“That’s what our kids would look like.” While waiting for the kettle to boil, Noel had been inspecting the pieces of paper littering the front of the fridge, looking past the tacky magnets he’d collected from tourist shops the world over, and focusing on the two childhood photos you’d stuck side by side over the top of a long-abandoned shopping list; if he squints, he can almost imagine a world were you met as kids, instead of in sticky pub on a random weekday in your early twenties.
“I hope they look like you, you’re cuter.” Confident, as though it were a scientific fact rather than a matter of opinion, you wave your teaspoon in the direction of his photo; a copy of his year seven school portrait that made you coo every time you caught sight of it, looking all smart in his blazer and tie with the sides of his eyes crinkling up in the same way they do now. Having kids together was something you’d talked about plenty of times when you were both drunk, munching on the takeaway food you’d got on the way home, though the subject had never been breached in the light of day.
“Don’t be daft.” Noel dismisses, reaching up to get the teabags from the top cupboard. Lately, he’d lost count of the number of meals he’d burnt because he was too busy staring at your childhood photo and daydreaming; wondering what it’d be like to try and make dinner with a tiny version of you tugging at his jumper for his attention, and if his heart would ever recover. “You just feel sorry for me cause’ of my bowl cut.”
“No, I still think you’re cuter.” Stubborn in the same way he is, you’re unwavering with your stance. He still remembers how you’d sat in his mother’s front room on Christmas Day, still adorning the paper crown you’d worn at dinner, with a photo album open in your lap and your bottom lip jutted all the way upon seeing him as a toddler waddling around in his winter coat, as though the notion of him once being so little and so cold was enough to make you burst into fits of tears.
“You're biased, is what you are.” Noel watches you pour two sugars into your own mug and holds back his usual comment about how all your teeth are going to fall out one day. Instead, he nibbles on the inside of his cheek and smiles down at his feet, grinning at the contrast of his Adidas trainers next to your worn pink slippers, looking like your very own version of yin and yang, and laughs to himself.
ii.
“I feel like we need a licence for it.” Flicking your indicators on to turn left, you lean forward slightly, as though being closer to the windscreen might help you see through the masses of rain hitting the glass. It was the middle of spring, and although the man doing the weather report earlier that morning had insisted on clear skies, you’d both been met with nothing but a big grey cloud and a row of paps with umbrellas as you rushed from the front door to unlock his car.
“For turning?” Suddenly appalled, Noel moves from where he’d been wiping the condensation off the passenger window with the sleeve of his jacket, erasing all the little doodles he’d done to see you smile. He knows you can be an anxious driver, especially behind the wheel of the expensive cars he’d bought with his residual cheques, though this new notion seems incredibly far-fetched, even for someone who still avoids roundabouts years after passing their driving test.
“No, for having a baby.” Ever since you’d come off your birth control pills and decided not to renew your prescription, fragments of this same conversation had begun to seep into the domestic routines of your shared life; just yesterday, while brushing your teeth, you’d explained to him how odd it was, finally not caring about getting pregnant, when you and your friends had spent most of your adult lives trying to aviod it like the plague, and treating pending pregnancy tests like the female version of russian roulette. “It feels wrong that anyone can just try for one.”
“If Liam’s done it, then any prick can have a go.” While Noel had welcomed being an uncle with open arms, hearing his brother talk about changing nappies and clearing up baby sick never failed to make him laugh; if anyone stood as a pillar of reassurance that you’ll never feel quite mature enough to have kids, it was Liam, who took more interest in his son’s baby toys than anything else during his wife’s pregnancy, despite insisting otherwise. “You’ll be perfect.”
iii.
“That nice?” Lips pressed against the side of your neck, Noel shamelessly darts his tongue out to taste your sweat; under the glow of his bedside lamp, with a gleaming sheen of it over your skin, you look like a cinematic wet dream, straight out of a sex scene in a romantic film he vaguely remembers seeing and hasn’t recalled until now. His breath stutters in his throat, caught there like he’s been stabbed in the chest, as his fingers slip between your thighs. “You’re so wet, Jesus.”
“Can’t help it.” For a moment, with your voice all needy, he sees a glimpse of the girl whose hands shook when you both slept together for the first time; back when he used to have to kiss your knuckles, and mumble jokes into your hair to calm you down. It was so uncharacteristic of you to sound like that now, though maybe part of you has reverted back to that mindset with the new weight of what you were doing, that this was something with a tangible purpose, an end goal.
“No, it’s good.” He reassures gently, trying to remember how to form a proper thought as his mouth falls agape at the sight of his fingertips going all shiny with your slick, and the little whiny moan you do at the loss of contact. Sometimes, he wishes he had a better memory so he could play that sound on loop, along with the visual of you fluttering your eyelashes shut and squeezing at his forearm as he presses his fingers in, sinking down to the first knuckle with the kind of practised ease that comes with years of love. “Fucking squeezing around nothing.”
“Noel.” You breathe out, for no particular reason, in the same way he sometimes does with your name, just to feel the warm familiarity of the word on your tongue. It was remarkable the way you could turn something as simple as his name into something that sounded like tender poetry, especially after the years he’d spent rejecting it and dismissing it as nothing but a cruel joke that he was named after Christmas when he was born almost six months after the fact in late May.
“Not gonna waste it. Gonna fill you up, swear.” Though it was early days and he had next to no knowledge of how this whole ‘trying for a baby’ thing worked, he could still grasp the common-sense aspect of it all and knew he would have to go against years of habit and try not to pull out at the last minute. Later, he’d perhaps read up on it, realise he probably has to time things better with your cycle, or try that old wives' tale of holding your legs up for ten minutes afterwards. Though this would be good enough for now, more than good enough actually. “I promise.”
iv.
“Don’t. You might be pregnant.” Exhaling a plume of smoke from between his lips, Noel refuses your hand that’s reaching out for a drag of his cigarette. It was perhaps too optimistic a concern, though not a completely deluded one, since your pursuit of trying to have kids had expanded into having unprotected sex on most surfaces in the house, and tracking your period on the calendar in the kitchen with a pack of glittery gel pens you’d found in the junk drawer.
“God, you’ve gone and jinxed it now.” Chewing on the last of your cereal, you huff, letting your spoon clatter dramatically against the bowl. Upon opening the curtains and seeing a blue sky, you’d both insisted on eating your breakfast outside, completely undeterred by the wet garden furniture and the damp grass if it meant sitting in the sun and pretending like you were in the countryside, rather than a little patch of green behind a house in London. “Touch wood.”
“I’m not touching wood, it’s fine.” Only superstitious when he truly felt like it, Noel shakes his head and taps some cigarette ash onto his empty plate. Unlike you, he was a firm believer that words could never hinder biology or fate, and that talking about it all he liked would probably do nothing but bore you senseless; two days ago, he’d expressed premature worry about how he was going to teach his kid to swim when he couldn’t do it himself, and you’d had to reassure him that he didn’t even have one yet.
“You have to.” Though your eyebrows are furrowed in the middle with concern, all Noel can think about is how cute you look in your pyjamas with his hoodie on to keep you warm from the mid-morning cold; for something to do with your fingers, you’d tied the strings up into a neat bow, and all he could do was joke about how much it made you look like a cartoon character, as he laughed through bites of his jam-covered toast. "Go on."
“Fine. Touch wood.” Giving in, Noel presses his palm against the top of the table, saying the words aloud like they might add an extra layer of good luck to soothe your worry. Truthfully, he knew it’d only be a matter of time before he did what you wanted, since denying you anything for too long felt like it would cause him physical pain; he’d once tried to explain to his brother how leaving you to go on tour sometimes felt like having a heart attack, though he’d only been met with a puzzled expression.
“Thank you.” You nod definitively, picking up your bowl to drink the chocolate-flavoured milk still sitting at the bottom, just as your kid will probably do in five years' time, when Noel will have the perfect opportunity to use that world-renowned phrase of ‘you’re just like your mother’ and actually wholeheartedly mean it.
Sorry but why does every fanfiction with older men have to be age gap? And why does the reader ALWAYS have to be a pale, white, skinny, petite barely legal woman with a bratty personality?? And why do we suddenly loose subplots and major information that has EVERYTHING to do with the setting we're in
Like im not kidding i saw a fic saying "she shyly glanced down unto her ballerina flats" BALLERINA FLATS. in an apocalypse? Like i get you want your little princess moment but can we do that without tettering on the edge of pedophilia? Ive yet to see a fic with an older man where the reader has a somewhat acceptable age group compared to the character... what happened to bad ass personalities where the reader is ACTUALLY strong and not just a weak woman in need of saving.
Pairing: '95 noel x reader
c/w: established relationship, sex toys, voyeurism, exhibitionism, mutual masturbation
Word count: 2.1k
a/n: you know i HAD to write about this article even if it is from a gossip magazine because...,,,....hot....
It started off normal enough.
Noel had come home from tour in Paris and, upon his arrival, had informed you that he’d picked up a little gift for you. Between kisses he produced a sleek black box with a thick velvet ribbon, the word Boutique Érotique printed in gold across the lid.
You pouted, playing it up. “And here I was expecting jewelry. How silly of me.”
He knew you were teasing. That’s why he laughed low in his throat, pressed you back onto the bed, and settled beside you, fingers threading through yours.
“This’ll do you more good than diamonds, darling. I promise.”
The way he said it, eyes glinting with mischief, sent heat curling low in your stomach. He brought your hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it, gaze never leaving yours.
Then he let go and nudged the box toward you.
“Open it.”
You sat up, giving him a small, curious smile and tugged the ribbon loose. When you lifted the lid, the first thing you saw was hot pink silicone. Big loopy lettering on the box informed you it had “seven toe-curling speeds”
You picked it up, running your thumb along the smooth length. It was longer than Noel, noticeably so, and the shape was deliberate, made for depth rather than just filling. Not to say you didn’t love Noel’s cock. But he was all girth and this thing had inches on him. You were already imagining the way it’d feel. The blunt head pressing deep, the vibrations starting slow, then climbing…
“You like it?” Noel asked, breaking you out of your spell.
You swallowed, trying not to let your expression give too much away. “For you?” you joked, teasing him with a smirk.
A short laugh escaped him. The tips of his ears went pink. “Not my intended use,” he said, voice dropping as his fingers trailed slowly up your thigh.
The insistent throb between your legs, which had been building since he first touched you, flared hotter. For a moment you just looked at him, pulse racing.
“So, what, you wanna watch me get off with this thing?”
His eyes dragged down your body and lingered heavily between your thighs. You watched his adam’s apple bob like he was picturing it.
“That’s a start,” he said, voice rougher now. Those blue eyes met yours again, noticeably darker. “Or, y’know… I could use it on you.”
Your body lit up. The idea that Noel, your Noel, had walked into a sex shop in Paris and immediately thought about fucking you with this toy made you ache. Your breathing had grown shallow, chest rising and falling quickly.
Noel was in a similar state. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth, eyes darting from the pink toy to your face to where his hand was still creeping higher up your thigh.
“Does this thing take batteries?”
After practically tearing your flat apart for two little AAA batteries (which you ultimately stole from the tv remote), Noel had you laid out on the bed, stripped down to nothing but a thin silk nightgown.
In your frantic search for batteries, he’d poured you a generous glass of wine, dimmed the lights, and flipped through your CD collection until he found what you’d dubbed your “sex mix.” He often fought you on whether or not it should be played because he “didn’t want to hear shite music distracting him when he was fucking you six ways to Sunday.” His words. But he knew how much it got you in the mood so you appreciated the effort.
But to be honest, the music was the last thing on your mind right now. All you could focus on was Noel.
The two of you were staring at each other from across the room over your glasses of wine. And he looked absolutely enrapturing in every possible way.
He sat across the room in your ridiculous cheetah print loveseat, legs spread just wide enough to feel like an invitation. His jacket was gone, shirt unbuttoned at the top, revealing a teasing glimpse of chest hair and the strong lines of his neck. You let your gaze drift up the long column of his throat, tracing the faint veins visible beneath the skin as he tilted his head back slightly. Then there was his mouth god. That mouth was devilish. And he knew you were staring at his lips right now, the bastard, because they twitched up in that way he absolutely knew consumed you because you’d once gotten so drunk that you just had to tell him all of the specific little things you loved about him.
You swallowed the last of your wine, the warmth spreading through your chest as you leaned back against the pillows. The throb between your legs had grown heavy and insistent, pulsing in time with your heartbeat.
Noel’s eyes never left you. Because tonight, he wanted to watch. Learn. Gather information on how to properly use it on you next time. And who were you to say no?
“I missed you so much, Noely,” you said, fingers trailing slowly along your collarbone, tracing the line in a deliberate tease.
Noel’s eyes tracked the movement. “Yeah?” he asked, voice gruff.
You nodded, making your eyes big and wide like it had been pure torture without him here, which, to be honest, wasn’t too far from the truth.
“Yeah,” you breathed, sliding your hand lower to cup your breast, letting a soft, needy moan slip out just for him. “Needed you here to keep me company.”
To drive the point home, your hand continued its path down the silk nightgown until it slipped between your thighs.
He licked his lips, gaze locked on the motion as he shifted in his seat.
“M’here now, love.”
“Yeah,” you sighed dramatically. “And you want to watch me fuck a bit of plastic instead of the real deal.” You fluttered your lashes at him. “I’m so wet Noel,” you whispered. “Haven’t had you in weeks. Feels like ages.”
He exhaled shakily. “I know babydoll. I know. I’m in the same fucking boat. But after this…I swear to god I’m going to fuck you properly. I’ve just been thinking of this moment since I bought the damn thing and I’ve been torturing myself with the image of you with that thing between your legs and baby, I need to see it.”
His declaration left you red cheeked and feeling a bit wild. He sounded so needy. Like he absolutely had to watch you get yourself off with this toy or else he’d die. Maybe that was how he felt. You felt desperate enough yourself.
You nodded your head, a little dazed as you slipped the nightgown over your head, your nipples immediately peaking in the chill of your room.
Noel shifted in his seat again, eyes falling between your legs as you spread them wide for him, revealing the mess he made of you.
“That’s…wow you weren’t lying,” he stuttered out, hands gripping the arms of the loveseat like he had to physically restrain himself from crossing the room and fucking you into next week.
You smirked at his reaction, sliding your fingers over your soaked underwear, rubbing slow circles against your clit. Your mouth fell open in a perfect little ‘O’ as pleasure sparked through you.
“Feels so good,” you slurred, letting you eyes drop close like the pleasure was already overcoming you.
You heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper flying down and the rustle of denim. Your eyes flew open to find Noel spitting into his palm and reaching into his jeans.
You whined. “Not fair. Let me see.”
“You first love,” he said, eyebrows going a bit slack as he teased himself out of your line of sight.
“Fine,” you replied pointedly, standing up off the bed.
You turned so your back was too him, letting him get a full view of your ass as you bent forward and slowly shimmied your way out of the scrap of fabric. You heard him groan in appreciation as you felt your slick being exposed to cool air.
You climbed back onto the bed, spread your legs wide, and held his gaze. “Your turn.”
He pulled himself out in one swift motion, thick and flushed, already leaking at the tip. You let your eyes linger appreciatively as he squeezed the base, clearly trying to ease the ache.
“You better not come, Noely,” you warned, voice sweet but firm. “I need you nice and hard to fuck me after this.”
Noel nodded frantically, eyes darting all over your body like he couldn’t decide where he wanted to look most.
Finally you reached for the hot pink vibrator that was sitting innocently on your mattress. You leaned back against your pillows, positioning yourself so Noel got the best view possible, and dragged the smooth head through your dripping folds.
A sharp gasp escaped you as it nudged your clit just right. Your eyes fluttered shut for a second before you forced them open again, locking onto Noel’s. You flicked the toy on.
It buzzed to life on the lowest setting, already stronger than you’d expected. You watched his face as he watched yours: the way his jaw tightened, the ravenous hunger in those blue eyes as your expression twisted in pleasure.
You circled the vibrating tip over your clit, teasing yourself, flicking through the speeds to find the perfect rhythm. It felt incredible. Moans spilled from your lips, raw and unrestrained, as you sank deeper into the mattress.
When you were slick and aching, you brought the toy to your entrance. Noel’s chest was heaving now, a light sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. You gave him one last sweet, wicked smile…then slowly pushed it inside.
The stretch pulled a deep, filthy moan from your throat. It wasn’t him, but after weeks without, the fullness still felt so fucking good.
You worked the toy halfway in, then slowly dragged it back to the tip before plunging it deeper. And deeper. It pressed against that perfect spot inside you, sending a full body shudder through you. The vibrations were everywhere. Buzzing against your clit, pulsing deep in your core. It felt like the toy was touching every sensitive inch at once.
You couldn’t resist bumping it up one setting higher. Your mouth dropped open and a broken, wrecked sound tore out of you as the stronger vibrations lit you up from the inside.
Across the room, Noel made a low, guttural noise, but you were barely aware of him anymore. All that existed was the relentless buzz and the wet, filthy sounds of you fucking yourself with the toy. You moved it faster, chasing the feeling, dissolving into a mess of moans, whimpers, and slick sounds.
It felt so dirty being watched like this, but you’d never let anyone else see you this way. Only Noel. Noel who was restraining himself because he wanted to watch you get off first. The thought had you spiraling to the finish line faster than you would’ve liked.
“Noel,” you moaned, eyes locking onto him. His hand was pumping his cock furiously, veins standing out on his forearm as he stared at you with raw hunger. He looked wrecked, like he was barely holding on.
“Baby,” he rasped, voice cracking, eyes fluttering in that familiar way right before he lost it.
“Don’t you dare fucking come I swear to—oh, fuck—”
Your orgasm crashed into you before you could finish the threat. White hot pleasure ripped through you, brain melting as the vibrator kept buzzing relentlessly against that spongy spot deep inside. Your back arched hard off the bed, thighs shaking. You might’ve even blacked out for a second.
Gasping, you finally switched the toy off, the sudden overstimulation making you twitch.
When you finally caught your breath you opened your eyes, you saw that Noel had made a mess of himself. Through the haze, you managed a smirk.
“You never listen do you?” you murmured fondly.
“Guess not,” he shrugged, chest still heaving, cheeks flushed as he wiped his hand carelessly on his jeans.
A wide grin split your face. He mirrored it, standing up and quickly shedding the rest of his clothes before climbing onto the bed with you. He reached between your legs and gently eased the vibrator out. You winced at the empty feeling but melted into him as he pulled you close.
Then, holding your gaze, he brought the slick toy to his lips and slowly slid it into his mouth, licking your mess off it with a filthy hum.
“You’re disgusting,” you breathed, half laughing, half turned on all over again.
“You love it,” he said with a wink, tossing the toy aside. He knelt between your spread thighs, eyes dark. “Now let me clean up the rest of this mess properly.”
the hot pink vibrator will return in avengers doomsday🤫
