he might’ve ignored the incident in the bathroom that night, but he couldn’t stay away for long. And even while you were writing all of his secrets, you are still keeping some for yourself — specially when it involves you.
an: this one is a long one, also I was writing and halfway through it didn’t save, I was genuinely fuming. — 5.3k words
Part 4 | part 3 | part 2 | part 1 | series
warnings: smut, pnv, f-oral receiving, dirty talk, creampie, manhandling, lots of kisses, fingers in mouth, bit angsty at the end
As I sat by my desk — typing away for my draft that reveals every little secret the media doesn’t know about Liam, I kept thinking about last night.
About how his lips felt against mine, about how his hand trailed down with no hesitation.
How his breath mingled with mine so easily — I pressed my thighs together at the thought. Swallowing thickly I move my fingers against the keyboard, forcing myself to concentrate just a little bit.
The newsroom buzzed around me.
Phones rang.
Editors barked headlines.
Someone shouted that a television soap star had been caught leaving a hotel with the wrong spouse.
Business as usual.
"You've typed the word however five times."
I looked up.
Janice leaned over my desk with a mug of tea in one hand and the sort of expression only women who've survived twenty years in tabloid journalism could perfect.
"You alright?"
"I'm fine." I grumbled, I was still a bit pissy that Liam had the audacity of leaving me hanging dry.
Janice glanced back at my screen — “Liam prefers to talk about himself’” she paused “Riveting investigative journalism."
“It gets better” I sigh.
“It wants to” she muttered.
Before I could answer, one of the reception girls appeared at the end of the newsroom holding something absurdly enormous. "Delivery for you — flower guy was taking them to your flat and Lottie saw him when passing by. You’re lucky because the flowers would’ve been messed up by then.”
Every head lifted.
Journalists were vultures.
Anything unexpected was immediately everybody's business.
The bouquet arrived before I could stop it.
Another pair of fucking flowers like the first weren’t enough.
For a second I thought that Liam figured where I worked, that I was a journalist, that he knew my secret — but fortunately Lottie a fellow co-worker that lives by my place caught the flower guy.
"Oh," Janice whispered.
"...fucking hell."
A tiny black envelope sat tucked between the flowers.
No signature.
Just four words.
Still owe you.
I stared.
No apology.
No explanation.
No acknowledgment that he'd disappeared while I stood in a stranger's bathroom wondering if I'd imagined the entire evening.
Just...
Still owe you.
Typical.
"I hate him," I muttered.
Janice smirked "You've gone all dreamy."
"I have not."
"You've got flowers bigger than your flat." She raised her brows at me.
"They're guilt flowers."
"They're expensive guilt flowers." She pointed out
"I don't care."
She leaned closer — “you my friend, might be getting distracted.”
I scoffed and looked up at her “how am I getting distracted?”
She grinned and leaned back on my desk, her arms crossed against her chest — “I told you, you might. If you don’t stop whatever feelings you’re experiencing, this Column won’t get written.”
“It’s going to be written” I argue.
She shrugged “sure it will.”
She untangled her legs and walked away from my desk with a strut, and I looked back at the computer with unfinished sentences.
I didn’t know what to do with myself anymore, I wasn’t supposed to get this close to Liam.
———-
18:30
I got off work like usual, I was halfway done with my column about Liam.
It wasn’t polished, but it’s almost there.
My heels clicked on the wet pavement, one raindrop to the nose and I knew I was fucked. I’ve forgotten my umbrella because apparently British weather is this shit.
Rain battered hard enough that the city blurred into streaks of amber and grey.
By the time I reached my block of flats, my hair clung to my face despite the sprint from the cab I was forced to pay for.
I fumbled with my keys — cold fingers. muttering every curse I knew until the stubborn lock finally gave way.
The warmth of my flat hit first.
Then the silence.
I shrugged off my dripping coat, dropped my handbag beside the sofa, and was halfway through kicking off my heels when the telephone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
I narrowed my eyes at it "...You've got to be kidding."
On the fourth ring, I picked it up.
“Hello?"
A familiar chuckle answered "Thought you'd screenin' my calls."
I rolled my eyes "I was considering it."
"Didn't."
"Barely." I sigh
"Good enough."
There was a comfortable pause, filled only by the rain drumming against the windows.
"What do you want?" I broke the silence.
"Bit rude."
"You disappeared last night."
Another pause.
Longer this time.
"...Yeah." He paused “can I still make it up to you?”
I glanced around my flat, phone against my ear. Hair frizzy and damp.
“How?” I asked.
“Let me come over” he spoke — “want you to forgive me.”
And how can I say no? I needed more details about this man.
“Okay” I whispered.
———-
Now that Liam was coming over, there was another thing that needed tackling.
And that was the entirety of my flat — the papers laying around, the journals that needed to be hidden.
Anything that gave away — that I am indeed the enemy, the journalist every famous person needs to stay away from.
I hid everything in cabinets, awards inside the closet, or tugged under the bed.
From then on I had to change my appearance, fix the rats nest on my head.
Applied a little bit of makeup, change clothes, and spray on some parfume.
The final spray of perfume was still settling in the air when the sharp, impatient knock echoed through my front door.
Knock-knock-knock.
It had a rhythm to it. Aggressive, rock-star energy.
I took one last frantic look around the living room. The coffee table was clear. My bulletin board of Liam’s alleged infidelities—complete with red string and blurry paparazzi photos—was safely shoved beneath my mattress. The framed Scandal Magazine "Journalist of the Year" nomination was face-down under a pile of dirty laundry.
I was no longer the ruthless investigative reporter. Right now, I was just the quirky, totally harmless girl he’d met at a pub, who definitely didn't have an article titled
“Liam Gallagher: Rock Royalty or Serial Heartbreaker?”
sitting in my laptop's drafts folder.
Opening the door, I braced myself.
Liam was leaning against the doorframe, hands shoved deep into the pockets of an oversized green parka, a slightly crooked grin plastered across his face. He looked effortlessly cool, infuriatingly handsome, and completely oblivious to the fact that he was walking into a lion's den.
"Alright?" he said, his Mancunian drawl cutting through my sudden spike of anxiety. He held up a brown paper bag. "Brought peace offerings. Well, actually, I brought takeout. But it functions as peace."
I smiled softly and stepped out of way, “Chinese?”
“Right-o” he chuckled, brushing past me into the flat. He tossed the bag onto the counter and immediately collapsed onto my sofa, kicking his boots up onto the coffee table.
"Boots off the table, Gallagher," I snapped, closing the door.
"Right, sorry, proper strict you are," he muttered, though he didn't move them. He watched me as I walked over, his eyes scanning my face, lingering on the fact that I had clearly tried to look nice. A smug, knowing look crossed his face. "You look mega, by the way. Even if you are trying to act like you hate me."
“I do” I lied seamlessly, sitting on the opposite end of the couch, keeping a safe distance.
Liam’s smile faltered, replaced by something entirely genuine. He sat up, swinging his legs down, and leaned closer. The smell of cigarettes, expensive leather, and rain drifted over to me.
"Look, I'm serious. I just got drawn away" he said, his voice dropping an octave. He reached out, his thumb gently catching the edge of my wrist. "I'm a lot of things. A loudmouth, a prick sometimes. But I wouldn't mess you around. I like you. Properly.”
If he was manipulating me, I’m very gullible.
But looking into his eyes, which were surprisingly soft beneath that famous, heavy brow, the words caught in my throat.
He wasn't acting like the arrogant front-man the tabloids painted him out to be. He just looked like a boy trying to make a girl smile.
"You're a smooth talker," I murmured, my voice losing its sharp edge. "I bet you say that to every girl who writes you a bad review."
"Don't care about reviews. Care about you," he said softly.
Then, breaking the heavy tension, he smirked and grabbed the takeout bag. "Now, eat this greasy curry before I eat it all myself, and you can tell me all about why you're so obsessed with keeping your shoes off the furniture."
As we ate right out of the plastic containers, laughing as he loudly ranted about how modern music had "no soul" and mocked his brother Noel's guitar solos, I found myself genuinely laughing.
He was witty, sarcastic, and fiercely protective of the people he actually cared about.
Then, Liam stood up to stretch. "I need a drink. Where's your kitchen?”
"Oh, just through there—"
I froze. My heart stopped.
The kitchen. The kitchen counter. Where I had been formatting my notes right before he called. Where my professional, high-end Dictaphone recorder was sitting in plain sight next to the toaster.
"Liam, wait!" I jumped up, but it was too late. He was already stepping through the doorway.
So I grabbed his arm, making him stop — I had to come up with a distraction.
grabbed him by the lapels of his green parka, wound my fingers into the heavy fabric, and yanked him down.
Liam let out a muffled grunt of surprise as I slammed my lips against his. It wasn't a gentle, polite kiss. It was an "oh-god-please-don't-in-there" explosion of pure, unadulterated panic disguised as passion.
For a fraction of a second, Liam froze, his body rigid with shock.
But he was Liam Gallagher. Shock lasted all of two seconds before his rock-star instincts kicked in.
With a low growl that vibrated against my chest, he dropped his hand and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me flush against him. The kiss shifted instantly.
It went from a desperate distraction to something deeply, intoxicatingly real.
He tasted like the spicy curry and the cold rain from outside, his lips moving against mine with a fierce, possessive confidence that made my knees go completely weak.
He backed me up until my spine hit the wall.
“Right,” Liam breathed against my lips, breaking away for a split second, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded as he looked down at me. A smug, breathless grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "So that’s how we’re playing it tonight, then?"
"I just..." I gasped for air, my heart hammering against my ribs for two entirely different reasons now.
I reached blindly behind my back, my fingers scraping against the cold plaster wall. "I just missed you. A lot."
Clearly," he chuckled, his voice a low, gravelly rumble.
He leaned back in to kiss my jawline, his hands sliding up to cup my face, his thumbs tracing my cheekbones. "Fucking hell. If I knew leaving you high and dry got me this reaction, I’d do it more often."
“Don’t push your luck” I whispered.
Liam’s lips found mine again, gentler this time, lingering and sweet in a way that completely contradicted his wild public persona, a sickening realization washed over me.
I was supposed to be exposing his secrets. I was supposed to be finding proof that he was a heartless, unfaithful fraud to secure my front-page splash.
But as his arms tightened around me, keeping me safe and warm in the middle of my messy flat, I realized the only person being fraudulent here... was me.
“Still want me to make it up to you?” He whispered.
My lips trembled slightly, eyes wide as I nodded.
Stupid stupid stupid
He didn’t reply, just leaned back in and kissed me deeply. Slow and sweet.
His lands moved down my body, tugging and pulling. He pulled away for a brief moment to tug my shirt up and over my head — I obeyed and lifted my arms up to help him.
Suddenly I was standing there in a bra, the soft glow of my flat framed every curve of mine.
He didn’t comment, didn’t say anything cheeky, he just pressed another kiss on my mouth. Then trailed his mouth down my jaw….neck…collarbone..
Each touch was feather - light at first.
Until —
“Fuck” he breathed between kisses down my neck, “you’re so fuckin’ pretty”
Not very smooth or poetic, but enough to make you clench your thighs together.
I felt his rough finger tips trail up my spine until he found the clasp of my bra — fumbling slightly before unhooking it with shaky fingers.
He tugged the piece of fabric down. “Christ” he muttered as the bra fell onto the wooden floor, his hands instantly mapped my bare shoulders, then drifted lower over the swell of my breasts.
His thumbs brushed over one nipple gently — testing — I couldn’t help but gasp softly.
“Need you..” two words that slipped before he could stop them, no words left my mouth as he yanked his park off — tossing it aside without a care, revealing the white T-shirt underneath that hugged his biceps.
The shirt came off next — pulled over his head in one swift motion. No flexing for show, just pure focus.
Now he’s bare-chested, dark hair faintly on his chest, warm skin with faint scars from old memories.
“Where’s your room?” He breathed.
“It’s down—“ I yelped before I finish my sentence, he yanked me away from the wall and scooped me up into his arms.
He carried me through what he assumed was my bedroom, his grip was tight. He wasn’t letting go until my breath got knocked out from being pushed down onto my bed.
Before I could react, he was looming above me. One knee between my legs, hands caging either side of my head against the pillow.
And then his mouth found mine again — this time hotter, deeper, more demanding than any kiss we’ve shared so far.
Just pure need.
Liam didn’t waste his time at all, he kissed along my jaw — his thumb brushing against my nipple. Rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.
His hands trailed down to yank my trousers down along with my panties, tossing them somewhere onto the floor.
Once they were off, and I was laid bare beneath him — he started to trail kisses down my stomach.
Slowly. Reverently.
His hands brushed my thighs apart so he could settle between my legs, his thumb finding my clit and immediately making soft circles against it.
A tiny, involuntary squirm escaped me before I could stop it.
With slow circles of that same thumb - light pressure at first, barely-there strokes meant to drive me insane. Watching every micro-expression on my face: parted Lips, fluttering lashes...
I couldn’t help but let out a tiny whimper, one in which made him smirk against my skin.
Then he kissed up the inside of my thigh — agonizingly slow, each press of his lips deliberate and maddening.
So he kept teasing - alternating between soft kisses on sensitive skin... then that infuriating light thumb-circle over my clit again.
Not enough to really satisfy. Just enough to keep building heat... frustration... need.
I begged for more by moving my hips upward, needing everything.
And that’s when he finally lowered down and pressed an open-mouthed kiss right on my heat.
He followed up by licking a long stripe against my glistening folds, his blue eyes glanced up once before focusing and latching his lips against my clit.
His hands found my hips, drilling me down onto the mattress so I wouldn’t squirm away or jerk my hips upward.
His tongue traced slow, wet circles first — exploring the taste. And learning what makes me gasp, Liam’s lips were warm. Wet — relentless in their rhythm.
he devoured. With quiet focus, like this was the most important thing he'd done all week. His tongue flicked over my clit with precise strokes... then sealed his mouth around it again to suck gently.
I could feel every vibration of his breath against sensitive skin.
Not when I was already trembling beneath him. Not when soft whimpers kept escaping between bitten-off moans that only made him want to tease harder...
He didn’t stop there — he couldn’t.
Instead he moved one hand away from my hip and added something new, slowly — carefully he slipped two fingers into my pussy.
Curling them just right the second they were inside.
The stretch was gentle at first, his lips still flicking his tongue against my sensitive buds all while his fingers began a soft pumping rhythm; in and out, deeper with each stroke.
The combination? Devastating.
My back arched off the bed despite being held down, a sharp gasp tore from my lips — and Liam felt every pulse like a victory.
My heat made unmistakable soft, wet squelches with every movement of his fingers.
Liam could hear it. Feel it.
Every-time he pushed back in, my body responded immediately: soaked and ready from the build up.
He pulled away just slightly to speak “fuck you’re drenched” he grunted.
He curled his fingers deeper — finding that spongy spot high up that made most women lose their minds - while keeping pressure steady with both thumb and lips now: alternating between sucking my clit and licking around it like a man obsessed.
Very soon the room filled with the quiet, intimate sounds - my breathing ragged, the slick rhythm of his fingers moving inside, the occasional pop when he pulled them out only to slide back in.
Liam's jaw was tight with focus. His blue eyes flicked up once - just to watch my face unraveling above him.
Eyes half lidded and glazed over pleasure.
It didn’t take long before my breathing got quicker and hips squirmed just enough to be a warning.
My thighs tensed around his shoulders, my fingers clenched the sheets beside my head.
He didn’t slow down, instead he intensified — “oh fuck Liam” I gasped.
His fingers curled deeper inside just right, finding that spot again and pressing hard while sucking my clit in one long, firm pull.
My chest rose, my eyes closed as my lips parted.
He couldn’t stop his movements, not even if he wanted to.
Not until I cried out and trembled against his mouth, my body tensed, then shuddered violently against his mouth as the orgasm ripped through me.
My thighs squeezed around his head instinctively, hips jerking in helpless little pulses.
Liam pulled his mouth away and sat back on his heels, fingers still inside moving slowly — letting me ride it out.
Low murmurs escaped him “that’s it…fuckin’ perfect”
He then wiped his glistening chin and mouth with the back of his hand, leaning back down to trail kisses up my stomach, ribs, chest…until they reached my mouth.
Liam kissed me properly — letting me taste the salt of my skin on his lips.
His fingers finally slipped out gently from between my thighs, until suddenly he pulled away entirely.
In one smooth languid motion — he rolled me onto my stomach, my face pressed into the pillow as Liam hovered over me.
Straddling slightly, his hands slid down the curve of my spine . . . Then lower — gripping my hips before leaning down to press an open - mouthed kiss right between them.
He pulled back and smacked my ass gently “Up” he commanded.
His hands gripped onto my hips pushing them upward — I moved my knees up so my ass is in the air.
Back arched and face sideways on the pillow.
His hand squeezed my asscheek just enough to make a tiny noise escape me, using his other hand he parted my cheeks to view the mess between my legs.
He ran a finger between my slick folds, still warm, still sensitive.
Then he brought his finger up — holding it in front of my face before pressing it between my lips for me to taste.
I parted my lips gently for him to push his finger between them, letting me taste myself. Closing my mouth against his forefinger and letting my tongue curl against it.
He finally pulled it out with a soft pop, not even I could believe what I was doing.
He had one hand palming himself against his jeans, already straining against the blue washed denim.
He couldn’t waste time, in a swift motion he unbuckled his belt in impatient motions.
The button popped open, the zipper came down fast.
And just like that? His jeans and boxers were shoved down past his hips in one go — he was thick and straining, precum glistening against his pink tip.
He threw his jeans away onto the floor somewhere.
With his cock in hand, he slid it slowly between my thighs — not entering yet, just gliding through the wetness still coating my skin. Using my arousal to slick himself up.
A low groan escaped him at the heat and slickness there, he rocked forward slightly — dragging his length from my clit down to my inner thigh and back again while he watched me tremble.
“Fuck..” Liam’s voice came out gruff.
He didn’t stop his motions, letting every fluid cling to him.
Then he added quietly “been thinkin’ ‘bout this? ‘Bout me fuckin’ you like this?”
I do feel pathetic for nodding against the pillow.
And without a proper warning; one firm thrust and his cock slid into me completely — sinking deep in one smooth push until our hips met.
Making my lips part and my hands grip onto the bed sheets, a rough grunt left him.
He stilled for half a second just breathing through it, before gripping my hips hard again . . . Pulling almost all the way out before pushing back in with more force.
Each thrust sent a jolt through the both of us, my body stretched around him perfectly. Taking every inch with only the softest whimpers muffled by the pillow.
Liam didn’t speak again — not yet.
Just set a relentless rhythm: hips snapping forward with controlled power, his fingers digging into my skin like they might leave marks.
The bed creaked under their movement.
The sound of skin hitting skin filled the quiet room, his breath came in ragged bursts — hot against my back as he leaned over slightly to press messy kisses between my shoulder blades.
Just grunts and low growls each time he bottomed out inside, he still managed to angle his hips just right on every inward stroke.
Hitting my g-spot repeatedly that made me get louder each time.
A gasp turned into a moan, a whimper twisted into a cry.
He was targeting, finding exactly where and what made me louder.
Between heavy breaths and the slick, slapping sound of skin on skin. His dirty mouth finally opened — “fuck…you feel s’ good”
Then, lower: “Tight little cunt…takin’ me so well”
Just filthy truth.
He grunted, hips snapping harder as he watched my body jolt with each push.
His voice dropped even lower — rougher — when I clenched around him involuntarily from the pleasure;
“Yeah…squeeze my cock like that again. Fuck.”
No filter. No shame.
Just raw hunger spilled into words meant only for me to hear.
The bed rocked violently beneath them as sweat broke across both their bodies . . . The air smelled like sex and heat.
With a quick, rough motion, he spat — right onto where their bodies were joined. A slick glisten of saliva mixed with sweat and her arousal.
Not romantic. Not elegant.
Immediately he shoved back into her with even more force, diving deeper.
I buried my face onto the pillows enough that muffled every squeak.
She felt it in her gut: that coil tightening low and hot. The pressure building with every slap.
He stopped talking dirty, just focused fucking as he chased his own release.
He reached down under my tummy and down till his fingers found my clit through the slickness, pressing tight quick circles.
The pace of his dick penetrating did not falter, the double stimulation was brutal. I could’ve screamed if not by the pillow smothering every sound, instead? My body stiffened — back arching slightly as pleasure spiked.
Liam felt it instantly: how I clenched around his dick, how soft squelching sounds came out.
“That’s it, love…come on my cock” he urged, thumb still working on my clit relentlessly while his hips hammered into me without mercy.
And just like that?
Shattered.
A silent scream escaped against the pillow as my orgasm ripped through — wave after wave of pure ecstasy crashing down. Walls clenched around him in rhythmic pulses, so tight it nearly made Liam lose control.
But he held on, just barely, helping me ride it out with thrust that kept dragging pleasure every second.
With a guttural groan that rumbled from deep in his chest, he buried himself inside her to the hilt — staying there — as his release tore through him.
Hot and pulsing, thick waves of it filling me up.
No pulling out, no thinking about anything but the white-hot pleasure burning through every nerve ending.
Just pure ecstasy — skin on skin…breath mingling… hearts hammering against each other’s bodies.
————————-
The adrenaline had completely dissolved into something else entirely.
Liam had a way of stripping away all the noise, the cynical walls I’d built as a journalist, and the frantic pace of my everyday life.
everything felt slow, electric, and dangerously real.
There were no cameras, no headlines, and no rumors. Just him.
Afterward — The room was quiet, save for the hum of the city outside and the sound of our breathing.
I was curled up against his side, my head resting on his bare chest, tracing the line of his collarbone. The heavy green parka was thrown onto my bedroom chair, and for the first time, he looked entirely vulnerable.
"Alright over there?" Liam murmured, his voice a sleepy, gravelly rumble in the dark. He shifted, wrapping an arm tighter around my bare shoulder.
"I'm fine," I smiled, poking him lightly in the ribs "Just wondering how long before you start singing Oasis lyrics in your sleep to boost your own ego."
Liam let out a breathy laugh, the sound vibrating against my cheek. "Oi, watch it. Those lyrics are poetry. People pay good money to hear me shout 'em. You're getting a private performance for free."
"You call screaming 'Live Forever' at three in the morning poetry?" I teased, looking up at him through my eyelashes. "You're a menace, Gallagher."
"Yeah, well. I'm your menace tonight," he said, leaning down to plant a soft, lingering kiss on the top of my head.
His tone softened, losing the sarcastic edge. "You're not like the others. You don't treat me like I'm a god, but you don't look at me like I'm a monster either. It’s nice. Just being a bloke for five minutes."
A heavy weight settled in my stomach. The guilt was back, sharper than before. If only you knew, I thought.
"Go to sleep, Liam," I whispered, closing my eyes and burying my face into his neck, unable to look at the genuine warmth in his eyes anymore.
"Yeah, yeah. Night, babe."
Within minutes, the exhaustion of the day took over, and I drifted off, comforted by the steady rise and fall of his chest.
Liam stayed awake. He wasn't used to sleeping early, his internal clock permanently set to late-night studio sessions and after-parties.
He lay there in the dark for an hour, listening to my soft, rhythmic breathing, a rare feeling of peace settling over him.
Thirsty
he carefully slid out from under the covers, trying not to wake me. He grabbed his jeans from the floor, pulling them on, and scanned the dimly lit bedroom for his pack of cigarettes. He swore he’d left them near the nightstand.
He bent down, looking near the base of the bed, and his foot knocked against something hidden beneath the dust ruffle.
Thud.
Curious, Liam reached under the bed, his fingers brushing against a thick, leather-bound notebook.
He pulled it out, assuming it was just a diary or a sketchbook. He sat on the edge of the bed, the moonlight filtering through the curtains illuminating the cover.
He opened it to a random page.
His eyes scanned the handwriting. Then, he froze.
Subject: Liam Gallagher. Target Date: End of the month. Rumors of infidelity in Madrid—need to verify with hotel staff. The 'rock star' persona is an easy shield, but the cracks are showing. If I can get close enough, the Scandal front page is ours. He’s predictable. Arrogant. Just another cliché.
Liam’s breath hitched. The blood in his veins turned to pure ice.
He flipped back to the first page. There, pasted inside the cover, was a press badge. Your name. Investigative Reporter, Scandal Magazine.
Page after page was filled with timelines of his life. Photos of him stapled to the paper. Lists of his ex-girlfriends, notes on his favorite bars, and draft titles for articles that made him look like a piece of absolute trash.
The girl sleeping peacefully beside him wasn't a sweet, sharp-witted escape from his chaotic life.
She was a vulture.
A dark, terrifying rage exploded inside Liam’s chest. The vulnerability he had shown her just an hour ago felt like a violent humiliation.
"You absolute fucking snake," Liam roared, slamming the journal down onto the nightstand with a deafening crack.
I jolted awake, my heart leaping into my throat. The room was dark, but I could see the towering, tense silhouette of Liam standing by the edge of the bed. He was shaking.
"Liam?" I blinked, confused and half-asleep. "What's wrong?"
"What's wrong?!" he shouted, his voice cracking with a raw, furious pain that echoed off the walls. He flicked the bedside lamp on, the harsh yellow light blinding me.
In his hand, he held my black leather journal.
My world completely shattered.
"Liam, wait—" I scrambled up, pulling the sheets against my chest, my face draining of all color.
"Don't 'Liam' me! Don't you dare!" he screamed, tossing the journal onto the bed. It landed open, right on the page detailing his alleged affairs.
"Is this what tonight was? A fucking stakeout? You let me into your bed so you could print lies about me in your pathetic little rag?!"
"No! No, it started out as an assignment, I swear, but it changed!" I cried, tears pricking my eyes as I reached out for him. "Liam, please, listen to me. I didn't want to do it anymore. I was going to drop the story!" — was I?
"You're a liar!" he spat, stepping back from the bed as if my touch would poison him.
His face was twisted in a mixture of pure fury and deep, agonizing betrayal.
The arrogant rock-star mask was completely gone, leaving behind a man who had actually trusted someone, only to have them rip his heart out.
"I actually thought you were different," he said, his voice dropping to a harsh, lethal whisper that hurt worse than the shouting.
"I sat here telling you I liked you. I let my guard down. And the whole time, you were just calculating how many copies you'd sell."
"Liam, that's not true—"
"Save it," he snarled.
He looked at me one last time, his eyes dead and cold. "You want your scoop? Write this down. Liam Gallagher thinks you're a parasitic, heartless bitch. Put that on the front page."
He turned on his heel and stormed out of the bedroom.
A second later, the front door slammed shut so hard the windows rattled, leaving me entirely alone in the suffocating silence of my own trap.
The image of kissing Liam hasn’t left my mind at all, I wrote a lot about him for my column — but it isn’t enough. When he invited me to a party, I took my chance to make my writing more interesting.
Part 3 | part 4 | part 1 | part 2 | series
warnings: teeny bit of coke mention, high tension, fingering, almost getting caught.
I couldn’t sleep at all, the whole night I spent writing by hand — only thing to illuminate Liam’s exposure was a tiny lamp by my nightstand.
Every single detail about him was written down, how he acted, if he’s a good kisser or not.
Things that will attract the reader, not bore them.
And as I sat in my pajamas, biting the top of my pen — thinking of what to say my mind kept wondering. To his face, how he touched my face, how his lips felt, with his stubble scratching my face.
I pressed my lips into a thin line and looked down to the last thing I had written down.
Good kisser. Infuriatingly so. Doesn’t know when to shut up.
I stared at the sentence for a very long time before dragging one furious line through it until the ink almost tore the page, professional.
That’s what I was supposed to be.
Not. . . Whatever that sentence was supposed to be.
I clicked my pen shut, then opened it again with a sigh.
Subject appears more awkward than expected when genuine emotion is involved. Displays confidence publicly but becomes noticeably nervous in quieter moments, possible contradiction worth exploring.
So much better, objective, journalistic.
Absolutely nothing about the way his thumb had brushed my cheek and looked down at me with those slightly droopy eyes.
I slammed my notebook closed.
“Oh, get a fucking grip” The flat answered with silence.
The kettle I put on earlier started to hiss from a distance, and somewhere outside a milk float rattled along the street. Dawn was creeping through the curtains, turning everything blue.
I had spent the entire night documenting Liam like he was a rare species.
Habitat: pubs
Diet: lager, cigarettes and his own ego.
Natural defense mechanisms: insults.
I almost smiled despite myself, it was ridiculous.
He was a story.
A headline.
A paycheck.
Not — a bloke whose laugh kept replaying in my head at four in the morning. My eyes drifted to the notebook, one page remained empty.
And so I wrote across the top:
Questions still unanswered
Is he actually faithful?
Does the cocky act ever disappear completely?
What is Liam Gallagher like when no one is looking?
I hovered my pen.
Then, before I could stop myself, I added one more thing.
Why did he ask if he could call me?
I groaned and let my forehead hit my knees as I sat on the middle of the bed.
“Pathetic”
——————-
By ten o’clock, the offices of Scandal were as expected — phones ringing, editors shouting, and someone arguing over whether ‘rock star caught snogging mystery blonde’ deserved the front page over ‘soap actress secret facelift’.
It smelt of stale coffee, perfume bad and good intentions.
Home sweet home.
“Well?” Janice called before I reached my desk — Janice is a fellow co-worker of mine, I learned to tolerate her over the years.
She was already perched on the edge of it, bright red lipstick and shark-like grin firmly in place.
“Did Manchester’s loudest gob finally charm you?”
I snorted “I interviewed him” She raised an eyebrow.
"You interviewed his mouth?"
I shot her a look.
"It was research."
"Mhm."
"I gathered evidence."
"Mhm."
I stayed quiet for a bit, before adding "He kissed me."
Her mug stopped halfway to her lips "...He what?"
"It was tactical." I defended.
"Tactical?" she barked with laughter.
“What?” I frowned.
“You sound like you’re reporting from war” she grinned.
“I practically am” I spoke as I sat on my chair, rolling to closer to the edge of my desk, cluttered with all my trinkets and papers.
Janice leaned closer — “So?”
“So what?” I repeated.
She lowered her voice dramatically, “is he a good kisser?”
Heat crept up my neck before I could stop it myself, “No comment.”
I grabbed the nearest file and chucked it at her, she caught it all clumsy like — like those people who never learned to catch.
“Oh, sweetheart—“ her grin widened. “You’re in danger”
“Of what?” I furrowed my brows.
“Of writing the exact opposite article to the one you were sent out there for.”
And before I could answer, the newsroom phone on my desk rang, once..twice..three.
Janice waggled her brows — “maybe it’s your editor”
I picked it up.
“Hello?”
A familiar mancunian drawl answered immediately — “..Took you long enough”
My stomach performed the sort of gymnastics I refused to acknowledge.
“Liam?”
“Course it’s Liam” I could practically hear the smirk. “Who else d’you know that sounds this good?”
I rolled my eyes despite smiling, “you’re awfully confident”
“I’ve got a reason to be” he spoke.
“Oh?”
“Cause you said I could ring”
There was a beat of silence.
Then, softer than I’d ever heard him. “So..”
“You busy tonight?”
I glanced down at the notebook hidden beneath the stack of papers on my desk.
Questions still unanswered
Maybe one more evening wouldn’t hurt after all..
The best stories never finish after the first date.
——————-
The townhouse in Notting Hill looked ordinary from the outside.
Inside, it was absolute chaos.
Music thundered through every floor—Britpop bleeding into dance tracks, glasses clinking, cigarette smoke curling beneath crystal chandeliers.
In every room it was packed shoulder to shoulder with people who looked as though they’d walked straight out of a magazine covers or music videos.
Someone laughed from a grand piano, someone else was dancing on top of it, and another was snorting cocaine on a glass coffee table.
“So this,” Liam announced, spreading his arms dramatically as we stepped inside, “is where all the beautiful disasters gather.”
I looked around.
Models. Actors. Musicians. Record executives pretending they weren’t staring at musicians.
It was like walking into every gossip column I’d ever clipped out for research.
“Oh,” I muttered. “This is horrifying.”
He barked a laugh. “No, love. This is fun.”
For the next hour — I barely had time to think.
Every five minutes someone dragged Liam into another conversation.
A DJ wanted him to listen to a demo. A model kissed his cheek. A footballer shouted across the room that Oasis were overrated — Liam shouted back that the footballer was bald and bitter.
The party roared with laughter.
He was completely at home with it.
Too loud, too confident, too impossible to ignore.
Every few minutes few minutes, his eyes searched the crowd until they landed on me. Like he was checking that I hadn’t vanished.
———-
By midnight — someone had handed me a glass of champagne I hadn’t asked for.
Liam appeared beside me with a whisky “You look overwhelmed.”
“I’m observing” I responded.
“Flower shop girls don’t usually say ‘observing.’”
My grip tightened almost imperceptibly around the champagne flute.
Right. The lie.
The one I told him the first night we went out, because he got a little too curious about me.
It was forgettable and safe.
“Maybe I’m a very thoughtful flower shop girl.”
“Mhm.” He took a sip. “Still think you’re hiding something.”
My pulse skipped.
For one terrifying second I wondered if he knew.
But then he grinned.
“Probably a boyfriend.”
“No boyfriend.”
“Good.”
His answer came in a bit too quick, he seemed to realize it at the same moment I did.
His expression flickered, then someone called his name from across the room and the moment broke.
An hour later the party had become even louder.
People spilled into hallways. Someone was singing terribly. Someone else was arguing passionately about whether Blur were better than Oasis.
Liam caught my wrist.
“C’mon.”
“Where?”
“Away from these lunatics.”
He led me upstairs through a maze of people until the music dulled behind closed doors.
The hallway was quieter.
Almost peaceful.
He pushed open an empty bathroom.
Black-and-white tiles. A claw-foot bath. Marble counters cluttered with abandoned lipstick and perfume bottles. The bass from downstairs pulsed faintly through the walls.
He closed the door behind us.
Not locked.
Just closed.
The silence felt strangely loud.
“You kidnapped me.”
“Rescued you” He grinned.
“From free champagne?” I tilted my head.
“From that bloke in the velvet jacket staring at you all night.”
I smiled. “You were jealous.”
“I was bored.”
“Liar.”
He leaned one shoulder against the door, watching me with that maddening half-smile “Maybe.”
For a moment neither of us spoke.
Just the muffled music downstairs and the old light buzzing above us.
Then he said, quieter than before, “You know what’s weird?”
“What?”
“Everyone downstairs wants something from me.” His eyes held mine.
“Drinks. Stories. Photos. Favours” He added.
He took a small step closer. “But you don’t.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
Because he was wrong.
That was the whole problem.
I wanted everything.
The story. The headline. The truth about him.
And suddenly, standing in that bathroom with his whisky on his breath and his stubble catching the light, I wasn’t entirely sure those were the only things I wanted anymore.
He was close enough now that I could feel the heat of him.
Close enough that if I moved even slightly, we’d touch.
“Tell me something real,” he said softly.
My throat tightened.
Tell me you’re a journalist.
Tell me you’re using him.
Tell me this isn’t becoming complicated.
Instead, all I managed was a whisper “What do you want to know?”
His gaze dropped briefly to my mouth.
When he looked back up, the cocky grin was gone.
And somehow that was far more dangerous.
“I want to know why I can’t stop thinking about you.”
The room seemed to tilt.
And for one reckless second, I forgot I was supposed to be there to expose him.
No one spoke after that until he took one slow step toward me.
Then another.
Until there was barely any space left between us.
The music downstairs had become nothing more than a dull pulse beneath our feet.
I could smell the whisky on his breath mixed with cigarette smoke and whatever cologne he'd thrown on hours ago.
My heart betrayed me by speeding up.
"You're thinkin' too much," he murmured.
"I always think" I smiled softly.
"I've noticed” a crooked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth — "It's exhausting watching you."
"Oh?"
"Mhm."
"You've got this little crease..." He lifted a finger, hesitating for the briefest second before brushing it lightly between my brows. "...right there whenever you're trying to figure someone out."
I froze.
He'd noticed that?
"I don't—"
"You do” His smile softened — "And every time I catch you starin' at me, I can practically hear the gears turnin'."
If only you knew why.
If only you knew every question, every lie, every page waiting in my notebook back home.
He studied me for another moment before his hand drifted from my forehead to my cheek.
His palm was warm.
Calloused.
Unexpectedly gentle.
I forgot how to breathe.
"You've gone quiet," he said.
"So have you."
"Doesn't happen often." He responded.
"No” I spoke
He laughed under his breath, “Must mean somethin'”
His thumb brushed lightly along my cheekbone.
Not teasing, Not cocky, Careful.
—-
Then like it was rehearsed, his face got closer to mine and our lips connected like it was normal.
Soft, with a slight tilt of his head to catch my lips properly — I couldn’t help but actually kiss him back.
My hands trailed up to fist against his brown leather jacket, and he responded positively.
His other hand slipped to my hold my hip and he gently backed me against the countertop by the sink, the kiss intensified — no hesitation, no shyness. (Might’ve been the alcohol).
Liam’s lips were warm and demanding by now, his breath mingling with mine.
Suddenly I felt Liam’s fingers trail up my thigh — warm skin beneath the soft fabric of my skirt.
He didn’t rush, didn’t grab or shove. Like he might’ve done with anyone — I assume.
His thumb brushed just under the hemline, then slipped further up.
Exploring.
My heart was racing, thumping hard against my chest — I prayed he didn’t feel my pulse.
Yet his fingers hovered just above the lace edge of my panties, soft fabric, delicate.
He didn’t push yet — didn’t slide beneath or press in.
He just waited, his lips briefly left my mouth and trailed to kiss down my neck — tiny pecks.
I didn’t know what I was doing, but I rocked my hips forward gently, his lips stayed on my neck:
Light kisses down my collarbone, then back up with a tad more pressure.
I moved my hips once again — he responded by finally slipping one finger under the lace.
Slowly.
His finger tip slid along my folds, already warm and slick.
I didn’t expect to be this turned on already, he was just teasing, just feeling.
And yet it made me respond pathetically.
I let out a small whimper, which ignited his move in sliding another finger.
Still just tracing, still not pushing inside — but pressing slightly firmer against my clit.
His kissing trailed up until he found my ear and whispered “more?”
Bastard.
I let out a shaky breath and nodded.
He didn’t tease like I expected him to, instead. He pressed his lips against mine again, deep and hungry.
While finally letting his fingers press tight circles against my clit, finally letting me feel.
A gasp escaped me — unfiltered.
He kissed the corner of my mouth lightly as he kept working. Slow, deliberate pressure in perfect rhythm with the bass still thumping faintly outside this door.
No words, just breathing heavily against each others lips while I melted into him; hips twitching slightly with every circle of his finger, hands gripping at his jacket like I might fall otherwise.
Liam was good at this . . . Dramatically so.
Liam pulled his face away enough to look at me, and enough for me to see his appearance.
Lips parted and kiss swollen, blue eyes hazy and locked in my eyes.
I whimpered every time his fingers pressed just right, I might’ve looked pathetic to him by now.
And he kept going — steady pressure, gentle firm circles. . . Watching every reaction until he buried his hand deeper into my crotch.
Letting a thick finger slide inside my folds.
Stretching me gently, he curled his finger inside of me — letting my lips part from the sensation.
My hips twitched forward instinctively like I needed more.
So slowly — carefully, he added a second one.
Pushing them both gently inside — deeper this time. Stretching with careful pressure as he watched for any signs of discomfort, but really he couldn’t find any.
His fingers moved with quiet precision, no rush.
Curling gently inside that I could hear just how wet I am, the squelching sounds were just as filthy.
His thumb then found my clit again and resumed those slow circles.
The contrast was maddening — soft pressure outside mixed with careful stretching inside.
Every breath I took echoed, every whimper was probably a victory to him.
His gaze became intense, the bathroom felt smaller.
For one impossible moment...
I forgot about Scandal.
Forgot about the notebook.
Forgot about the headline I'd promised my editor.
There was only him.
Then—
BANG! BANG! BANG!
"Oi Liam!"
The pounding against the bathroom door made us jump apart.
Someone on the other side laughed.
"You alive in there, you git? Or've you fallen in the bloody bath?"
Another voice chimed in.
"We're nicking your Coke if you don't come out!"
Liam shut his eyes for half a second and let out an exasperated groan.
"...Every single time."
I panted softly, both my hands went behind me to grip the counter.
One second he'd been standing inches away, looking at me like I was the only person in London.
The next...
The swagger was back.
He raked a hand through his hair and swung the bathroom open, leaving me standing there like nothing.
His mates laughed and started heckling him as they headed back toward the stairs.
Liam threw one last sarcastic comment after them, slipping effortlessly back into his loud, carefree persona.
————
I stayed for another hour at the party, but it wasn’t the same.
I felt too awkward, too nervous.
And Liam got distracted — he trailed off somewhere else without me.
I had no choice but to leave without saying goodbye, because I had just exposed my vulnerability at Liam Gallagher.
————
The next day that I woke up for another day at work, there was something for me outside the step of my door.
A bouquet of my favorite flowers, the same ones I mentioned to Liam on our first ‘date’.
There wasn’t a note attached to them, it just laid there all lonely.
Now I didn’t know whether to hate him or forgive him.
Wembley 2000 was an absolute disaster, divorcing Patsy after she found out how much of an asshole Liam was, and Liam acting childish in the middle of the gig. Everyone ended up stressed out and confused on his reaction, so immediately he got shit about it.
I apologize if this fic is shit, I wasn’t really feeling the sexiness of it. I was listening to Micheal Jackson and kept getting distracted.
Warnings: smut, p n v, blowjob, Liam being an absolute ass.
Oasis had come far since their record deal in 1993, specially Liam on whom I’ve known since the Burnage days.
He’s been involved with many women as far as I’m concerned, had a lovechild with singer Lisa Moorish, married Patsy Kensit — and that’s where the trouble came from.
Patsy, beautiful woman, she had his son Lennon an utter peach in 1999.
But also led Liam to act controversial on stage, when hasn’t he thrown a tantrum before?
I was invited to this gig by Noel, it’ll be fun he said, though now that I think about it he was definitely high or drunk. Insinuating that this gig would be fun was one thing, but it was definitely made for those who live for drama.
Liam had been moody since before the gig even started, kept acting like he was the shit — like people had to bow before his presence.
Messy hair, no ring attached to call himself taken, just sunglasses glued onto that face.
Probably acted more pretentious than a man who thinks he would become a pro-footballer someday.
He kept talking shit about patsy in front of all of us, and that was just while being backstage. Saying words he wouldn’t dare to say in front of her face, it was a total bore.
“Can you shut the fuck?” Noel shot from his seat inside the bands dressing room, said everyone we all had been dying to say.
“What?” Liam’s face didn’t hide how defensive he was about to get.
Knowing the two brothers since year 7 I had to step up, or the two would probably fight each other before the gig even started.
“Alright — enough you two” I called out from where I sat: next to Gem.
“Oi don’t fuckin’ tell me when’s enough!” Liam defended immediately.
“I tell you whatever I want, ‘s a free country innit?” I scoffed.
Saw a faint smile on Gem’s face, still he pretended to clean the body of his guitar.
“‘S a free country” Liam muttered under his breath, like an angry child. “Get to fuck”
Before I could even think about standing up, and slapping the back of his fucking head the door got hit by three knocks.
Before a crew member popped his head out — “on five lads”
He barely even got acknowledged, but knew he was heard, So he closed the door and went about with his duties.
____
As oasis got their shit together to go play for 78,000 people, Liam had a clear sour face on.
And a tiny bit of coke residue under his nose, the only one who didn’t quit hard drugs.
It started with a friendly greeting to the crowd — “hello Manchester!” Greeting londoners as if they were mancunian.
Then he called wembley “a shithole” and added that it was “about time they knocked it down”
Right.
During the songs ‘Roll with it’ and ‘Stand by me’ he started ranting like a total baffoon.
And oh god — in ‘Go let it out’? He screamed “she only takes the furniture! She takes this, she takes that, and she takes this!” And added that patsy is “a fuckin’ cow!”
And that wasn’t it, he started to beg for someone to flash their tits. Just so the big screen would catch them and show them to thousands of people at this gig.
When the gig ended, he had refused to leave stage — he started to mess with Noel’s guitar, and paced around like he had worms in his ass.
I didn’t want to go out there and drag him out because holy shit — people were still there, trying to leave, or staying for the show that Liam was putting.
After a while he ended up leaving on his own account, and you could just imagine just how furious Noel had been.
Because the gig broadcasted live to millions and recorded for their official live album, he was utterly embarrassed.
So much so he didn’t even look at Liam once.
——
Stupidly enough I was so distracted on thinking about Noel’s reaction that I didn’t even see Liam approaching me, he grabbed my arm without hesitation.
“Need ya” he muttered.
I furrowed my brows “the fuck you on about?”
He didn’t reply, just dragged me into this crammed bathroom — a fucking bathroom.
He closed the door behind me and locked it
“Liam what do you want?” I muttered.
“Get on your knees for me?” He parted his lips, those blue eyes on me.
He must’ve seen the disbelief in my face because none of us would move, I crossed my arms across my chest and he exhaled from his nose — distressed.
“Please.”
In my years of friendship with this bastard not once had we done anything intimate before; I had an angel on my right shoulder basically shouting that I shouldn’t and it would ruin our friendship, and a devil on my left saying I should.
The more I thought about it, the more impatient he became. So he called out my name to snap me out of the conflicting thoughts, I looked up in sudden attention.
“What?”
He scoffed — “blow me”
“What makes you think I would?” I grumbled.
I groaned “Please, need it.”
It’s not everyday you get Liam whining like a puppy, I didn’t want to satisfy him like a king — “take yourself out then.”
And the grin came back on his face, like he struck gold. He was quick with undoing his belt and unbuttoning the jeans he was wearing, pulling them down just enough to take his dick out.
Already glistening out the tip.
Thick, pink, just a bit veiny. Grossly I couldn’t get my eyes off it.
“C’mon” he urged, literal desperation on his face despite the cocky smile.
Rolling my eyes, because shit my morals — I lowered down on one knee, then the next.
I took ahold of him with my right hand, slid my hand up and down once, getting him to hiss under his breath.
I looked up once, he was already looking down at me — messy fringe all covered in sweat, lips parted slightly, both of his hands braced himself behind the sink counter he leaned on.
I swallowed thickly and parted my lips, liking the tip like a kitten — and immediately his hand slid on the back of my head, tangling in my hair.
“Take it, c’mon” he murmured.
“Well stop being a shit” I argued, before parting my lips and taking his tip, sucking it just slightly to feel a tug on my hair strands.
I lowered down just slightly to let him feel the warmness of my mouth, he couldn’t help a groan escape him.
I set up a slow pace, getting used to him being inside my mouth — every time I pulled my mouth away just slightly his dick glistened with my saliva.
He exhaled from his nose, holding the urge to push my head — because how he was acting all day I knew he wouldn’t hesitate to fuck my face.
“I know ya can take more” he urged with a slight rasp in his voice.
I breathed out and opened my throat to be able to take more into my mouth — slid my head down with purpose.
Letting him hit the back of my throat, I braced my hands on his thighs and went down on him need.
Chocking occasionally whenever his dick hit back too much, I looked up at him and his head was tilted back — chest rising a bit faster.
He let out soft breaths and embarrassingly enough he was making me wet, at this point I was going to leave with a wet patch on my pants.
His other hand ended up landing on my cheek, his thumb brushed against my cheekbone.
“C’mon love” he grunted and started to push his hips just slightly — making he moan, mouth stuffed.
He looked down at me as he stilled my head and started to fuck into my mouth on his own, saliva dripped down my mouth and onto my chin.
“That’s it” he panted, hitting the back of my throat more than once. Making me choke on him like some blowout doll, I whined against it.
“Fuck” he breathed out and pulled his dick out of my mouth, letting me breathe for just a millisecond before going back in.
My eyes filled with tears, my jaw strained, the tip of my nose hit his pubic bone more times than I would like.
He let out a low grunt, pulling and pushing with purpose.
My hands tightened their grip on his thighs, I blinked out tears, I breathed in and out a bit louder than I anticipated.
But he didn’t stop, not until he finally pulled out and started to jerk off.
I stared at his length, erected slightly, glistening with my saliva and precum.
In just a few strokes and a loud groan, hot strings of cum flew to my face — I immediately closed my eyes as they fell onto my cheeks, nose, and lips.
He slowed his movements down to stare at my face, and slowly I opened my eyes.
“Fuckin’ dick” I spoke with a rasp in my voice, he just grinned proudly — “bit of a mess you did there love”
“Fuck off” I huffed and he helped me stand up, legs a bit wobbly.
“C’mon then, why’re ya stumblin’?” He spoke as he got some toilet paper and started to dab my face clean.
I didn’t want to say why — too embarrassingly to say I got off for sucking him off.
He looked at me, eyes locked onto mine — “Fancy one?”
I knew what he meant, since words weren’t going to help me, I nodded slowly.
He was gentleman enough to finish cleaning my face, half-arsed but the effort was there.
He took ahold of my hips and pushed me down on the sink, hands at the edge of it — and he walked behind me, he smiled at me at the mirror and kissed my shoulder.
Just a peck.
Then his hands trailed down to my trousers, and tugged them down so they pool on my ankles.
“Go down a bit more” he commanded.
I had to follow — I was fucking wet for some dick, so I lowered down on my elbows, spread my legs slightly, and stuck my ass out like a cat in heat.
He lifted my shirt up to get a view of my backside better, and tugged my panties down.
I liked my lips — which still tasted like him, salty and sweet.
His hand slid between my legs, I felt two of his thick fingers going up my folds.
“Proper soaked you are” he murmured and kept teasing.
Letting his fingers circle my clit, I couldn’t help but let out a small whine.
He smirked, I could see it through the mirror.
“Liam—stop fuckin’ teasing” I whined, pathetic.
“Calm down, you’ll get it” he muttered, but he kept moving his fingers against my pussy — and slid one of his thick fingers inside my entrance, the bastard.
Just with one he had me whining, I was encouraging his ego and I hated it.
Then two fingers entered me, he twisted them inside me, and curled them with purpose.
My pussy was making lewd noises, just fucking sloppy.
He let out a pleased hum before pulling his fingers out and wiping them on my ass cheek, then he kicked my legs apart — well told me to part them, and so I did.
I bit my lip as I prepared to finally be fucked proper, and thankfully he didn’t tease of let me wait any longer.
He took ahold of himself, lined himself up, and slid through my puffy folds.
I let a breath out I didn’t know I was holding, my eyes gazed up at my appearance — lips slightly parted, cheeks flushed, hair messy from his fingers earlier.
Until he bottomed out — his hands trailed down my spine and up again to take ahold of my hips, he let me adjust to his size before finally moving his hips.
“That’s it” he moaned, and started to use my hips as leverage, starting off with a slow pace — it didn’t take long for the crammed bathroom to be filled with skin slapping skin, my whines, and the filthy noises my pussy was making.
My walls clenched against him, my breath hitched every time he bottomed out.
He panted and his right down started to grope my ass, parting it and squishing it.
I arched my back even more, whimpering like a damn dog, and he took it as encouragement.
“Like that love?” He mumbled — “c’mon then, take it”
He moved his hips even faster, it might’ve been the alcohol and coke he took earlier (hence the disaster of a gig) but he fucked shamelessly.
I couldn’t help but tremble, my hands gripped the sink tightly, so much that my knuckles turned white.
And Liam fucking loved it, he was thrilled to know that I was desperate for it.
I kept blabbering, muffling them down by putting my head down onto the counter — my knees buckled, my hip bones hit the hard surface every time my body bounced back.
His hands held my hips tighter, “fucking Christ” he stuttered.
His hand slid down from my hip and down my stomach to find my puffy clit, giving it a few slow tight circles — sweat on his bushy brow as he continued to fuck into me.
His other hand left my hip and buried into my hair to pick my head up, making me look into the mirror.
My parted lips kept letting noises escape, his eyes were all hazy — so much so his thrusts were getting sloppy.
I clenched around him once again, my ass kept bouncing on his pelvis.
I knew he was about to come when he slowed down, and he didn’t want to do it before me so he urged his movements on my clit.
Pushing his fingers harder and tighter.
We were both panting faster, I tried to bite down a moan but I couldn’t help it — letting the shockwaves overtake me.
Letting him groan lowly and push deep inside me, staying to paint my walls white.
He curled down, resting his forehead between my shoulder blades.
It was like time had stopped as we tried to catch our breaths, suddenly the smell of sex finally appeared to brush against my nostrils.
“Fuck” he sighed, and slowly pulled out of me with a soft ‘pop’.
Didn’t take long for me to feel his come drip down my inner thighs, making a mess out of me.
I rested my forehead back down, trying to catch my breath as I heard loud zipping — and clinking of his belt.
Putting himself away after a good fuck.
“See you in a bit love” was all he said before he unlocked the bathroom door and slipped out without being gentleman enough to stay.
I would’ve known the minute that I picked that pool cue up, when I challenged Liam because I had to get closer. I had to get this story in as fast as possible—if I don’t I just might get fired, and that itself is its own disaster.
——
Two nights after the pub, I sat in a booth in this cheap Italian place.
The kind of place where waiters shouted across the room and every table had a candle trapped inside a little red glass holder, also where secrets get spilled.
“So..” Maya trailed off; “tell us everything”
I stabbed aggressively at my pasta “there isn’t anything to tell”
Both women stared, not believing a word that I was saying.
I knew they wouldn’t let up, so I sighed— “Fine.”
“There she is” Sophia grinned.
“Y’know” Maya started “for a journalist you're surprisingly terrible at withholding information”
“I’m selectively withholding!” I defended.
“That’s called lying” Sophia perked.
I stared at the two women, the two who can’t make me hold back any good story. Specially not one that involves Liam Gallagher.
“So we’re playing pool” I placed my hands on the sticky table for a dramatic effect.
“Flirting already” Sophia interrupted.
“We were not flirting” I scoffed.
“Continue” Maya muttered.
“Okay.” I cleared my throat and continued — “So he’s being a bastard about it, all arrogant.”
“Shocking”
“Apparently he was good” I continued, trying not to get interrupted once again — “Anyway! he breaks, Acts like he's about to win the World Cup”
“Pool isn’t football” Sophia frowned.
“Right but he hits the 8-ball, and I won” I got to the point, because there was no way of telling a story with two friends that keep interrupting everything with commentary.
“Piss off!”
I nodded, taking a sip of lemonade with the ice already melting.
“Then, he asked me out” I added — “made my job easier”
Maya couldn’t help the cheeky grin from taking over, “When’s the date?”
“Friday night” I spoke.
———-
And oh Friday came fast, I told my editor that I would take that day off — I needed to get ready correctly if I was getting to Liam Gallagher.
And in my too small flat, I sat criss cross on the wooden floor trying to get my makeup to look right.
Hunchback, strain on neck the more I tried to look into the body length mirror propped against my bedroom wall, the more I resembled a gargoyle contemplating taxes.
“This is ridiculous” I scoffed, tossing my mascara onto the floor.
I’m not nervous.
I am a journalist.
A professional.
On a mission.
Who definitely had not changed outfits six times in the last hour, the evidence told otherwise — black dress, trousers and a nice shirt, blue dress, black dress again.
Before I could cancel or contemplate my life choices, the phone rang — Maya.
“Tell me you’ve left already”
“I haven’t” I responded.
A horrified gasp exploded through the receiver like I killed her puppy or summat.
“You said the date starts at seven!” She exclaimed.
“Seven thirty” I corrected, but as I glance at the digital clock on my nightstand — yeah it’s fucking late.
“You’re still in the flat aren’t ya?” She spoke
“No.”
“You’re lying.” She scoffed into the speaker.
“What if he doesn’t show up?”
Maya laughed so loudly I had to pull the phone inches away from my ear.
“He asked you out!”
“Because I beat him at pool!” I placed a hand on my forehead in distress, because now Liam fucking Gallagher has me all nervous.
“He bought you a drink” she added
“Because I told him to”
As much as I wanted to keep on sulking and debating this whole ordeal of pretending someone I’m not to get a story? I had to go on this date.
So I hung up before any more could be said, stood up, grabbed my jacket by a very old armchair.
Looked at myself in the mirror one last time before actually heading out.
———
Liam called me earlier to give me the location of the date, well — he called while I was in the back of a dodgy cab that had mysterious stains on the floors.
I was dropped off at a busy pub in Camden, glowing gold against the cool London evening.
People spilled onto the pavement holding pints, music drifted through open windows.
Taking a deep breath I took a step inside the pub, I was hit by seeing my reflection on a hallway mirror.
Admittedly I hated my hair.
Brilliant.
And just seconds before I could talk to myself into leaving, a familiar voice called out.
“Thought you’d stood me up”
Slowly I turned my head and there he was, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, cocky grin on the unshaven face.
“You’re early” I countered
“Nah”
“You are” I squeaked
“Nah”
“You absolutely are” I scoffed.
Instead of a proper response he shrugs “was bored”
Right.
He pushed off the wall he leaned on and stepped forward to my space, for a moment his gaze lingered.
Just long enough to make me aware I’d spent an hour fighting with eyeliner.
“Y’alright?” He asked — blue eyes, trailing over me as if sizing me up.
“fine”
“Good” he nodded once — “y’look nice”
My brain completely abandoned its post, it was probably because it’s different when it comes out of the mouth of a man handsome enough to make everyone swoon…well not that dramatic, but it’s close to make your heart skip a beat.
“Thank you” I responded
“Don’t get all emotional ‘bout it” he grinned
I paused — the thought from before? Gone. “There it is”
“What?”
“The arrogance” I crossed my arms against my chest.
He looked delighted.
“Oh you’ve seen nothin’ yet” he laughed — “c’mon”
He grabbed my wrist to lead me deeper into the pub; smell of cigarettes, people laughing and yelling, cheap cologne and perfume.
He took me to a small table near the back, a few people recognized him immediately, a couple whispered.
But Liam didn’t seem to notice — or maybe he was just used to it.
“What d’you want?” He asked
“Lemonade” I responded.
Liam frowned and his eyes shot with attentiveness “a lemonade?”
“Yes” I nodded
“On a Friday?”
“Yeah” I agreed.
“That’s criminal” he sat back on his chair
“I’m working tomorrow!”
He hummed — “what’s your job?”
I paused, because I couldn’t say I’m a journalist — that’s the enemy.
So I had to make something up “I work in retail”
He took that in like it was some kind of revelation, because on all honesty Liam didn’t seem like the guy to date girls who weren’t someone important.
“Where?” He asked bluntly — no small talk fluff “what shop?”
Now he’s interrogating like some copper, I had to think hard — because he’s expecting an answer “flower shop.”
Liam blinked
He didn’t say anything for a solid three seconds, just stared at me like I told him I worked in space as an astronaut.
Because yeah — flowers seemed like a safe option, soft — pretty things people buy when they’re in love or upset.
“Flowers” he finally said, voice lower than before. He wasn’t mocking, just thinking.
“Do you actually like flowers?” He asked.
“Who doesn’t?” I frowned.
Liam snorted, but it wasn’t a laugh — more like disbelief.
“Who doesn’t?” He echoed, raising a bushy brow. “Plenty of people don’t give a shit ‘bout flowers, they’re expensive and die in two days”
“So what?” I argued
Liam studied for a second, I could tell because his eyes stayed on my facial expressions.
He tapped his fingers on the table, had one ring — on his pinky a golden ring.
“What’s your favorite flower then?” He asked.
So I told him.
“Right, they’re pretty” he muttered — awkwardly sincere.
Before his mouth could open back up I had to get a drink in my hands “so about those drinks..” I trailed off waiting for him to get the memo.
He snapped out of his flower trance, caught sight of a waiter passing by with an empty tray — so he raised two fingers to get their attention.
“Oi! One lemonade..and whiskey. neat.”
Liam turned his head back to look at me, and I smiled — more like those quick awkward smiles.
He didn’t smirk back or make some cocky comment, he just stared again.
For maybe two seconds too long.
I didn’t mean to bring it up — but I had to “can you quit starin’?”
Liam’s face did something immediately, like a kid caught stealing sweets.
He blinked hard, then looked down at the table, suddenly very interested in a random scratch on the wood grain.
“Wasn’t starin’” he muttered, lying through his teeth.
But his ears? They went pink — just slightly, barely noticeable unless you were sitting right in front of him. Which I was.
Total déjà vu from when I kept looking at him, first night we met, first time I was getting over nerves.
Now? Same bar lighting, but it wasn’t an ‘accidental’ run-in or some flirty pool game ambush.
It was a date.
The bartender returned with our drinks, my lemonade which was garnished with a tiny slice of lemon on the rim. And his whiskey.
I couldn’t get too comfortable with this man, so I had to ask him the questions now. “What do you look for in a woman?”
The whiskey glass hovered halfway to his lips, but I kept my gaze on him — waiting.
Too obvious? I mean if he was any smarter he probably would’ve decoded that the question sounded too journalist-like
Because instead of looking suspicious, Liam took his sip of whiskey — buying time to think.
He stared at me over the rim of his glass, eyes slightly narrowed like he was mentally flipping through every woman he’d ever dated. (Or slept with).
Then —
“Dunno” honest. “Not really thought ‘bout it”
A beat passed before he added “most birds I’ve been with … they’re loud. Attention seekers. Wanna be seen on my arm.” He shrugged one shoulder — not bragging, just stating facts.
“Right” I spoke
I didn’t judge or called him ‘shallow’ — which I definitely should’ve.
“Dunno if I want someone loud though” the admission slipped out quietly, almost accidental.
“No?” I echoed to let him continue.
“No” he repeated — firmer this time.
I stayed quiet, sipped on my lemonade.
“Loud birds get on my nerves after five minutes” he admitted. “All fakin’ laughs and tryna be sexy..annoying”
A pause
“I mean” he gestured at me with his left hand “..you’re not like that”
I couldn’t believe my ears, don’t know if it was a compliment or an insult.
“What makes you think that?” I asked.
Liam didn’t hesitate “because you’re not grinning at me like a madwoman,” he said bluntly. “You don’t giggle every time I talk. You don’t bring up oasis once — and every bird does that”
He took another sip of his whiskey, studying me over the rim.
“And you called me out on my shit back at the pool table. Most people don’t do that unless they’re pissed or scared — but you weren’t either” a smirk tugged at his lips
“you’re just different”
“Yeah?” I spoke, a bit too soft for my liking.
It was getting weird now, too soft. Too warm.
He put his glass down slowly, no longer hiding behind whiskey as a shield.
“Yeah” he said back — softer than usual for Liam Gallagher too. No sarcasm. No deflection.
Then after a breath: “you’re easy to talk to.”
Men can be so oblivious sometimes.
———
After the pub we walked out of the pub together, the amount of people there were before had dropped significantly.
Now it was just us outside walking on wet pavement, Liam had his hands in his pockets and would make sure he was walking at the same pace as me.
Puddles reflected the city lights as we passed by pubs and music venues. Somewhere in the distance, muffled bass thumped from a late-night gig.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just walked close enough that our arms brushed with every step.
It was quiet but not awkward.
A raindrop fell from a lingering cloud above and hit his forehead, then another on my shoulder.
Drizzle started again — light at first, just mist-like droplets.
Without a warning Liam had stopped walking, then he turned to face me — rain started to fall properly now.
He did something completely un-Liam-like and grabbed both of my hands and just bolted.
It was so surprising I couldn’t help but out of a yelp and a command “where are we going!?”
He didn’t even answer just ran — laughing like a child, rain dropped onto my hair, soaked both of our clothes — ran past closed record shops and graffiti covered alleyways.
Toward an open park area with big trees and benches, the kind of spot teenagers kissed in films.
“What was that for?” I laughed
Liam spun around under a tree, still grinning wide: unfiltered, happy in a way that looked weird.
“Dunno” he said with zero explanation. “Wanted to see you laugh”
And damn it. I had.
He stepped closer — not touching (yet).
And my eyes were locked on his appearance, his little bangs on his face were all wet and messy.
His cheekbones were slightly damp.
Before I could even tease him, say anything at all he acted.
He closed the gap — not a soft shy peck, not some romantic movie moment either — it was Liam kissing me.
Hungry.
Slightly messy from adrenaline and rain soaked lips.
One of his hands slid to the back of my neck, warm despite the cold night air. While the other stayed loosely around mine.
No hesitation.
Just pure instinct.
I pulled away slightly after a second, yet I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face — “do Y’know how cheesy that was?”
Liam didn’t look embarrassed, not even a little. “Cheesy?” He repeated, voice low and teasing “yeah. Probably”
Without missing a beat he also added “but you liked it.”
It wasn’t a question, it was confidence. That stupid Gallagher arrogance kicking back in — but this time? It wasn’t mean or mocking.
It was playful.
“Sure” I smiled softly.
Thankfully he didn’t say anything dumb, he just kissed me again like he had the right to. Because apparently he does.
Slower.
Softer.
His hands cradled my face gently as rain soaked us both — his thumb brushing a wet strand from my cheekbone.
And I let it happen, because I may be a journalist in disguise. But kissing him under the rain? This is straight out a romance film.
Liam pulled back just enough to look at me proper, and for me to see how rosy his lips got.
He wiped a raindrop from the corner of my eye with his thumb and asked “where d’you live?”
I raised my brows at him skeptically “don’t think you’re getting lucky”
Liam laughed once again, “lucky?” He repeated.
“Wasn’t plannin’ on it” which was definitely a lie.
And he saw the skepticism on my face, “right then.. where do you live? I’ll walk you.”
————
We couldn’t really walk to my flat, so we had to call for a cab to do most of the work.
And now I’m standing by my door, Liam standing in front of me.
For once he didn’t look cocky — just shifted on his feet in that awkward way when emotions were involved and not just sex.
“Right” he muttered “this is you”
“Yeah” I nodded before adding “thank you for tonight”
He cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck “yeah” he mumbled, “it was…good”
This is how a man acts when lust isn’t involved yet.
“Good night” I said softly.
“Night” he said quietly — almost gentle.
Then before turning away and me getting inside my cherished flat — “can I.. call you?”
Bingo.
“Course” I smiled
I could see the moment his face lit up, then he turned around and walked away just like that.
I sighed and shoved the key into the lock of my door and got in, leaning back against the closed door.
And closed my eyes for a moment.
Because I had to scold myself not to get attached.
I worked for scandal which sounded way nicer than what it actually is. Most days meant sitting under harsh lighting, horrible coffee, and writing headlines dramatic enough to make someone stop in their tracks and buy the damn thing.
On Englands daily gloomy day during August of 1999, my editor changed the whole rhythm of my life.
Or ruined it.
Maybe both.
——-
“You’re doing Gallagher”
I looked up from my desk, “excuse me?”
Across the room, half the staff stopped pretending to work, my editor Sandra had tossed a thick file onto my keyboard.
It landed with a thud.
The front was covered with a photograph of a very familiar face; messy dark hair, stubble, thick brows, droopy blue eyes, Liam fucking Gallagher.
“You’re going undercover” Sandra said.
I stared at her with disbelief.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Absolutely!” With a smile on her face like that helped.“The rumors are getting bigger each month. Brawls, women, drugs, alcohol. We want the truth.”
Slowly I pealed the file open, inside were photographs from clubs, hotels, backstage entrances, pubs.
Three separate articles that involved someone throwing stuff, like a fucking chair.
“Why me?” I asked.
Sandra folded her arms, “because you’re twenty five, single, and don’t admittedly lose your mind over any celebrity.”
The sports editor snorted “she’s got a point”
My eyes snapped at him and threw him a pen, Sandra continued “your job is simple.” Nothing good followed those words.
“Get close to Liam Gallagher.”
———
By six o clock that evening, I was sitting in my tiny flat surrounded by enough information about Liam to qualify as a doctoral thesis. The problem is that none of it matched. One woman called him charming, another called him impossible, one described him as sweet, another described him as an “arsehole”.
I scribbled notes on a tiny notepad, then another, then another.
My phone rang. It was Stacey, a former model who had met Liam several times through the music scene, “you’re really doing this?” She asked.
“Apparently” I sigh and sit at the edge of my pink bedding.
She laughed “oh this is going to be brilliant!”
“Helpful” I grumbled.
“Right. Sorry” she cleared her throat, “Never tell him he’s wrong.”
“That’s your advice?” I scoff.
“He’ll argue for three hours if contradicted”
I wrote that down as she continued, “If he likes you, he’ll tease you constantly.”
“Sounds awful” I mutter.
“It is.”
Another note.
INSULTS MAY ACTUALLY BE FLIRTING
My notepad was getting filled by the minute.
And so by the end of the evening I had collected enough contradictory advice to fill an encyclopedia, according to many sources Liam Gallagher was:
- funny.
- infuriating.
- loyal (hence his support to man city).
- unpredictable.
- generous.
- impossible.
- a nightmare.
Sometimes all within the same hour. I close the notebook.
There was only one way to figure this out, and that is by going to the pub everyone mentioned that Liam goes to weekly. The kind of place where the carpet survived decades with stubborn stains.
And so in the fresh rained on pavement I walked in white kitten heels, I had to make some sort of impression so I wore something that would make me pop. Baby pink silk midi skirt with lace trim, a butter yellow quarter sleeve top.
It had been one of the most colorful things inside my closet, so never mind the outfit. The trench coat I had covers it if needed.
As soon as I opened one of those glass doors I was met with the stench of lager and cheap aftershave.
The sound of the stone roses playing faintly which kept being interrupted by loud laughter and chanting.
My stomach tightened with anxiety, but Sandra’s words echoed in my mind.
Get close.
Get the story.
Do not get distracted. (Very important)
I checked my appearance for the hundredth time, in the reflection of the dodgy mirror showed a very terrified journalist.
I took a deep breath and walked further into the chaos, I looked around and tried not to look too obvious. (Though I probably was) until I saw him.
Leaning back on his chair, arms folded, pint in front of him, and surrounded by other men.
This whole assignment would’ve been easier if Liam didn’t take the whole room, I walked to the bar and order a vodka soda, my eyes kept trailing down to the target.
Sunglasses on indoors.
Often laughing or grinning widely.
And consistent rants.
Before I could register anything at all, he looked up. Straight at me.
My lips parted slightly, heart dropped to the ground, and nervousness to the roof. The type of nervousness you get with your first crush in high school, and yet his gaze stayed—well I wouldn’t know since he had sunglasses on, but his head didn’t look anywhere else but my line of sight.
I had to make the move and look away, painted fingernails tapping against my half drunk vodka soda glass. I bit my lip and reached into my bag where the filled notepad laid, and admittedly I started to analyze what on what could help me during this awkward crisis.
I looked his way once again and he was still facing me, if he wasn’t my target I would’ve assumed he was one fucking creep. But he smiled, not a wide grin, but a soft smirk.
I have ten days to get this story in, so getting out of character I smiled back at him and looked away. Maybe suggesting to him?
Well I had no idea what I was doing, but something is better than nothing.
——
In a second my nose picked up on cologne scent, on my peripheral vision I saw him.
Before I could even cheer on myself he spoke, “why do you keep starin’ at me then?”
So much for being subtle.
“I wasn’t staring”
He snorted and took a seat beside me “Yes you were”.
With all the swagger in the world and smoke, he flagged down the bartender with a lazy flick of his fingers. “Two pints” he said — there was no please nor eye contact it was just pure mancunian arrogance.
He finally yanked off the shades and shoved them into his jacket pocket before turning that sharp gaze to me, bright blue eyes, untamed brown hair falling over those caterpillar brows. “You were definitely starin’” he repeated — cocky energy is all back. “What’s your name then?” He didn’t wait for an answer before adding; “Or are you one of those wannabe groupies?”.
I took a deep breath, this man is unbelievable. And yet I still gave him my name, I had to.
“Not even close, wouldn’t want to be a groupie for you” I spoke.
Liam’s smirk didn’t fade — it grew, like a wolf spotting prey. Actually scratch that, it was more like Cheshire Cat.
“Ooh,” he drawled, leaning in slightly, the smell of lager already on his breath. “Feisty little thing, aren’t ya? Most birds trip over themselves tryin’ to impress me.”
He took a slow sip from the pint shoved in front of him by the bartender. His mates were rowdy at their table and Liam ignored them completely, now he was fully focused on me.
“So what do you want then? ‘Cause you’re sittin’ right next to me…drinkin’ fancy cocktails…dressed up like this..” he trailed off and gestured vaguely at my outfit with his glass.
I took offense “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
Liam’s eyes dragged down my outfit — slow, deliberate, like he was inspecting a suspicious painting.
And then…he snorted loudly. “Nothin’ wrong with it,” he said “it’s just…a lot. Like you walked out of one o’ them posh tea shops or some shite.”
He took another swig of his drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like some caveman. “You look all…delicate and stuff, not exactly pub ready” he gestured at the grime-covered floors and sticky tables where half empty pints were being knocked over by rowdy lads in jeans and band tees.
I now needed a way to prove otherwise, so I huffed under my breath and started thinking quick.
Finishing my drink in one go, I looked around and spotted a pool table — before I could stop myself.. “you play?”
Liam’s gaze turned to the pool table, dusty, chipped felt, cue sticks leaning against it like forgotten soldiers.
A slow dangerous grin spread across his face. The kind that said I’m about to destroy you and enjoy every second.
Because he wasn’t wrong, I barely knew how to play pool — last time I played I kept telling my mates that I was going pro and every time I missed.
“Yeah.” He responded — “Oi!” He barked at one of the bar lads cleaning glasses behind the counter.
“Get us the table sorted”
And within seconds, a few lads shuffled off from their seats and someone racked up balls on the table. Cue stick slid over with zero ceremony.
Liam stood and walked over, so I followed.
I came here with a mission.
Liam grabbed it first — no warm up shot or anything polite like that, just aimed and broke hard enough for balls to fly everywhere… including a stripe ball falling straight into a pocket before I could blink.
Right.
I grabbed my destined cue stick, aimed at a solid, and the hit was so weak the ball trailed a few inches before stopping.
Liam watched the shot with mild amusement.
He exhaled through his nose — not quite a laugh, but close. The kind of quiet disdain only a man with unreasonable skill and ego could muster.
“bloody hell” he muttered under his breath before striding over to the table like it owed him money, without asking for permission or anything polite (because why would he ever be polite?). He leaned down and took his turn after my weak attempt, he lined up the shot: striped ball tucked behind two others.
But in one smooth motion — smooth for someone who clearly played this drunk every weekend since puberty — he sunk it clean into a corner pocket.
I took a deep breath as I had two choices here: enrage him or distract him.
Anything to not live up humiliation of this stupid pool game.
So I started off with getting into his space, constantly.
Until Liam was in mid-celebration — smug, grinning like a king who just conquered a tiny kingdom — when I tipped his pint “accidentally”
The glass slammed sideways, lager foaming over the rim and splattering all over his worn jeans and onto the sticky floor.
For half a second? Silence.
“Oi!” He whipped around so fast it looked painful, eyes blazing with pure mancunian rage.
“Whoops” I shrugged, acting completely unbothered.
“Whoops?” He repeated, voice low and dangerous. “You just fuckin’ knocked me pint over!”
He grabbed the nearest napkin (which didn’t salvage anything) and started scrubbing at his jeans. Then he looked over at me — really looked.
The unbothered act really pissed him off.
Without any warning at all, he snatched the cue stick right out of my hand and pointed it at me like a sword. (Dick!)
“Y’know what?” He snapped, still seething over his ruined pint. “You’re playin’ dirty. That wasn’t an accident and we both know it.”
“I think you’re overreacting” I spoke, and as soon as his lips parted to keep complaining I cut him off — “hey, it’s your turn y’know” I pointed at the pool table.
Approaching I gently taken my cue stick back and away from him, but I got too close because for a split second he froze.
His face just a bit close, smell of his cologne and cigarette smoke hit me.
I stepped back acting like nothing bothered me, his anger wavered — just slightly — but pride kicked right back with full force.
“Oi! I’m not done!” He barked, voice loud enough that a few heads turned at them.
Before I could stop myself “I say you are!” I spoke like if I were scolding a literal child.
The second the words left my mouth — loud, sharp, defiant — Liam’s eyes flashed.
Not with anger this time.
No.
Something worse; amusement.
A slow, wicked smirk curled at the corner of his lips. “You are?” He mocked in a high pitched voice that definitely didn’t sound like mine, then dropped into his normal growling voice: “Since when do you decide my turn? Huh?”
He stepped forward — closing the gap I had created — and loomed over me slightly.
“Since when do you take cue sticks from other women?” I scoffed.
Liam’s smirk didn’t fade, “since when?” He repeated. Leaning down so his face was eye-level with mine.
Close enough to see the slight grey flecks in his eyes and the long lashes he definitely did not need.
He let out a low chuckle, rough and unbothered by basic decency or social norms. “Since always,” he said simply, as if stealing cue sticks from women (or anyone) was just a normal human function for him. Like breathing or swearing every other sentence.
Just go mock him I fired back — “awh am I special then?” I whined with a fake pout.
Then, his face did something weird. A twitch at the corner of his mouth, his eyebrows lifted slightly.
Not quite softening, but hesitating. Like even Liam Gallagher didn’t know how to process being teased by someone who wasn’t afraid him.
I smiled and turned my heel to walk towards the opposite side of the pool table, “are you gonna go?” I gestured at the ongoing pool game.
Liam stared at me, probably focused on the sway of my hips.
I had to mess with him.
He glanced at the table and without saying anything else… Liam grabbed his stick and lined up his next shot.
As he aimed specifically at this orange striped ball he accidentally hit the 8-ball too, leading the 8-ball to fall straight into a pocket.
Silence.
Liam didn’t move, didn’t blink, just stared at the empty space where the winning ball had been — like it had personally betrayed him. He’d lost.
And to get him angry? I clapped my hands together and squealed a cheer. “I win!”
Liam’s head snapped toward her.
And oh—
That clapping. That high pitched, giddy “I win”? Hit him like a slap to the face.
A direct attack on his pride — loud, obnoxious, and deliberate.
For half a second…nothing.
But his jaw clenched so hard it looked painful, for the cherry on top; I approached him but not for long.
“Buy me a drink?” I grinned and turned around expecting him to follow, like he was some obedient dog on a leash.
And yet..Liam dropped the stick onto the table and turned toward the bar.
Liam slid into a stool besides me, ignoring the bartenders tired “What’ll it be?”
He didn’t look at me at all, just stared straight ahead. Jaw set and expression unreadable.
“Right,” he stared gruffly. “You want a drink? What d’you want?”
“Vodka soda please” I spoke, hands on my lap like some polite little thing.
Liam nodded once — sharp, no nonsense — “vodka soda” he ordered, then paused. “And another pint for me.”
The bartender then scurried off.
Liam finally turned his head slightly toward me, studying me profile in the dim pub light. Didn’t say anything romantic or compliment me.
Instead—
He cleared his throat awkwardly, “right,” he muttered.
“You wanna go out? Properly.” It came out rough and rushed, like the words were being dragged from him by force.
“Why should I?” I spoke.
He paused, then he turned fully toward me. Elbow on the bar, one hand gripping his fresh pint glass a little too tight. “Why?” He repeated.
“Because you’re sittin’ here lookin’ all..” he trailed off awkwardly, I raised my brows at him just slightly.
But he couldn’t say what I knew he was going to say, and instead he said “you won’t the game fair and square. Least I can do is take you out.”
And that’s when I knew I entered the zone.
This new task might be easier than I thought it would be.
working for a magazine line called scandal, being a new journalist I was specifically employed to expose the infamous Liam Gallagher. Everyone knew that Liam is a conspicuous cheater but where was the hard evidence?
The one and only way to find out more about him is to go undercover, which is exactly what I did. My editor had called it an opportunity of a lifetime, I called it madness.
Armed with an unconvincing résumé and far more confidence than I actually possessed, I found myself sat on a stool on the same pub that Liam goes to daily. The plan was simple: get close enough to earn his trust, gather proof of his infidelity, and deliver scandal the front page they had been chasing for.
Although what nobody warned me about is how difficult Liam Gallagher was to pin down and how eventually he knew exactly how to get under my skin.
Plot: after a quite adventurous night, you wake up in a very domestic way.
Warnings: fluff, teasing slow burn sorry
A/N: it’s my birthday yippie
Your relationship with Liam is quite complicated, you’ve known him for a couple years now as a family friend.
It didn’t register to you that you had woken up half naked next to him
That is until the pound in your head settled—the price of an night out
Turning your head to what you knew was Liam made you pause to admire, he looked nothing like the swaggering hurricane he usually is.
Instead he was slouched against the pillows, hair sticking out in soft disobedient spikes, eyelashes casting shadows against his cheeks..
Then, he cracked one eye open
Squinting as if morning had personally offended him. “Bloody hell” he rasped
His voice gravelly with sleep. “Think something died in me ‘ead”
You couldn’t help but smile softly, just seeing him so soft is so hypnotizing.
He stretched an arm above his head, muscles shifting beneath the sheets
The movement tugged the blanket down just enough for you to panic and yank it up, he noticed.
Of course he did.
“Relax” he murmured “nothing scandalous”
He shifted closer, not enough to crowd you, but enough to make a point.
“So we didn’t?..” you trailed off
He shook his head, “nah. You were too knackered and couch felt like it was built out of bricks” he paused “so here you are.”
“Why am I half naked then..?” You asked
He smirked and turned his head to look at you, blue eyes locked with yours “you might’ve puked on ‘em”
“Oh god” you groaned, dreading at how embarrassing that must’ve been.
Then he laughed—one of those rare, unguarded laughs that softened all the sharpness he carried.
Silence settled, warm and thick.
You became used to the feeling of being so close to him, fitting so perfectly.
The pounding in your head tamed just a tad
Liam pushed himself upright and rubbed a hand over his face. “C’mon” he said, voice low but gentle.
“I’ll fix us a tea, fixes everything in the morning” with that he swung his legs off the bed, muttering something about his knees “givin’ the will to live”
Then padded toward the kitchen in mix-matched socks.
You stayed there, watching him go.
The domesticity of this situation hit you square on the chest—Liam was never like this, and apparently this is your version of him.
Letting out a shaky breath you got out of bed, his bed.
Letting your feet take you down the wooden stairs and into the tiled kitchen where he stood, boiling the water, hands on his hips.
He was humming—something half remembered, maybe a melody he’d written in a hotel room once and never bothered to record.
It flooded around the kitchen like morning dust in a sunbeam.
“Milk?” He asked
“And one sugar please” you muttered, walking to a stool by the counter island and sat—watching him act so soft.
————-
After he was finished he turned and slid the cup of tea to you, stood on the opposite side of the counter island.
“Still feelin’ rough?” He asked
“A bit.” You muttered
“Drink up, tea cures sins”
That’s not how it works” you chuckled weakly
“It is in this house”
His grin lingered for a second, then softened as he looked you over—really looked, scanning your face like he was checking for cracks
“Y’a scared me last night” he murmured
Your brows pinched “how come?”
“Weren’t yerself. All floppy and laughin’ at nothin’, thought ya were gonna topple over like a jenga tower.” He took a sip, eyes fixed on the mug “didn’t want to leave you alone.”
Words so simple, yet carried a special place in your heart.
“Thanks…” you paused “for taking care of me”
He shrugged “course, ‘m not a complete gobshite”
“Debatable”
“Oi” he snapped his head up
You grinned at his reaction like if you just won the lottery.
Despite the annoyance in his voice he still wore a small smile on his face.
“Ready to go home, or wanna stay with this old git?” He asked, his eyes had a glint of plea on them, like if he were expecting you to stay a little longer
After a moment of silence you answered “I’ll stay a bit, heads killin’ me as we speak”
“C’mon then” he grabbed his mug and padded down to the living room
You stayed back for a couple minutes before pushing the stool back and getting off
—————
Before it came to settle you had spent three hours with Liam
Watching comedy films, laughing together, and being a bit too close
Anywho.
Every so often, he shifted, just enough that you caught it out of the corner of your eye. Knee brushing yours for a second.
Shoulder angling your way.
Nothing bold though, nothing you could call him out on.
But it was enough to make your pulse quicken.
It was ridiculous—he was older, he was a friend of your family, he had every reason in the world to keep a respectful, safe distance.
And yet you felt the air between you stretch and tighten, invisible but unmistakably there.
Finally dared to look sideways at him.
Liam was already looking at you.
Not in some dramatic, cinematic way. More in a soft, almost startled way.
Like he hadn’t expected you to catch him. His eyes flicked down to your mouth—only for a fraction of a second, but long enough that something in your stomach pulled taut.
He cleared his throat and leaned back slightly, pretending to focus on the screen again.
“Head feelin’ any better?” He asked, voice low, roughened not by sleep but by something else.
“Yeah” you said. “Thanks..for, y’know. Not letting me die on the pavement last night”
He huffed—half a laugh, half a scoff.
“Told ya. Wouldn’t let that happen, someone’d kill me if I let you wander off like that”
You smirked “my mum?”
“Me, probably” he muttered, too quietly, like he hadn’t meant that slip.
Your breath hitched slightly, he must’ve realized it.
Because he shifted again, this time turning his body toward you fully.
His knee brushed yours—and stayed there. The room felt smaller, quieter, charged.
You didn’t move away. You weren’t sure you could’ve even if you’d tried.
He reached up, slow and deliberate, fingers lifting a small lock of your hair that had fallen forward. His touch was barely there, just enough to graze your temple.
But your whole body reacted as though he’d touched far more than that.
For a second, one suspended, fragile second.
You thought he was going to kiss you.
His eyes dropped to your lips again.
Your felt your breath catch, your chest tighten, your heart hammer.
But instead—Liam leaned in, exhaling softly.
And pressed a warm, fleeting kiss to the top of your head.
It wasn’t a mistake, it wasn’t a drunken impulse, it was careful.
Intentional.
Gentler than you ever thought he could be.
When he pulled away, the space he left behind was unbearable. He settled back into the couch, hands clasped loosely between his knees, looking at the floor as if afraid.
Afraid if he said too much without saying anything at all.
“Should take ya home” he murmured and stood up.
You were left dumbfounded, thinking that maybe…just maybe he had feelings for you.
Suppressing them is just making this whole situation unbearable.
There really wasn’t anything you wanted to do more than grabbing his face with both hands and pressing your lips against his.
A/N: I’ve ran out of ideas, if you lot can please send me some juicy suggestions on what to write next.
Plot: you and Liam had a long ‘friendship’ that lasted on pure tension, it really didn’t take long before Liam snapped.
Warnings: cursing, tensions, smut, sweet talk
Even to the naked eye the tension between you and Liam was very strong, the way his eyes tended to linger on you longer than you think.
The way his hand would find its way to your arm,
Or maybe it was the way that he talked to you.
Whatever it was the guys from the band made sure Liam heard the last of it, and you; whom practically grew up with Liam—had gone to the same school as tweens.
It’s safe to say you know him pretty well, but seeing him now.
With white powder under his nose, hands itching to touch a blonde sat next to him
Her laughter filling the room instead of yours, his mouth on hers, trailing down to her jaw, neck.
It drove you mad
‘It’s not fair’ you thought.
It really wasn’t, so instead of torturing yourself with such an awful scene you had gotten up.
Yearning for another drink that would make you forget about him and that girl
And soon enough what seemed to be one drink turned into two..three..four..five…
Really takes a lot to forget
As you were about to order what seemed to be the sixth drink you felt a familiar pair of hands on your waist, Liam.
The reassurance it was him came from the scent of smoke, his cologne he can’t seem to put down, and his hot breath next to your ear.
Slowly, but deliberate.
“Gettin’ yerself drunk, without me?” He murmured
Part of you dreaded to speak to him again, the other wanted all of his attention.
“You got bored already?” You glanced at him through your lashes
“Could say tha’” he grinned before moving to sit on the stool next to you, motioning for the bartender
“Wait for me yeah? Wanna get drunk with you” he spoke, it wasn’t the first time you two had gotten drunk together—but the way he looked, His eyes were half-lidded, that trademark heavy-lash glare that always made him look like he was weighing the entire world and finding it a bit boring
You hadn’t noticed your face was leaning closer to him, the hint of flush on his skin, his parted pink lips.
It wasn’t until he turned his head to look at you that made you realize how stupid you look.
“Yer starin’ like I grew a second head or summat’
Your breath caught on the back of your throat “not staring—“
He huffed a laugh, “Behave. You were lookin’ at me like you’re tryna memorise the whole lot.”
You paused at his response—it’s Liam what could you expect.
“Cocky much?” You scoffed
His mouth tugged sideways, that arrogant half-grin that had probably started fights and ended nights.
“What?” You furrowed your brows
silence just hummed for a couple seconds before he had the courage on responding
“Nothin’” he muttered, and before he could think about it he made his suggestion “come back to the room wit’ me?”
He didn’t wait for a response before he hopped off the stool, and took a half-step closer, close enough that the hallway noise faded behind his presence.
“Got a few drinks up there, c’mon” he grabbed your hand gently
Then you nodded, leaving your empty glass behind on the bar—what’s the harm on joining your childhood friend for a drink?
——————-
The walk through the endless carpeted hallway of the hotel room continued it was obvious that he was getting close, Liam didn’t touch you—not yet—but he walked like he might at any moment. A brush of an elbow. A nudge of a shoulder.
Suddenly you had that determination of getting out of there, he knew what he was doing.
So in an instant you added speed to your feet as you walked.
“Y’know… you don’t have to be nervous.”
She shot a look over her shoulder. “Who says I’m nervous?”
He raised his brows, lips curling. “Yer walkin’ faster than the elevator.”
She nearly stumbled. “I’m not nervous.”
“Sure” he paused “’Cause I’m not gonna try anythin’ you don’t want.”
Your brain short-circuited, a gazillion questions flew around your head.
But before he could see your confusion, you both had arrived to the destination.
The metal numbers on the white door ‘238’ staring at you like if it was mocking you.
He unlocked the door with a simple click and went right in
Following behind you let your eyes trace the undone bed, his suitcase laid flat on the floor, and a used towel draped on the headrest of the couch.
He grabbed two cans off the desk, tossed one to her.
You caught it barely.
“Nice reflexes,” he said with a low chuckle. “Still got that goalkeeper thing goin’ on, eh?”
“That was one time,” you muttered. “And you kicked the ball at my face.”
“Best pass I’ve ever made” he shrugged and sat on the edge of the bed
You hid a laugh as you cracked open the tab of the beer can, The fizz hissed between them.
For a moment, it felt like old times—two kids on a brick wall, sharing cheap lager and bad jokes.
You took a sip then you caught his gaze.
over the rim of his can, his eyes lingering in a way that was not teenage Liam. Not the boy she used to argue with over mixtapes and whose mum she’d known since primary school.
It felt heavy, slow, almost lustful.
“What?” You uttered
“Funny innit? he murmured. “Known you since you were what—twelve? Thirteen? Always thought of you as this little gobshite who stole me crisps.”
“You offered them.” You retorted
“Lies,” he said, smirking.
Then, softer: “But you’re not that kid anymore.”
You felt your chest tighten in a way that you quite didn’t expect.
“Well,” you spoke quietly, “neither are you.”
Then he placed his can on the bedside table and stood up, slowly stepped up to you.
“Guess not” he murmured “took me a while to notice”
Your breath hitched again—ridiculous.
after all these years.
but something about the way he said it, low and rough and almost careful, did something to your damn pulse.
He then reached out, brushing a thumb along the edge of your can so his fingers didn’t quite touch yours.
Teasing. Testing. Old Liam, new Liam, tangled into one.
“You sure you don’t wanna sit down?” he asked softly “Feel like we’ve got… a lot to catch up on.”
“Such as?” You whispered
He shrugged “things we didn’t do long ago”
Your eyes caught onto his blue ones, your mouth parted slightly as he mimicked you.
And in an instant you felt his lips on yours.
a soft press of lips that deepened only when you sighed against him, his hand sliding to your jaw as though he’d been waiting years for permission
It lasted a moment before the two of you pulled away.
They stared at each other, sitting too close yet suddenly not close enough, years of friendship rearranging themselves in the air between them.
He laughed once—soft, disbelieving, almost nervous.
“I swear I didn’t plan that,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t think you’d… y’know. Actually kiss me back.”
Then you met his eyes, heart pounding. “I didn’t think I would either.”
The silence stretched, before you let the can of beer fall to your feet and your arms wrapped around his neck as if you were about to faint.
Lips back on each other—this time it was deeper, forceful, you could actually catch the alcohol and cigarette taste on his tongue.
He grabbed your hips and pulled you closer and of that was humanly possible.
A soft tug here, and a small push there and your head fell onto the pillows on his bed.
One knee between your legs and the other by your hip, the two of you didn’t even ask for permission both thriving through lust.
And unspoken feelings.
Tugging your own shirt off he repeated your action, before you throw your shirt by the floor his lips traced hot sloppy kisses down your neck
Reaching down to your collarbone as if he was trying to remember your taste.
You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, he feeling of his hands and lips made your head go fuzzy.
“Fuckin’ need ya” was the only warning he gave you before he tugged on the button of your jeans and eventually slipping the rough denim off your legs.
He took a moment to look at you in just your lingerie, you almost felt self conscious before he wiped that thought off your head
“Proper gorgeous you are” he smirked,
“Take ‘em off too” you gestured at his jeans, didn’t want to be the only vulnerable one.
He huffed a laugh and obeyed—sliding the belt off and pushing the dark washed jeans off
As he was distracted on throwing the jeans onto the floor to join the other scraps of clothing, you slid your bra off
When his gaze turned to you, his breath caught for a beat.
“Gonna kill me y’ are” he flashed a grin and tugged you down, grabbing the back of your thighs and spreading your legs for him.
His hands then slowly, agonizingly slow.
Slid up your thighs, stomach, until they reached the undersides of your breasts.
His index took advantage of it and nudged your right nipple, as if testing the waters.
You sighed softly, letting him appreciate you in his own way.
Twisting, tugging, licking.
Whatever he wanted.
He let a pleased hum when you let a drawn-out plea, you didn’t know how long you could go without messing up your panties anymore.
Without taking them off, two fingers slid down to touch your clothed clit.
Soft touch, just enough to feel the heat between your legs.
A shuddering gasp leaving your lips before you could even stop it.
Smirking at your reaction he moved his fingers slightly just to give you the pressure you craved, if you weren’t this needy you would’ve slapped the smirk right off his face.
Feeling merciful he tugged your panties off, slowly scratching your thighs, until he tugged them off your ankles.
Leaving you to his hungry awaiting gaze, slowly his eyes dragged through your face, your flushed cheeks, swollen parted lips, and a brand new love bite forming by the curve of your neck.
“Want me?” He asked in a whisper
There wasn’t anything you wanted to do more in your life, so in a needy plea you spoke out “please..”
He let out a breath, like if he couldn’t believe what he was about to do, like living a dream.
He tugged himself out of his boxers, lining up to your entrance.
Sliding up and down your folds, coating himself, lubricating himself.
A small nudge was enough to knock a shaky pant out of you, his gaze locked on yours as he pushed in slowly, savoring you.
He let out a satisfied groan, one of his hands held your hip as the other held your thigh to make sure your legs remained open to him.
He stayed still for a bit, letting you adjust to this Intrusion.
Your parted lips let out a breath as you moved your hips forward, he quickly got the memo and began to move inside you.
Every thrust, every tug, every kiss, was like a whispered promise.
It didn’t take long before he started to be a bit rough, grabbing your jaw so you wouldn’t look at anything other than him, his hips snapped against yours like it angered him.
Every whine and moan that you made tugged a string of satisfaction on his ego, “shit” he breathed out.
His forehead now sweaty, fringe stuck onto his face, his lips parted as his fingers slid down from your hip to circle your clit.
Anything to make your desperate, filthy noises he craved so badly.
“Wanna take a picture of ya—look so pretty” he murmured breathlessly as he continued his assault.
You couldn’t help but moan out his name, you were getting so close and he could tell by the way you were clenching around him like you wanted to own him.
And he let it happen, because he wanted you as much as you did—the stimulation of his fingers making tight circles on your clit, his hips moving into yours with purpose, and his gaze devouring you were enough for your climax.
He let out a strangled curse as you restrained cry.
——————
The two of you lay under the duvet like puppets, thin coat of sweat, and flushed cheeks.
“Bloody hell.” He paused “tell me why we never fucked earlier?”
You let out a soft laugh, “couldn’t tell you”
A small minute of silence he turned his head, kissing your temple.
A simple gesture that made your heart flutter.
Like if something more could grow between the two of you.
A/N: Been gone for nine months, hopefully this would be my comeback and not my disappearance.
Ever since that night with Liam you couldn’t stop thinking about it, the glimmer in his eyes, his pink lips slightly parted.
A wave of confusion that hit the both of you.
The flat was too quiet, usually he stays over when he comes late at night—but he left before the sun showed up.
Your mind started to do laps, was this just your usual Liam?
Impulsive, caught up in the moment?
Before any of this can spiral any further your cell began to ring.
Picking it up; hearing the short beep sound as you answered.
“Hello?”
“What are yer doing later?” It was Liam, of course it was.
There wasn’t an instant mention of last night, you could totally just forget that kiss.
But then you answered back—
“Nothing, you?”
A few seconds later his voice rang through your ears.
“Thinkin’ ‘bout you.”
You paused, so did he.
The two of you shared an awkward silence that desperately needed to be saved, his cocksure attitude was thrown out of the window.
He had a feeling he might’ve messed it all right up.
“Do you regret it?” Was the first thing he could think of.
“I’m not sure—just trying to figure out what the hell went wrong last night.”
“I don’t know ‘bout you…But I don’t regret it.”
Your stomach flipped.
“Why’d you leave then?”
This time it took him longer to respond.
“didn’t want to say something stupid before I figured out what this actually is.”
Your eyebrows furrowed at his response—has he even figured it out then?
You could picture him right now, pacing somewhere, running a hand through his hair, fighting against the way he felt—because if there was one thing Liam Gallagher wasn’t good at, it was dealing with things he couldn’t swagger his way through.
“Can I come see you?…again I mean.” His voice quieter than last time, vulnerable even.
Letting a soft sigh, clutching the phone tightly in your hand, you weren’t sure if it were a good or bad idea.
Mind as well find out.
“Yeah.”
—
The familiar three knocks on the door had came too soon.
You didn’t even have time to brace yourself before you were opening it.
And there he was, standing on your doorstep like he had many times before, only this time it all felt different.
His brown hair was messy from the wind, his eyes though—carried a whole different emotion.
None of you said anything, you just moved out of the way letting him enter your flat.
“So..” you trailed off.
“So.” He exhaled, running a hand over his face “I’ve been thinkin’”
You raised your eyebrows slightly “dangerous”
He huffed a small laugh but didn’t take the bait. Instead he looked up, his expression turned into something way too serious.
“Y’know, I remember the first time I realized I might love you.” He said suddenly.
“What?” You muttered
“It was years ago. We were still kids. You had this pair of stupid red sneakers, and you wore ‘em every bloody day, even when they were falling apart.” He brought up.
Your lips parted, memories flickering back like an old film reel.
“I remember,” you murmured.
“Yeah, well.” He shrugged. “One day, you showed up, and they were gone. You said they finally gave out, and you had to throw ‘em away.”
You blinked, frowning. You barely even remembered that moment. “Why does that—”
“Because I remember thinking,” Liam cut in, “fuck, what if she forgets about me that easy too?”
You stayed quiet, letting it all sink in.
“I know, it’s proper stupid and all that” he muttered shaking his head, “but you always meant so much to me.”
The air between the two of you felt thick, thick enough to have a knife cut through.
“Liam..”
He looked at you then, raw and unguarded.
“I didn’t say anything back then because I was scared I’d ruin it. And then everything happened—the band, the fame, all the bullshit. I kept telling myself it was better this way, that I’d rather have you as a friend than risk losing you.” He admitted
This confession—took way too long.
Way too fucking long.
You started to inch closer to him, Liam’s gaze flickered down to your lips, then back up like he was asking for permission.
“Serious?” You whispered.
A small grin plastered across his face, “every word.”
That was all it took.
You reached out for him, and he met you halfway, lips crashing against yours.
His hands found your waist, pulling you closer against him.
He could feel your fingers tangling in his hair, it all felt unreal.
His tongue making its way into your mouth, his free hand landed on your cheek—cupping your face.
Cant wait for the pregnancy request to last request for a abit - getting board of myself tbf
But I found this clip of Noel he was married to Meg at this point I like it because they rarely talked about eachother in interviews https://youtu.be/wMaIpj8FGcw?feature=shared. So could I request a smutty romantic story based on this, maybe Meg can hear the interview and decide to surprise him by dressing up nicely
Thanks for writing all my requests so quickly your a star xx
“Rare moments”
I don’t usually write about stuff with their wives/girlfriends POVs but here you go (ALSO I wrote a ton a while ago and everything got deleted so I apologize for this being a tad bad.)
Warnings: smut as requested
————————————————————————
She hadn’t been paying much attention at first. The telly was on in the background, some interview with Noel playing.
Knowing that all the same questions were thrown at him.
She was curled up on the sofa, flipping through a magazine, half-listening like she always did when he was on.
Then she heard him mention her, “well she’s got good taste y’know?—‘s why she’s married to me.”
Meg’s head snapped up. She blinked, then glanced toward the screen.
He looked so casual, leaned back in his chair, like he wasn’t just casually admitting to the entire world that he adored her.
He barely even talked about her!
but because that was just who he was.
Private. Guarded.
But when he did mention her, it was always like this—understated, dry, but sincere in a way
She bit her lip, watching him for a moment longer. Then, an idea sparked in her mind
She wanted to remind him why he even married her.
As the evening went by he came back home—barely had time to shut it behind him before he caught sight of her
stood there in the dim lighting of their flat, dressed in something that hugged her just right, her hair done, her makeup subtle but sharp.
“What’s this then?” He asked.
Shrugging a bit “just wanted to dress up”
“For?”
“You” she gave him a cheeky smile
His lips parted slightly, then curved into that lazy grin of his—the one that had always driven her mad. “That right?”
Meg stepped forward, running a hand along the lapel of his coat. “I heard you on the telly.”
Noel rolled his eyes, feigning exasperation. “Christ, what’d I say now?”
She tilted her head, fingers playing with the buttons of his shirt. “That I’ve got good taste.”
tracing a slow line down his chest. “Thought I’d prove it.”
Noel exhaled sharply, his hands finding her waist, tugging her closer. “Yeah?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
His fingers tightened slightly, gaze flicking between her eyes and lips. “You know, you don’t have to prove anything, Meg.”
She grinned. “Humor me.”
Noel’s smirk deepened, his nose brushing against hers. “Reckon I can do that.”
And with that, he kissed her—slow and sure, like he had all the time in the world.
Backing her against the wall, he took ahold of the hem of the dress and pulled it up.
Running his hands against the soft flesh and dipping between her thighs making a sharp gasp escape her.
“You look so beautiful” he murmured.
She blushed at his compliment.
His lips then trailed down her neck, leaving small bites here and there.
His fingers pushed her panties to the side, ran his index finger along her slit feeling just how soaked she is.
Meg arched into him, her breath quickening at the touch of his hands.
He slipped a strap of her dress down revealing her breasts to him.
Taking her strapless bra down his thumb brushed over her sensitive nipples making them pebble to his touch.
His other hand that was between her thighs stopped teasing her and he pushed two fingers into her tight channel.
Making soft moans escape her as he fucked her with his fingers.
“Fucking hell, I need to be inside you” he rasped, his mouth trailing fire down her throat
Meg moaned, tilting her head back as she ground against him. Her hands tangled in his hair.
He kept coaxing her with sweet nothings, keeping the pace of his finger steady.
“‘M so close—Noel” Meg gasped.
Being the cheeky little shit he is, he pulled his fingers out making her whine.
“I need you love, ‘m sorry” he muttered and kissed her with an urge.
Now that his hands were free they went towards his belt, unbuckling it and unbuttoning his trousers.
He grabbed her thigh and lifted it up to his waist.
Gripping tightly.
With his free hand he pushed his boxers down, glancing up at her with his icy blue eyes.
Noel reached between them, positioning his thick cock at Meg's entrance. He thrust upwards, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth stroke.
Meg cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders as she adjusted to his size.
Noel's hips bucked, driving deeper into Meg's clenching heat as he savored the feeling of being fully joined with her.
He captured her mouth in another fierce kiss, swallowing her moans as he began to move, setting a relentless pace.
Meg's leg wrapped around Noel's waist, locking him in place as she met each of his powerful thrusts with her own eager ones.
“So tight” Noel panted against her lips, his grip on her hips tightening. "You feel incredible... always…fuck…so perfect for me."
Meg's nails scored down his back as she rode him harder, chasing the peak of pleasure.
Noel's fingers dug into Meg's ass, pulling her flush against him as he pistoned his hips, driving ever deeper.
“Look at me, baby," Noel commanded, his blue eyes blazing with lust as he held Meg's gaze.
“See how much I want you? How fuckin’ crazy I am for ya?” He panted.
Meg's vision blurred, her body trembling on the verge of climax.
She could feel every throbbing inch of Noel's cock stretching her, filling her completely. With a final, desperate arch of her back, Meg shattered, her orgasm crashing over her in waves of ecstasy.
“Fuckin’ love you” his lips parted, blue eyes locked on her.
Summary: being childhood friends had led to stronger bonds, but with you and Liam it ended up being a trope between feelings and fear. (This is the year 2008, because Liam was AND IS so fit. FYI I might make this into a mini-series)
Part 2
————————————————————————
You still remembered the first time you’ve met Liam, it had been at the age of 9.
Right away you became great friends with the problematic boy.
By age 10 you were hanging out with his other mates, and had shared a kiss on account of a game of truth and dare.
Till this day, at 35 it had been a memory that you will never ever forget.
It was the month of December—the chilly mornings, the warm jumpers, barely going out.
Just as you were enjoying a hot cup of tea, three loud knocks on the hard wooden door were heard throughout your flat.
Grumbling to yourself you got up and answered the door—seeing the same baby blue eyes you were used to seeing for years.
“Let me in?” He didn’t tear his gaze away from you at all.
You gave him a small nod and moving out of the way pushing the door wider for him to come in, his hands deep into his parka pockets—he’s got small droplets of rain stuck to it.
“Sorry for comin’ unannounced and whatnot but—er…I didn’t know where to go”
you assumed it had been that gossip magazine that just announced that Liam had broken up with his years long girlfriend.
Obviously he’s still devastated and that’s why he finds himself standing in front of you soaked in rain water.
“‘S alright…some tea?” You asked tilting your head a bit.
He didn’t say anything but nodded.
“Still milk with two sugars?” You added.
“That’s right.” He then walked towards the couch making himself comfortable.
Heading to the kitchen to prepare his cuppa, you couldn’t help but wonder if Liam was actually alright.
Maybe taking his mind off the gossips and the fame would be good for him…
Heading back to the living room of the small flat you handed him the hot cup of tea.
“Cheers” he muttered, taking a sip.
“So—why are you actually here for?” You asked.
He didn’t give you an answer right away, he actually hesitated.
“Just came to see you” he gave a nonchalant shrug.
With a small sigh you sat next to him crisscrossed.
He tilted his head back onto the couch with a dramatic groan, “I don’t even care anymore, y’know what I mean?”
Before you could muster your opinion he kept talking, “it’s just—they never got tired of talking shit ‘bout me.”
“Maybe if you stopped giving them material to write about, they’ll get bored.”
He shot you a look, no real heat behind it though. “You sound like me mam.”
You chuckled for the first time in this evening, his usual scowl softened. Moments like these reminded you of how long you’ve known this fucker.
Before the fame, before the headlines, before you saw him as this untouchable rockstar—he was just Liam, Same confident boy from Manchester who would nick biscuits from your mums kitchen.
“D’you remember when we were kids?” You grinned bringing it up to get his mind off things, “—and you made me climb a garden wall to nick apples, you had this vision or summat.”
He huffed a chuckle “yeah and you got stuck up there, like a right muppet”
“Oh, sod off” you scoffed, throwing a cushion at him. “You were the one who left me there!”
“Did not!” He laughed, catching the cushion and tossing it back. “I just took me time to get the ladder.”
“Right” you rolled your eyes.
For a moment, it was just you two like it had always been.
A long string of silence settled between.
Liam’s gaze lingered, his usual cocky confidence flickering into summat unreadable. You felt your breath hitch as he leaned forward slightly, icy blue eyes locked on yours.
“I miss that” he murmured.
“What?”
“Miss us—back when it was easy y’know?”
Your heart pounded, you knew exactly what he meant.
The space between you disappeared. One second you were sitting there, breath caught in your throat and the next, his lips were on yours—warm, insistent, desperate in a way.
Way better than the kiss you two shared at the age of 10.
When he pulled away he rested his forehead against yours, “tell me I didn’t just fuck everything up.” He murmured.
You let out a shaky breath, your fingers curled into his shirt “I’d be lying.”
Hii!! I love your writing soo much, your last Noel fic had me literally gigling and twirling my hair 😭❤️
I wanna resquest an imagine where reader is the guitarist of a rock band that is just as big as Oasis and Noel ends up meeting her and he is totally swooned by her talent and stuff... Also, Liam having a laugh out of Noel's face whenever he goes :0 when he sees reader passing by with her guitar lollll
“You rearrange my mind”
See what I did there? Little miles Kane reference for ya
————————————————————————
It was so surreal, I had become the next big thing in Britain’s new music.
My band “Everlast” had gained so much attention, and among all that attention was Noel.
I had a feeling he might fancy me as in an interview he was asked about my band.
“Thoughts on ‘Everlast’?”
“‘S alright, haven’t really listened to much of their stuff but they aren’t terrible.”
“What about the frontwoman?”
Noel had paused for a moment—“don’t have a proper opinion on ‘er but she’s a pretty bird.”
That interview itself made me overthink too hard.
Maybe I was just running on pure delusion, anywho—today there was a festival being held, Everlast was lucky enough to get a spot.
It was a massive stadium, heads left and right, the roadies and backstage crew running around trying to get their job’s done perfectly.
And we can’t forget the stuck up musicians cruising around like they own the place.
It had then been time for my band to go up, taking ahold of my guitar as I made my way backstage I stumble across the infamous Noel Gallagher.
“‘S that yours?” He asked me gesturing to the wine red strat in my hands.
“That’s right” I nodded.
He didn’t say anything just scanned every little detail about me, his blue eyes making sure to memorize everything.
“You’re up right now?”
“Uh huh—I kind of need to go..” I confirmed, quickly making my way out of that awkward exchange.
My bandmate Dave had seen what happened and had a smirk plastered onto his face “A Gallagher huh?”
“What? Fuck no.” I shook my head, stepping up on stage, my eyes settled on the screaming crowd of people right in front of me.
Strumming the first strings to a song, Everlast filled the festival with their music.
Little did I know, Noel was watching the band play from backstage.
His eyes haven’t left me at all he was smitten.
As Liam saw his brother not moving at all just staring at the band playing, made a bee line towards him.
He didn’t speak until he followed his gaze and saw exactly what he was looking at.
Letting out a teasing chuckle he spoke up “her?…never thought the day would come”
“Fuck off”
“Nah..nah, this is class—our kid letting a pretty bird get to him” he teased his older brother more.
“You don’t even know ‘er mate.” He added.
“I need to get to know ‘er.” Noel muttered.
“Yeah? Gonna charm her by starin’?”
“No you cunt, I’ll ask her out when she’s done.”
“Like hell you are.” Liam snorted.
“I am, just—fuck off”
“right, just let me know when she rejects you” he grinned and legged off.
As the hour passed, I got off of stage, letting the guitar roadie take my equipment.
Then grabbing an ice cold water that was offered to all four of us.
People kept getting my attention, my mouth just running about responding to questions and small talks.
Among that small chaos I feel a tap on my shoulder, turning my head around I see Noel again.
“Hi love—er…was wondering if I can talk to ya?”
“Uhm..yeah what about?” I asked cautiously.
“Just wanted to talk that ‘s all” he shrugged.
Who would say ‘no’ to this guy? So I walked around with him to do the so-called ‘talking’.
He seemed nervous, her kept twisting the golden ring on his finger.
Taking a lot of sips of the bottle of beer he held.
He probably noticed that I was growing bored of just walking in silence, so in a panic he spoke up.
“You were great up there” he blurted out.
Getting a compliment from Noel Gallagher isn’t an every day achievement so I took it at heart.
“You think so?”
He gave me a small nod “proper good with the guitar.”
A smile casted onto my face—“thank you Noel, means a lot”
“Yeah…hey erm…I got a question for ya” he turned to me, finally he stopped walking which was my cue to stop walking as well.
“What is it?”
“Fuck..listen—are you free tomorrow?” Finally his blue eyes found mine.
I hesitated an answer, but finally I nodded.
“Yeah I’m free.”
“Fancy gettin’ a drink with me?” His hands tugged on his jumper.
“That’ll be nice” I smiled
“Yeah..?”
“Mhm” I confirmed.
And as a rare sight he smiled.
We stood in comfortable silence as it got interrupted by a very loud accent.
“Our kid! You tell her you fancy her then?” He practically yelled getting attention from some individuals.
Obviously embarrassing Noel—gosh hurts the arrogant ego.
“Fuckin’ hell” Noel whispered under his breath, looking back at me.
“Sorry love, see you tomorrow yeah? Gotta deal with him” taking my hand and kissing the back of it, with a grin on his face he made his way out.
Like I said…surreal.
Not only am I getting more and more famous each day, but the Noel Gallagher had asked me out on a date.
Hi could I request a smutty romantic story based on Noel Gallagher and the reader being on there wedding night in Vegas ( so 90's Noel ) and Noel having gifts laid out for her maybe a custom jacket and shoes or perfume for her ( I would like to imagine a rich person's wardrobe 😊) and it leads to a romantic night
Warnings: smut & sweetheart Noel because we need him like that
I haven’t written smut in a hot while, so I apologize if it’s literal shit.
————————————————————————
It had been perfectly planned, from the small white chapel to the reception site.
It was so surreal—hours ago I had walked into a chapel as two people in love, and now I’m finally his.
Mrs.Gallagher
As for now being midnight we had arrived to our posh hotel, the neon lights of Vegas casting a soft glow over us.
The hotel room is massive, marbled floors, velvet drapes, king sized bed in the middle.
But among all of that stood my now husband Noel.
A cigarette dangling from his lips as he took my hand to lead me further into the room.
There was a row of beautifully wrapped gifts across a sleek leather chaise “Go on then.” Noel sent the green light to open them all up.
I carefully approached and took ahold of one of the smaller ones, inside was a diamond delicate bracelet.
Taking another gift out; a custom leather jacket, smooth to the touch with my new initials embroidered on the inside.
“Figured you might need something to match mine” he muttered, taking the cigarette out and flicking it on the ash tray.
“I love it” I grinned before taking the next gift, in there was a pair of saint laurent heels, the black finish shimmering under the light.
The last box contained a bottle of Maison Francis parfum.
He approached and wrapped his hands around my waist “like it?” He murmured, his breath warm against my neck.
I turned to face him to speak properly “Noel—this is…”
But Noel being Noel, he silenced me with a kiss, slow and deep, fingers tangling in my hair.
The weight of the night drifting away, the laughter, the way he looked at me when the words “I do” slipped out of him.
All of it settled between us.
He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. "Best night of our lives, yeah?"
I nodded, my eyes wide as his icy ones were filled with love and affection.
With a wicked smirk he scooped me up effortlessly towards the king sized bed, The city outside pulsed with energy, but this moment.
The one with Noel and I inside this suite was all that mattered.
His rough hands slid the straps of my white silk dress helping me out of it, his lips attached to my neck leaving soft kisses.
My hands tangled in his dark hair, tugging at it occasionally.
His fingers hooked onto the waistband of my panties, sliding then down—he pulled away from my neck and took me in.
“Proper beautiful you are..” he murmured softly, he ran a finger down my slick folds making me break a whine.
He pulled away and started to unbutton his shirt, throwing it down somewhere around the room and kneeling himself in front of me—kissing my thighs softly teasing me.
He reached my core, his hot breath against me.
“Noel please—“ I whined softly, in response he chuckled and kissed my wetness later then attaching his mouth onto me.
Swirling his tongue around my sensitive bundle of nerves
Soft moans spilling out of me, each one encouraging Noel.
Slowly he pushed in two fingers inside my tight channel knocking a sharp gasp from me.
“Shit…” he whispered before he started to move his fingers curling them perfectly
He kept using his mouth on me, making sure to drive me down the road of ecstasy.
Each time his fingers got faster, he was going down on me like a mad man.
As I got closer to the edge I started to squirm, he had noticed that I was moving too much so he used his free hand to hold my lower body down onto the bed.
“Stay still” he grunted out.
“Noel—‘m so close, please..” I gasped out
“Come for me love..c’mon on” he cooed
With a final whine I coated his digits with my juices.
“That’s it…” he whispered helping me ride down my orgasm, standing up back again he pulled his digits out and licked them clean making me watch him.
He leaned back towards me, kissing my forehead softly.
“Take this off yeah?” He gestured to the white bra that covered my breasts.
I nodded and took it off, as I did that he worked on his belt.
Sliding his trousers down and stepping out of them.
His hand trailed down to the waistband of his boxers taking his painful hard-on out of its confines.
Leaking of pre-cum, he ran his tip along my slit.
“Don’t tease” I muster out quietly
His icy blue eyes were watching my every move.
Before I could beg him again he pushed in making my words choke.
“Fucking hell” he sighed staying in his position for a while until he made sure I was okay.
Then his hips started to move, every thrust driving both of us mad.
He started to pick up the pace, picking the perfect rhythm, a hand went to my waist while the other on my hip.
Every little noise I made encouraged him to be rougher and faster.
His breathing became raged, “fuck..you feel so good..”
“Please..” I could barely think clearly, his rough finger tips trailed down from my stomach towards my clit.
Making quick small circles against it—completely making me get closer to the edge.
“Gosh—’m so fuckin’ close” I whined letting soft pants out.
“I know darlin’..just a little more, you can do it”
He fucked me deep and fast, that was enough to make me squeal and reach my orgasm.
Then suddenly feeling his hot seed coating my walls white.
“That’s my girl” he praised, stayed in his position and kissed me tenderly—“I love you”
Where the infamous Liam Gallagher meets a journalist so intriguing but also can’t seem to put down his arrogant attitude down, driving them both madly in love.
————————————————————————
She had known who Liam is, she met him about a week ago in a dimly lit pub. The smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke filled her nostrils.
she remembers seeing him for the first time with his icy blue eyes going back and forth between her and the blonde girl under his arm.
His pink lips were slightly parted, she could have easily forgotten him if it wasn’t for his obnoxious big mouth.
he had came by to grab a drink by the bar, seeing me sitting on the stools as I nursed my drink.
Liam arched a brow, taking her in. "Alright love?"
"Alright" she muttered, he knew her as a journalist.
Noel had mentioned her before describing her as an "ungrateful, loud mouth, good to nothing writer".
mostly because he was in a bad mood already.
"Came to write bollocks 'bout me?" he asked snarky, a smirk appearing across his face.
with a sign she replied back "No need, you write about yourself every single time you open your mouth."
A laugh erupted from his lips before he could even register what she had said.
“Got some bite, don’t ya?”
He took a sip of his G&T and continued blabbing about, “So did you come to write about me or not?”
Finally she turned her head to look at him “You assume a lot huh?”
Slowly a cocky grin formed onto his face. “Only if I’m right”
“Right.”
“So, tell me…what’s it like bein’ next to the most fascinating man in Britain?”
She exhaled a laugh at that, proper egotistical. “Dunno, haven’t met him yet.”
“Oi! And here I was, ‘bout to tell you’ve got the best eyes I’ve seen all night!” He shot back.
“You do this a lot don’t you?”
Liam shrugged “Do wha’?”
“Charm your way in, and make people forget how insufferable you are.”
He leaned in further looking into her eyes, the faint smell of alcohol, cigarettes, and his cologne making her cringe. “Is it workin’?”
For a bit she didn’t respond, mustering a reply—“don’t think so.”
“Oh well I know so, it’ll work trust me” he looked away from him and finished up the glass of G&T slamming it back down.
“Tell ya what” he said, slouching a bit in the stool “come to my show Saturday night, you can’t write about me proper if you’ve never seen me live.”
She huffed a small laugh, “I know exactly what your shows are like, a bunch of Blokes screaming about.”
“You haven’t seen me do it” he protested.
For a small second—he really thought that she would consider it.
“Tempting…” sarcasm slipping from her lips “but I’ll pass.”
Liam frowned at that “What? Scared you’ll enjoy it?”
“Nah.” She shook her head, “just not interested mate” she slipped out from the stool, she didn’t really want to deal with a Gallagher.
Not a fucking chance.
“Goodnight, Gallagher.”
So it was that week later.
She didn’t know about Liam after that time at the pub, thank god for that.
She had interviews to conduct and deadlines, she really couldn’t waste her time thinking about arrogant rockstars that think they’re gods gift or summat.
But of course, he had to show up today.
Inside the sleek London studio, getting ready to interview yet another musician.
“Alright?”
She glanced up just as he flopped onto the leather sofa next to her.
“You’re not supposed to be in here” she furrowed her eyebrows at him, she was not informed to interview Liam whatsoever.
“Was in the area” he shrugged “Figured I’d pop in.”
She shook her head and let out a small Scoff “luck me” she muttered under her breath.
The interview panel was running behind schedule just a tad, one of the younger assistants being a girl barely out of her teens struggling with carrying equipment.
Nobody but Liam noticed it, like a proper lad he strolled over and helped her steady the heavy case.
“Here y’are love, where’s it goin’?”
The assistant stammered but managed to tell him that it goes to the sound desk.
Without a second thought he legged off towards the sound desk room.
After seeing that interaction with the assistant and Liam she saw something different—something real.
It’ll drive her mad for sure, she shook that horrible thought away once he made a bee line back to her.
Seeing her staring, a smirk appeared “what?”
“Nothin’” she muttered and looked away.
————————————————————————
Later that evening as she was picking up her stuff, found the feel of paper in her purse.
Taking it out and letting her eyes scan through it.
Oasis—ticket for tomorrow night.
Bastard…he had slipped it in without her noticing.
And yet, a smile tugged at her lips.
And shockingly enough she attended the concert.
It was packed inside—shoulder to shoulder, the smell of sweat, beer, and just pure chaos.
The lights were low and the crowd was buzzin’
Once Oasis took the stage the cheers erupted.
In the middle of it, she stood frozen in the crowd. Her eyes constantly drifting towards Liam, and Even with hundreds of people jumping and singing along he had found her.
By the end of the show, she stayed for a bit until some security guard came by.
Tapping on her shoulder and telling her to go backstage where the band wants her, or more like where Liam wants her.
So as she passed by the long hallways he stood with sweat-damp hair, hands stuffed into his pockets.
“Knew you’d show”
“I did.”
They stood in comfortable silence before he spoke again “yer gonna admit it then?”
“Admit what?” Furrowing her brows.
“That you’re mad for me.”
She scoffed, but he was getting too close.
Before she could even muster a smart arsed reply he had took ahold of her waist and pulled her closer.
The other brushing against her jaw as he leaned in—and kissed her.
It wasn’t soft.
Nor sweet.
It’s Liam fuckin’ Gallagher.
Before she knew it she had kissed him back, letting the emotions take over completely.
The taste of alcohol and ciggies were very prominent.
And then—she pulled away.
“I knew it” he grinned.
“God you are the most arrogant, self absorbed—“
“And yet you kissed me back” he cut her blabbering out.
She hated that he’s right.
“Say…can I take you out on a proper date?” His blue eyes glimmered as he looked at her.
“A date?”
“That’s right.” He nodded “you. Me. A proper date, none of this journalist-rockstar bollocks. Just you and me.”
She hesitated a bit but finally…”fine, one drink.”
He stole another quick peck on the lips and grabbed her hand.
“C’mon then love, let’s get out of here”.
————————————————————————
A/N: I am back chat, thought I’ll make a little something, it’s sweet and quick. I’ll alsoooo appreciate some requests just wanna get back into writing and all that.
kaledo-art
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