#liam fluff

“Easy,” he murmurs, though his voice is strained, the veins that wrap the lengths of his forearms like vines protruding from the creamy skin. You suppress a pathetic little noise that bubbles from the base of your throat, tipping your head back as Liam’s hand makes contact with the skin there. “Shh, shh.”

“Li-“ you whisper through gritted teeth. “I need you to tell me to go away. I can’t- can’t control myself.”

“No-“ he says, quickly – too quickly, desperation lining his every syllable. You’re all too familiar with the feeling, the panic that seeps into his voice at the prospect of you leaving in search of another man’s bed. He’s not too proud to beg you. “No. Stay, please.”

The thought of you leaving is near unbearable now he’s close enough to touch you — feel you. Close enough to smell the shampoo in the wisps of hair that fall around your flushed face, close enough that the scent of you cloys in his nostrils and throws all inhibitions out the window.

His body presses against yours and the contact sets every nerve ending you possess alight. You tremble when he glides steady fingers - much steadier than you’re feeling right now - over your half-bare shoulder where your t-shirt has slipped downward, coming to a halt over your skittering pulse. His head falls forward into the juncture of your neck.

“Fuck.” His voice is rasping, barely there in your ears as Deigh does something Áine particularly likes and a crusade of need slams through him.

You thread your fingers through the blond tresses that tickle at your skin, pointedly ignoring the obvious disparity of your bodies, how his dwarfs your own, the way it makes your head spin with the need to get closer, to claw your way into his skin and feel every inch of him.

“Liam,” you whine softly, arching into him as those thick arms twine around your waist, pulling your torso flush to his own. He squeezes you, hands slipping beneath the t-shirt you’re clad in, palming and groping at every bump and ridge, every hill and valley of flesh he can reach. He ventures lower; your fingers tense where they still lay in his soft hair, and when his palms flatten and tap firmly at the backs of your thighs, you know what he wants.

You oblige the clear instruction, pushing yourself up from the balls of your feet until you’re in Liam’s arms, legs looped around his waist and ankles crossed at the base of his spine. Your back hits the wall as he surges forward to nose at your jugular. His lips part, tongue flicking forward to lave at your balmy skin. As his head dips, trailing a hot, wet path of half moons in the wake of his lips, you shudder.

“I know, my girl. I know,” he coos, sympathetic. His words slur and jumble, each sound melting into the next as though he’s drunk from the feel - the taste - of you alone.

The pet name would be enough to have you melting with affection under usual circumstances— now, it’s enough to have you whining, craning your head to slant your lips hungrily over his own, uncaring if it’s messy or filthy or downright sinful. Your only mission is to feel him, to get closer, to roam every inch of him with your ravenous tongue and teeth and lips— greedy for his touch.

If anyone were to walk in they’d certainly blanch at the sight; you pinned against the wall closest to the door of Liam’s room, his eager fingers splayed over your ass as you breathe into each other’s mouths. You’re unconsciously grinding down into him in quick, fervent bursts, and he reciprocates the movement appreciatively, letting you slide down the cold wall until the thick length of him presses to your wet cunt— hindered only by the fabric of his boxers and the lace of your panties.

The material is almost translucent, soaked through with your arousal. Liam coos something sympathetic that you can’t quite decipher for the fog that clouds your every nerve ending, for the hand that slips between your bodies until his thumb is rubbing tight circles into your swollen clit through the ruined fabric. Tears burn at the backs of your eyes and you tremble round him, the pleasure everything you need and somehow nowhere near enough, all at once.

“Shh, shh,” he murmurs. “‘ve got you, angel. ‘S okay.”

You gasp wetly against his kiss-bitten lips, the only warning you give as you begin shuddering against him, your climax ripping through you before you even have time to think. Everything is so sensitive, every brush and graze of his skin against your own amplified tenfold— it’s too much but still, you greedily accept everything he’s willing to give you, teary eyes trained to his throat that works around a swallow as he watches you cum with heavy lidded eyes. Babbling around a sob, you part your lips from his in favour of sinking down into the juncture of his neck, your hot cheeks searing against the cooler skin that greets you like a soothing balm.

“That’s it, fuck, that’s a good girl.”

“Liam,” you hiccup, grabbing large fistfuls of his t-shirt, the flimsy material the only thing that separates you from miles of toned skin and muscle. That lopsided grin cracks across his face, a dimple cratering onto the centre of his cheek as his teeth flash in an amused smile; his chest heaves, even more so when you slip your hands underneath his tee to palm at bare skin.

Setting you down on shaking legs, his hand encircles one of your wrists and tugs, leading you until you’re perched at the edge of the bed. He turns, elbows flaring wide as he pulls at the neckline of his shirt and drags the material over his head in one fluid motion. The planes of his back are bared to you, each individual muscle rolling and moving with one another as though they’re cogs in a well oiled machine. You want your mouth on every inch of that skin– no corner, no crevice left untouched.

And then he’s on you, prowling with a predatory glint in those cerulean eyes as his pupils swallow the bright hue of his irises; all he sees is you– the way you shrink and tremble at the fervent way he surveys you.

A wide palm slips beneath your own tee and curls around your ribcage, frantically rising and falling with every laboured breath. He shucks the fabric upward to expose your soft breasts to the cool air of the room, and watches with rapt fascination as your nipples harden into peaks under his attention.

You shift until you’re propped up on your elbows to allow him space to discard the item of clothing, complying when he nudges you until you’re flat against the mattress, legs hooked over his hips. Your head turns, face burning at the wolfish way his eyes rake over you, a great contrast to the flattened hands that scrub sweeping lines over the tops of your thighs to soothe your nerves.

“Don’t hide from me, angel,” he murmurs, folding at the waist to smear a kiss against the curve of your jaw. His next words are a rumble against your skin that seep into your pores, into your very bones. “If it gets too much for you, all you have to do is tell me. And we’ll stop. Okay?”

His cadence is low and rasping, and the feel of the bridge of his nose pressed to your cheek sending a wave of affection through you that knocks the breath from your lungs. You nod.

“Words, sweet girl.”

“Okay,” you croak.

“Good girl.”

Your pussy aches with a sharp throb when he reaches down to press his thumb back to your swollen bundle of nerves; you whine, hips canting up into his touch unconsciously as he slips the wet material down your legs and discards them somewhere behind him.

He presses a kiss to your tummy, your knee, your ankle, and then pushes your legs up and back until they’re folded atop your chest. You gasp when his warm breath fans over your bare sex.

“Liam.”

“I know, angel,” he grunts. His voice patters out into breathless silence as you part your thighs, splaying a hand across his thrumming pulse to wrench him upwards and towards you. He doesn’t resist, putty in your hands. Absolutely, wholly yours.

“Please,” you whisper; his nose brushes yours. “Need you.”

He parts your lips with his own, slaking his hunger on you. He revels in every noise he pulls from your slick lips, every whine and gasp and plead for him to give you what you want. He swallows them all greedily and when - and only when - he’s decided you’ve begged him prettily enough, does he free his weeping cock and line up with your entrance.

He sinks in slowly, every thick inch of him splitting you wider than the previous. He’s thick, cock twitching against your cunt as the flushed head practically begs to be buried inside of you. The colour bleeds from your knuckles as you clutch his biceps, leaving crescent moon indents in the wake of your cruel touch; he hisses, and when he’s fully sheathed inside of you, he sweeps down again to press wet, ardent kisses to your face and neck. He hooks your legs up against his hips, pulling back to rock back into the tight clutch of your cunt with slow, rhythmic movements.

He hits every spot inside of you without trying, the spongy head of him rubbing continuously over a particular spot you haven’t discovered yet; it has you keening, sobbing out a broken moan against his balmy cheek as he coos gentle praises against the shell of your ear.

His entire focus is fixated on him desperately trying to not blow his load at the first feel of your cunt clasping him, breathing deeply through his nostrils as he props a forearm either side of your head.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he gasps, picking up his pace as your enthusiasm starts to peak, your shaking fingers tangling in the short hairs at the nape of his neck. Your body arches beneath him, head tipping back when a soft whine spills from your swollen lips.

The lewd sound of slapping skin and heavy breathing encases your senses, drives you further to that edge that you’ve been aching for since you entered the room.

He’s so beautiful like this it sets you alight with adoration— and arousal: blond hair mussed and falling over his eyes, face flushed as he dips down to brush his nose with your own, plush, pink lips parted into a gasp when you clench around him.

“‘M so close, Li,” you croak, tightening your fingers where they’re carding through his hair.

“I know, angel. I know.” Deft fingers slide between your bodies as he works over your clit rhythmically— sweeping movements that alternate between tight circles and up and down motions as he places pressure on that bundle of nerves.

A sweet, quiet little gasp spills from your lips, and Liam doesn’t miss the way you tense, clinging to him harder as you shatter.

He coaxes you through it, movements never slowing as you ride out your peak, whining against his lips when he swallows your sounds with his mouth.

He doesn’t stop until you’re squirming and writhing beneath him, kicking your legs feebly to push him away; he shudders at the movement, back bowing in the centre until he’s spilling into you with a groan. He braces himself with his head buried in the juncture of your neck, arms hooking around the base of your spine to hold you flush to him.

You both collapse in a haphazard mound of limbs and you roll onto your side to face Liam, his cheek still pressed to yours. He brushes the bridge of his nose along the length of your cheekbone, his smile imprinted into your skin as you hum and needle your way closer into his chest.

You don’t know what to say— neither does he. This silence is comfortable regardless, the gentle, lulling energy encasing the pair of you in this bubble.

He brushes a stray lock of hair from your sticky forehead, smearing a kiss along the crown of your skull. Your lashes flutter, body soft and lax against his own as you greedily seep up his warmth. You’re weightless, your head pleasantly blank when he pulls the blankets over you, pressing a final kiss to your cheek before he’s pushing himself out of the bed and to the bathroom.

There’s some shuffling and then emerges seconds later, clad in a clean pair of boxers and clutching a t-shirt for you to take. You’re still how he left you, laying on your side and dozing, cheek smushed against the back of your hand.

“C’mon, angel,” he murmurs, hooking an arm beneath your shoulder to hike you upright, handing you the tee; you rub at your heavy eyes with the backs of your fingers, swiping the fog away. He settles himself between your legs to clean you up, swiping a tissue between your thighs.

“You don’t have to do that, Li,” you croak. “‘M okay, I’ve got it.”

You make to loop your fingers around his wrist to halt his movements, but he only tuts and swats your hand away with a smile. Affection rises in your chest, hot and fast and blinding.

“I’ve got you, my girl.”

There’s that name again. My girl. You’re melting, sure you’re nothing but a pile of mush following those two little words; he surveys you with those cerulean eyes, laced with nothing less than adoration.

“Liam,” you whine, protesting.

“Oh, hush.” He presses a kiss to the curve of your kneecap before pushing the blankets back over your legs.

You pull the oversized tee he’s pushed into your hands over your head appreciatively, resisting the urge to bury your face into the fabric and inhale at the scent of him that cloys the room, that swirls around your face in tantalising tendrils.

You love him, you realise. The admission isn’t terrifying as you thought it would be, but rather a calm wave that washes over you and grants you a newfound clarity. You want this all the time with him. You want everything.

The bed dips as he returns to your side, an arm around your waist until you’re both propped against the headboard, your face resting in the dip of his collarbone. You feel his cheek pressed to the top of your head.

Your chest feels as though it might cave in at any moment, the sheer volume of love you hold for this boy too much for your body to hold onto. You brush your lips against his shoulder, blinking slowly in your haze. The rumble of his laugh carries right down to your bones.

“You’re beautiful,” you mumble, already half-asleep.

“You’re more beautiful,” he whispers back as though it’s a secret. Private words shared between the pair of you, for no one else to hear.

You’re asleep before you can respond, draped lazily over his torso. He shucks the blankets up until they’re covering you right up to your shoulders. Your nose scrunches unconsciously.

Money doesn’t stretch far these days. You’ve learned how to make it behave. Bills first. Food next. Everything else is whatever’s left over, if anything is left over.

That “extra” usually becomes something small. A LEGO set. Nothing big. Nothing you have to justify too much. You tell yourself it’s enough. It usually is. It distracts you from the world, helps your mind calm for those 20 minutes or so.

Liam notices things you don’t say out loud. Not in a loud way. Not in a showy way. Just… quietly. Like the way you turn the box over in your hands before opening it when you can afford some Lego. Or how you don’t rush the build. How you slow down when you’re focused, like the rest of the world doesn’t matter for a while.

You’ve caught him watching before.

“You staring?” you asked once.

“Thinking,” he said.

“About what?” He just smiled & walked away. That’s as close as you get to an answer. Liam was you man. Mysterious & dangerous but also would take a bullet for you.

Tonight is late when he comes home. Too late for how tired you are.

You’re on the sofa already, half-finished Lego flowers spread out on the table, small pieces carefully lined up like they matter more than they probably should.

The door clicks open. You look up immediately.

Liam steps in like he always does, calm, controlled, like the night belongs to him.

He shuts the door behind him with his foot.

“Hey,” you say softly.

“Hey, baby.”

His voice is easy. Like he hasn’t just come from whatever world he lives in when he disappears. You sit up slightly.

“You’re late.”

“Job ran long.” Of course it did. But he doesn’t sound in pain or stressed so clearly it went well.

You nod, trying not to read too much into it, but your eyes flick to him anyway.

That’s when you see it. The bag. Big. Heavy. Yellow. Definitely not something he left with.

You frown slightly.

“What’s that?”

He follows your gaze, then looks back at you like he’s already decided how this goes.

“Well paid job,” he says.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“It answers enough.”

You stare at him. He doesn’t move. Just holds your gaze like he’s waiting for you to catch up.

“…Liam.”

“Open it.”

That tone.Simple. Certain.

You hesitate for half a second longer than you mean to, then get up.

The bag is heavier than expected when you pull it closer. You glance at him once more. He just nods. Permission.

You open it & freeze.Because you know that box.

You’ve seen it a hundred times in shops. Online. In passing conversations you never really thought meant anything.

The Millennium Falcon. The big one.

Your breath catches before you can stop it.

“…Liam.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just watches you. Carefully.

You pull it out properly, staring at it like it might disappear if you blink too hard.

“This is…”you laugh under your breath, disbelieving. “This is insane.”

“Yeah,” he says simply.

“You didn’t have to…”

“I did.”

That makes you look up at him. Properly.

“You can’t just bring home something like this.”

“I can.”

“I was fine with the small sets.”

“I know.”

That stops you. You blink.

“…you know?”He shrugs.

“I’ve seen you.” Something shifts in your chest at that. Small but sharp.

“You’ve been watching me build LEGO?”

“I watch you a lot of things,” he says, like it’s nothing at all.

You look back down at the box again, hands still on it, like it anchors you.

“That’s ridiculous,” you say quietly.

“Probably.”

You shake your head, trying to process it.

“This is… so expensive.”

“I know.”

“& you just… what…decided to get it?”

His gaze doesn’t move from you.

“Yeah.”

There’s no explanation after that. No defence. Just certainty. Like that’s all there is to it.

You laugh once, breathless, still holding the box.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah,” he says, stepping closer now. “I’ve heard that.”

You should probably say something else. Something normal. Ask about why not spend the money from this clearly well paid job on something more important. You don’t.

Instead, you set the box down carefully & close the distance between you in one quick step.

Your arms wrap around him before you even think about it. He catches you instantly. Of course he does.

Hands settling at your waist like it’s automatic, like he already knew this was coming.

“You’re insane,” you murmur into his shoulder.

“Mm,” he replies. “You said that already.”

“You bought me the Falcon.”

“I did.”

“The Big Falcon.”

“I’m aware.”

You pull back just enough to look at him. There’s something in your face you don’t bother hiding.

“Why?”

That’s the first time he hesitates. Just slightly.

“I saw you looking at it,” he says. “For months, every time we walk past that shop.”

Simple.

Honest.

“That’s it?” He nods once. That’s it.

Your breath catches again, softer this time.

Then you laugh, small, real & shake your head.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah.”

You don’t overthink it. You just kiss him. Quick at first. Then deeper when he doesn’t pull away.

His hand tightens slightly at your waist, pulling you closer like he’s not interested in letting go anytime soon.

When you break apart, you’re both still too close.

“You’re helping me build it,” you say. He huffs a quiet laugh.

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“You don’t get to bring home a Millennium Falcon & walk away from consequences.”

That earns you a proper smile this time.

“Guess I’m staying then.” You soften.

“Yeah,” you say.

His hand stays at your waist a second longer than necessary.

The door slams as Liam throws himself down onto the bed beside me, his face immediately tucking into the crook of my neck as I cringe, feeling the sweat drip off of him and onto me and my bed.

"You're sweaty-" He cuts me off with a loud groan, his fingers fisting the material of his jersey as he tosses it down onto the floor, flopping back onto the bed as his usually bright eyes droop. "Bad day?" I ask, reaching over to brush some soaked pieces of hair from his forehead, watching as his eyes fluttering shut. He looks so soft, so tired as he catches his breath.

"It's just all a competition. It's tiring and I just wanna play the game and have fun." He mumbles, his blue eyes finding mine once more as I press a simple kiss to his lips, my hand rubbing his shoulders soothingly as he hums. "Just wanted to get home with you." He smiles, rolling over to rest his weight on me, a giggle leaving me as I rub his damp back. "I should probably shower before I get too comfortable." He snorts, pressing a kiss to my shoulder as he pushes off of me, a smirk spreading over my lips as his eyes widen.