out of your daze.
“Oh, its y/n.” You say, walking over to the chair opposite of his, sitting down slowly while simultaneously fixing your skirt. You extended a hand out a bit weary to him before your worries melted away as his hand meets yours's, shaking it softly.
"Have a seat, dear." He says, motioning to the seat Infront of him. You pull out the chair and take a seat, the cushion a soft relief from your rather boring and exhausting day. "Also, don't be so formal, eh? George is fine." He says, a long-toothed smile accompanying it that makes you . . . strangely comfortable.
"So . . . Came to see the big man in charge, huh? Or I suppose it was more like snooping, isn’t it?” George said, his voice uncharacteristically nice for an old man being awakened by a worker which he knew nothing about.
“Oh, sorry about that… I was just curious. Thats all.” You said, a bit nervous, your nails picking at the trim of your mid-length skirt, anxiously twiddling it in your hands. He must’ve noticed your nervous gesture, leaning back in his chair, a small chuckle coming from his mouth.
“There’s no reason to be nervous miss. I don’t bite.” He said, putting his hands up in mock surrender, his voice a gentle joking tone. You let down you guard a bit, leaning forward a bit. You weren’t usually this eager to ask questions, but COME ON! This was a freaking Beatle!!
“I have… a few questions, If thats okay??” You say, your elbows leaned against the desk now, unaware of your possible invasion of space you were causing. George nodded softly, a soft upturn at the left side of his lip.
You smiled, taking a breath to calm yourself before asking. “Okay, I have to ask, how was it like being a Beatle? You were like one of the most important people in the freaking world!” You say, a grin on your face.
George shrugs, a soft laugh coming from him. “I don’t know if I would say most important. But It was fun, in the beginning, I suppose.” George says, grinning as he takes a sip from a questionably old looking cup of water.
You giggled, scooting your chair closer to the desk, intrigued. “Are you still friends with any of them? I mean, you weren’t on bad terms with EVERYONE.” You say, to which he smiles, a hand resting under his chin.
“Well, I’m still good mates with Ringo and John, and me and Paul talk a bit.” He responds, his glance never faltering for even a minute as your seemingly endless questions came again and again.
The clock ticked by silently on the wall, although the room was anything but. Laughs of both you and his filled the room as he retold stories with his mates and answered about a thousand different questions, some a bit too personal for his taste.
Finally, only when you yawned, you looked at the sleek watch on your wrist, noticing the time that had flew. “Shit! I mean- shoot!” You say, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment from both your unbothered questioning that you now feel you wasted his time on, and your accidental slip up. Great first time meeting your boss, huh?
George chuckled as he watched you hurriedly begin to grab your things, standing up from his own desk. “I was waiting ‘til you noticed the time.” He said, flattening out his rumpled blazer. “You don’t have to rush.” He said, slowly packing his papers into his briefcase.
“Yes I do, I missed the bus! How am I supposed to get home now??” You said, to which he looked at you a bit confused, before pointing at himself, a raised eyebrow on his face, along with a smile.
“I…have a car, dear. I can drive you home.” He said, looking at your face, clearly dissatisfied by your continued hurrying, you almost out of the door, your stuff jumbled in your hands.
“I can’t let you do that! I’ll just walk, its not that far-“ you say, beginning to walk out of his office door before you hear the scuffle of dress shoes, and then a hand grabbing your wrist. Not hurtful, just intentful, soft. You turned your head until you eyes aligned with his, looking up.
“Let me take you home.” He said, he voice more a command, a ‘hey I’m doing this for you and you can’t say no’ type of voice. “It’s dangerous to walk alone at night. Especially someone like you.” He says, and, although the flirt of the words was lost by you, he still moved back, letting go of your wrist softly, surprised by his own words, clearing his throat.
You turn to him, your hands jumbled with your own belongings. “Fine, but only because I don’t feel like walking home.” You say, following him out of the office, getting a few glances from the cleaners, though none of them dare say anything.
You followed him out of the back door silently to his car, though it was too dark to tell exactly what kind it was. He opened the passenger door for you, “like a gentleman should” he said, when you questioned what he was doing.
He climbed into the other side, and the car hummed to life, the steady rev of the engine along with the soft song whistling through the radio was enough to make you let yourself soften, eyelids drooping, anxiousness melted away. “Thank you. For doing this.” You say softly, a soft smile on your face.
George turned his eyes to you, a bit surprised, a slight smile turning up at the corners of his lips. “It’s not a problem. Just keeping you safe.” He says, his non-dominant hand resting on the center console.
You looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “Why? You just me today, and I barely let you get a word in.” You said, admitting your own nervousness about your messy conversation of earlier. You looked down at your skirt, too embarrassed to meet his eyes.
Your hands fiddled mindlessly with the hem of your skirt until they were stopped by another one laid atop them. You were shocked, looking over at George, his face still calm, nothing different except for the fact his hand was now on yours.
“There’s no need to be embarrassed, miss.” He said, “it was…quite nice, actually. Thank you.” He said, causing you to come out of your stupor from sheer surprise at his words. You looked over at him, though didn’t say anything for a moment.
“What—really?” You said, almost yelling at first, before realizing that that probably wasn’t the most appropriate thing to yell at your boss. He just chuckled, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel.
“Yeah, it was pleasant. It was…a lot, yeah. But who says that's a bad thing?” He said, grinning slightly as he looked over at you, his gaze playfully soft. For a moment, you could almost forget he was your boss. Forget he’s that same guy from years ago who’s face was plastered on every turn. In this moment he was just George, nothing more.
You grinned softly, looking over at him. It wasn’t until then you had realized you were already pulled into a driveway, although it was … definitely not yours.
As you stared out the window at the luxurious house you could hardly believe was out there, you suddenly understood where you were when you heard the man beside you begin to chuckle in delight.
“Is this your house?” You say, forgetting about your belongings in the backseat as you climbed out of the car, looking up in amazement. It was unreal, unlike anything you’d ever seen.
George’s giggled continued as we walked up behind you, pressing a hand on your lower back nonchalantly as he guided you towards the door. He quickly got his keys out and unlocked the door, continuing to lead you indoors. And the inside of the house was just…wow.
“Well? What’dya think, doll?” He said, walking with you as you peeked your head into each room lining the hallway, at the end being a small—well, at least compared to the rest of the house—living room. You, probably looking like a lost puppy- glanced around in amazement.
“This is so much better than my apartment.” You said, which, you definitely could have said something better, but it was still sufficient. Enough to get a chuckle and a smile out of George, who was sitting down on the couch, patting the spot beside him.
You, very not taking into account what the weird feeling in your chest was, walked over, comforting yourself on the couch, not even noticing how his arm had made its way around your shoulders.
You allowed yourself to melt into his warmth, unaware of the time passing by. You did have work tomorrow…but…could you really be late if you’re with your boss?
You eyes were fluttering closed when your head was turned towards a face by George, looking at you, your noses close enough to be touching. You feel his breath hit your face as he speaks, "Don't fall asleep on me now, sweetheart." He scolds with a gentle ferocity, to which you could barely keep your eyes open.
He chuckled, his eyes containing a weakly hidden lust behind their dusty hues. You giggled softly, leaning a hand against his chest to help prop your head up just a bit above his. "I'm not that tired." You said, giggling. He just scoffed, a solid hand held against your hair. "Oh yeah?" He said, a smirk on his fanged face.
You giggled, leaning towards him, the energy changing to suddenly more serious. You were too close-- and not just in a literal sense. Too close to your boss, too close to something that shouldn't be. You pulled back slightly, yawning. "I should probably go--" You say, but get cut off by a pair of lips against yours.
Your eyes shot open, looking down at his. He, quickly realizing his presumed error, pulled away, his chest heaving. "I--I'm sorry." He said, clearly embarrassed, his cheeks flushed. You looked at him, your cheeks also flushed. As much as you weren't expecting it, it wasn't . . . unpleasant.
"No, It--it wasn't bad, just surprising." You say, looking at him. You could tell he didn't believe you by the way he ran a hand down his still painfully flushed face. So, if he didn't believe you by your words, you had to show it.
You grabbed his eccentric tie, turning him back towards you and capturing his lips in yours, this time with much more fury than before. You let his hand guide your leg over his lap, leaning towards him. You pulled back only for breath, the room silent except for your staggered breaths.
You let your hands move to his tie, untying it swiftly as his hands went to your button up shirt, deftly unbutton it, though softly enough, like you were a priced piece of china, something fragile that he couldn't risk breaking.
“Stay with me?” He said, his voice pleading, just a bit. He swallowed hard with barely consisted restraint before continuing. “Please.” He said, and hell, saying anything in that tone would be enough to convince you.
You continue your deft unbuttoning of his shirt while he enjoyed the soft untucking of your own blouse, his eyes staring at your chest as your bra shown through like a man starved, letting his hand gently cup one side. His touch was soft, purposeful.
“Beautiful…” he says softly, pressing his lips against your neck, leaving small marks in their wake across your neck and collarbone. You continued to undo his tie, finally getting it off and throwing it to the side.
You quickly worked to unbutton his shirt, his skin underneath perfectly smooth, save for the small trail of curly brown hair leading to his waistband, the boxer waist sitting just visible above the pants.
“Is this okay?” You said, in a questioning tone that could mean multiple things. Is it okay to go further? Is it okay to even be doing this at all? But, your questions were answered as he rested a hand on your thigh, letting it slide up and under your skirt.
“Sit up a little, doll.” He said, his voice not pressuring but shaky with anticipation. You obliged, sitting up slightly off of his lap, just enough room for him to slide his hand further up your skirt, his lengthy fingers reaching the waistband of your panties.
You shivered, his hands pausing in its wake. “Its alright, sweetheart.” He said, letting you take a breath before his fingers latched themselfs to the fabric, pulling it aside. You shuddered as you felt him slip a warm digit into you, your hands gripping his shoulders.
As you eventually settled to the feeling, he slipped another digit into you, his pace becoming steady, mostly content, almost proud. Probably proud you were starting to unravel, and he could tell.
Without a word, he tapped your thigh, wanting you to move off of him slightly. You moved back, albeit with a bit of a shaky stance, to be more on his knees than his lap.
You watched as he deftly unbuckled his belt and dress pants, wasting no time to let them down, letting his member spring free from the confines of his boxers. He pulled you close to him, so close to where you could feel his excited, shallow breaths.
Slowly, and with permission, in the form of a small nod from him, you lowered yourself onto him, a small whine coming from his mouth as you did so. You let your body relax, taking him all in.
You sat there for a second, your fuzzy mind reeling. You leaned your forehead against his, your eyes connecting with his. “This is a bad idea.” You say, though it was obvious both in your voice and his persistent grip on your hips that neither of you had intentions of stopping
You began to move, your pace slow, watching the way his face contorted, the whimpers that escaped his lips. You increased your speed, the room now filled with the sound of skin against skin, your breath, and his shaky whines.
You could feel him getting close, your own body beginning to tense. Then, with one final whine and shudder, he reached his climax, filling you with him, leaning his head back, a hand covering his flushed face.
But, you continued, only taking a few more thrusts to get you to your climax as well, your body shuddering against him. You slowly pulled yourself off of him, sliding off your now cum-stained skirt.
You laid down beside him on the unusually large couch, both of you a ravaged mess. It was only then did he chuckle softly, running a hand through his sweaty brown hair. “That…didn’t seem like a mistake.” He said, shoving himself atleast back into his boxers, although he removed his pants fully, as they were a bit…filthy.
You tried to keep your eyes open, yawning as you sat up, his gaze on you. He had a goody grin on his face, “your perfect like that.” He said, and it was true, at least in his opinion. The way your blouse hung off your shoulder, nothing more covering you spare for your undergarments. The mess of your makeup and hair, it was beautiful to him.
He walked towards you, holding his hand out. “C’mon doll. Lets get you to bed.” He said, pressing his hand on your back as you walked, leaning against him. You were utterly exhausted, both from normal tiredness and…it hD been a while since you had had sex, so it was definitely a…tiring experience.
You followed him into a lavish bedroom, completely with a big bed, on which only one side seem to be actually lived in, the other perfectly folded and put together. “This is nice.” You say, finishing sliding off your basically already discarded blouse, climbing into the made side of the bed.
You watched him climb into the opposite side, stretching out once he got into bed. You couldn’t help but ask the question, seeing both the half-made bed and the empty nightstand, compared to the cluttered one of his. “So, you’re not seeing anybody?” You said, leaning over to him.
He chuckled, the faintest hint of blush creeping onto his face. “Nope, just a lonely old man.” He said, then, an idea popped into his head, smiling mischievous “Well, not this night though.” He said, grinning.
You chuckled, leaning to rest your head against his chest, his arm wrapping around your side. “That…was nice. I guess.” You said, your voice groggy, your cheeks pink.
He chuckled, a hand running through your hair. “Well, good to know I haven’t lost my rockstar charm then, eh?” He said, grinning, and getting one from you too. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your scalp, “sleep doll,” he said, “just rest your pretty head.”
With that, your fluttery eyes shut, his gentle heartbeat humming in your ears. You knew in the morning, you would have to figure out what this is. But, in the moment, you could only focus on the warm, frail body connected to yours.
where the reader shows up at Liam's house to finish a university project with Lennon but as it turns out he will be running a bit late. Naturally, Liam helps the reader pass the time leaving some evidence along the way.
Don't be a stranger pt. 2
the reader comes back for seconds and gets her sweet little revenge for the mark that Liam left on her neck last time.
Don't be a stranger pt. 3
where you and Liam almost get caught [16+]
A quiet shift
where Liam starts distancing himself as his mind has led him to believe that the reader feels summat for Noel, the reader helps him to understand that he's actually the one for her.
Where comfort awaits
Where the reader comes back knackered from some work do, and the brothers step up to look after her. She’s well grateful, and drifts off to sleep, only for Liam to wake her up just to make sure she’s genuinely alright.
Studio time
where a burnt-out Liam finally finds a muse to inspire his new work. [18+]
More than enough
where Liam reassures the reader that she's perfect just the way she is.
Matter of honour
where the reader has to patch Liam up after a light scrap at the pub.
Double Trouble
where Liam finally meets his match making Noel regret ever introducing them to each other.
Second-best
where a pregnancy scare after an evening together brings the reader and Liam together, leaving her previous feelings for Noel behind.
Through his lens
where Liam stages a photoshoot for the pregnant reader after buying an old camera.
Holding you
where Liam can't get enough of his missus
You won't see me
where an argument with the reader's boyfriend let's Liam take his spot.
Play pretend
where Liam kindly pretends to be the reader's boyfriend and actually catches feelings
First and Last
where the reader has never forgotten the kiss she shared with Liam when they were ten, and after his split with Patsy, she’s stunned to discover that he remembers it just as vividly
Jackpot
where Liam and the reader suffer the consequences of an eventful trip to Vegas
Getaway
where an insecure reader finds reassurance from Liam during a beach holiday, showing her she has nothing to worry about
Out of the blue
where Liam tries his best to propose, but his nerves get the best of him each time, until a simple, tender gesture from you leads the confession to slip out in the most unexpected place
Tactical distractions
where the reader finds a rather interesting way to get Liam to wear a warmer coat
Sober up
where Liam looks after a tipsy reader at a Christmas party, only for her to accidentally confess her love while he’s helping her sober up.
Getting high
where the reader comes to Liam to ask how does getting high exactly feel.
Getting high pt. 2where what happened gets addressed at a family gathering.
Cheer up
where Liam makes sure the reader doesn't spend NYE alone and sick.
Lullaby
where the reader's connection with Lennon gives Liam no choice but to make a move.
Ms. Lennon
where Liam's brain short-circuits after meeting the daughter of a Beatle.
Desperation
where the reader and Liam celebrate him going solo (and she really wants to be taken for a ride but he's in a rather teasing mood) [18+ !!!]
Bun in the oven
where Noel and the reader announce to Liam that he's gonna be an uncle.
Boundaries
where a friends with benefits relationship with Liam evolves into something more
T-shirt
where some scribbles on your t-shirt cause quite the commotion.
Teach me
where Liam shows the reader how to go all the way [18+]
Marked
where Liam's tattoo makes you feel things [18+]
Mirrored
where Liam can't help but notice how similar Lennon's mate is to him.
Custard creams
where Liam is pressured to confess with the power of a biscuit tin (and Noel)
Branded
where Liam gets an interesting t-shirt from fans.
Called out
where you call Liam out for his bullshit. live.
Sweet treat
where Liam bakes you summat sweet
Mine
where you remind Liam who he belongs to [18+]
Plastered
where Liam needs some help to find the courage on Valentine's Day.
Mornin'
where Liam wakes you up [18+]
Hotel room
where the band finds it hilarious to book you and Liam one hotel room.
Walk in the park
where you and Liam try to hide your relationship from the press but they soon find out about it.
Bad idea
where Liam lets an 'I love you' slip out to his friend with benefits [18+]
Left behind
where a promo poster reminds Liam of someone he left behind in Manchester.
Left behind pt.2
where Liam does sort his shite out.
Flowers
where Liam brings you a bouquet and becomes quite obsessed with it himself.
Seated
where Liam watches a movie in which you star without knowing that you were cast as the murderer.
Soft
where you assure Liam there is nowt to be insecure about.
Sibling Rivalry
where both brothers take a liking to you, but who will you choose? (you can actually choose)
Late Calls
where Liam starts calling you for comfort late in the night. Over and over again.
Care
where a desparate Liam begs to take care of you [18+]
Invite
where Liam invites you to his gig, and to his surprise, you actually come.
Feral
where Liam wants you quite bad (with the help of some magic powder) [18+]
(Hope it’s not too late for a Christmas themed fic. Utter smut featuring the smug and dilfy soft dom Santa above. Enjoy:)
(18+)
Masterlist
You leaned against the doorway and watched Liam wrestle with the Santa suit in front of the mirror, cursing under his breath as the thick red velvet stretched tight around his thighs. The fake beard caught on the stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave and he yanked it into place with a grunt. Then he caught sight of himself and scowled even more deeply.
His hair had been the real enemy all afternoon. That stubborn cowlick at the front refused to behave, the fringe springing up in defiant spikes no matter how many times he raked his fingers through it or tried smoothing it down. That had sparked the idea of the Santa costume as part practical solution for “fringe-gate,” part tribute to his favourite time of year.
You snickered quietly as he muttered something about looking like a “fuckin’ Disney character” and gave up entirely, tossing the beard aside. The jacket and trousers followed, landing in a defeated heap on the chair.
In the end, he kept only the red Santa hat, pulling it low over the mess of fringe, the soft white trim brushing against his hair as it settled into place. You were not at all disappointed to see that the rest of him stayed in his jeans and a plain black T-shirt, one that clung to his deliciously broad shoulders in a way the costume never could.
“You clean up well,” you said, your eyes flicking up to the Santa hat. “Considering you were nearly defeated by your own fringe.”
He turned slowly at the sound of your voice, that familiar playful and focused glint sharpening in his eyes.
“Naughty list,” he said, deadpan.
You grinned. “Yeah?”
His eyes dragged over you, slow and deliberate. “With cheek like that? Definitely. And that dress…” He gave a low scoff. “You look like you’re out for some proper mischief.”
You raised a brow, smiling. “Oh really? Then why’d you ask me to wear it?”
He straightened up, that grin spreading slow and deliberate. “’Cause I like planning ahead, don’t I.”
His words shouldn’t have landed like that, but they did, catching your breath before you could pretend otherwise. Heat flickered low in your stomach, sharp and immediate, but you covered it with a lazy grin and the kind of eye roll you’d perfected just for him. Like he hadn’t just lit a fire and was pretending it wasn’t even warm.
You let him enjoy his win.
For now.
—-
The party was already loud and crowded, with people packed into every room, talking over one another and clutching half-full drinks. Someone had thrown together a Christmas playlist, and Slade was already blaring from the speakers as you arrived, “Merry Christmas Everybody” echoing across the room.
“Whoever made this playlist is definitely going straight on the naughty list,” he muttered, unimpressed. “Fuckin’ Slade…”
You snorted into your drink. “Did it ruin your festive mood, darling?”
He glanced at you sideways, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Nah. Just sayin’ though, keep carryin’ on like that and there’ll be a trophy with your name on it.”
You took a slow sip of your drink, eyes on him over the rim. “And how many names are on your naughty list, exactly? I like to know who I’m up against.”
He smirked, eyes not leaving yours. “Always straight in with the ambition, aren’t you..”
He barely let go of you all night. The cotton of his T-shirt was warm under your hand when you slipped it beneath his parka, and his thumb kept tracing slow, deliberate circles at the edge of your hip. It felt affectionate, yet every touch also reminded you exactly who you were with tonight.
When he leaned in to speak, his breath brushed your ear, warm with the hoppy bite of lager.
“That’s Dave. Nice list. Helped me out of a right pickle back in the nineties.”
“Oh, and Jackie? Nice list too. Always knocks out top scran.”
Then his hand tightened, fingers sinking just enough to steal a small breath from you.
“You, on the other hand…” He let the pause stretch, a smirk playing at the edge of his voice. “Still very much on the naughty list.”
You grinned into your glass. “You say that like it isn’t the whole point.”
He leaned in, voice low and warm. “Sorry, what was that?” A beat. Then, he grinned “Nah.. heard you loud and clear. Definitely naughty, that.”
His gaze flicked to yours, sharp and amused, with something a little darker resting behind it. He didn’t answer. He only slipped his hand down to your bum and squeezed it lightly before coming back up to your waist. You tried not make the hitch of your breath too obvious, but he knew.
He kept up the quiet remarks, the steady grip at your waist, the offhand evaluations of everyone he passed, like he really was Santa’s little helper taking mental notes. And every time you rose to the bait, his eyes lingered on you a little longer. A little darker. A little dirtier.
It only spurred you on.
If he was keeping score, you’d make quite sure he had something to write down. You were already on the list, might as well put in the work to get to number one.
So when you bent to pick up a dropped napkin, you didn’t rush it. Let your dress ride up just a touch too high. Let him see.
You felt the air on the backs of your thighs, the quiet shift in his breath, and the low, appreciative sound he didn’t quite manage to hide.
You straightened up slowly, smoothing your dress back down with exaggerated care. “Oopsie…”
His fingers flexed on your hip, just once, firm enough to remind you who was still holding on.
He leaned in close, his voice low near your ear, rough with restraint. “Keep that up, and I’ll be dealin’ with you before we even leave.”
There was a smile in it, but it didn’t reach his eyes. That look was darker now. Focused.
Later, you stole a sip of his Guinness while he was mid-conversation. You simply reached across him, helped yourself, and took a slow drink with your eyes on his over the rim of the glass. The bitter foam clung to your lips, and you didn’t bother wiping it away.
He turned toward you fully this time, expression unreadable but amused in a way that made your stomach flip.
“You’re really trying your luck tonight,” he said, voice still calm.
You smiled, sweet as anything. “Trying what, exactly?”
You licked the foam from your bottom lip, slow and very deliberate.
His grin broke through, quick and wicked. “Just you fuckin’ wait,” he murmured.
His hand shifted on your waist, like he already knew exactly how this game would end.
—-
By eleven, the wine had left your skin humming, your cheeks flushed, lips tingling, nerves strung tight beneath the softness. By now you were just waiting for him, for the moment he decided you’d finally pushed far enough.
You leaned in close, brushing your mouth against the curve of his ear, your voice low and steady.
“So tell me, have I earned that trophy of yours yet?”
He didn’t answer with words. Just reached for your hand, his fingers warm and thick as they closed around yours. Strong, certain and impossible to ignore.
Then he started walking.
You followed without hesitation, pulse kicking up at the quiet confidence of it, at the rough drag of his thumb over your knuckles. You shouldn’t have been as turned on as you were by the feel of his chunky hands wrapped around yours. But you were. Absolutely wrecked by it, if you were honest.
And he hadn’t even looked back.
Your heels clicked softly against the floor, the music and chatter behind you thinning with every step. Each one felt sharper than the last, like your body knew where this was going before your mind caught up.
You didn’t speak. The silence between you was electric. Your breath sat high in your chest, heart ticking faster with every step.
At the top, he opened the guest room door and held it for you. You stepped inside, pulse thrumming, skin warm all over. He followed, locking the door behind him with a soft click.
It felt louder than it should have.
Like a match being struck.
He turned to face you and you folded your arms across your chest and met his gaze. He didn’t speak right away. Just watched you, letting the quiet expand until it pressed against your skin like a touch.
Your heart thudded. The moment lengthened.
“Well, then Santa?” you said, tilting your chin, pushing the edge again, because you couldn’t help it.
That slow and sharp smile ghosted across his mouth, impossible to read. He reached up, tugged the red hat a little lower over his brow, and stepped in close, just enough to crowd your space. You had to tip your head back to hold his gaze.
“Easy,” he murmured, voice low and full of grin. “You after me trophy, are you? Gonna have to earn it, love. Naughty girls go over Santa’s knee first.”
A pause. Deliberate.
“And I’m gonna take my time with you.”
Your breath caught, anticipation pulsing through you. Still, you didn’t speak. You just let him guide you down across his lap, his hand firm between your shoulder blades.
The denim of his jeans felt warm and rough against your stomach. He tugged your dress up slowly, baring the curve of your arse without a word.
Cool air brushed the backs of your thighs, catching on the lace of your knickers, and suddenly every inch of your skin felt exposed, waiting, wired for what would come next.
“Stay still for me,” he murmured. His palm settled lightly on the curve of your arse and began to caress it in slow, appreciative circles over the lace. “Been waitin’ to get my hands on you properly all night.”
He hooked his fingers under the delicate waistband and drew your knickers down inch by inch. He peeled them away until they rested just below the swell of your thighs. The fabric caught for a moment on your skin before sliding free and leaving you completely bare to him, and you felt the faint tremor that ran through you as you were completely exposed to him.
His hand returned without hesitation, palm sliding over the newly bared skin with quiet possession. He traced the shape of you slowly, deliberately, like he had all the time in the world. Long strokes glided from the tops of your thighs to the small of your back and down again, each pass unhurried, almost reverent.
His thumb skimmed the crease where thigh meets hip, teasing, while his fingers spread just enough to map every curve. Just appreciating, like he was learning you by feel alone.
“You’re gorgeous like this,” he said, voice low and rough, thick with want.
One hand stayed firm at the small of your back, steadying you with quiet certainty. The other moved in slow, deliberate passes. He explored. He squeezed gently. He soothed. He claimed. Each touch was confident and unhurried, like he already knew you would let him have whatever he wanted.
When you shifted slightly beneath him and let out a small sigh, he gave a low, satisfied hum, as if you had just confirmed everything.
Only then did his hand drift lower. His fingertips finally slid between your thighs. He traced lazy, filthy patterns through your slickness. He teased your clit with feather-light circles before dipping just inside you. It was enough to make you clench, yet not enough to satisfy. Every touch was deliberate and possessive. He drew out the ache he had built.
Then his hand lifted, leaving your skin tingling in the sudden cool.
“Right, love,” he said, voice low and full of that rough-edged amusement. “You’ve been a right little tease all night. That dress, them looks, callin’ me Santa like you’re beggin’ for it.”
He shifted slightly, his grip firm.
“So here’s what’s happenin’. Five solid ones. You’re gonna count ’em for me. Out loud. Nice and clear. Miss one, mess about, try bein’ clever… we start back at one. Think you can manage that, darlin’?”
You smirked over your shoulder. “Didn’t know Santa was such an arse man.”
He didn’t blink. Just waited.
“Sorry,” you said sweetly, biting back a grin. “Yes, Santa.”
The first spank cracked down, sharp, perfect, right across the fullest curve of your arse. Heat exploded instantly, bright and stinging.
“One,” you gasped, the word tumbling out on a shaky breath.
“Good girl,” he murmured, palm soothing over the fresh mark in slow, warm strokes. “That’s one for every time you gave Santa cheek tonight.”
The second landed lower, catching that sensitive spot where thigh meets cheek. You jolted, hips rocking forward.
“Two,” you whimpered.
He chuckled, dark and filthy. “Two for the way you bent over, giving Santa that perfect view. Thought you knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you..”
His fingers slid between your legs again, gathering wetness, spreading it up to circle your clit with maddening precision.
The third came harder, controlled, deliberate, the crack echoing.
“Three,” you moaned, back arching.
“Three because you’re drippin’ down Santa’s thigh like the naughtiest girl I’ve ever had over my knee,” he teased, voice rough with hunger.
The fourth was swift, precise, layering heat on heat until your skin throbbed deliciously.
“Four,” you managed, voice breaking, toes curling against the floor.
“Four for stealin’ Santas beer without askin’,” he said, leaning close so his breath grazed your ear.
The fifth and final spank landed with perfect, heavy weight, firm, resounding, the sting blooming deep and perfect, leaving you trembling and breathless.
“Five,” you whispered, the word half-sob, half-plea.
Silence hung for a heartbeat, just the sound of your ragged breathing and the low rumble of his.
Then his broad palm cupped your arse fully, holding the throbbing heat he’d created, before moving teasingly between your thighs. Slow strokes through soaked folds, circling your entrance, pressing just enough to make you ache.
“Five,” he repeated, low and satisfied, pride and hunger thick in his voice. “Took every single one like a fuckin’ dream.”
He eased you up slowly, turning you to kneel between his legs on the worn carpet. The air felt thick, warm, humming with everything unspoken between you.
He looked down at you, eyes dark but steady, fingers threading gently into your hair. His thumb traced your lower lip possessive and tender all at once.
“Right then, love,” he said, voice low and tight with restraint. “You wanted Santa’s trophy, yeah? Well… it’s waitin’ for ya. Take yer time. Keep it nice and slow. Show me just how keen you are to be on that naughty list.”
You looked up at him, lips curving before you could stop yourself. “I’ll try to make Santa proud.”
His gaze didn’t flicker, but his voice dropped even lower.
“Good girl.”
Your hands were steady as you undid his belt, the soft clink of the buckle the only sound for a moment. You eased the zipper down, freeing him carefully. He was already hard and hot against your palm, and you gave a slow, deliberate stroke, then another, thumb brushing lightly over the tip to spread the bead of wetness there. He inhaled sharply, hips giving the tiniest shift forward.
“That’s it,” he murmured, guiding you closer with the lightest pressure at the back of your head.
“Start with your tongue. Show Santa you know exactly how he likes it.”
You leaned in, breath warm against him first, then traced your tongue in a slow, flat lick from base to tip. You lingered at the head, swirling gently, teasing the sensitive underside with the tip of your tongue. You knew precisely how to make his breath catch.
A low groan rumbled from his chest. “Fuck… you’re too fuckin’ good at that.”
You parted your lips softly and took him into your mouth, sucking with gentle pressure, tongue pressing flat along the underside on every upstroke, letting him feel the wet heat until you could feel him twitch and shudder with pleasure.
His fingers tightened in your hair, just enough to hold. To ground himself.
“Look at you,” he said, voice low and hoarse. “So fuckin’ perfect with that mouth.”
You varied it just enough to keep him on edge, lingering at the head with gentle, teasing licks, and taking him a deeper, always pulling back with that same careful suction that you knew made his breath stutter.
He watched every move, eyes heavy-lidded, chest rising faster. Every now and then his hand would guide you, slowing you when you tried to speed up, reminding you without words that he was still the one in charge.
“Steady, love,” he murmured, his tone thick with heat. “I said slow. Want to feel every fuckin’ second of this.”
You obeyed instantly, easing back into that languid pace, tongue tracing him with deliberate care, showing him just how well you knew his body and how much you enjoyed teasing him right to the edge of control.
Finally, when his breathing had gone deep and uneven, when his grip in your hair tightened and his hips gave a helpless roll forward, he eased you back with a gentle tug.
“Enough,” he said, voice hoarse, thumb stroking your cheek as he looked down at you, his lips glistening, eyes soft and a little triumphant. The Santa hat had slipped further askew, and he looked beautifully undone.
He drew you up into his lap in one smooth motion, arms wrapping around you firmly, pressing a slow, deep kiss to your mouth like he couldn’t wait another second.
“You,” he muttered against your lips, breath warm, “are way too good at twistin’ things round on me.”
His hands slid down your back, slow and sure. “But don’t get it wrong, love, Santa’s still runnin’ the show.”
He eased you up from his lap with steady hands, turning you gently until you were on your knees on the sofa, forearms braced against the backrest.
“Stay just like that,” he murmured, voice low and rough with lingering want. He moved behind you, palms smoothing over the warmed curve of your arse with clear appreciation. “Look at the state of you… still pink from before.”
He gave a low chuckle, hand skimming over the curve of you. “Swear down, I’ve had this view stuck in my head all bloody night.”
You felt the blunt heat of him press against you, teasing before he began to ease in. Slow and deliberate, letting you feel every thick inch as he filled you.
You pushed back instinctively, and he gave a low, approving hum. One hand stroked slowly over the marks he’d left earlier, possessive and deliberate. The other stayed fisted in your hair, holding you exactly where he wanted you. Once he was buried deep, he paused, just long enough for you both to feel the throb of connection. Then he began to move: deep, devastating thrusts that pulled almost all the way out before driving back in, steady and controlled.
“Perfect, this,” he rasped, leaning in close. “Me favourite position… you bent over, arse right there fer me..“
His rhythm built gradually, hips snapping forward with more intent. Each thrust drove deeper, deliberate and controlled, the angle perfect so he dragged against that sensitive spot inside you. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the quiet room, mingling with your breathy gasps and his low and rough moans.
One hand stayed firm on your hip, fingers digging in just enough to anchor you and remind you he was setting every pace. The other rested possessively on the curve of your arse, thumb stroking idly over the warmed skin as he drove into you with deep, steady thrusts.
He slowed for a moment, hips rolling slow and deliberate so you felt every inch of him. Then he brought his thumb to his mouth. You heard the soft, wet sound as he slicked it generously before his hand returned to you. You felt the pad of his thumb brush between your cheeks and over your back entrance in a slow, teasing circle. Light at first, then firmer, pressing just enough to make the tight ring of muscle flutter under the touch.
A quiet, surprised gasp escaped you. Your body tensed for a heartbeat, then melted forward against the sofa as heat flared sharp and unexpected through you.
He hummed low in approval, feeling the way you shivered. “Easy now, love,” he murmured against your shoulder, voice rough and warm. “Only messin’ a bit. You’re just so bloody responsive, aren’t you. Love it.”
His thumb lingered a moment longer, pressing gently again, a steady pressure that made you push back instinctively against him with a soft, needy sound. Only then did he slide his hand fully forward. His fingers found your clit instantly, already swollen and slick, and began to circle with steady, relentless pressure.
The contrast made everything sharper: the lingering tingle at your backdoor, the sudden focused pleasure at your front, the deep thrust of him inside you. Your breath caught on a quiet moan, thighs trembling as the sensations layered and built.
His touch was perfect, fast and sure, tight circles that matched the deep, rolling drive of his hips. Every thrust pushed you forward slightly, only for his grip to pull you back hard onto him, filling you completely again and again. The thick stretch of his cock, the slick friction on your clit, the heat of his chest pressed along your back, it was all too much.
Pleasure coiled low and tight in your belly, winding hotter with every second. Your thighs trembled. Your breath came in shallow, broken bursts. You tried to push back, chasing more, but his grip held firm, keeping you exactly where he wanted. Every movement was his to give, and yours to take.
“That’s it,” he rasped, feeling the first flutter of your walls around him. “I can feel you getting close. So tight… so wet. Come on, darlin’. Let me have it. Come on me cock.”
His fingers pressed harder, circling faster, and the coil snapped. Pleasure crashed through you in hot, pulsing waves. Your body clenched hard around him, again and again, back arching as you cried out his name. He kept moving through it, thrusts turning deeper, more possessive, drawing your climax out until you were shaking and breathless in his arms.
Only then did his rhythm falter. His grip tightened almost bruisingly on your hip. A low, broken groan escaped him as he buried himself fully one last time and came pulsing hot and deep inside, your name rough on his lips.
Afterward, he stayed close, chest pressed to your back, both of you breathless and trembling. He eased out slowly, then gathered you into his arms, turning you to curl against him on the sofa. Lazy kisses trailed along your shoulder, your neck, your lips, he was all soft now, almost reverent. His hand stroked slow circles down your spine, the silly red hat still perched crookedly on his head like he’d completely forgotten it was there.
“You realise you’ve still got that hat on?”
“’Course I do,” he murmured. “I’m Santa, aren’t I. Gotta dress the part.”
You turned just enough to glance at him. “So I’m still top of the naughty list, then?”
He grinned, lazy and smug. “Still? You’ve got your own bloody category.”
You tilted your head, teasing. “Maybe I’ll try being good next time. Give myself a challenge.”
His hand gave your arse a teasing squeeze, fingers spreading possessively. “Not on my fuckin’ watch, you’re not.”
You settled back into him with a smile, eyes closing, the quiet stretch of warmth between you both lingering.
A beat passed. Then he murmured near your ear, voice low and fond:
dilf!dom!liam gallagher x fem!reader (damon albarn's daughter) - smut
!! minors dni !!
you always kept out of trouble, taking your dad's advice. until you meet liam at a pub, and he makes his rival's daughter his to ruin.
7854 words
content: unprotected sex; age gap; oral sex; gagging; light breeding kink; spanking; multiple orgasms; overstimulation; voyeurism (in the back of a car); handjob; fingering
a/n: based on this req!! sorry i couldnt get this one out sooner, i got sick :') i dont have anything else to say this time. sorry damon lol
the air on the street was stale—smelling like cigarette smoke. wispy clouds marred the otherwise sharp, clear night sky.
the streetlights were dimmer than they probably should have been. dark shadows stretched over vast lengths of the pavement, interrupted every once in a while by lights above the doors of the houses that lined the block. a lone car passed by and someone's dog started barking in the distance, the only noises filling the otherwise dead air.
it was nearly one in the morning, and there were no signs of the house party letting up any time soon. the music had faded but the people inside were rowdy as ever—conversations overlapping loudly, empty bottles of liquor piled alarmingly high in the corner, pills passed around like candy on halloween.
only an hour had passed and you were sick of it already.
your head pounded and ached from the bass of the music, unrelenting and unbearably loud in such a cramped space. people were passed out on the sofa and on the floor, drunk couples were either making out or breaking up, and there were already minor fist fights happening over the smallest slights.
you walked into the bathroom, just trying to get away from the noise. you locked yourself in there for a few minutes, your head in your hands.
why the fuck did i come here?
someone knocked on the door, lightly once, and then harder the second time. you splashed water on your face, unlocking the door, and pushed past the antsy couple waiting outside for a place to shag.
you couldn't stand to be there for another second, your head throbbing from the noise, so you gathered your sweater and walked towards the door.
your friend tried to convince you to stay just a while longer. she grabbed your arm when you turned to her and said you were leaving. "no, come on, stay a bit longer! have a drink or something, maybe you'll find a cute guy to take home."
yeah, right.
she told you to call her when you got home later, walking away, beer in hand. you nodded and left quietly, slipping out the door to the empty street.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
you left without having had a single drink or guy to flirt with at all, though it wasn't like you thought you'd find a potential date there anyway. you pulled your cardigan closed as you walked out the door, a sharp and cool breeze nipping at you as you walked down the steps. it was colder than you thought it would be when you left, regret quickly sinking in over letting your friend convince you to wear a dress that barely covered you.
a small part of you wished you had stayed a bit longer. maybe your one, true love really was waiting there for you. you shook your head, as if trying to wave the thought away. it was just an overwhelming experience, and maybe that's because you were sheltered to an extent.
you'd never been to a party like that before—never drank heavily, never smoked or popped pills. you had sex a few times, but you weren't experienced. sure, you could've pursued that life, checking those things off a list like you were running errands, but part of you didn't care about being a late bloomer. what's the rush?
the other part of you cared. a lot.
your dad had overcompensated when raising you, trying to keep you safe from the rowdy, hedonistic chaos he experienced in his 20s. when you spend your formative years as a young adult as the frontman for blur, you come out the other side a little fucked up. it only made sense that he wanted to protect you from that—from what he lived through and the consequences he faced as a result.
all his overcorrection for his mistakes made you feel inexperienced, even though you were barely in your mid 20s. you felt like you'd be playing catch-up with everyone else your age for the rest of your life.
he'd tell you there are other ways of having fun with your friends as a young adult without partying like he did. you knew he was just trying to be the best dad he could, but maybe you wanted that life, the life he lived, just to see what it was like.
all these thoughts raced in your mind as you kept walking down the street, no real final destination in mind. you kept your hands wrapped tightly around you, trying to keep the wind from blowing sharply across your chest. you felt too exposed, not used to the very low-cut dress your friend lent to you—your tits spilling out of the top that was a bit too small for your chest.
you stopped right in front of a pub, the light warm and comforting in comparison to the brisk night air. there didn't seem to be many people inside from what you could see through the windows—just a few people sitting at some tables and a lone car parked outside.
you decided to go inside, wanting to sit and warm up for just a bit before calling a cab to take you back home.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
you slid into a booth inside the pub, tugging at the hem of your dress as it rode up your legs when you sat down.
the pub was a little too quiet for a friday night, or rather saturday morning. you figured that it would be more crowded, but there was no one at the bar and only three other people sitting at the tables.
you wondered again if you should've just stayed at the party, or maybe just not gone at all. when you left the house earlier that night, your dad watched you leave the house, sighing in way that had a clear undercurrent of disapproval. "just remember to stay out of trouble, okay? don't drink too much, don't take any sort of pills, don't go anywhere with someone you don't know." maybe you should've just stayed home.
your eyes scanned the room, looking at each person. a young couple sat in the corner by the window, chatting and laughing softly. an old man sat alone on near the exit, his head flush against the table, fast asleep. the old man eventually stirred and left, staggering out the door. you watched the couple get up afterwards and leave, arms wrapped around each other lovingly.
god, i'm lonely, aren't i?
you leaned against your hand, eyes panning to the only other person left in the pub with you—a middle aged man, dark hair touched with grey, sat across the room with a pint in his hand. he had been staring at you the whole time, eyes fixed on yours.
you looked at him, just studying the harsh lines of his face, which was mostly obscured by the distance between the tables. you leaned a little to try to get a better glimpse of him. from the little you could see, he was in his late 40s, and quite attractive.
suddenly he got up and walked over to you, the blurry outline of his features becoming crystal clear. he had hazy eyes that were a calm shade of blue, almost like the sky on a rainy day. his jawline was still sharp for his age and dotted lightly with stubble, the result of not shaving for a few hours. he was wearing an unzipped leather jacket with a t-shirt underneath. he had a cigarette in his other hand that he pressed between his plush lips every once and a while, taking long, slow drags.
you felt your heart skip a beat just looking at him, recognizing him almost instantly.
he grinned slightly, a soft smirk etched across his face.
"mind if i join you, love?"
⋆⭒˚.⋆
your dad warned you to stay away from men like liam gallagher.
he didn't feel any animosity towards him anymore—that feud fizzled out a long time ago. but he disliked his lifestyle, and didn't want you near him or someone like him.
"he's the perfect example of why i stopped partying like that. he's in his 40s and still acts like he's 20. he's just trouble—a pub brawl waiting to happen."
in fact, he found him annoying—disliking what he stood for and how he acted. liam was too bold and too loud, never shutting his mouth even though it meant he'd get into trouble. he drank heavily, smoked more than he should, and shagged women he wouldn't bother to call the next day. he was everything your dad told you to avoid—everything he told you not to be.
you didn't know much about liam, other than what you heard from your dad. you'd listen to the vague snippets he gave you about his feud with the gallagher brothers, but that was it. sometimes you saw liam in the news, his face plastered on the front page of the papers. you didn't think much of him. to you he was just another wild and reckless celebrity going through a midlife crisis—a party animal past his prime.
but there was something about him that was magnetic. you were drawn to him like a moth to a flame, and you didn't know why. when he'd make headlines, you found yourself looking at the pictures of him longer than you'd like to admit. you couldn't tell if it was just a silly celebrity crush or jealousy of how wild and free he was.
people love to say that it's always sweet, innocent girls who go for bad boys, and you never believed that.
until now.
maybe it was true after all.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
liam slid into the booth, sitting in the opposite seat. he put his cigarette out, turning his attention to back you, his eyes studying your face.
"you don't live 'round here, do you?"
you shook your head, watching the last of the smoke linger around his head. "no, i live a few minutes away, near my dad. i don't think you're supposed to smoke in here."
he paused, narrowing his eyes as if he recognized you, even though you two had never met before. "they don't give a fuck what i do. what're you doin' here by yourself?"
your mouth opened to answer his question, but he interrupted you before you could speak. "you want somethin' to drink? y'know you don't have to sit there doin' fuckin' nowt. this is a pub."
you rolled your eyes, his attitude already getting under your skin. "listen, i know you're hitting on me. i'm just here because it's cold out and i wanted a place to sit and warm up for a bit."
his gaze trailed down to your dress, your chest and shoulders still wrapped up in your cardigan. "why are you all dressed up like that?"
you sighed, too tired to keep being annoyed. "i went to a party with a friend, and it just wasn't for me, so i left. and now i'm here. i was gonna call a cab until you showed up and started talking to me. do you always ask people you just met a million questions?"
he smirked, briefly flashing his teeth. "only the pretty ones."
your face went bright red, embarrassment and flattery mixing into one. "what are you doing here then?"
he took a sip of his drink, setting down on the table before speaking again. "i just finished a show at a venue 'round here. felt like havin' a pint, y'know?"
his eyes flickered over you again, recognition finally hitting him. he spoke slowly, his gaze fixed on you. "i think i know you—you seem familiar."
you played with the sleeve of your cardigan. "you hated my dad in the 90s, i can tell you that much."
he nodded, taking another sip. "i fuckin' knew it. you're that little dickhead's daughter—damon's kid, yeah? damon albarn? almost couldn't tell, but you got his nose. and i still hate him, for the record."
you felt your patience running thin, your shoulders tensing. he looked at you with a sly grin, clearly amused by your frustration. you sat up a bit straighter to match his line of sight.
"what's your problem, gallagher? can't you just grow up and get over it? that whole thing was years ago. my dad's right about you, you're such a fucking annoying asshole."
liam's focus never broke from yours, but his gaze softened a bit. his foot found yours under the table, and you felt his shoe brush against yours. he smirked again. "sounds like he's not over it if he still talks about me—probably nothin' good, innit?"
you scoffed, crossing your arms. "obviously not. he's always saying you're a terrible influence on people." your scowl broke, a grin peeking out from behind it. you leaned forward, meeting his gaze.
"he told me to stay away from men like you."
liam chuckled and took a sip from his drink. "really? jesus fuckin' christ, i knew he'd wind up bein' a fuckin' square. what's so dangerous about me? i can behave—'m on my best behavior right now, swear down."
you laughed freely now, covering your mouth with your hand—his cham had completely melted away your annoyance. "he thinks you're a 'pub brawl waiting to happen', or something like that. i think he's just trying to look out for me so i don't end up hurting myself, which means avoiding guys like you."
he nodded slowly, smiling softly and playing with one of his rings. "well he's doin' a pretty fuckin' shit job of that then considering you're here with me right now."
a soft laugh escaped your lips as the room went silent, an awkward pause filling the air between the two of you. liam took another sip of his drink, setting it down on the table with a soft clink.
you watched him light another cigarette, his lips wrapped around it as it burned under the flame from his lighter. his jaw clenched as he took a drag—the smoke blowing past him and out the door, which was propped open just a bit. your cheeks burned hot, getting flushed just watching him. you were fascinated by how attractive you found him—imagining what your dad would say if he saw the two of you together, just chatting casually like this.
you knew he'd hate it, and you loved the sense of rebellion more than you thought you would.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
liam took another drag from his cigarette before speaking again. "sure you don't want a drink? not even water or summat?"
you blinked slowly, still scanning his features, not hearing what he said. "hm? sorry, i sort of spaced out for a second there." you realized in that moment that you had lost track of time completely, not knowing just how long the two of you had been talking.
he didn't respond—just got up and asked for a glass of water. when he came back, he passed you the glass, cigarette still dangling between his fingers.
he blew smoke from between his lips. "for you. in case you change your mind."
you grabbed the glass, taking a small sip. you stood up, shuffling halfway out of the booth. "thanks, but i should probably go, i'm sure my friend's wondering where i am right now."
he smirked, laughing a little. he motioned for you to sit back down, and you did. "you ever break the rules, even a little bit? tell you dad to fuck off?" 'cos you seem like you never have."
you leaned back in the seat, the leather squeaking a bit as you shifted. "i am by talking to you. he'd hate this—the two of us together." you stammered, trying to clarify what you meant before he could joke about it. "i meant 'together' as in us, here, just chatting—ugh, you know what i meant by that, dickhead."
liam didn't say anything—just took a slow drag from his cigarette, watching the smoke fill the space between you and him. he held it between his fingers, staring at it before turning back to you.
"you ever smoke?"
you shook your head sheepishly, feeling embarrassed about your lack of experience again. "no, i haven't. i try to stay away from those kinds of things. my dad—" you cut your own sentence short, noticing a grin spread across liam's face.
he blinked slowly, blowing a bit of smoke again before leaning over the table, pressing his cigarette between your lips. you wrapped your lips around the filter and took a long drag from it. you coughed when he pulled it out of your mouth.
"so fuckin' innocent, aren't ya? haven't been ruined yet."
your face went red as a filthy grin tugged at his lips—his eyes staring at you hungrily.
"bet you haven't been touched proper yet either."
you stared at him, words stumbling out before you could think about what you were saying. "i have, you daft prick. i'm not some innocent little lamb like you think i am."
liam laughed low, twirling his cigarette between his fingers. "not with the way your dad's raised you—thinks he's some sort of fuckin' saint, he does. bet you'd be a real wild girl without him breathin' down your neck all the time."
you uncrossed your arms, thinking of a retort as you sipped your water again. your cardigan slipped down your shoulder a bit, exposing the top of your dress, his gaze wandering down.
"fuckin' hell, you been hidin' that this whole time?"
you breathed in sharply, his eyes fixed shamelessly on your tits. you shifted in your seat again, reaching to pull your cardigan back up when you stopped yourself. you let it fall from your shoulders completely, tossing it onto the seat.
"maybe you're right—maybe i am a wild girl at heart."
liam took another sip of his pint, pushing it off to the side of the table. you adjusted your dress, pulling it a bit lower, an itch at the back of your head wanting his gaze to linger on your body again. "do you wanna get out of here? maybe go to your flat or something?"
he mulled it over, and you sat there watching him, thinking about the look on your dad's face if you told him you spent the whole night with his rival from so many years ago.
the one man he told you to avoid.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
liam's eyes twinkled a bit, glancing back up to meet your gaze. after a moment, he agreed, finishing the last of his pint. "as long as you want to, love. my flat's a short ride away."
you grinned softly, covering your mouth with your hand as your face went red again. you gathered your things, draping your cardigan over your arm. "should i get us a cab, or—"
he shook his head, the remainder of his cigarette between his lips. he put it out and stood up, stepping out of the booth. "told my assistant before i left the stadium to send the car here an hour ago."
he held his hand out to yours, helping you up. he held onto your hand as the two of you stepped out the door, your fingers intertwined in his. you tripped a bit over your own shoes on the sidewalk, clinging onto his shoulder to regain your balance.
you felt his breath, hot against your neck. your hand moved up to his neck, and then his jaw. the faint stubble on his face pricked your hand, rough against your fingers.
he took your face in his hands, stroking your cheek with his thumb, gentler than you thought he could be. your voice cracked, feeling like the words were caught in your throat. "liam—"
he leaned into you, pressing a warm kiss to your lips. he tasted like cigarettes and lager, his tongue tangling with yours. you could feel the need in him, like an ache building in him all night to hold you like this was finally being relieved.
you kissed him back, feeling the same relief he felt—the tension in both of you disappeared as you melted into him. his hands slipped down to your waist, pulling you closer to him as he kissed you harder. your fingers slipped into his hair, keeping him pressed against you.
he eventually broke away from you, lips red and wet, desperation and hunger in his eyes. he took your hand again, motioning to the car you saw parked outside earlier.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
you climbed into the back of the car with him, a solid divider between you and the driver's seat, like the kind in cabs. liam slid right against you on the seat, his arm draped over the back.
he opened the small door of the divider, muttering directions to the driver before closing the door again. your conversation had stilled into silence since he kissed you like man desperate for affection.
as the car pulled away from the curb, liam's hand brushed your leg. you glanced up at him, his eyes focused ahead—an electric feeling pulsing through you when he squeezed slightly. his hand slid further up your thigh as the streets blurred past the window. you shifted, feeling how damp your panties had gotten.
after only a few minutes had passed, liam broke the silence, leaning into you. his spoke softly against your ear, his voice hushed and slightly raspy. "gonna ruin you when we get there, love. watch you fall apart in my hands, my cock buried deep in you."
you stifled a whimper, trying to keep your composure in the back of the car as he whispered dirty things to you. "won't even bother takin' you to the bedroom—i'll just bend you over the fuckin' table, spread you open right there."
his hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you onto his lap. you leaned against him, looping your arms around his neck. he shifted under you, and you gasped, feeling the hard outline of his cock straining against his jeans. he grinned filthily, pressing a kiss to your neck. "been hard ever since i saw you in the pub—drivin' me mad with that slutty fuckin' dress. could fuck you right here and not care."
the car turned the corner sharply, and you clung tighter to his neck and shoulders, your nails digging into his skin.
he slipped his hand up your dress, pressing his fingers to your panties, making you whine. "fuckin' hell, already this soaked and i haven't even touched you yet." a broken sound ripped from your throat when he pressed harder against your aching cunt.
he kissed your neck again, rougher this time. "want to see you ruined right here, love. watch you grind against me, all needy and desperate. show me how wild you can be, yeah?"
you nodded, rutting against his palm—chasing the friction of his fingers brushing against your clit through the soft fabric. he pulled his hand away, shifting you onto his thigh. you ground against him, rocking your hips so your cunt rubbed against the denim of his pantleg.
you stifled a moan, your head hitting his shoulder as you continued to grind against him, chasing your own pleasure. he groaned watching you unravel in his lap, pressing his palm to the thick bulge in his jeans. you reached down, unbuckling his belt. he tilted his his up a bit so you could push his pants down just enough that his cock sprang free.
he smirked, laughing low. "i knew you were a wild one—humpin' my leg while strokin' my cock, so fuckin' filthy."
you wrapped your hand around him, pumping him slowly, letting your thumb roll over the slit. he moaned, his hands on your waist, sliding down to your lower back. you were still rutting against him, pressure building inside you as his jeans rubbed against your clit.
his mouth met yours again, rough and claiming this time—the tenderness has gone completely. the kiss was messy and hungry, all teeth and tongue. he groaned into your mouth when you squeezed his cock a bit, spreading precum down his shaft.
"god—you're fuckin' killin' me—"
you laughed, quiet and barely audible, the feeling of denim against your clit becoming too much for you to handle. liam kept his eyes locked on yours, holding you tights as you rocked against his leg, soft moans escaping your lips.
his hands gripped your waist, holding you tight. "haven't even touched you and you're already drippin' down my leg. can't wait to get inside and ruin you, love—stuff you full and fuck you 'till your beggin' me to stop."
the car came to a sudden stop in front of a neatly-kept brick building. the street was very, very quiet—the only noise coming from the hum of the car's engine and the faint chirp of a cricket outside. you turned your head to look out the window, his shirt still twisted in your fist. his chest was heaving as you eased your grasp on his cock—still red and flushed, twitching in the stale air of the car.
he leaned up, kissing your jaw, his lips warm. his hands were still on your waist, holding you steady against him. you were still buzzing from grinding against his thigh, heat pooled between your legs.
you climbed back onto the seat next to him, pulling the hem of your dress down. he tucked himself back into his jeans, loosely buckling his belt. the door of the car slid open, and the two of you shuffled out, watching it drive off.
he took your hand in his, leading you up the steps.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
the door to his flat swung open, the two of you stumbling inside. it was dark inside, a bit of light coming from the streetlights through the gaps in the blinds.
you could barely take in your surroundings before liam's mouth crashed against yours again, like you were his to claim. he pressed you up against the wall, his hands sliding all over your body. he peeled his jacket off, tossing it in a heap on the floor.
he shoved his thigh between your legs, spreading them, pressing against you until you moaned. your hands scrabbled at his shirt, slipping beneath the hem, your fingers tracing the lean muscle underneath. you let your hand travel further down, feeling the coarse hair that trailed down to his cock.
he pressed his thigh harder against you, his hands firmly planted on your waist. his mouth was on yours again, his tongue flicking hungrily. you ground against his leg, your panties soaked through. he broke away from you, holding your face in his hands, forcing your gaze to meet his.
"m'gonna fuck you right here—have you take my cock in your mouth. you'd like that, yeah? my pretty, wild girl gaggin' on me."
your voice came out as a choked whisper, the pressure from his thigh pressed against your cunt making heat pulse through you. "yes—yes, liam—"
he smirked, slipping his hands up your dress. he hooked his fingers into your panties, pulling them aside and lifting you up a bit so he could slide them completely off. he teased you a bit, his fingers lightly brushing against your entrance before pushing them into you, making your grip on his shoulders tense even more, a whine escaping from your throat.
he laughed low, his mouth on you again. you moaned into the kiss, making him grin wider. "haven't even fucked you stupid yet and you're already whinin' for me."
his thumb brushed your clit, rubbing tight circles that made your breath hitch. he pushed his fingers deeper into your cunt, your back arching. your head tipped back, hitting the wall with a soft thud. his fingers curled inside you, making you sob, the pleasure ripping through you like a wave.
liam pulled his fingers out of you before you could steady your breath, glistening with your slick. he held your chin and turned your face towards him, kissing you softly. he pushed his fingers into your mouth when he broke away from you. you sucked them, tasting yourself on his hand.
"taste that? that's how wet you are for me."
you nodded around his fingers, gagging a bit when he pushed them further into down your throat. "so fuckin' gorgeous chokin' on my fingers—bet you'd look even better with my cock in your mouth." you gagged again, your eyes wide and wet.
he pulled them out of your mouth after a bit, strands of spit falling down your face. you gasped for air, coughing a little—you'd never experienced something like that before, but you loved it.
he undid his belt again, shoving his jeans down. his cock was still flushed and slick with precum. you dropped to your knees—your breath hitched, cunt still throbbing from the feeling of his fingers pressed deep inside you.
he pumped himself once, slowly and drawn out, savoring the relief of pressure. he pressed the head to your lips, groaning as you reached up to stroke the rest of him. you kissed the head, your tongue passing over the slit and then up the shaft.
he moaned when you licked another stripe up his cock, his fingers tangling in your hair, holding you firmly, as if to steady himself.
he thrust forward a bit, pushing his cock further in. you wrapped your lips around him, your tongue pressed flat against the underside of his shaft. you sucked him, his cock warm in your mouth. his grip on your hair tightened, tugging just a little. you moaned around him, making him grit his teeth.
"this is what you did to me, love—made me sit in that pub with a fuckin' hard on the whole time 'cos of that slutty fuckin' dress of yours."
he jerked his hips forward again, shoving the rest of his cock in your mouth. you gagged, your hands digging into his jeans, trying to keep yourself anchored. you hollowed your cheeks, sucking him deeper. his gaze traveled down, meeting yours—your eyes wet and glossy.
he groaned, pulling out to let you breathe for a second. you gasped, wiping the spit that dribbled down your chin. he guided his cock towards your lips, and you took him in—your eyes watering again when he thrust a little. you locked eyes with him again, his hand still fisting your hair tightly.
"fuck—keep lookin' at me like that and i'll cum right now, love—"
you kept your gaze locked on him, watching him unravel in front of you. he bit his lip when you sucked his harder, deeper—your fingers digging into his hips. you whimpered around him when his hips jerked forward again, and he broke. his cum spilled down your throat as his cock pulsed, your name on his lips like a prayer. you swallowed what he emptied into your mouth, pulling off of him with a filthy, wet sound.
you stood up, shaking a bit, your dress still hitched up your thighs. liam eyed you, taking you by the hand. "not done yet, love. need to feel you proper—fuck you 'till you're screamin' my name."
⋆⭒˚.⋆
he led you to the bedroom, his grip on your wrist firm, but not restrictive. the light from the window cast a dark shadow down the length of the hall, making you trip over your feet—your dress bunched up, straps slipping down your shoulders.
your legs felt like jelly, struggling to stand after he pushed his fingers deep into you, making you throb with intense pleasure.
liam laid you down on the bed, pulling your dress off. he reached around your back, unclasping your bra—single-handed and practiced. his eyes flickered hungrily up and down the sight of you, laying completely bare, cunt still throbbing.
he peeled his shirt off, tossing it in a pile next to your dress. he shoved down his jeans, kicking them off and to the side. his cock was flushed and leaking, despite him coming down your throat earlier. he stroked himself lazily—precum dripping down his shaft, his gaze still locked on you. "fuckin' hell, you look unreal. gonna ruin you completely—fuck you 'till you can't stand."
you let out a whimper, aching to feel his touch again. he laughed low, his voice catching in his throat like he was trying to hold himself back a bit. "yeah, you'd like that? dirty little slut, all spread out for me."
he climbed onto the bed, pinning you down. his hands slid up your waist, cupping your tits. he leaned down, flicking his tongue over your nipple, smirking when you bit back a moan. his hands moved down to your legs, ghosting your inner thigh. he firmly gripped both your legs now, spreading them apart, brushing his knuckles against your cunt. your back arched off the bed, a choked whine on your lips. he slapped your thigh hard enough for it to sting.
"look at you, soaked for my cock. need to hear you beg for it."
he sank his fingers into your cunt again, rubbing your clit. you cried out, tears stinging your eyes. "fuck me, liam, please—need you—"
liam grinned, satisfied with your answer. he pulled his fingers out of you, pressing them against your lips. "gag on them, love. y'look so fuckin' pretty chokin' on me." you parted your lips, letting him slip his soaked fingers between them. he pushed them deeper down your throat, making you gag, your eyes watering.
he pressed his cock to your entrance, dragging the tip through your swollen and slick folds. you moaned—the sound muffled by his fingers still stuffed in your mouth. he pulled them out, watching your spit drip down his palm. he licked his hand clean, the other splayed across your chest, his thumb brushing against your nipple.
he spat into his hand, stroking his cock to slick himself before pushing into you, making your back arch again. he groaned, slipping his cock out.
"fuck—so fuckin' tight for me—won't fit—"
he eased into your cunt again, slipping in a bit, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. you moaned, hands fisting the bedsheets. he slapped your thigh again, sharper this time. "fuck—'s only the tip and you're already fallin' apart."
he pushed in deeper, slow and drawn out, going inch by inch before pulling out again, teasing you—a filthy grin tugging at his lips. his grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into you. he leaned down, pressing his chest to yours. his mouth met your neck, kissing you hungrily, sucking until your skin bloomed purple.
liam grabbed your legs, hiking them up higher, spreading you wider than before. he pressed another kiss to your neck before slamming into you, bottoming out. you cried out, sobbing his name—your hands scraping at his back.
"god—liam, too much—"
he thrust into you, ripping a moan from your throat. "nah, you can take it. wanted my cock so bad before, you were beggin' for it—'m just returnin' the favor."
he swallowed your whines with a kiss, rough and greedy, before pulling out slowly. he slammed back into you all at once, making your head tip back against the mattress. you clenched hard around him, making him groan, loud and filthy.
"fuck—tight little cunt made for me, yeah? fuckin' milkin' me, aren't ya?"
he thrust hard into you again, making your head spin. you opened your eyes, wide and glossy, your vision blurry. he kissed your jaw, your skin prickling under his warm breath. "gonna fill you proper, love, make this cunt mine."
⋆⭒˚.⋆
liam rocked his hips forward, finding a rhythm that sent heat shooting through you. your nails raked his back, clawing at his skin. every broken sound he drew from you made his grip tighten and his pace faster, his hips snapping into you brutally now.
your hands twisted the sheets, knuckles white from how hard you were grasping them. each slam of his hips made your mouth go dry, moans spilling loose from your lips. he thrust deep into you, his chest heaving, groaning whenever you clenched around him.
he occasionally slapped your thigh, the sting from his hand cracking against your skin matching the ache in your cunt. he laughed low and cruel, watching you falling apart under him. "filthy slut, y'love it when i spank you, don't ya?"
you nodded, mouth open, trying to speak but losing the words as he continued to thrust into you, his pace rough and brutal. he slapped your leg again, the sound sharp and loud against the filthy sounds of sex in the room. he pulled out, his fingers ghosting your inner thigh, brushing against your clit.
"say it, love—use your words."
you moaned when he pressed his thumb to your clit, rubbing tight circles. you mustered up the words this time, your voice coming out broken and hoarse as his cock teased your entrance.
"y-yes—fuck—yes, love it when you spank me—"
he smirked, his grin filthy. "that's what i thought." he hitched your legs even higher, stuffing you with his cock again with one brutal snap of his hips. you cried out, clawing at his shoulders to anchor yourself. he found his rhythm again, the pace of his thrusts faster, rougher than before.
your hands grasped at anything now, reaching for his neck. you twisted your fingers in his hair, tugging when he rocked into you. his head tipped back, a moan breaking from his throat. he slammed into you harder, your heels digging into his back. you pulled at his hair again, and he whined, his grip on you tightening.
"fuck—m'gonna lose it if you keep doin' that, love—"
you felt an orgasm rising in you, the pressure building to an unbearable degree. your walls fluttered around him, the stretch of his cock inside you making your whole body twitch. his hand slipped down, finding your clit again. he pressed his fingers there, sending sparks shooting up your spine.
you felt heat surging through you, every nerve in your body alight as his hips snapped loudly against yours. you broke, coming hard and raw, your cunt clenching hard around him, thighs shaking. he moaned, his rhythm becoming erratic and messy. "you're doin' so good for me, yeah?"
he kept rocking forward into you, his pace irregular. your body sagged against the mattress, feeling sore all over as he slammed into you. his breath was hot and uneven against you as he buried his face into your neck. "gonna fill you up, love, stuff you full of me—"
he thrust forward two more times before spilling into you, his moans ragged. he pumped his load in you, grinding it deep, hot ropes of cum filling you. he kept rutting against you, his cock buried deep in your cunt like he didn't just fuck you raw.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
liam slowed for a moment, pulling out. he watched his cum dribble down your thighs, your body trembling when he touched you. "shh, 's okay, love." he pressed it back into you, pressing a warm kiss to your collarbone. "gonna take all of it, yeah?"
he grabbed your waist, flipping you onto your stomach all of a sudden. he angled your hips up, dragging you closer to him. you felt his cock against the back of your thigh—still hard after pumping load after load into you. he palmed your ass, squeezing hard. you heard him groan just looking at you.
"love seein' you like this—bent over, cunt still drippin'."
his palm cracked hard against your ass, the sting making you cry out. he lined himself up to your entrance, your cunt oversensitive but still throbbing for him. he pushed in, stretching you open. you buried your face in the sheets, your moans muffled by the mattress. he pulled out, the squelch of your cunt obscene in the bedroom.
your hips pushed back onto him, legs shaking. he laughed, his breath hitching at the sight of you. his spanked you again, his hand sharp and loud against your skin.
"love it when i get to spank you like that. dad's all wrong about you, isn't he? you're a filthy slut—my filthy slut."
you groaned a muffled "yes" into the mattress, his cock teasing your entrance. he dragged the tip through your slick, making you whine. his hands grasped your hips firmly, pulling back onto him, his cock sinking into you. you cried out, back arching as he pushed deeper and deeper into you. he got halfway before stopping, his cock pulsing inside your cunt.
he leaned forward, his chest pressed against your back, coated with a thing sheen of sweat. he whispered into your ear, his voice ragged. "gonna split you open, love—make you come on my cock again, feel you drippin' around me."
you moaned, your body on fire from before, shaking as he pushed his cock in a bit more, slow and cruel. "liam—'s too much—so full—"
he slammed into you all at once, burying himself to the hilt. you screamed at the sudden stretch, your walls clamping down hard. he groaned, his hands tight around your waist. "gonna take me again, take my cum—'s what you want, yeah?"
you nodded, the sensation of his cock buried in you overwhelming. he spanked you again, sharper, meaner this time. you cried out, whining as he started to thrust forward. "say it, love—need to hear you beggin' for me."
you choked the words out between gasps, his hips rocking at a brutal pace, rougher than before. "need you, liam—need you, want your cum—"
he thrust harder, deeper, making your body arch—your hips pushing back against him. his rhythm got faster and more brutal than before, dragging you onto him with each snap of his hips. the sound filled the room—loud and obscene. he moaned when you clenched hard around him, his palm cracking sharp against your ass. "fuck—such a tight cunt squeezin' my cock—"
liam pulled back, running his hands down the back of your thighs. you whined as he ran his fingers through your folds, sliding your slick up and down. he grabbed your hips, angling them higher before burying himself in you again. the new angle made you cry out, the stretch of your cunt around his cock making you dizzy.
you felt sparks shoot through your body again, the pressure in you building. he kept thrusting into you, rough and possessive, like he was trying to make you his forever. you felt your whole body tremble, your knees giving out. "fuck—liam—too much—can't take anymore—"
his hand cracked against you again, the sting shooting down your legs. he angled your hips even higher, his cock filling you deeper than before. you moaned, high and broken, your whole body sore. he rocked into you, his pace still brutal, but becoming more uneven. "cum for me, love—i wanna hear you cry."
you broke right then, your legs shaking. you clenched hard around his cock, thighs sticky with his cum and your slick. his rhythm became sloppy as he continued to fuck you, his hips jerking erratically. eventually he came, his moans ragged and raw as his cock pulsed in you, spilling load after load. he pulled out, cum dripping down your legs.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
you collapsed onto the mattress, spent and sore all over. liam slumped down onto you, slick with sweat and panting like he just ran a marathon. he rand his hands down your thighs, your legs buckling when he touched the spots where he spanked you, red and raw.
he rolled you over onto him, turning you so you laid on your back. his touch was gentle now—soft and caring, like he was afraid you'd shatter in his grasp. he kissed your forehead, stroking your hair and watching his cum leak from you.
"made such a fuckin' mess of you, didn't i?"
he got up, disappearing into the bathroom for a minute. you ran your fingers through your hair, scooting up onto the pillows. you heard the tap running, and he eventually walked back into the room holding a damp towel.
he laid down next to you again, carefully spreading your legs so he could wipe the cum that dripped down them. you winced slightly when he pressed too high where you were still sore and overstimulated. he kissed you gently, tossing the towel aside when he was done.
"shh, 's okay, love. i wasn't too rough, right?"
you turned on your side, facing him, cupping his face with your hands. "you were perfect." he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close to him, whispering softly into your ear before sleep dragged him under, like he only wanted you to hear it.
"i love you, y'know that? more than anyone i've ever met."
⋆⭒˚.⋆
when you woke up the late in the afternoon, the room was dead quiet, still reeking of sex. sunlight poured through the window, streaking warm rays across the sheets. you glanced at the time on your phone.
2:34 pm.
the bed was empty, the spot next to you still warm. you looked around, rubbing your eyes, groggy from sleep. you wondered for a split second if you had dreamt the whole thing.
just then, liam walked in, a piece of toast in his mouth and a faded t-shirt in his hand. he was still shirtless, only wearing a pair of shorts and socks. he sat down on the edge of the bed next to you, taking the toast out of his mouth.
"afternoon, sleepy. i didn't wake you up, did i?"
you shook your head, grinning like a kid on christmas. you grabbed his toast, taking a bite and kissing him on the cheek. you ran your hand along his face—smooth from shaving. you pouted sarcastically, still chewing. "aw, i liked the stubble, you should've kept it."
he laughed lightly, handing you the shirt. "for you, if you want to wear it." you sat up and gave him the toast back, slipping the shirt over your head. his mouth met yours, kissing you gently.
"shame you have to cover up your tits, i liked seein' 'em."
you shoved him playfully, laughing. "shut up, liam." just then your phone rang, the ringtone cutting through your giggles. you picked up your phone, staring at the screen—it was your dad, probably wondering where you had disappeared to last night.
liam looked over at your screen, and hung up. you turned to him, opening your mouth to say something when he kissed you again, swallowing your words. he broke away, grinning. "don't worry, love, i'll send him a letter later sayin' you're my girlfriend now."
you smirked, sliding down the bed and onto his lap, looping your arms around his neck. "oh really? i'm your girlfriend now? since when?"
he smiled wider, his eyes wide and staring at you, hazy blue and lovesick. "decided that last night when i saw you at that pub. love at first sight, i guess."
you smiled back, resting your head on his shoulder, just absorbing the genuine, pure love he felt for you.
pairing: dilf!liam gallagher x fem!reader
genre: smut !!, slow burn
word count: 9640
warnings: implied age gap, unprotected sex, dom!liam, light overstimulation, slight praise/degradation, light choking, alcohol use (kinda drunk sex, both parties !), possessive behavior, very very light breeding kink, size kink lowk, minors dni !!
summary: it starts with a tweet. then another. until you find each other at the pub—unexpectedly.
a/n: everyones dream i think; formatting was very important to me here lol
you followed him because he was ridiculous. absolutely, unapologetically unwell online. he tweeted like he was being electrocuted in slow motion. caps lock wisdom. lowercase threats. spiritual affirmations wedged between football scores and dick jokes.
you’d scroll past posts like—
“THE MOON IS HAVIN IT TONIGHT”
“BE BRAVE MY SWEET POTATOES”
“Elbowed myself in the eye tryna do tai chi. Vibes are off.”
—and for some godforsaken reason, they made you grin. every single time.
so you replied. once. something dumb, probably. you barely remembered what it was—just some flirty nonsense thrown into the void.
but then—he answered.
@liamgallagher BE STRONG
⤿ @m0rningglory i’d be stronger if you called me yours
⤿ @liamgallagher Pipe down kid
you nearly dropped your phone. he’d replied to you. you. not just with a like. not just with some half-assed insult. with a name.
you stared at the screen like it might disappear. like you’d imagined it. like the words might pixelate and blur if you looked too long.
“Pipe down kid.” not fangirl. not baby. not love. just teasing. weirdly specific. and typed like it meant nothing.
you tried to play it cool. quote-tweeted him with something smug, something unserious: @m0rningglory ok sir
you half-hoped he’d reply. you half-hoped he wouldn’t. your heart was thudding. it wasn’t that deep, you told yourself. just a tweet. just a joke.
but part of you—deep down—knew this was going to spiral.
and it did.
@liamgallagher Don’t get bold sunshine
⤿ @m0rningglory you’re just scared i’ll out banter you
⤿ @liamgallagher Try it and see
you screamed into your pillow that night. fully, face-down, limbs flailing.
you couldn’t explain it. it wasn’t like he was flirting. not really. but there was something about the way he replied—like he saw you. like he enjoyed it.
you bookmarked the tweet. you told nobody.
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
weeks later, it was still casual. still funny. still nothing at all—until it started feeling like something. you told yourself you were imagining it. of course you were. but then again—
@liamgallagher DON’T TALK TO ME ABOUT SPIRITUALITY TIL YOU’VE SMOKED A JOINT IN THE BATH
⤿ @m0rningglory but what if i smoked it thinking about you in the bath
⤿ @liamgallagher Get help
you didn’t answer that one. just liked it. and maybe it was projection, maybe it was nothing—but you swore he was getting quicker with these.
@liamgallagher Just seen someone wearin crocs with socks. Humanity is OVER
⤿ @m0rningglory i could fix them. or i could wear worse. your call.
⤿ @liamgallagherWear worse and i’ll block you
⤿ @m0rningglory If u block me i’ll print your tweets on a t-shirt
⤿ @liamgallagher Don’t tempt me i’ll sell them
you had to close the app. your palms were actually sweating. it was just twitter, you reminded yourself. just some dumb joke. just some daft man in a parka with too much time on his hands.
but the rhythm was addicting. he’d post. you’d reply. sometimes he’d answer. sometimes he wouldn’t. but when he did—
@liamgallagher Half you lot need puttin on a leash
⤿ @m0rningglory what time should i be outside x
⤿ @liamgallagher You’re one of them
your stomach actually twisted. stupid. irrational. but he’d remembered. or pretended to. same difference, yeah?
and when he posted this—
@liamgallagher i’m goin pub. don’t talk to me unless you’re buyin
⤿ @m0rningglory what’s your order, king
⤿ @liamgallagher Pint. Attitude adjustment.
—your phone lit up with six retweets, four quote tweets, and one dm from your mate that said: what the fuck is going on. are you two flirting?
you didn’t answer. mostly because you weren’t sure yourself.
but something was happening, and you didn’t want it to stop.
@liamgallagher NO I WON’T CALM DOWN
⤿ @m0rningglory didn’t say calm down. said bend me over.
⤿ @liamgallagher muted
⤿ @m0rningglory worth it x
you dropped your phone face down on the sofa. said out loud to no one, “i’m gonna die.” your heart was kicking like you’d run a mile barefoot. you didn’t touch your phone for an hour. didn’t tweet. didn’t breathe.
he wasn’t flirting. not really. he was just being himself. chaotic. reactive. quick.
but he’d seen it. he’d answered.
you pulled your knees to your chest. bit your lip. it was just twitter.
but it was also liam fucking gallagher.
and now, apparently, you had a bit.
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
@liamgallagher SHUT IT
⤿ @m0rningglory ok daddy
⤿ @liamgallagher GET A GRIP
⤿ @m0rningglory worth it tbh
⤿ @liamgallagher BLOCKED x
you threw your phone across the bed and groaned into your pillow. not because it was embarrassing — though it was — but because it kept happening. not every time. not every reply. just often enough that you started bracing for it.
@liamgallagher INHALE / EXHALE
⤿ @m0rningglory me waiting to see if you’ve posted again
⤿ @liamgallagher UR TWISTED
⤿ @m0rningglory takes one to know one x
you were used to shouting into the void. but he always seemed to clock you. like his feed had a magnet for chaos — and somehow, you’d tuned your voice to match the frequency.
@liamgallagher BEHAVE
⤿ @m0rningglory no x
⤿ @liamgallagher WELL THEN
⤿ @m0rningglory what you gonna do about it
⤿ @liamgallagher SEND NOEL AFTER YA
you had to laugh at that one. not because it was clever — it wasn’t — but because he was still replying. because even at his most unhinged, he still made room for you.
@liamgallagher LEAVE ME ALONE
⤿ @m0rningglory no <3
⤿ @liamgallagher OHHH SHE’S BOLD
⤿ @m0rningglory only for you grandpa
⤿ @liamgallagher FUCK OFF x
somewhere along the way, people started noticing. a mutual quote-tweeted you with “she’s winning.” someone else DM’d a screenshot with, “not to be dramatic but you’re literally in a situationship with him.” you played it off. made a joke. but it stuck in your chest like a dare.
@liamgallagher ONE DAY AT A TIME
⤿ @m0rningglory ok but what if we made it worse on purpose
⤿ @liamgallagher U NEED HELP
⤿ @m0rningglory u volunteering?
⤿ @liamgallagher NOPE
he never followed you. never liked anything too obvious. but you could feel it — the shift. the pacing. the way he always answered the weirdest ones. like he was waiting for them.
@m0rningglory [photo] do u think liam gallagher would let me wear his shades and play with his vinyls
⤿ @liamgallagher only if u don’t touch the fuckin smiths ones
⤿ @m0rningglory i’d never disrespect you like that
⤿ @liamgallagher Good. Ur on thin fuckin ice.
he liked a selfie once. no warning. no comment. just a quiet little red heart, hours after posting it — half-mirror, lipglossy, captioned something like “liam would bark if he saw me in this.” you’d laughed when you posted it. you almost cried when he liked it.
@liamgallagher liked your tweet: liam gallagher hates women he finds hot.
sometimes he didn’t reply at all. but ten minutes later, you’d get a like on an old post. one with three likes and no tags. quiet. deliberate. like he was saying, i see you. i’m just choosing chaos today.
you were starting to tweet just for him. not in a sad way. in a specific way. a bit daft, a bit shameless. always at the edge of what he might call back.
he never told you to stop. he never told you anything. but the replies kept coming. and you were starting to feel watched in a way that didn’t feel bad at all.
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
you’d had two ciders, a handful of chips, and one very long, very unserious conversation with your flatmate about whether you could reasonably claim “twitter mutuals” as a form of courtship. she’d said no. you’d said maybe. and then you’d pulled out your phone, thumb hovering over the app like a dare.
@m0rningglory i’d be so well behaved if liam gallagher told me to
⤿ @liamgallagher No u fuckin wouldn’t
⤿ @m0rningglory ok true but like. what if i tried
⤿ @liamgallagher U wouldn’t last 10 minutes. Chaos demon. Menace to society
⤿ @m0rningglory say it slower
⤿ @liamgallagher PERVERT
you stared at your screen, a little stunned. grinning like an idiot. he wasn’t flirting. not really. not yet. but the tone had changed—less bark, more bite.
@liamgallagher JUST GOT IN
⤿ @m0rningglory and what do u smell like
⤿ @liamgallagher Danger and dandelions
⤿ @m0rningglory weirdly sexy of you
⤿ @liamgallagher Tell someone who cares
it was starting to feel familiar. like a game. like a rhythm. like something he let you win on purpose.
@m0rningglory someone tell liam gallagher i’d let him ruin my life for a laugh
⤿ @liamgallagher How do u know i haven’t already
⤿ @m0rningglory you can’t prove anything
⤿ @liamgallagher Don’t need to
⤿ @m0rningglory that’s actually terrifying
⤿ @liamgallagher Good. x
you closed the app after that. tossed your phone across the sofa and let your head fall back against the cushions. tried not to grin. failed.
because it was happening. not a crush, not quite. just a kind of heat. a thread. tugged tighter every time he barked back.
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
you wanted to stay in—have a bath, watch something mindless, maybe scroll long enough to catch one of his tweets and toss something stupid into the void. nothing major. just a ritual. just background noise.
but your friend had begged. “just one drink,” she’d said. “just for an hour. i’ll even let you play that god-awful ‘90s playlist you like.”
you’d rolled your eyes, muttered something about taste, but in the end, you gave in. you always did.
you didn’t dress up. not really. just a soft black jumper, old miniskirt, your favourite boots. hair a little messy, makeup a little smudged. you weren’t trying to impress anyone. you weren’t trying at all.
and that’s what made it worse.
because you walked into the pub and there he was.
not five minutes in—not even halfway to the bar—and your eyes snagged on something familiar in the corner booth. the parka. the unruly fringe. face half-shadowed under the pub lights, but unmistakable. unmistakably him.
liam.
you froze. blinked. looked again.
he was nursing a pint, legs spread wide, one hand lazily spinning a pack of cigarettes across the table. talking to some bloke you didn’t recognise, laughter low and slanted. his voice didn’t carry, but his presence did—like static. like something sharp in your chest.
and maybe you stared too long, because he looked up. met your eyes.
you looked away so fast your neck twinged.
—
“jesus christ,” you muttered under your breath, dragging your friend toward the other end of the bar. “jesus actual christ.”
“what?” she said, already fishing for her card. “what’s wrong?”
“he’s here.”
“who—wait. he? no. no.”
you didn’t answer. didn’t have to. the look on your face said enough.
and suddenly you were hyperaware of everything—the way your lip gloss had worn off, the static cling of your skirt, the tremble in your fingertips as you reached for your drink.
you hadn’t planned for this.
you didn’t even think he lived near here. you thought he’d be somewhere flashier, somewhere louder. not this barely lit pub tucked down a side street. not your street. not your night.
and certainly not looking at you again.
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
you were trying so hard not to look.
not in a pathetic way—just practical. normal. you had your drink. you were being chill. the pub was loud enough to cover your heartbeat. you kept your back half-turned, eyes fixed on your friend, nodding at whatever she was saying. pretending. acting.
you were doing fine.
until she nudged you—subtle, like she was adjusting her bag. “don’t freak out,” she muttered. “but i think he’s coming this way.”
you blinked. “you think—what?”
“i said don’t freak out.”
you turned, slowly. casually. like you weren’t about to combust.
and yeah. there he was. not looking at you—yet—just moving through the crowd, pint in hand, head tilted toward the telly mounted above the bar. match highlights. some player’s face frozen mid-sprint. it made sense, kind of. but he wasn’t walking like a man interested in the game. he was walking like a man orbiting something. someone.
your pulse thudded.
he got closer.
and then—he looked.
just a glance at first. not even a second. then a double take. a pause.
his head tilted. brow furrowed. lips parted, like he might say something—but didn’t.
you didn’t breathe.
you saw it then—the flicker of recognition, vague and electric, like trying to place a dream.
he knew your face.
not from here. not from the room. from somewhere stranger. smaller.
a little app on his phone, lit up in the quiet hours when the telly was muted and the world was half-asleep.
his eyes narrowed.
you pretended not to notice. raised your glass. took a sip like your hand wasn’t shaking.
he was still looking.
and then—just as casually as he’d appeared—he looked away. moved on. wandered back toward his booth like nothing had happened.
your lungs released.
your friend was grinning. “holy shit.”
“no,” you said, heat crawling up your neck. “don’t say anything. please.”
but you couldn’t stop thinking about the look. the pause. the click of something slotting into place behind his eyes.
he knew.
—
he wasn’t looking for anyone. never was. just out for a pint, maybe a packet of crisps—something salty to soak up the tail end of the day.
but then there she was.
at first he didn’t clock it—too far, too loud, too much going on. but something about the back of her head tugged at him. the slope of her neck. the way her hand moved when she reached for her drink—slow, a little exaggerated, like she wasn’t quite in her body.
then she turned. not all the way. just enough.
and he knew.
he didn’t smirk. didn’t blink. just stood there, watching her not watch him.
it was funny, really—seeing her try to play it cool. like she hadn’t just shattered half his notifications last week with some cracked tweet about his trainers. like she hadn’t been haunting his mentions for the better part of a month.
he took a sip of his pint. kept his eyes on the telly. didn’t move. not yet.
what are the fuckin’ odds, he thought.
he let the pint rest against his bottom lip a second longer than necessary.
might’ve been fate. might’ve been the algorithm.
same thing, these days.
she looked good. better than the selfies, even.
softer.
realer.
he scanned the room once, twice. no cameras. no mad lads with phones out. good.
he turned, leaned back against the bar, and let his gaze settle on her again.
alright then, he thought. let’s see if she bites.
he waited—patient. lazy.
like a bloke watching something he already knew the ending to. just taking his time getting there.
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
your mate was still mid-rant about some lad from tinder who’d ghosted her twice and still liked all her stories, and you were nodding along, half-hearted, nursing your drink. the pub was loud, your feet were sore, and you were trying to decide if you had one more pint in you or if the night had already peaked.
then—
“fuckin’ hell.”
it landed behind you like a pint hitting wood.
low. blunt. familiar in a way that made your stomach tilt sideways.
you turned. blinked. froze.
liam gallagher was standing ten feet away. pint in hand, brows lifted, mouth curled into something between a smirk and a sneer—like he’d just spotted something mad in the wild.
“didn’t think you were real,” he said, eyeing you like a puzzle. “thought maybe i’d made you up. or one of them bots. y’know—nutter with a good face.”
your throat went dry. “hi.”
he barked a laugh. “hi, she says. fuckin’ hell. you’ve been cloggin’ up my replies for weeks and that’s all i get?”
you smiled, helpless. “you’ve seen those?”
he leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “seen ’em? pet, they’re the only ones worth readin’.”
you flushed.
he grinned wider, clearly pleased with himself. took a long, lazy sip from his pint like it hadn’t cost him a thing to say that.
“was hopin’ you were half as fit in real life,” he added, eyes dragging over you in a way that wasn’t subtle. “turns out you’re worse.”
you laughed—half shock, half thrill. “worse?”
“yeah,” he said. “like... danger to the public. menace. babe.”
you raised a brow. “you rehearsed that one?”
“nah. came right outta me like a fuckin’ prophecy.”
he stepped in closer, nodded toward your drink. “you gonna buy us one, then? or are you all talk?”
“you’re the rockstar. shouldn’t you be buying me one?”
he scoffed. “i reply to one tweet about my sunglasses and now you want me to bankroll your night?”
“you replied to five.”
“six,” he muttered. then, quieter— “fuck’s sake.”
you were grinning now, bold from the beer and the way his eyes didn’t leave you. it felt like the centre of gravity had shifted.
“so?” he asked, leaning on the bar with one elbow. “you gonna stand there lookin’ smug all night, or are we havin’ this pint?”
“depends,” you said. “you always this charming, or is this just for me?”
he licked his teeth, head tilted. “dunno, love. maybe you’ll be the one to find out.”
you rolled your eyes, tried to steady yourself with a sip. the pint glass was too cold in your hand, the rim damp where you’d been leaving nervous little half-sips. you didn’t know what to do with your other hand, so you rested it flat on the bar, tracing a ring of condensation.
he clocked it. of course he did. gaze dropped once, then back up to your face.
like he was filing it away. like he collected details the same way he collected insults.
“so what’s the verdict, then?” he asked—voice low but cutting clean through the din. “am i charming, or just a twat?”
you tilted your head. “both.”
his laugh cracked out quick, sharp. he knocked back another sip. “fair enough.”
the silence after wasn’t heavy. just odd. the jukebox kicked over to the stone roses. someone shouted at the telly. you felt his presence more than you saw him—the heat of his arm near yours, the faint smell of tobacco threaded through something warmer, sharper. aftershave, maybe. or just him.
he drummed his fingers once on the bar. impatient, maybe. restless. then:
“you local, then?”
“ish.” you shrugged. “not far.”
“dangerous,” he muttered, like it was a joke. “means i’ll be seein’ more of ya.”
your mouth twitched. “what makes you think you want that?”
he turned. really looked this time. no grin now—just that lazy, assessing stare you’d only ever imagined before. the kind that made your stomach dip.
“cos you’re here, ain’t ya?” he said simply. “ain’t leavin’, either.”
you didn’t have an answer for that. not one you could trust yourself to say out loud.
so you clinked your glass against his instead—light, nervous, stupid.
he smirked at that. shook his head like you were daft, but still lifted his pint to meet yours.
“fuckin’ menace,” he muttered. “knew it from the first reply.”
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
he kept sipping his pint. didn’t say much for a moment. let the music fill the space—a certain romance now, sweet and swirling, a little too tender for the look in his eyes.
you half-wondered if he even noticed it.
he leaned his hip against the bar, shoulder angled toward you now, full-body and unbothered. pint dangling loose in one hand, thumb tapping against the glass.
“so go on then,” he said, like he was picking up an old conversation. “what’s your deal?”
you blinked. “my deal?”
“yeah. what’s the story? i post one thing about the moon havin’ it and next thing i know, i’ve got some pretty little gremlin flirtin’ in my mentions on the daily.”
you snorted. “gremlin’s harsh.”
he shrugged. “affectionate, that.”
you took a sip, licking your lips after. “maybe i just liked your tweets.”
“yeah?” he squinted at you. “which ones?”
“oh, you know. the spiritual wisdom. the threats. the tai chi incident.”
that got a grin. a proper one. teeth and everything.
“nearly took my own eye out,” he muttered. “fuckin’ tragic, that.”
“you survived. just barely.”
“only ’cos i had the moon on my side.”
you bit your lip. looked away, then back. “you always tweet like that?”
he raised an eyebrow. “like what?”
“like you’re possessed by a mancunian fortune cookie.”
he barked out a laugh—sharp and real, the kind that made his chest shake.
“oi,” he said, swatting at your arm with the back of his hand. “cheeky fucker.”
you shrugged, grinning. “you asked.”
“mad thing is,” he said, turning back to his pint, “some of it’s real. some of it’s just bollocks. can’t tell which half most days.”
“don’t think anyone can.”
“no,” he agreed. “but you get it.”
you looked at him then. really looked.
and there it was again—not a flirt. not yet.
just something watching.
like he’d read you in real time and liked the book.
you looked away first.
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
“so,” you said, swirling your drink a little, “do you talk to all your reply girls, or am i just special?”
he huffed through his nose. “fuckin’ hate that term.”
“which one?”
“‘reply girls.’ sounds like somethin’ noel’d moan about on a podcast.”
“so you’re dodging the question.”
“nah.” he shook his head, slow and deliberate. “just sayin’—if i wanted anyone in my mentions, it wouldn’t be half the ones i get.” he took another sip. “but you... you’re different.”
you raised a brow. “how so?”
he paused. just for a breath.
then: “you make me laugh.”
simple. flat. unflinching. like he hadn’t even thought about saying it.
you blinked, heat rising in your cheeks. “oh.”
“don’t get carried away,” he added, smirking into his glass. “sometimes you’re annoying as fuck.”
you let out a short, surprised laugh. “takes one to know one.”
he pointed at you. “that’s the shit. that’s why.”
you shook your head, hiding a smile. “you’re impossible.”
“and you’re a menace,” he said, shifting fully toward you now—no more lazy lean, just full-body attention. “but you’ve got style. and teeth. and you never fuckin’ miss.”
“you’ve definitely muted me.”
“never.”
then, quieter. like a secret.
“almost did. but then you said somethin’ about lettin’ me ruin your life for a laugh, and i went—yeah. alright. fair enough.”
you felt it in your chest, sharp and sudden—like lightning in water.
but neither of you moved. not yet.
just the hum of the pub behind you, the clink of glasses nearby, two half-drunk pints between you.
“do you reckon,” you asked, slow and cautious, “if we weren’t here right now... we’d still be tweeting?”
he looked at you, long.
“we will be anyway,” he said. “tomorrow. next week. whenever. you’ll post some filth and i’ll pretend i didn’t see it, then like your playlist the next day.”
you laughed. soft and fond. “that’s not flirting?”
“depends what you’re after.”
you looked down at your drink. “what if i don’t know?”
“then you’re honest,” he said. “rare these days.”
he nudged his pint against yours. a low clink. the gentlest kind of promise.
“but you’re here now,” he added. “and i’m not goin’ anywhere.”
you looked up. caught his gaze.
that Liam look—half bored, half burning.
“alright,” you said. “guess i’m stayin’, then.”
“yeah?”
“just for the pint.”
“sure,” he said, already grinning. “just for the pint.”
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
he returned with both hands full, pint glasses knocking together at the base. didn’t say anything at first—just raised one toward you in offering, glass slick with condensation, knuckles smudged where the bar towel hadn’t dried the base proper. his fingers brushed yours as you took it. you felt it in your teeth.
“c’mon then,” he said, nodding toward the back corner. “reckon we’ve earned a seat.”
you didn’t answer. just followed. his parka slung over one arm, the other wrapped lazy round his pint. he didn’t check if you were behind him—you just were. orbit pulled. gravity bent.
the booth was too small. or maybe he was just big. either way, he took up more than his fair share—one leg stretched halfway into yours, the other knocked loose against the floor, heel tapping every now and then like he was keeping time to some song only he could hear.
he shrugged the parka off and let it slump in the corner, then sank back into the seat like he’d always been there. black tee clinging soft to his shoulders, rings clicking gentle against his glass, thumb dragging slow over the condensation like it was muscle memory.
you tucked yourself into the edge, back half-pressed against the wall, trying not to shift too obviously when his thigh brushed yours.
his arm was slung along the top of the booth, not touching, but close enough you could feel it—like static. like a held breath. like a warning.
he hadn’t dropped it round your shoulders. not yet. but it hovered, cocky and casual, like it was just waiting for you to lean back and give him the excuse.
he hadn’t touched you. not really. just the press of his leg. the occasional brush of fingers when you reached for your drink.
but the heat was unmistakable. a low thrum beneath your ribs, gathering slow. you felt a little electric. like your skin knew something your brain hadn’t caught up to yet.
you’d only meant to have one. just a drink, maybe two. a laugh, a story. something stupid to tell your mate the next day—remember when liam gallagher flirted with me at the pub?—followed by giggles and disbelief.
but liam was... magnetic.
loud in a way that didn’t ask for attention, just pulled it in. like smoke. like gravity.
his voice rolled low across the wood of the table, vowels stretched, consonants bitten off with that lazy northern lilt that made everything sound like a dare.
every pint made him softer at the edges but sharper in the centre—easier with his hands, rougher with his compliments. unpredictable.
and you—god help you—you couldn’t stop grinning.
“you always this mouthy?” he asked, watching you over the rim of his glass.
his pupils were blown wide, black bleeding into blue, lids low and lazy like he was watching you from underwater.
he looked at you like he wanted to laugh. or bite.
you shrugged, nudging his knee with yours. “only when provoked.”
he hummed deep in his chest, like an engine turning over. like it pleased him.
his gaze dragged down your face, lingered at your mouth a second too long.
“so what,” he said, voice low, “you reckon i’ve been askin’ for it?”
“you reckon you haven’t?”
his tongue pressed into his cheek. “cheeky little thing, ain’t ya?”
you tried not to react, but your grin was already giving you away.
he noticed. of course he noticed.
his mouth curled, all smug and slow, like he was plotting your downfall and enjoying every second of it.
he shifted, stretched his arm higher over the back of the booth, his wrist brushing the ends of your hair like an accident.
he smelled like cheap aftershave and stale beer and something sharper beneath it—cool and clean, like peppermint and rain.
it hit the back of your throat like a dare.
“y’know what your problem is?” he asked, tipping his glass back.
you leaned in slightly. “enlighten me.”
he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then pointed vaguely in your direction.
“you think you’re runnin’ the place. all smug. all clever. but deep down...”
he leaned in now, voice dropping, lips just close enough to yours to make your breath catch.
“you’re waitin’ for someone to knock you back a peg.”
you raised a brow. “is that what you’re offering?”
he grinned—wide and wolfish. “don’t tempt me, menace.”
you laughed, tipped your head back.
he watched you like he was drinking you in, too.
something shifted in the air. subtle. charged.
the pub blurred at the edges—just moving lights and mumbled noise, all dim beneath the weight of his gaze.
“you really think you can handle me?” you asked, cocking your head.
he didn’t blink. “babe, i was dealin’ with girls like you before you had your fuckin’ baby teeth.”
you choked on your drink, spluttered out a laugh that made his whole face light up.
and for a second, it was easy. stupid. sweet.
a moment caught mid-spin. two orbits slipping closer.
you hadn’t expected this. not the rhythm. not the pull.
he was older, cockier, full of himself in a way that should’ve turned you off.
but there was something about him—the way he spoke to you like you could keep up.
like you might outpace him if he wasn’t careful.
he drained the last of his pint and set the glass down with a clink.
rings flashing dull in the pub light. arm flexing as he stretched again.
and this time, his hand dropped to your shoulder. not heavy. not claiming. just... there.
you didn’t move.
he tapped his thumb once against your collarbone. absentminded. or maybe not.
“one more?” he asked, nodding toward the bar.
you swallowed. nodded. “yeah. one more.”
he stood, slow and loose-limbed, fingers grazing your shoulder as he passed.
he didn’t look at you.
didn’t need to.
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
he came back with two rounds.
not two drinks—two rounds.
four pints stacked in both hands like some unholy beer tower, face smug as anything.
“didn’t know what you wanted, so i made a judgement call,” he said, thunking them down on the table with a flourish.
you blinked at the collection. “jesus.”
“cheers,” he added, raising one to his mouth like he hadn’t just committed a war crime against moderation.
you stared at him. then at the pints. then back at him.
“you trying to kill me?”
“you started it,” he said, half-snarling, half-grinning. “all that mouth, ‘m just keepin’ up.”
“this is not keeping up. this is sabotage.”
“nah. this is character development.”
he passed you a glass like it was a peace offering—all froth and sparkle and maybe a little bit of something dangerous.
you took it with a sigh, but you were smiling too hard to make it convincing.
the booth had shrunk in the time he was gone.
or maybe he’d just taken up even more space—slumped back now, legs splayed, thigh pressed warm to yours like it belonged there.
his knee kept knocking into you, slow and accidental.
except it wasn’t accidental at all.
you were tipsy already, but now you felt it in your fingertips.
everything buzzing. sweet.
his voice a little louder now, words slurred at the edges, vowels dragged out like he was chewing them.
“y’know,” he said, mid-sip, “when you first started tweetin’ at me, i thought you were a bot.”
you nearly spit out your drink. “excuse me?”
“swear down. i was like—no one’s that bold. not without wires in their brain.”
“you’re such a dick,” you said, laughing.
“yeah, well. you kept goin’, didn’t ya?”
you shrugged. “someone had to humble you.”
he pointed. “see? bot energy. cheeky. relentless. absolutely no shame.”
“and yet you replied. repeatedly.”
“i was intrigued. like watchin’ a feral cat type with its paws.”
you snorted—loud enough to turn heads at the next table.
he looked impossibly pleased with himself.
“you’re lucky you’re pretty,” you muttered, sipping again.
he leaned in, eyes twinkling. “say that again.”
“what, that you’re lucky?”
“nah. the other bit.”
you didn’t.
but you didn’t have to.
your cheeks were warm, and he saw it.
“thought so,” he murmured.
you reached for your next pint.
he did too—and your hands brushed.
not fleeting. solid.
the kind of touch that lingers even when it ends.
you both paused.
looked at each other.
“so,” you said, tilting your head, “how’s it feel, flirting with someone half your age?”
he let out a bark of laughter—full and unfiltered.
“cheeky and ageist,” he said. “unbelievable.”
you shrugged, smirking. “i’m just saying, it’s giving cradle robber.”
he leaned in closer, close enough to smell the beer on his breath, the faintest trace of sweat and aftershave and something smoky beneath.
“it’s givin’ you’re lucky i’m patient,” he said, voice low. “cos if i were twenty years younger, we’d’ve already got a cab.”
you blinked.
heat flooded your chest.
“what, and ruin the mystery?” you said, swallowing around the sudden thud of your pulse.
he smiled like sin. “oh, babe. you think there’s still mystery left?”
your laugh came out shaky.
you covered it with a sip.
his eyes didn’t leave your face.
“you’re such a fucking menace,” you mumbled.
“so you’ve said.”
“you love it.”
“never said i didn’t.”
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
the second pint disappeared faster than the first. things were fuzzier now—edges gone soft, thoughts slipping sideways.
he kept touching you. little things. a hand on your knee when he leaned forward to talk, a knuckle brushing yours when he gestured too wide.
and you—well, you weren’t pulling away. you made some offhand comment about one of his tweets. something stupid he’d posted about wanting to headbutt a pigeon.
he laughed so hard he nearly spilled his drink.
“you saved that one?” he asked.
“maybe.”
“you fuckin’ loser.”
“you’re the one who tweeted it!”
“yeah, well. i was in a mood. the bird looked at me funny.”
you leaned into him, shoulder to shoulder now. “you’re unwell.”
“and you’re obsessed.”
“a little.”
he tilted his head. “lot, more like.”
you smiled. “so what if i am?”
“so nothin’. just means you’ve got taste.”
he said it too easily. too warm.
your chest twisted.
“fuck,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “you’re dangerous.”
you blinked. “me?”
he looked at you then—really looked—and for once, the grin dropped.
“yeah,” he said. “you.”
the booth went quiet. the pub blurred at the edges.
it was just you and him, pressed thigh to thigh, one breath away from whatever the fuck this was becoming.
he glanced down, then back up.
“we gotta get outta here,” he said suddenly.
you blinked. “what?”
he was already standing. “too loud. too many people. too many... rules.”
“liam—”
“mine’s close. c’mon.”
he held out his hand. not rushed. not pleading, just sure.
and you took it.
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
outside, the air hit your face like a slap — sharp and cool and real.
liam flagged a cab with a sharp whistle, his hand still locked around yours like he wasn’t planning to let go. his grip was hot, anchoring, steady despite the wobble in his stance — drunk but purposeful, all swagger and instinct.
the cab pulled up fast. you barely registered what he said to the driver — something about camden, maybe, or chalk farm — before he was tugging you into the backseat, the door slamming behind you like punctuation.
and then —
he kissed you.
no warning. no pause.
his hand found your throat, not rough, just firm, thumb warm along your jaw as he pulled you into him like gravity had a grip on his bones.
his mouth hit yours hard — beer-slick and breathless, tongue deep, a groan cracking out low from his chest like it’d been caged for too long.
you grabbed for him without thinking, hand twisted in the lapel of his coat, your knees knocking his. his other arm curled tight around your waist, dragging you half into his lap like he needed you there — like sitting beside him wasn’t enough.
you moaned, high and shaky, the noise slipping out before you could think.
he laughed, low and wrecked. “yeah. that’s it. gimme all that.”
the cab rocked over a bump and he took the chance to shift you closer, his hand sliding to your hip, thumb pressing into the fabric like he owned it. like you were already his to move. his fingers curled against your waist, guiding you where he wanted you.
“you feel that?” he murmured, teeth catching at your bottom lip. “how easy you are to move when you let me?”
your breath hitched. he kissed you again, slower this time, deeper.
his hand didn’t leave your body — kept you close, kept you pliable. thumb grazing your cheekbone, stroking down to your lip like he was drawing out your obedience.
"fuckin’—" he broke off, breath hot on your jaw, "been wantin’ to do this since the first fuckin’ tweet."
you laughed, all breath and heat. “which one?”
his fingers slid under your skirt — slow, almost lazy. too casual to be casual.
“take your pick,” he muttered. “any of the ones that made me look like a perv scrollin’ at half past midnight.”
your breath stuttered. his palm cupped your thigh, warm and calloused.
you kissed him again, harder this time — hungry, wet, teeth clacking. his mouth swallowed every sound you made like they belonged to him.
his hand skimmed higher.
your leg shifted, barely a thought behind it — just instinct, giving him room. giving him permission.
his fingers dragged up the inside of your thigh, slow and possessive, until they reached the edge of your knickers.
just stopped there.
“liam—”
“shh,” he whispered against your mouth, the softest hush. “just wanna feel.”
he pressed against you, not pushing, not yet — just there. the heat of his hand solid over you, thumb resting against cotton like a promise. like he could learn your body through the fabric if you’d let him.
“fuckin’ hell,” he muttered. “you’re hot.”
“you’re drunk,” you breathed.
“yeah. drunk and lucky.”
you arched into his hand without thinking. helpless.
his touch shifted — dragging down your thigh again, slow enough to make your nerves burn, before tracing back up with his fingers splayed. his thumb dipped just under the band of your underwear, barely there.
his mouth found your neck, open and hot and messy — the kind of kisses that smeared, that took, that taught you what he liked by how he gave it.
“been thinkin’ ‘bout this,” he murmured, voice low and slurred and dangerous. “you, squirming in my fuckin’ lap. didn’t even know your name, and i still—”
his hand pressed firmer between your legs.
you gasped. choked on his name.
“liam—fuck—”
he kissed you again, bruising and sharp. his hand held you there, cupped you like a possession.
“still smug?” he breathed against your lips.
you whimpered — might’ve said no, might’ve just made noise.
his hand curled tighter. “good girl.”
the cab jolted over a pothole and your hips rocked forward, grinding into his hand by accident — and fuck, the sound he made. low, guttural, right at the base of his throat.
his forehead dropped to yours.
“jesus christ,” he muttered, breath ragged. “if this ride don’t end in thirty seconds, i’m gonna lose my fuckin’ mind.”
you couldn’t even speak. just clung to him, heart rabbiting.
he kissed you once more — filthy and fast — then slipped his hand back down, pulled away like it hurt him to stop.
you whimpered at the loss. actually whimpered. he grinned at the sound — flushed and wild and so fucking pleased with himself.
“babe,” he said, voice wrecked and reverent. “we’re not even close to done.”
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
the cab shuddered to a halt, but neither of you moved.
just the engine ticking. your breath still tangled with his. the ghost of his hand still hot between your thighs.
liam exhaled hard, like he’d been holding something in. dragged a crumpled note from his pocket and shoved it at the driver without so much as a glance.
“cheers, mate,” he muttered, voice all gravel and hunger.
he kicked the door open and stumbled out like the street owed him space. then turned back, already holding his hand out toward you.
“c’mon,” he said. “before i start dry humpin’ the fuckin’ seats.”
you took it.
the street was quiet. late enough now that even the pubs had gone dark, the night spread wide and yawning overhead. he led you down the block to a squat row of flats, keys jangling as he fished them out, head ducked like the stairs were already winding him up.
and you barely made it inside.
his coat hit the floor somewhere behind you, and your back found the wall like a magnet. he was on you again — mouth hot, breath hotter, tongue licking into yours like he needed to taste how wrecked he’d already made you.
“fuckin’ knew it,” he muttered against your throat, hands sliding up under your skirt. “knew you’d be like this. all mouth online, but soft for me. all that noise, and now look at you.”
his fingers pushed into the soaked fabric of your knickers — slow, then firm, like he already knew exactly what he’d find.
you gasped. bucked into it.
“that’s right,” he breathed. “don’t hold back. let me feel it.”
your head hit the wall behind you with a dull thud. he kissed you again, deeper this time — messy and demanding, tongue sliding, hand tight at your waist like he was holding you still.
your fingers found his hair, tugged hard enough to earn a grunt.
“keep teasin’ me on twitter all you want,” he rasped, mouth brushing yours, “but in here? you’re mine. yeah?”
you couldn’t speak. just nodded — fast. breathless.
his hand flexed between your legs, knuckles dragging slow, deliberate.
“say it.”
“yours,” you whispered. “fuck—liam—”
“good girl.”
he pressed in closer, hand guiding your hips against his thigh like he wanted to feel every tremble. the weight of him. the voice in your ear like a slow, dirty prayer.
“upstairs?” you breathed, dizzy.
he grinned like sin. “if we make it.”
his hand dragged back down your thigh, knuckles grazing skin like he was wiping your heat onto himself.
you whimpered. he looked smug as ever.
“bed,” he said. “now.”
you followed. legs wobbly. breath wrecked. your skirt still crooked, lips still kiss-bitten.
the flat was dim and chaotic — low lamps, half-drunk mugs on shelves, a guitar slumped in the corner. records stacked messy, sleeves half-open. a parka draped over the bannister like a king’s cloak. you brushed past it on your way up, hand steadying against the wall.
liam looked back once, saw you laugh.
“oi,” he said. “no judgin’ the decor. i’m a fuckin’ rockstar, not a minimalist.”
“noted,” you managed, winded.
he reached the landing and shouldered the bedroom door open like he was kicking it down.
then turned. looked at you like you were already stripped bare.
“get in,” he said, low and sure. “off with that skirt.”
and you didn’t even hesitate.
not for a second.
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
his room smelled like weed and something faintly metallic, like guitar strings.
you barely registered it. too busy backing toward the bed, fingers fumbling at the hem of your skirt, breath hitching as the door slammed shut and liam turned that look on you again—drunk, feral, starving.
“fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, eyes dragging over you like a lit fuse. “you gonna tease me all night or what?”
you dropped the skirt in answer. let it puddle at your feet.
his mouth twitched. not quite a smile—something darker. possessive.
he stalked over, parka already half-off, and grabbed the bottom of your jumper with one hand, yanking it over your head like he couldn’t bear the space between you a second longer.
“there we fuckin’ go,” he said, voice low and hoarse. “jesus. look at you.”
you reached for his shirt, fumbling with the buttons, but he batted your hands away with a lazy slap.
“nah, let me.”
he undid it slow. deliberate. the fucker. eyes never leaving yours, like he wanted you squirming—liked the way your hands twitched, the way your breath caught every time a new inch of skin was revealed.
“don’t get shy now,” he said, shirt falling off his shoulders, lean chest exposed in the low light. “been barkin’ at me online like you wanted a fuckin’ medal.”
“you’re one to talk,” you said, voice barely holding. “half your tweets are spiritual thirst traps.”
he barked a laugh—bright and chaotic, head tipped back.
“that so?”
“yeah. all that inhale/exhale shit? textbook horny behaviour.”
“you’re fuckin’ nuts,” he said, grin split wide, grabbing your face with both hands and kissing you like he meant it—hard and messy, tongue hot in your mouth, breath shared like a secret.
you tumbled back into the bed together, limbs tangled, mouths still chasing each other. he slotted between your thighs like he belonged there, hips pressing down—his cock thick and heavy through his jeans, grinding slow against the soaked cotton between your legs.
“fuckin’ soaked through,” he muttered, rough hand dragging the fabric aside. “barely touched you.”
“liam—” you gasped, your voice lost when he rutted against you, slow and filthy, the friction making your toes curl.
“shh, babe,” he whispered, lips brushing your cheek. “let me feel you first.”
he rocked against you, jeans still half-on like he couldn’t be arsed to take them off yet. his hand slid under your bra, thumb brushing your nipple, and you arched into him with a choked sound.
“fuckin’ perfect,” he muttered, sucking at your neck now, slow and possessive. “god, you’re perfect. knew it. knew you’d be like this.”
you whimpered. ground up into him. your thigh hiked high on his hip, desperate. his cock dragged against your cunt again—hot and thick through the cotton, slick building with every pass. it was filthy. easy. neither of you undressed, just messy and wrecked and too far gone to care.
“liam—please—”
“please what?” he grinned, voice wrecked and gleaming. “use your words, babe. you’re mouthy as fuck online—where’s all that now?”
you whimpered again. nearly sobbed.
“please touch me.”
he growled. that did it.
“oh, i’ll fuckin’ touch you.”
his hand slid down, under your panties, thick fingers dragging through your slick like he’d been waiting his whole life to feel it.
“jesus christ,” he hissed. “you’ve been like this all night?”
you nodded—helpless.
“course you have,” he muttered. “walkin’ ‘round in that skirt, flirtin’ like you weren’t beggin’ for it.”
he pushed two fingers in without warning. you cried out. your hips bucked.
“fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, curling them—deep and sharp. “that’s it, love. give it up for me.”
he worked you open with slow, cruel confidence. thumb circling, palm pressed tight, voice a hot slur against your skin.
“this,” he said, breath warm at your temple, “is for every time you posted some cracked shit about me barkin’. every time you said i’d ruin your life.”
he bit your earlobe. curled his fingers again.
“this is me provin’ you fuckin’ right.”
you couldn’t answer. couldn’t breathe. your whole body sang with it—shaking, clenching, clinging to him like he was the only solid thing left.
and when he finally pulled his hand back, dragged your panties down your legs and shoved his jeans just low enough—
you were already gone.
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
he didn’t tease.
no slow grind of knuckles over your clit. no cheeky smirk asking if you were sure.
he just grabbed your hips, hooked your thighs over his arms like they belonged there, and spat into his palm — the sound loud in the hush of the room. slicked it over his cock with two filthy strokes, then lined himself up and pushed in with a low, guttural groan.
no warning. no easing.
just all of him — thick and hot and real — stretching you open in one long, brutal thrust.
your body arched like it had been struck. a choked noise caught in your throat.
liam dropped his forehead to yours, voice already wrecked.
“fuckin’ hell, babe… knew you’d take me. knew it.”
he held there, buried to the hilt, chest heaving against yours. his fingers splayed against your thigh, gripping hard, keeping you open for him like you were something to be claimed.
“look at you,” he breathed, pulling out an inch just to sink back in slow. “fuckin’ perfect, you are.”
you whimpered — helpless, breathless — and his pace began to build. not fast. not yet. just deep, steady thrusts that left no room to hide. like he was fitting himself into a space he already knew.
“yeah,” he muttered. “just like that. fuckin’ melt for me.”
your hands clawed at his shoulders. his back. anything solid.
he didn’t mind. leaned into it. let you scratch and cling, even grabbed one of your wrists and pinned it to the pillow, like he wanted the image of it burned into your bones.
“you’ve been mouthin’ off for weeks,” he said, thrust sharp now, hips slamming into yours with purpose. “tweetin’ like you’re a fuckin’ brat. like you don’t wanna be put in your place.”
you moaned, too far gone to be clever.
he grinned, nasty and gleaming.
“but look at you now,” he purred, lips brushing your ear. “all pliant. all mine.”
your thighs trembled where they framed his hips. he read the signs — watched your breath stutter, watched your eyes flutter. pressed down harder with his cock, grinding in deep, hitting the spot that made you keen.
“that’s it, baby,” he said. “let me take care of it. let me do the thinkin’.”
his hand found your throat, thumb resting just under your jaw — not choking, just holding. grounding. anchoring you in the heat of him, in the rhythm of skin on skin and the wet slap of your cunt taking him.
“god, you’re drippin’,” he hissed, thrusts growing rougher. “you like bein’ used like this, don’t you?”
you nodded. couldn’t speak.
he caught your mouth in a messy kiss — more teeth than tongue, all heat and sweat and possessive little growls between gasps.
“all them tweets,” he murmured, voice a low rasp, “talkin’ big. bet you were touchin’ yourself to the thought of this, weren’t you?”
your hips bucked. his cock hit deep.
“yeah. i fuckin’ knew it.”
he fucked you harder — not cruel, but intense. relentless. like he wanted to fuck the noise out of you, the attitude, the last scraps of independence still clinging to your spine.
his thumb found your clit and rubbed tight, wet circles, dragging every twitch and whimper out of you like a secret.
“come for me,” he whispered, his forehead pressed to yours. “c’mon, love. now.”
your orgasm hit like a wave — sudden, breathless, full-body. it ripped through you, left you shuddering, clutching at him like you’d come undone.
“fuckin’ hell,” he groaned, feeling your cunt flutter around him. “you’re—jesus. look at you.”
he didn’t let up. not right away.
kept thrusting through it, kept you stuffed full, overstimulated, sobbing into his shoulder.
“wanted me to ruin you,” he said. “wanted to act all hard and end up cryin’ on my cock. yeah?”
you whimpered. nodded. couldn’t stop shaking.
he grabbed your face in one rough, reverent hand and kissed you hard — wet and deep, like he needed to taste every last bit of you before he gave in.
“gonna fill you up now,” he growled. “fuckin’ breed you if you’re not careful.”
your eyes fluttered. your body bucked.
his hips stuttered — one, two, three hard slams — and then he came with a low, broken moan, cock twitching deep inside you as he spilled everything he had.
he collapsed over you, arms tight, mouth pressed to your shoulder.
“fucking hell,” he mumbled. “you’re dangerous.”
you didn’t answer. didn’t need to.
you just curled into him, still shaking, still full, and let him hold you there.
his cock softened inside you, but he didn’t pull out. just kept one hand on your thigh, the other in your hair, like he wasn’t ready to give you back yet.
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
“fuckin’ hell,” he whispered after a while, voice rough with awe. “you alright?”
you hummed, lips brushing his shoulder. “yeah.”
he shifted, just a little, finally easing out of you — slow, careful, like he knew you’d be sore. you winced anyway, legs twitching, and he caught your face in his palm like it was precious.
“‘m sorry,” he said, low. “wasn’t thinkin’. got carried away.”
you smiled, small. “you think?”
he huffed a laugh, leaned down to kiss you. properly, this time — no bite, no heat, just lips on lips, slow and warm.
“didn’t mean to—” he started, but you shook your head, fingers sliding into his hair.
“was good,” you said. “really good.”
he held your gaze for a second longer, then kissed you again.
he looked so different like this. flushed and fucked-out, hair damp, eyes heavy-lidded and soft. you’d never seen him this quiet. this still.
you watched him fumble with the duvet, tugging it up over your bare legs, half-wrestling it into place. it was sweet, in a ridiculous sort of way — Liam Gallagher, rockstar, swearing under his breath as he tucked you in like you were something fragile.
he laid back beside you with a groan. pulled you into his chest without asking.
“you do this with all your twitter mutuals?” you mumbled, cheek pressed to his collarbone.
he snorted. “nah. just the ones that mouth off.”
you grinned. “so all of them, then?”
“oi.”
his fingers traced lazy shapes over your back. every so often, they paused — like he was checking, making sure you were still there, still warm, still close.
you were.
“you’re soft,” you whispered, more to yourself than him.
he grunted. “shut it. i’m rock ‘n’ roll.”
you pressed a kiss to his throat. “you’re a teddy bear.”
“say that again and i’m blockin’ you.”
you giggled into his skin. he let you.
the room was quiet now. streetlights leaking through the blinds. somewhere outside, someone was laughing too loud. inside, everything was still.
his hand found yours under the covers.
he threaded your fingers together.
didn’t let go.
“g’night, trouble,” he muttered, already halfway under.
and you, floating in the haze of him, already so far gone — you whispered it back.
“g’night, rockstar.”
and meant it.
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
you didn’t remember falling asleep.
just the slow fade — his arms around you, the weight of his breath, the ache in your thighs wrapped in warmth and cotton sheets.
you’d drifted somewhere quiet, somewhere safe.
when you stirred, it was bright. too bright.
the curtains were thin and the sun was ruthless, spilling over the bed like an accusation.
you groaned and buried your face in the pillow.
“mornin’, menace.”
his voice was lower now, hoarse and scratchy with sleep.
you turned your head, squinting — and there he was.
sat up, shirtless, hair an unholy mess, one hand braced behind him while the other nursed a mug of tea.
he looked… good. painfully so.
especially in the morning light — soft-edged and half-lidded, pink at the mouth like he’d been dreaming about you.
“you made tea?” you croaked.
“’course i did,” he said, holding out the mug like a peace offering. “not a monster.”
you sat up slowly, wincing a little. he clocked it but didn’t say anything.
just watched you take a sip, eyes warm and unreadable.
you half expected him to be weird. distant. maybe a bit cold, now that it was morning.
but he wasn’t.
he stayed close. stayed soft.
let your bare thigh rest over his. let you lean into him, sleepy and dazed, while the tea cooled between you.
you didn’t talk much. didn’t need to.
just sat there, tangled and quiet, while the world outside blinked into focus.
—
you left a little before noon.
he didn’t walk you out, didn’t make a scene. just kissed you once — lazy, lingering — and muttered, “text me when you’re home, yeah?” like it was a habit already.
you nodded.
you almost smiled.
you still felt like you were floating when the cab pulled away.
still smelled like him.
still had the little marks on your hips where his hands had held you too tight.
you looked out the window the whole ride back, half-expecting the clouds to part or something.
they didn’t.
but your phone buzzed in your lap anyway.
@liamgallagher THOUGHTS AND PRAYERS TO MY NEIGHBOURS
you stared at it. blinked. your mouth pulled into a slow grin.
where a drunken, accidental love confession reminds Liam it's time to finally do something about it.
___________________________________________
Liam was sunk deep into a low-backed chair in the far corner of the event, pint glass clutched loose in his hand, legs stretched out comfortably. His sunglasses had migrated to the top of his head, hair a bit messier than usual, a half-eaten packet of salt and vinegar crisps balanced precariously on his knee.
It wasn't too long before an interviewer clocked him from across the room. Clipboard in hand, recorder already flashing red before she sat down in a chair beside him.
“Liam,” she smiled, teeth bright. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”
He just blinked at her slowly. “You are.”
She laughed, like he was being funny. He wasn’t.
“I just wanted a few quick questions—"
“Course you do.” He took another swig, looked her over a bit more.
“Well actually,” she leaned in, “I was going to start with what brings you out tonight.”
He sniffed. “Free booze.”
She waited. He didn’t elaborate.
Eventually, she tried again. “You’ve been seen around quite a bit lately with someone — a new face. People are curious.”
He didn’t respond right away. Just scratched the edge of his stubble with a knuckle and finished off what was left in his glass. She almost moved on, thinking she’d lost him, when he sat forward suddenly and looked her dead in the eye.
“You mean her?”
She nodded, eyebrows up like she was trying to act like she didn’t care, even though her grip on the clipboard tightened.
Liam settled back again, slower now. Less posturing. He looked sideways, not at her, but somewhere just past her shoulder. His mouth twitched.
“She’s class, that one,” he muttered.
The interviewer straightened.
“She got this voice,” he continued, rubbing the back of his neck, “not loud or any of that, just soft, you know? But when she talks, people actually listen. You don’t even realise it at first, then bang, you’re in it. Caught. Mad.”
There was a beat of silence.
“She’s got this way of lookin’ at you like she already knows if you’re talking shite. Doesn’t even have to say owt. Just gives you that look.” He gave a crooked smile, eyes still unfocused. “Drives me up the wall. Can’t get away with nothin’.”
The interviewer looked giddy now, trying to look neutral. “Sounds like you’re taken with her.”
Liam shrugged, but there was no denial. “Yeah, well. She’s not just a pretty face, is she? She’s got the sort of mind on her that makes you question your own. Keeps me honest. Or tries to. Doesn’t always work.”
He scratched his chin absently, fingers jittery with drink.
“She laughs like she doesn’t care who’s listenin’. Big. Proper loud. Can’t fake that kind of laugh. It’s not for show. You get me?”
The interviewer was nodding, but gently now. Like even she knew he wasn’t really talking to her anymore.
Liam leaned forward a little, another pint glass dangling from his fingers now, full and sloshing slightly. He looked tired all of a sudden.
“She’s always cold,” he murmured. “Hands like ice. Always shovin’ 'em into me pockets like it’s her god-given right. I pretend to hate it, but I don’t.”
Then he laughed, just once, soft and low, almost fond.
“Any lad’d want her, wouldn’t they?” he said. “You’d have to be mad not to.”
Silence followed. The kind that doesn’t land right.
And then it hit him.
His face didn’t change at first. Not obviously. Just a little less flushed.
The glass stopped moving in his hand.
Then, suddenly, he stood.
Didn’t say a word. Didn’t look at her.
Just drank a bit from his glass and started walking toward the exit like he’d remembered something urgent.
The interviewer called after him, but he didn’t stop.
He shoved open the side door, half-blocked by a coat rack, and disappeared into the car park.
The knock came slow, then again, louder this time, not frantic, but persistent in the sort of way only a drunk person could manage. You opened the door expecting a neighbour, maybe a delivery gone wrong, but not this.
Liam stood on your doorstep, slightly hunched, flushed from drink or the cold or both. His jacket hung half-open, one arm sort of jammed into the sleeve, and in his left hand, a pint glass, half full, beer sloshing close to the rim every time he shifted.
You stared. "Liam?"
He gave a slow, crooked grin. “Evenin’, love.”
You glanced down. “...Where did you steal that from?”
He blinked at the glass, like he’d only just realized he was still holding it. “Steal? Me? Never. Christ.” He looked deeply offended for a second. “Borrowed. It’s a loaner. Glass on tour. Don’t get sentimental on me.”
You squinted. “From where?”
“That... event. The swanky one.”
“Alright, and you walked out with a glass?”
He looked at it again, frowning. “Well I couldn’t leave him behind, could I?” He raised it like a companion. “We’ve bonded.”
You exhaled through your nose. “Alright. Let’s get this sorted before you bond your forehead to the pavement.”
He made a weak attempt to hide the glass behind his back, stumbling into the threshold. You reached for it. He pulled it back.
“No, no, no,” he muttered, shuffling a step further into your flat, wobbling a bit. “This is important. I’m on a mission.”
“Yeah, and your mission’s about to end in shattered glass and regret,” you muttered, reaching again. “Give it here.”
“I’m not drunk,” he announced. “I’m serious. I’ve come here to tell you things. Profound things.”
“You’re slurring.”
“Stylistic choice,” he said quickly. “S’my accent, it's part of the charm.”
“Liam.”
You went for the glass again, and he pivoted away, clutching it to his chest like a priceless relic.
“Don’t you dare, woman,” he warned. “Let me say what I gotta say.”
You stepped in closer. “Hand it over or I’m prying it out of your fingers.”
“Try it.”
So you did.
What followed was an awkward, undignified shuffle, you trying to wrestle the glass from him, him turning and twisting like a schoolboy who didn’t want to hand over contraband. You bumped into the wall. He elbowed the coat rack by mistake, muttering an apology to it. You finally managed to snatch the glass and sidestepped like a goalkeeper, victorious.
“Ha!” you held it above your head. “Got it.”
He looked positively betrayed. “That’s sabotage. That’s betrayal. You’ve ruined me plans.”
“You were going to cut your lip on that thing.”
“I was fine. I was tryin' to deliver me truth.”
You turned toward the kitchen, calling over your shoulder, “You can deliver it after you sit on the bloody couch.”
Behind you, he mumbled something about not being bossed around in his own life, but when you returned, he was on the couch, sitting sideways, legs stretched out, head lolling a bit as he watched you come back in.
After a mooment he sniffled. Not a full snort, just a sort of sharp breath in, and when you glanced over, he looked downright miserable.
You tilted your head. “What now?”
He didn’t answer at first, just let out a long, soggy sigh and slumped deeper into the couch. You could practically see the dark cloud forming over his head.
“That bloody interviewer,” he muttered eventually.
You raised a brow. “Interviewer?”
“She cornered me, didn’t she? All cheeky smile and microphone, like she was doin’ a charity drive. Started pokin’ about you — sayin’ we’ve been spotted together. Asking what the deal was.”
You crossed your arms, trying to stay neutral. “And what did you say?”
Liam looked up at you, eyes bloodshot and glassy but dead serious. “Told her you’re class. Said your voice is unreal, said you’ve got this way of speakin’ that’s just… it sticks in me head, y’know? Proper echo. Said your eyes are dangerous, and your smile should be regulated, and—” he paused, seeming to realise he’d started reciting a love letter. “Anyway. She ate it up. She loved it. Thought she’d proper cracked me open.”
You gave a soft snort, trying not to smile too much.
“But it doesn’t matter now, does it?” he said, eyes wide with sudden dread. “You think I’m a thief.”
You blinked. “What?”
“The glass,” he said dramatically, pointing toward the kitchen where you set the pint. “You caught me red-handed. I’ve sullied me name. You’ll never trust me again.”
You laughed, a startled, amused little burst. “Liam—”
“I didn’t mean to nick it! I swear!” He stood now, pacing nervously. “It were just… in me hand. One minute I’m talkin’ about your laugh to some daft interviewer, next thing I know I’m halfway down the street with a half pint.”
You covered your mouth to try and stifle another laugh.
He kept going, voice rising, arms flailing. “I didn’t even finish it, look! Left some behind like a gentleman. That’s remorse, that is. Or respect. Or summat.”
“Liam,” you tried again, chuckling now.
“Honestly, if I’d known this’d be the end, I’d’ve left the glass behind and just brought you flowers or, I don’t know, chocolates or some other bollocks—”
“Liam.”
He stopped dead. Looked at you like you’d just said his name in morse code.
“I don’t think you’re a thief,” you said gently. “I was taking the piss, I do not think any less of you.”
“You’re not mad?”
“Not even a bit.”
He blinked at you, properly stunned. “Really?”
“Really.”
He stared at you a moment longer, as if waiting for the gotcha, the sudden reveal that you were, in fact, calling the cops. But all you did was smile and shrug, and that seemed to unlock something in him.
“Oh, thank god,” he said, collapsing back onto the couch like a man reprieved. “Was ready to write a bloody apology letter to the pub landlord. Felt the shame of me ancestors. Thought I’d be banned from your gaff for life.”
You walked over and sat beside him, this time a little closer. “You’re ridiculous.”
He gave you a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe. But I meant all of it, y’know. The stuff I said to her. The stuff about you.”
Your heart fluttered again, because it was hard not to believe him, flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, the quiet slur of sincerity.
“So,” you said slowly, “what are we calling this? A confession or a breakdown?”
He tilted his head, considering. “Both?”
You laughed, and he looked at you with something soft behind his eyes.
“Come here,” you said, and before he could ask what you meant, you leaned in and kissed him.
He made a small, surprised noise, and then kissed you back slowly. His hand found your knee, grounding himself, while yours settled at his jaw.
When you finally pulled away, he looked slightly dazed.
“So,” he said again, grinning now, “let me confirm, you do actually fancy me, and won't report me for theft?”
You rolled your eyes. “Let's get you to bed.”
___________________________________________
a fic for the Liam nation today xx
hope ya lot liked it, and thanks for the request !! promise I'll get me arse to work on these fics this week x
Welcome to the Noely’s Lil Tummy Masterlist where you will find all of the links to my Oasis works
A little brief “Housekeeping” note: All works are that of pure fiction and are written from a place of respect and love. Nothing in any rpf I write is intended to be anything but an exploration of ff and libel is (obviously) not intended. Some of these stories will feature NSFW/18+ themes and therefore are not intended for minors, please choose what you read accordingly.
Requests & Asks : I’m happy to receive both/either but reserve the right to choose what, when and how I write ☺️ y’know, I have a job etc so I write when I can, when inspiration finds me so hope people are respectful of this please 🙏🏼
(Based on a request for Liam flustering a shy reader. He’s cheeky, dirty talking and relentlessly bossy for this one)
(18+)
Masterlist
She’d known from the second she saw him leaning outside the cinema that she was in trouble. Swagger, that lazy grin like he owned the whole street. Liam wasn’t even trying, and she was already flustered.
“Alright, love?” he said, straightening from the wall with all the casual ease in the world. His gaze dragged slowly down her body and back up again, lingering far too long on her legs. “That skirt’s dangerous. You wear it knowin’ I’d be here?”
Her face went hot. “I—no! I just grabbed something, that’s all.”
“Mm.” His smirk deepened. “Sure you did. You knew I’d notice. Bet you were hopin’ I would.”
She gave him a quick, warning glance, but he just stepped in closer, shoulder brushing hers as they headed toward the entrance.
“Can’t stop thinkin’ about how you’d look on my lap in the back row,” he said, voice low and easy, like it wasn’t filth at all. “You’d try to sit still, but I’d have my hand under that skirt, seein’ how long you could keep quiet.”
Her steps faltered, just barely, but Liam caught it instantly. That little tell of hers was like a match struck in the dark. He angled toward her, his voice dropping into a low, rough rumble by her ear.
“God, I love that,” he murmured. “The way your cheeks heat up when I talk like this — it’s fuckin’ addictive. Makes me wanna find out how red I can get you before we even sit down.”
He slid his hand to her hip, fingers curling into the fabric of her coat, guiding her forward but keeping her close enough she could feel the heat of him against her side. “You’ve got no idea, have you? How good you look when you’re all shy. Makes me wanna back you up against that wall, get my hand between your thighs and feel you get wetter with every word I say.”
She swallowed hard, her cheeks burning. “Liam, we’re in public.”
Liam tilted his head, that grin never fading. “See, I could stop, but then I wouldn’t get to watch you try not to squirm. Standin’ here all still like butter wouldn’t melt… but I can feel it, love — you’re already warm and wet for me, aren’t you?”
Her breath caught in her throat, but she couldn’t bring herself to answer. His words were crude, yes, but the way he said them—low and deliberate—left her chest tight and her pulse racing.
They stepped into the cinema foyer, the cool air doing nothing to calm her. The place was nearly empty—just a couple of families buying snacks. She thought maybe Liam would behave now that they were inside. She was wrong.
While they queued for tickets, he stood close behind her, one hand slipping casually onto her hip, his fingers brushing the waistband of her skirt.
“Not many people here,” he murmured, voice low enough for only her to hear. “Perfect. Could probably get away with a bit of fun before the film even starts.”
She stiffened. “Liam…”
“What? I’m just sayin’,” he said, smirking down at her, utterly unbothered by the flush rising in her cheeks. “All I can think about is pushin’ your legs open and slidin’ my fingers in—right here, right now.”
Her breath hitched. She didn’t mean to react, but he caught it—of course he did. He always did.
And that grin of his turned wicked, like he’d just confirmed something he already knew.
“Yeah, you like that idea, don’t you?” he murmured, voice low and deliberate. “You’re quiet, but I can see it in your eyes. You want me talkin’ like this. You love it.”
Because he knew her.
Knew how easy it was to fluster her. How quickly she flushed and dropped her gaze. But more than that—he knew she liked being seen. Not just looked at, but understood. And Liam had a way of slicing straight through her guard with nothing but filthy words and the heat of his voice in her ear.
She’d never admit how much she needed that.
She glanced around nervously, conscious of where they were—how public, how open this all felt. But Liam didn’t stop. He didn’t care that they weren’t alone, not really. He knew she’d let him talk like this. Knew that the tension—the risk—only made her want it more.
He leaned in again, lips brushing her ear, voice dark and soft. “Tell me, love… if I put my hand under this skirt right now, what would I feel? You’d let me, wouldn’t you?”
Her heart thudded. She didn’t nod. Didn’t speak. But she didn’t pull away, either.
And Liam—grinning like he’d won—stood back just slightly, still close enough to touch, letting the question hang heavy between them.
He already knew the answer.
The cashier interrupted, asking what film they wanted, and she stammered through her order, desperately avoiding Liam’s smug gaze. As she handed over her cash, his hand ghosted over the curve of her bum, making her jump.
“Christ, you’re soft here,” he muttered, just loud enough for her to hear. “Makes me wanna skip the movie altogether. Take you ‘round the corner instead.”
She shot him a look—wide-eyed, warning—but he just smiled lazily, like he was enjoying every second of her unraveling. He leaned in again, his breath brushing the back of her neck, voice rough with want.
“Slide you right up against the wall,” he murmured, slow and dark, “skirt round your waist, knickers already gone — just how I like it. One hand on your hip holdin’ you still, the other between your thighs, keepin’ you open for me."
She went still. Her whole body flushed hot.
Liam smiled against her ear. “Could have you whimperin’ in seconds. Bet you’d be so slick—I’d feel it the second I pressed in.”
Her eyes darted to the cashier—still bagging snacks, completely unaware—and the contrast only made it worse. Or better. She wasn’t sure anymore.
“You’d take it,” he whispered, filth like silk in her ear. “You’d let me do all of it, love. Even while your cheeks go pink, even while you pretend you’d say no.”
His hand brushed lightly over her hip again—more suggestion than touch—and she shivered despite herself.
By the time they were at the snacks counter, she couldn’t think straight. Liam leaned casually beside her, popping a stray piece of popcorn into his mouth, still smirking like he knew exactly what was going through her head.
“You alright, love? You’re quiet. That mean you’re thinkin’ about what I said?” He chuckled. “Bet you are.”
Her cheeks went scarlet. “I—I need to go to the bathroom,” she muttered, clutching the popcorn tray like a lifeline.
Liam’s grin only widened. “Don’t be long, darling.”
In the bathroom, she leaned against the sink, her pulse pounding hard enough to make her vision blur at the edges. The mirror showed a flushed version of herself—wide-eyed, lips parted, heart racing. All from a few words. A few looks. And his hand, bold and steady on her body like he owned it.
He was relentless.
Every filthy word Liam had whispered in the foyer looped in her head, low and shameless, like he was still right there behind her. He hadn’t even touched her properly and she already felt unsteady.
She should’ve been embarrassed. Maybe she was.
But under all that heat, under the nerves and the frantic breathing, was something else—need. Quiet, sure, undeniable. Not just for his hands or his mouth, but for what he made her feel. Like she wasn’t hiding. Like he saw her, knew what she wanted before she could even say it.
And she wanted it.
God help her, she did.
Before she could second-guess herself, she reached beneath her skirt, her fingertips brushing over the soft silk of her panties. The fabric was already damp—she could feel it. Wet and warm and clinging slightly from where tension had built all evening.
She hesitated, just a breath, then let her hand linger—and pushed just long enough to press the slickness in.
It wasn’t planned. Just instinct.
With careful fingers, she eased her panties down her thighs and stepped out of them. Folded them once, then again, her hand closing tight around the small bundle.
Her thumb caught on the hem of her skirt. She lingered there a moment, heartbeat quick in her throat, before smoothing the fabric back into place.
It wasn’t the sort of thing she usually did — not here, not like this — but something in the way he’d been watching her all evening had made her restless, reckless.
With one last breath, she pushed the bathroom door open, panties clutched tight in her palm, heart beating like a war drum.
And she walked back to him.
Liam was waiting by the screen door, leaning against the wall like sin incarnate, grinning at her.
“About time, love,” he said.
As she passed, she slipped the soft bundle into his palm, quick and secret.
Liam blinked, glancing down at what she’d just placed in his hand.
The soft bundle was warm—noticeably warm—and the second his fingers curled around the fabric, he felt it.
Slick. Enough to short-circuit whatever filthy thought he’d been halfway through.
His smirk disappeared.
The grin that replaced it was slower. Darker. Less for show, more like a storm rolling in.
His voice was low, almost hoarse.
“Bloody hell.”
There was no grin now. No quip. Just this quiet, electric pause, like she’d shorted out something in him without even touching skin.
He slipped the fabric into his pocket like it burned, jaw tight, eyes fixed on her. He stepped in close—too close for a public hallway—but didn’t touch her.
“You’ve got no idea what you’ve just done,” he murmured, voice rough and breath just barely under control. “Gave me that like it was nothing. Like I’m meant to sit beside you and pretend I’m not thinkin’ about it.”
His hand twitched at his side. He leaned close to whisper, his voice low and filthy. “You think I’m watchin’ the film? Not a chance. The only thing I’m watchin’ is you—how red you get when I whisper in your ear and how wet you get when I touch you.”
He paused—then leaned closer, his voice a whisper.
“And you’re gonna let me.”
Then he turned toward the theatre doors without looking back, already undone and doing everything in his power to keep it from showing.
The cinema was practically deserted, just the hum of the projector filling the space. Liam led her straight to the very back row, his hand firm on her lower back, that smug grin never leaving his face.
“Always knew you were a bit of a good girl, but look at you now… gonna sit there bare under that skirt like a bloody fantasy. You’ve got no idea what that does to me.”, he muttered.
They slid into their seats, and he wasted no time. His hand landed on her knee, fingers warm and deliberate as they climbed higher, inch by inch, over the soft skin of her inner thigh. He smirked when she squirmed.
“Skirt’s already ridin’ up for me,” he said, eyes glinting in the low light. “Gives me all the access I need. Christ, love, I can feel the heat comin’ off you.”
When his knuckles brushed her slick folds, he hissed out a quiet breath. “Fuck me… you’re drippin’. All this from a bit of talk in the foyer? You like it when I get filthy with you, don’t you?”
His thumb found her clit, pressing just enough to make her whole body jolt. Her breath caught sharp in her throat, legs tensing under his touch. He grinned.
“Ohhh, there it is. Sensitive little thing, aren’t you? Bet I could make you moan just by rubbin’ right here…”
He began slow circles over her clit, deliberately lazy, teasing her in that way he knew drove her mad. The sensation shot straight through her, a hot, coiling ache building low in her stomach. Her hips shifted — just barely — but enough for him to feel it. A shaky, breathy sound slipped from her lips before she could bite it back.
Liam stilled his hand, thumb resting exactly where she needed it, his grin widening as he turned his head toward her.
“Was that a moan, love? Thought you were shy?” His voice was dark, amused, but laced with something warmer — that edge of knowing her too well. “You can’t hide from me. I can feel every twitch, every squeeze, just from my thumb on your clit.”
Her face burned, her chest rising and falling faster now. She swallowed, trying to look at the screen, but her eyes kept fluttering shut when his thumb moved again. A little gasp escaped her, and she clamped her hand over his wrist — not to push him away, just to keep him there, needing that contact.
He sped up slightly, his thumb rolling over her clit in perfect rhythm, every movement tuned to her. Her legs tensed, hips shifting instinctively closer to his hand. Liam caught it instantly.
“Ohhh, you’re chasin’ it now, aren’t you?” he murmured, low and almost proud. “Go on, love… spread these legs a bit for me… yeah, just like that. Let me feel how much you want it. Only for me.”
A louder moan slipped from her, unrestrained now, and he chuckled — not mocking, but with that warm, hungry edge he always got when she stopped holding back. “That’s my girl,” he breathed. “Blushin’ and moanin’ for me in the back row. You’re fuckin’ gorgeous like this. So wet, so needy… Christ, I love you like this.”
His grin deepened, thumb still circling with deliberate pressure. “Mmm, just wait ‘til we’re home, love. Gonna bend you over the first thing I see — sofa, table, don’t care — and drive into you ‘til you’re beggin’ me to stop… and then beggin’ me not to.”
The picture hit her hard, her thighs tensing, and he felt it against his hand. His voice dropped lower, slower. “Yeah… you’re picturin’ it now, aren’t you? My hands on your hips, pullin’ you back onto me, poundin’ you deep ‘til you can’t even think straight.”
Her breath caught, and she turned her head just enough to meet his eyes in the dim light. The smirk was still there, but under it was that look she knew — the one that said he’d already read her, and knew she wanted this just as much as he did.
He slowed suddenly, pulling his hand just slightly back, making her chase him. “Look at you. Open wider for me, darling… yeah, that’s it. Show me how much you want my fingers back on you. God, you’re drivin’ me mad.”
Liam’s hand didn’t just touch—it explored. His fingertips glided over her folds, barely grazing her slick skin, drawing out a shudder from her with every lazy stroke. He wasn’t rushing. He wanted her to feel every single second of his teasing.
“God, love,” he whispered, his voice thick with hunger. “You’re so wet I can feel it stickin’ to my fingers.”
His thumb rolled firmer over her clit now, the rhythm deliberate, slow enough to drive her mad, while his middle finger traced down to her entrance, gathering her slickness. He pressed it in, until the heat and tightness around him made him hiss.
“Fuck… you’re squeezin’ me so tight, love. That’s just one finger. Can you imagine what you’d feel like with my cock there instead?”
She gasped, her hips rocking slightly against his hand, chasing the pressure. Liam smirked, his thumb speeding up on her clit.
“Yeah… just like that, darling. Ride my hand. Take what you need.”
She let out another moan, louder this time, and her cheeks flushed scarlet. Liam grinned, voice dropping to a filthy growl.
“Don’t you dare hide that from me. I want every sound. Moan for me, love. You sound fuckin’ gorgeous.”
Her breath was already unsteady, her thighs trembling under his steady, circling thumb. The pleasure was winding tight in her stomach, each slow pass drawing her closer. Her hips jerked as the pressure built, the rhythm of his fingers and thumb relentless now. “That’s it… I can feel you clenchin’ around me. You’re right there, aren’t you? Let go for me, darling. Come on my hand.”
With one final curl of his fingers and a steady roll of his thumb over her clit, she shattered — her body tightening and trembling, a sharp, breathless moan tearing free before she could stop it. The sound echoed in the dark, and for a split second she didn’t care who might hear.
Liam’s grin was instant, wicked and proud. “That’s it, love,” he murmured, voice low but thick with satisfaction. “Could listen to you make that sound all night.” He kept his fingers moving, coaxing every last wave out of her, like he wasn’t ready to give her back her composure just yet.
Liam’s fingers slipped out of her slowly, deliberately, letting her feel every inch of his withdrawal before he finally pulled his hand free. He held it up, glancing at the glisten on his fingertips with a wicked grin.
“Look at that, love,” he murmured, voice low and hoarse. “All that’s from you. Soaked me through.” She tried to catch her breath, her cheeks blazing, but Liam wasn’t finished. He shifted in his seat, his jeans straining visibly.
“You see that?” he said, leaning close, his breath hot against her ear. “I’m hard as a rock for you. You’re not gettin’ away with just comin’ on my hand, darling.”
Her cheeks burned hotter, her knees weak from the filthy promise in his voice. He didn’t even glance at the screen — just stood, tugging her up with him and steering her down the aisle.
The foyer was mostly empty, but she still felt exposed, the memory of his fingers between her thighs making her hyper-aware of every step. Liam didn’t help — his hand rested low on her back, fingers splayed wide, guiding her out onto the street like he owned her.
The cold air bit at her skin as the walked, but it didn’t touch the heat pooling low in her belly. Every step felt too slow, too deliberate, and he kept close enough that his arm brushed hers with each one.
He dipped his head, his breath warm against the shell of her ear. “You’re thinkin’ about me fuckin’ you when we get in, aren’t you?”
She almost stumbled. “Liam—”
“Don’t bother denyin’ it,” he said, voice low and certain. “I can feel it in the way you’re walkin’. All wound up, all quiet… bet you’re already picturin’ how I’m gonna take you. Wonderin’ if I’ll be gentle—” his mouth curved against her ear “—or if I’ll bend you over the first thing I see.”
By the time their street came into view, her pulse was pounding in her ears.
The door had barely clicked shut when Liam caught her by the waist, pulling her back against his chest.
“Yeah… thought so.” His hand slid under her skirt, finding bare skin with an ease that made her heart skip. His mouth curved in a small, knowing smile. “Mm… just as I thought.”
She made a small, embarrassed sound, but he didn’t let up. His touch was slow, maddening, tracing over her folds without giving her the pressure she craved.
“Mm… can feel you twitchin’ already,” he said, voice low and smug. “But I’m not lettin’ you come. Not yet.”
Her breath caught. “Liam—”
“Uh-uh. You’re gonna have to ask for it.” He pressed one slow stroke over her clit, then stopped. “Say it, love.”
Her cheeks burned. “I can’t.”
“You can.” His lips brushed her jaw, his hand sliding under the waistband to touch bare skin. “Otherwise, I’ll keep you right here all night… drippin’ for me, beggin’ in your head but too shy to say it out loud.”
He circled her clit once, firm enough to make her gasp, then pulled away again.
She whined softly, shifting against him. “Please…”
“That’s a start.” His grin was pure trouble. “Please what?”
She shook her head, but his fingers dipped lower, teasing her entrance without sliding in. “Say it, or I’m stoppin’.”
The threat made her squirm, her voice barely a whisper. “…please fuck me.”
He stilled, just for a beat, then gave a low, satisfied chuckle. “There’s my girl.” His hand slipped back between her thighs, this time with real intent. “You’ve no idea how much I love hearin’ you ask.”
Instead of taking her right there, he caught her hand and walked her backwards into the living room. The glow from the streetlamp outside threw soft shadows over the sofa and the heap of coats they’d left there earlier. He sat down, leaning back, his knees spread wide, and pulled her to stand between them.
“Tell me how you want it,” he said, his voice that perfect mix of teasing and command.
Her face burned. “I… just—”
“Mm-mm. No half measures. Use your words, love.” His palm smoothed up the back of her thigh, just under the hem of her skirt. “You want me slow? You want me hard? You want me lookin’ at you?”
Her breath stuttered, the pulse in her neck jumping.
“Or…” His grin turned darker. “…you want me behind you. Hands on your hips. Fillin’ you up so deep you can’t think.”
Her knees almost gave at the picture in his voice. She nodded before she could stop herself.
He chuckled, low and knowing. “Knew it. Bend over the sofa.”
She turned, heart thudding, leaning over the armrest as the fabric of her skirt slid higher. His hands were on her immediately — one gripping her hip, the other smoothing over the curve of her arse.
Then came the sharp crack of his palm against her, the sting blooming into heat that made her gasp.
“My favourite view,” he said, voice gone rough. “Skirt up, knickers gone… and all mine.”
He stepped in close, his body heat at her back, one hand gripping her hip while the other slid down between her thighs. His fingers found her wet and ready, and he let out a low, appreciative groan.
“Christ, love… all this for me.” He pushed two fingers into her slowly, just to feel the way she clenched around him, before pulling back and letting the wet sound hang in the air. “You want my cock instead, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she breathed, almost too quiet to hear.
He leaned over her, lips at her ear. “Louder.”
“Yes.”
“That’s better.” The sound of him pulling his zipper down followed, and a moment later the blunt heat of him was nudging at her entrance. He didn’t push in yet — just rolled his hips forward enough to make her rock onto her toes. “Beg me.”
She whimpered, pushing back slightly. “Please… I need you.”
That earned her a sharp slap to her arse, the sound echoing in the quiet room. She gasped, her skin tingling where his hand had landed, the sting blooming into a deep, pulsing heat that spread through her. Her body arched before she could think, hips tilting toward him, and she tightened around nothing, desperate to feel him there.
“Good girl.” His voice was low, approving, the kind of praise that made her knees feel weak.
This time, he slid in slow, inch by inch, making her feel the full stretch until his hips met hers. The air left her in a shaky moan, met by his low, rough groan.
“Fuck, you feel unreal,” he murmured, his grip tightening on her hips. He drew back and pushed in again, harder this time, the rhythm quickly settling into deep, deliberate thrusts.
“You love it like this, don’t you?” he said, each word timed with the roll of his hips. “Bent over for me, takin’ it deep.”
She could only nod, her breath coming fast, but that wasn’t enough for him. “Say it.”
When she hesitated, he grinned against her ear and brought his palm down on her arse again — this one sharper, sending a ripple through her that made her gasp and clench hard around him. The heat of it merged with the relentless throb between her legs, and a flush spread hot over her skin. His groan was immediate, like he could feel every reaction in his hands.
Her cheeks burned, but the words spilled out between breaths, unsteady and honest. “I love it.”
His mouth was at her ear again, his voice low and thick. “Yeah, you do. I can feel it — every squeeze, every little shiver. You’re givin’ me everything, love.”
Her chest was tight with need, her thighs trembling from the way he filled her. “Liam…” she breathed, not even sure what she was asking for, only that she needed more.
“I know, love,” he murmured, his hips rolling deeper, slower, until each thrust made her shiver. “I know exactly what you need.”
She let out a breathy sound that was half a moan, half a whimper, her fingers gripping the sofa arm tighter. Every time he hit that perfect spot, heat coiled sharper and faster inside her. She tried to muffle it, biting her lip, but he wasn’t having that.
“Let me hear you,” he said, voice rough but coaxing. “Don’t hide from me now.”
Her restraint cracked, a quiet moan spilling out, followed by another as his rhythm grew more insistent. The sound seemed to spur him on — his hands steadying her hips, his thrusts picking up until the pressure was all-consuming.
“You’re close,” he breathed, and she could only nod, too lost in the build to form words.
“Then give it to me, love. Right now. I want to feel you.”
The words tipped her over. Her back arched, a cry tearing free as the release hit, her whole body tightening around him in sharp, pulsing waves. The squeeze pulled a ragged groan from deep in his chest, his grip on her hips turning almost bruising as he drove into her once, twice more.
“Fuck—” His voice broke, low and rough, before he buried himself to the hilt, heat spilling into her as his own climax hit. He stayed pressed close, hips grinding against her as though he couldn’t quite stand to let the feeling end.
She shuddered around him, each aftershock making him groan again, the sound warm and guttural in her ear. “That’s it… that’s my girl… so fuckin’ beautiful like this.”
When the waves finally ebbed, she stayed bent over the sofa, breath coming hard and uneven. His palms were still firm on her hips, thumbs stroking idly over the curve of her skin as though he was grounding them both.
Liam leaned down, his chest brushing her back, and pressed a lingering kiss to her shoulder — not rushed, not just lust, but something quieter. Pulling back slightly, he let his eyes roam over her, still flushed and trembling.
“You alright, love?” he murmured, his voice quieter now, threaded with something tender.
She nodded, a faint, blissed-out smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah… more than alright.”
He chuckled under his breath, leaning forward to kiss her shoulder, then the curve of her neck. “Good. ‘Cause you’ve just ruined me for anyone else, y’know.”
She laughed under her breath, the sound still uneven from catching it back. Turning in his arms, she felt the heat of his chest against hers, his hands coming up to cradle her face. His thumbs moved idly over her skin, not rushing, just feeling, before he leaned in and kissed her.
It was slower than before, measured, the kind of kiss that let her notice the faint taste of salt on his skin, the way his breath caught once before he deepened it.
When he pulled back, he didn’t step away — just looked at her, eyes steady. “Head over heels for you, darling,” he said quietly. The words landed without any smirk to soften them, and for a beat she only held his gaze. “Always will be.”
Something in her chest shifted, and she nodded once, not trusting her voice, before curling her fingers into the hem of his shirt, holding him there a moment longer.
summary : where liam needs to be your little puppy, just for a bit.
warnings : idek man like everything, sub!liam, praise, puppy talk (it's not like an animal thing you just say puppy a lot), degradation kinda, edging, overstim the whole nine yards
word count : 4.7k
a/n : holy fucking shite this was the hardest thing to write like ever but i kinda got into it at the end was pretty fun - hope yall like it!! i have some weird lil blurb i wrote which is kinda continuation but doesnt really make sense within the context i wrote it in but lmk if yall want that (can you tell im hungover lmaooo) okay gonna stop the yap now enjoy puppy liam
The bus was shuddering like it had a hangover of its own, idling in some grey-bellied back lot behind the venue. You’d been half-dozing in your bunk, lulled by the low diesel hum, until you caught the sound of pacing — uneven, quick steps, the occasional scuff of a trainer against the carpet.
You peeled back the curtain and there he was. Curled into himself on the narrow sofa, knees up, forearms draped over them, hair sticking up like he’d fought with his own fringe and lost. He glanced at you as though he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Big, sheepish grin, then gone again, replaced with that twitchy, too-wide stare.
“Y’alright?” you asked, voice still sandpaper from sleep.
“Mmm,” he said, which was not convincing in the slightest. His foot tapped. His thumb worried the seam of his jeans. “Just… you know. Show an’ that. Bit wired.”
You crossed the aisle, the whole bus rocking under your weight, and sat opposite. Close enough your knees almost touched his. The air was warm with that tour-bus smell — stale beer in the carpet, warm vinyl, a faint ghost of someone’s cigarette from hours before.
“Wired,” you repeated, tilting your head. “More like bouncin’ off the walls.”
“Don’t take much,” he muttered, a little smile flickering at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes kept darting, restless. His hands couldn’t stay still.
You let the silence sit between you for a moment. Let him feel you looking at him. Eventually, his shoulders dropped a fraction.
“C’mere,” you said softly.
He hesitated just long enough to make it cute, then shifted, all long limbs and uncertainty, until he was between your knees. He looked at you the way a dog looks at the lead — wary, hopeful.
You reached up, threaded your fingers into his hair, and felt the tension bleed out of him like air from a punctured tyre.
“That’s it,” you murmured. “Breathe.”
He made a soft sound, almost embarrassed, and closed his eyes.
`Look at you, all soft - kneeling f’me.”
He nuzzled his way face into your thigh, humming something against you. You ran your fingers across him, from the nape of his neck to the curve of his spine. He quivered beneath your touch, skin buzzing hot from cocaine, crossfades and you.
You kept your voice low, steady, guiding him back into his body. “You’re not goin’ anywhere ‘til you’ve calmed down. Understand?”
His nod was tiny, shy. You could feel the heat radiating off him, his breath ghosting against your throat, and underneath it all the hum of the bus engine like a second heartbeat.
“C’mon then, on the bed.”
He shot up at the sound of your voice, big eyes staring at you, waiting. You touched the outline of him, hard and twitching. Barely running your fingers, just to be cruel.
“Look at you, all needy - all mine yeah?” you leaned all soft against his cheek, voice syrup and smoke.
He whimpered, rutted against the air.
“Shh baby, s’okay - I’m gonna help ya.”
You undid his belt with a quiet click, letting his trousers drop, soft against his legs. You let your fingers ghost against the waistband of his boxers, watching the muscles quiver. Palming at him, you watched him - worked the tension leave him with every touch.
With gentle fingers you freed him, and god. He was leaking already, tip red and angry. Twitching at the cool of the air hitting him, already too much. You teased him, gentle brushes and soft whispers that sat warm against his ears. He moaned, voice breathy and cock dripping.
“Please touch me, fuck - please” he panted.
And who were you to say no?
You let the pads of your fingers roll against him, trace the vein on the underside of his cock, unbearably soft - like sensation in the wake of touch and he whimpered. His mouth parted, in protest, in gratitude.
“Being so good, just keep going like that, yeah?”
You leaned back slightly, just to look at him, his pupils were blown and his mouth slack, all that frantic energy melting into your hands.
Smoothing his hair back from his eyes, you watched the way he leaned into the touch like he’d been starved for it. For all his restless fidgeting before, now he was still, heavy and flushed.
“Funny, this,” you said, lips quirking. “Couple hours from now, you’ll be out there barkin’ at the crowd, givin’ it the big dog. All big mouth, big name.”
He let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sigh.
“But here,” you went on, tone light, deliberate, “you’re just my soft little puppy, aren’t you?”
His cheeks went pink, and he didn’t quite meet your eyes, breathless under you “Mhm.”
“Not ‘mhm’ ,” you chided gently, tilting his chin up with one finger so he couldn’t look away. “You are, c'mon now use those big words.” you gently squeezed him, just enough for his mouth to fall open and his toes to curl under.
“You too far gone, baby? Can’t even put that mouth to good use. Ain't that pathetic? Barely touched it and look at the state of ya, fuckin’mess.” you muttered, disappointment edging your tongue.
He mewled at your words, trying with all the strength in him, words turning to breathless shudders, you reached for his ear - biting hard along it causing him to jolt.
There was a pause, and then, quiet as anything, “Yeah. I am.”
The way he said it — no bravado, no edge — made something low and warm settle in your chest. You traced the line of his jaw with your thumb, slow enough to make him shiver.
“That’s better,” you murmured. “No stage lights here. No one watchin’. Just you doin’ what I say.”
He nodded, small and obedient.
You lolled your finger across the tip again, oozing and starved - just enough to make him twitch.
“You like that, don’t you? Not havin’ to be the big man.”
Another nod, this one almost eager, his mouth parting as though to say more, but nothing came out.
You leaned in, just enough that your breath tickled his ear. “Good boy.”
The words seemed to melt the last of the tension out of him. His hands, which had been clenched in his lap, unfolded slowly, fingertips brushing your knees like he needed the contact.
“Uh uh, no touching.”
You grasped his wrists, pinned them behind his back, and he gasped.
“Look, isn't that so much better? Let me make it feel good baby” you muttered, every word drenched with control.
You kept him waiting, barely there touches, soft murmurs and promises of filth that made him moan low in his throat.
“Down on all fours, pet” you groaned, voice dark, eyes heavy.
–
You let the quiet stretch, only the low drone of the engine filling the space. He stayed there between your knees, looking up at you like he didn’t quite know what you’d do next — but ready for whatever it was.
“Y’know what I think?” you said after a beat, voice low and measured.
“What?”
“That all this energy — all this bouncin’ about — it’s just ‘cause you don’t know where to put it.” Your hand slid up into his hair again, nails grazing his scalp just enough to make him close his eyes. “Lucky for you, I do.”
His breath hitched.
“Please.”
“Please, what?”
“Wanna make you feel good, need it” he said, quiet-like. Desperation dripped from his voice, thick.
You unbuttoned your jeans, popping them off easily, he looked up at you with those big eyes - every inch of skin revealed causing him to shake a little.
“Go on then, put that big mouth to use, baby.”
He hooked his teeth on to the edge of your knickers, pulling them down. His breath heaved, warm at your feet. You anchored your fingers to the roots of his hair and forced him to you, he gasped. You rolled your hips against the rough fabric sofa – making a show of it, letting your head tip back and your mouth open in a moan.
“Fuck me, please – let me-let me help.”
You let your hips roll again, inches away from his face, letting him see it, feel it. He whimpered below you, like this was torture and sin, like this was beautiful.
“You wanna touch, pup?”
He looked up at you, eyes wide and responded in a frenzied nod.
You shoved his face against your cunt, and he let out a groan of relief, of want.
His tongue was fast, pure need. Sliding up and down your slit, lapping and sucking – hard and deep, his wanton sounds filling the air, like he was getting drunk on it. His nose nudged your clit, rough and ragged and you jolted into him. He was hot and firm against you, hands held at your thighs, anchoring himself in the thick of you. You tangled your fingers deep in his hair and pushed his harder against you, drowning him in this.
That's when you felt it.
“What’re you doing?” You rasped, voice deep and thighs shaking but every word drenched in control.
He kept going, kept licking – pressing harder.
You pulled him off with a rough drag and – god.
His hair was mussed, lips slick with spit and you dribbling down his chin – his eyes were big, begging. He rutted helpless against your shoes, cock abandoned and aching, he was dripping, and he was close.
“Poor baby, need it that bad, huh? Look at ya, rubbing against me like a needy mutt”
He whined, high and sharp.
“C’mon pup, up on the bed.”
He sat up, pliant beneath you, looking so fucking pretty you could have cried.
“Tell me, who gave you permission to do that?” you whispered against him, letting your nails rake down his chest, feeling him shake beneath you.
He made a helpless sound.
“I need words, Liam”
“Fuck – no one – f–uck”
“Gonna have to punish you now, yeah? Then I’ll give you a treat like the good boy you are.”
You could see the muscles in his thighs twitch, his whole body humming with the effort of holding still, of being quiet, of listening. “That’s it,” you coaxed, “stay right there. Don’t move ‘til I tell you.”
“Yes,” he breathed.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I’ll stay.”
You smiled, slow and warm. “Good boy.”
Straddling him, you let your thighs ghost over his, let him feel the weight of you above him, the heat. You let your hips fall in his lap, grinding against him, looking at his stomach where his cock laid, helpless, untouched, glistening at the tip.
You watched, saw the way his breath caught, the way he looked like he could come from just the weight of your stare and the taste of you dancing on his lips.
“Don’t you fuckin’ dare, not now you pathetic mess, ‘aint even touched you.”
“P-please – need it, hurts–” he sobbed “Hurts – s’bad”
You looked at him beneath you, and sank down with one single stroke, just sitting, letting him feel your warmth.
His hands clenched against his sides, reaching towards you, aching to touch, aching to feel.
“Uh, uh, what’d I tell you, sweetheart? No touching. Don’t wanna be in more trouble do we?” you bit his ear, voice smoke and honey.
“S-shit – I-I can't,” he babbled.
“You can and you will, hands behind your back – be good f’me”
You rocked your hips once, deep, moaning low in your throat and you felt it. You felt his head tip back, his breath coming out desperate, his chest heaving and his thighs shaking. You rolled them again, letting them fall like a wave, movements precise, deliberate – calculated.
His breathing quickened, and you felt the faint tremor in his legs where they brushed yours.
“Feels good?” you asked, though you already knew.
“Mhm.” His voice was barely a whisper, the words catching around the lump in his throat.
“Mm. But you don’t get to finish yet. Not ‘til I say.”
A small, desperate sound slipped out of him — more felt than heard — and he nodded, eyes still closed like if he didn’t see you, he could pretend the ache in his body wasn’t as bad as it was.
You kept the pace just shy of what he needed, feeding that tension in him until it had nowhere to go but deeper.
He couldn’t help it. The moment you eased up on him and set that maddening rhythm, he started rutting helplessly up against you. Not thrusts, not control — just those pathetic little jolts of his hips, chasing friction.
“Ah—fuck, fuck—” he gasped, voice gone high. His cock twitched inside you, throbbing with every desperate grind.
You slapped your hand flat against his chest, pinning him to the mattress.
“Hold it right there, puppy, don’t spill.”
He whimpered, tried, failed — his hips bucked up again, hard, forcing a strangled sound out of both of you.
“Can’t,” he cried. “Please—feels too good, I can’t—”
“You can,” you purred, rolling your hips just once, dragging him so deep he nearly sobbed. “If you cum without me allowing it, you’re not cumming again for the rest of the night.”
That made him shake — chest heaving, thighs trembling, cock throbbing inside you. He was holding himself back by a thread, and the strain painted his face in desperation.
You leaned over, close enough that your lips brushed his ear when you spoke.
“Look at you. My needy little mutt, humping up at me like you’ve got no shame.”
The sound he made — guttural, humiliated, wanton — would’ve undone a lesser soul. His hands stayed behind his back, but his hips kept twitching, his cock dragging up against your heat like he was trying to fuck without moving.
“That what you are?” you whispered, your nails scraping down his ribs. “My desperate pup? Just a toy to rut against me until I let you fall apart?”
“Yes,”, the word ripped raw from his throat. “Yes, that’s what I am—please—fuck, please—”
“Then stay just like that for me. Good.”
You clamped tight around him, squeezing so he gasped, and he writhed helplessly beneath you, fighting not to spill. His thighs quivered like they couldn’t hold him, but he didn’t stop rocking up, leaking inside you.
“Pathetic,” you crooned, riding him slow, cruel. “My perfect, aching, ruined boy.”
He cried out at that, hips bucking sharp, and you stopped moving entirely.
“Don’t you fucking move.”
A sob tore out of him. He tried, you could see it, his cock twitching inside you, his thighs flexing, his whole body screaming to move.
“Good boy,” you soothed when he finally froze, trembling beneath you, breath hot and uneven. You stroked his cheek with your thumb, almost tender. “Now wait. You’ll get it when I decide you’ve earned it.”
He let out a broken little whine, head tipping back, lips parted, tears shining at the corners of his eyes — but he stayed still.
You stayed still on him, squeezing around his cock just enough to make him twitch. He writhed, trembling like he’d break apart under the weight of not moving.
““I’m begging you,” he whispered, voice shredded. “I’ll do anything, I can’t—need to cum, need you—”
You caught his chin, forced him to look at you, your thumb brushing over his wet mouth.
“You’ll cum when I say, pup. Not before. You hear me?”
He nodded frantically, tears spilling now. “Yes—fuck, yes, I’ll wait—I’ll be good—”
“My filthy mutt, whining just for me.” you breathed, and then you rocked your hips, just once, deep and slow. He keened, the sound sharp and helpless, like you’d torn it straight out of his chest.
Your pace was cruel, calculated. Just enough friction to have him rutting up against you despite himself, cock leaking hot inside you, balls tight and aching. He was a wreck — chest heaving, lips trembling, his entire body straining with the effort of holding back.
“Beg for it,” you whispered.
He did, instantly. Words spilling out like he’d been holding them in for hours.
““I can’t take it, baby, please—let me cum, I’ll do anythin’, I’ll be yours, just yours, I swear—I’m so close, can’t hold it, it hurts—”
You dragged your nails down his chest, making him shudder.
“You sound like a dog in heat, Liam. All this whining, all this begging. Is that what you are for me?”
“Yes!” he cried, eyes wild, glassy. “Yours—fuck—I’m your pup, your toy, your good boy, just let me—”
You ground down on him suddenly, hard, and his scream cracked in the back of his throat. His hips jerked up, uncontrolled, cock pulsing like he was right there—
And then you stilled again.
He sobbed. Actually sobbed. “Don’t—don’t do this, please, I’m beggin’—”
You stroked his hair, almost tender, while his whole body trembled beneath you.
“You’ll thank me for this later. For making you hold it. For making you mine.”
“Yours,” he echoed, voice ruined, tears streaking his cheeks. “Always yours, please—”
You rocked once more, slow, deep, dragging the edge out so sharp it almost cut. He twitched, a hiccup caught in his chest, wrecked and small.
And then—finally—you gave him mercy. Your hips rolled steady, your pace deliberate, letting him chase you now, letting the pressure crest. His face twisted, beautiful in ruin, every breath ragged with relief and desperation.
He was right there, a shiver jolted through him, sharp as static, sobbing, rutting helpless against you.
He came with a choked sob, cock twitching helplessly inside you, hot spurts spilling as his hips bucked and stuttered like he couldn’t stop. A whimper caught in his throat, tears sliding down his flushed face, his whole body jerking through it, messy and desperate.
Even when the last pulse left him, he kept trembling, little aftershocks rippling through his thighs. His cock twitched weakly inside you, oversensitive and raw, and every time your hips shifted he whimpered like it hurt, like he couldn’t take any more but didn’t want you to stop. His hands fisted in the sheets, knuckles white, body caught between relief and ruin.
He sagged, boneless, undone.
You leaned forward, pressing your chest to his, and stroked his hair back from his damp forehead. “That’s it, baby,” you murmured, voice low and soft now, all edges smoothed. His eyes fluttered, wet lashes clinging together, lips parted on the remnants of a whine. You kissed his temple, slow, lingering.
“Shhh. You’re alright. My good boy. Did so well for me.”
His breathing began to steady under your weight, the frantic tremors easing into little shivers, more from the comedown than need. He clung to you finally, arms wrapping weak around your waist, pressing his face to your neck like he couldn’t bear the distance. You held him there, swaying your hips gently just to soothe, not to tease.
“My sweet boy,” you whispered, thumb brushing his cheek. “All mine.”
“You’re gonna walk out there later all loud and untouchable,” you said, a ghost of a smirk on your lips, “and no one’s gonna know you were here bein’ my good little thing.”
His lips parted, a shaky laugh escaping him, but there was nothing cocky in it. Only that raw, unguarded softness you’d drawn out of him.
“Yeah,” he said, almost reverent, blissed out. “Yours.”
–
He was already loose-limbed and quiet when you tipped his chin up again, but the moment your hands moved, that fragile composure cracked.
“You’ve been so good for me,” you murmured, thumbs brushing his flushed cheeks. “Think you can give me a bit more?”
His breath came out shaky. “Yeah - fuck - yeah, I can.”
“That’s my boy.”
Leaning in, you let your mouth meet his, tongues tangled with soft breathy sounds falling from his mouth. You pulled back and he melted, chasing the warmth of you, desperate – begging into your lips. A smirk curled, slow, careful – putty in your hands.
He made a strangled sound — half-whimper, half-moan — and you steadied him with a hand at the back of his neck. “Breathe. You’re alright.”
“I— it’s too—”
“I know. You can take it.” Your voice stayed soft, but there was no mistaking the command in it. “Just for me, yeah?”
He nodded, eyes squeezing shut as if that would help, but his body betrayed him — hips twitching, chest heaving.
You moved your palm over him, letting the heat sink into his skin like the sweat already was, pooling and glistening like meltwater – let him feel the promise of touch, the wake of sensation. His hips twitched instinctively to your fingers, hopeful. It was pathetic really, how desperate he was.
He missed.
You smeared his tip, glistening with cum, closing your fist around him, you pumped – slow long strokes that made him moan, soft and shaking.
His hips stuttered, breaking with every drag of your fingers - warm and featherlight.
“Look at you, so pretty f’me, all messy” you whispered, brushing against the shell of his ear.
He looked broken, wrecked in the most beautiful way – like the praise broke everything in him, like it healed everything in him.
“You close, baby?”
He twitched in response, thighs barely holding on – hands fisting the sheets to keep him tethered, like he might just float away if you said it nice enough.
You leaned down and placed a kiss, a gentle one right at the bottom of his shaft – let your breath ghost over him, hot and heavy, and he broke.
Thick hot pulses of cum covered his stomach, deep and long, the sound that came out of him was overwhelming, high and loose. His face screwed up in pleasure, hot and flushed – it was too much, too real, too good.
“I–it’s too much – shit – can’t – feels like – fuck” he sobbed between breathless pants.
He didn't realise he was crying till you brushed his cheeks, letting them soak into the pads of your fingertips and then cupping his jaw, bringing him to face you.
“That’s it,” you whispered, leaning close enough that your lips almost brushed his ear. “Good boy. So good for me.”
A shiver ran through him at the words, his fingers clutching at the fabric of your shirt like he might float away without the anchor.
You didn’t give him a chance to breathe — your mouth was on him, slow and deliberate, sliding down until his whole body jolted. His thighs twitched, his chest heaved, and a raw little sound spilled out, torn between need and protest.
“Ah— fuck– can’t—” his breath hitched like a sob he couldn’t swallow, voice breaking, but his hips lifted anyway, chasing the heat of you like instinct.
You pulled back just far enough to let your breath ghost over him, lips slick and smiling. “You say that,” you said softly, voice smoke and a smile, “but look at you — still tryin’ to push into my mouth. So greedy. My sweet boy, you don’t even know when to stop, do you?”
He whimpered again, hands fisting the sheets tight as if anchoring himself to this plane of existence. His face was red, streaked with sweat and tears, and god he was beautiful like this.
“That’s it,” you murmured, sinking down again, tongue pressed flat, hollowing your cheeks around him until a broken noise tore out of him, raw and needy. His thighs jumped against you, trembling, but he didn’t pull away. He couldn’t. “Good boy. So fuckin’ good for me. Give me just one more, yeah?”
He made a noise like surrender, high and broken, and his hips rocked in shallow jerks, weak but desperate. You kept the pace steady, dragging every sound out of him — those whimpers that cracked into moans, those sobs he couldn’t swallow down.
When he came, it was with a sharp cry, his body seizing before collapsing against the sheets. Hot pulses spilled down your throat, and you took it all, swallowing slow, stroking his shaking thigh to ground him. He whimpered at the sensitivity, squirming away — but not really. Not enough to make you stop.
You let him go only when his whole body sagged, trembling, eyes glassy and wet. Pulling back, you kissed the soft skin of his hip, a small, deliberate sweetness after the storm.
“Good boy,” you whispered, brushing damp curls from his forehead, letting your thumb smear away the tears. “Came so hard for me, didn’t you? My perfect little pup — all fucked-out and still so pretty.” You smiled, low and warm. “So easy for me. Could keep you like this forever.”
His chest rose and fell in uneven bursts, lips parted as if he couldn’t catch up to his own breathing. The last of the tension drained from him slow, like he’d been wrung out, left boneless beneath you.
“Hey, hey,” you murmured, shifting up to straddle his waist, not to press, just to be close. Your hands smoothed over his damp chest, the sheen of sweat cooling under your touch. “Breathe with me, yeah? In… out…”
He tried, shaky and broken around the edges, a hiccup catching on the exhale. You bent down, pressing your forehead to his, and let him match you — the rise and fall of your chest guiding his back into rhythm.
“There we go,” you whispered against his lips. “That’s it, my good boy. Did so well for me.”
A whine slipped out of him, thin and helpless, and you felt his hands twitch — not reaching for anything, just clenching at nothing. You caught one, pried his fingers open, and laced them with your own. He held on like it was the only thing tethering him to earth.
“Shh,” you soothed, brushing the pads of your thumbs over his knuckles. “You’re alright. You’re safe. Just let me take care of you.”
His eyes, glassy and wet, blinked up at you with a dazed kind of awe. “I… I can’t… fuck, I can’t think.” His voice cracked, small.
“You don’t need to think, not here, not now” you murmured, kissing his temple, tasting salt. “That’s my job. You just lie here and look pretty for me. That’s all I’ll ever need.”
Something in him broke at that — a shudder running through his whole body, another little sob escaping, though there was no pain in it. Only relief, raw and heavy. You gathered him close, chest to chest, his head tucked beneath your chin, rocking him slow.
“Good pup,” you breathed into his hair. “My sweet thing. Let it all go. You gave me everything, didn’t you? Every last bit.”
“Y-yeah,” he whispered, voice ragged. “All yours.”
“All mine,” you agreed, kissing the crown of his head, keeping him held until the trembling ebbed into soft, exhausted quiet.
–
You kept him close, thumb brushing over his hip-bone, feeling the thud of his pulse still racing under your touch. He hadn’t moved much — just stayed curled against you, breathing you in like the world outside the bus didn’t exist.
“Easy,” you murmured, letting the quiet settle over you both. “You’ve done enough for me tonight.”
He huffed a soft laugh, still catching his breath. “Gig ain’t even started.”
“Mm, but you’ve already been my star, haven’t you?”
That got you the smallest, shyest smile — one you doubted anyone else had ever wrung out of him. Not the smirk for cameras, not the cheeky grin for interviews, but something softer.
You gave him another minute, two, just letting him float there. Eventually, the muffled roar of the crowd filtered in from somewhere down the street, the thrum of the venue’s bass rattling faintly under your feet.
“You’ve gotta go be the big dog now,” you said, tilting his face up to meet yours. “All loud and untouchable.”
His gaze lingered on you, warm.
You pressed a quick kiss to his hairline, felt him melt into it for just a second more, then nudged him upright.
The second he stepped off the bus, his shoulders rolled back, chin lifting, swagger snapping into place like a switch. He tossed a few words over his shoulder to some tech, the cocky edge in his voice making it impossible to believe he’d been in your hands like that minutes ago.You stayed in the doorway, watching as he strode toward the stage entrance — all leather and bravado now — and felt the quiet curl of satisfaction in your chest. No one out there would ever know that before he went out to conquer the world, he’d been here, trembling for you.
