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@halftheworldawayy
welcome to halftheworldawayy's blog !!
"masterlist!" "mainblog!" "tags!" "the masterplan!" (gcesters dni!!)
please note: this is a sideblog, so i'm unable to follow you back! if u get followed by @angelskeetz, (formerly pr3ttywhenicrybaby) its me!! tyy <3
yes, I do frequently update my masterlist, so you can find everything there! Requests are open!
part two of the masterplan coming soon...
read part one here
the masterplan!
liam gallagher x fem!reader
word count: 5,142
summary: you're tough. free-spirited. and you know how to put on a show. you're working two jobs, one at a local craft store and one at the pub. liam keeps jumping from one relationship to the next; a mess. when he meets you at the pub, all you both are thinking is how much you hate the other. when his manager comes up with a plan for you and liam to "date" to ease the steam with the press, you both despise it. but you're getting paid for it.
cw: fluff, angst, suggestivness, enemies to lovers, fake dating, harsh language, kissing, light jealousy, mentions of drinking and smoking, mild implications but no actual smut
(important note: this is only part one! im aiming for two long parts </3)
1995.
you're head pounded like hell. drinking was not a great choice last night. you've had way too many hangovers in your lifetime, it didn't hurt that bad. last night was the most you've drank in a while. you went out on a date with some buff guy who wouldn't shut up about his gym routine. when you ditched him, you just went back to the pub. not a good choice.
well, it was time to get to work. again. at the pub. you sighed, slipping your jacket on and locking up the craft store you worked at that was just around the corner from your flat.
౨ৎ
sweat dripped down your forehead, your chest rising and falling rapidly. the bus was late. super late. reports were that it got delayed, but all you cared about was making your shift. the bus was crowded, stopping nearly at every stop, you decided to get off half way and run the rest of the way to the pub.
you arrived at the pub at nine, the crowd heavy and the bar packed.
"shit." you muttered, looking up at the clock on the wall. your shift started at eight thirty, but it's a good thing liv covered for you.
she was cleaning a few glasses with a rag when she spotted you. she slammed the glass down on the counter, widening her eyes.
you sighed, running behind the counter.
her arms flew open, and her expression said "where the hell were you?"- well, up until she actually yelled, "where the hell were you?"
"sorry, liv. the bus got delayed." you wiped sweat off of your forehead, removing your jacket.
"so why'r ya sweating?" she crossed her arms over her chest.
liv had short dark hair, the fringe of her bangs falling slightly over her eyes. she chewed pink bubblegum, her lips smacking as she talked. liv was you're best friend you met in uni. you even graduated together, and stayed friends while working small jobs. her parents had a bit more money, helping her out while you were on your own, working two jobs.
"I ran." you said, trying to catch your breath.
she patted your shoulder. "go get your uniform on before jesse murders ya"
"got it." you snapped your fingers, carrying your jacket to the employees only room. there was nothing in there except for your lockers and the "uniform" stashed inside.
you removed your shirt, only in your black lacy bra. you clasped your apron around your waist, and then froze.
you felt someone's presence, turning your head around.
jesse.
you sighed, shaking your head. "what do you want?"
a cigarette hung out past his lips, and he chuckled. "just making sure you do yer job"
"mhm." you nodded, turning back to unfold your white button up. "i'm doing it."
he didn't say anything. you turned around to face him after a while. why was he still here?
"can I get dressed in private?" you asked with a furrowed brow.
he just sighed, jesse's eyes never leaving yours. "are we good?"
you froze.
you and jesse broke up two months ago. you couldn't take his constant drinking problems, so you kicked him out of your flat. but you two were already working together, considering that's how you met. he got promoted, being the pub's manager. it was awkward at times.
"what do you mean are we good? this ended, jes. I don't know how many times I have to tell you." you shook your head.
"you know I could just fire you for speaking to me like that" he giggled.
"you wouldn't. I'm the best part of this place." you shot him a sarcastic smile as you slid your button up over your head.
"by the way, boss. you should just eliminate these stupid uniforms. this shirt is way too tight" you grunted, adjusting the buttons in your small mirror that hung on the wall of your locker.
"just buy a new one." jesse shrugged.
you sighed, screwing open your red lipstick. you applied it carefully, making sure not to mess it up with the dim lighting of the locker room.
"jes, can you work on getting a new lightbulb in here? so fuckin dark" you clucked your tongue.
"i miss you." he blurted out.
you froze, trying to process the words he just said. you squeezed your eyes shut, hoping the lighting was too dark for him to see your expression in the mirror.
you turned around, walking up to him.
"it wasn't gonna work, jes." you said before leaving and shutting the door to the locker room behind you.
౨ৎ
nine thirty. the counter is full of sweaty people commanding drinks.
ten thirty. the pub is still packed, the bass thumping through the floors.
eleven thirty. an actual decent song plays. they usually play shit music.
you work at a late venue, so you'll be open all night. your head still pounds. the shit music isn't helping.
eleven forty five. "hey pretty, one cold lager" a man tapped his hand on the counter.
it caught your attention. not only his hand startling you, but the nickname. you made a disgusted face at him.
"my name is right here." you pointed at your name tag, turning your head around to go prepare his drink.
he smiled, thrown off by your reaction.
"one cold lager." you slid the beer to him.
"yea, thanks pretty-" he stopped himself.
your eyes widened.
he just sipped his beer, not minding to correct himself.
"good?" you asked, leaning on the counter.
"tastes like shite." he nodded, holding up his beer.
your expression dropped. dick.
you walked away, your eyes not leaving his. you saw him before. as you constructed other drinks at the other side of the counter, you squinted at him. then you started to check the boxes.
-old lad from school? no.
-past boyfriend? no.
-coworker who left and actually got a life? couldn't be.
-famous dude? no.
you internally laughed at that one. until it clicked. you slid an old man his guinness when it hit you. wait. he was famous.
-rockstar? yes.
ohhhhhh. liam. the fuck was his last name?
౨ৎ
it came back to you when liv was telling you something on you're ten minute break.
"and he was acting like he owned the place- all I wanted was a cig, not to get in bed with him- y'know?" liv asked you.
you weren't listening.
liv called your name a few times. then she waved a hand in your face. you finally snapped out of it, taking the cig from her fingers.
"gallagher." you whispered and shook your head as you blew the cigarette smoke out past your lips.
"you're whack today, you know?" liv shook her head, going back inside.
you spent a few more minutes with your cig before stomping on it with your sneaker and heading back inside the pub.
you wondered about him. what the papers said. "gallagher loves the groupies" or other shit that randomly arrived in your head about how much of a dickhead he was.
then, you heard someone call you. it was only the most dickhead thing to do. of course it was him. you whipped your head around to see him wave at you.
"hey, pretty! c'mere."
you glared at him, slowly walking over.
"can I get another?" liam asked.
you crossed your arms over your chest. "I thought it tasted shit."
"it does."
you squinted at him. alright then.
"you could have asked her. or her." you pointed around the room to the other girls behind the counter.
"I know but its fun to see you pissed off." he grinned.
what?
you just took his empty glass, refilling it. normally you'd just give a person a new glass but he was being annoying. fun to see you pissed off? sure. you could play this game.
you slammed it down on the counter. "refill." you called to him shortly before walking away, returning to your job.
౨ৎ
at one fifteen, you returned to his spot at the counter, taking a few other orders. you caught sight of liam, this time a redhead wrapped on his lap, his hands stuffed deep in her hair. his lips worked at her neck while she laughed loudly. if anything, it disgusted you.
how many women did he do this with every single night?
when his lips returned to her mouth, he finally opened his eyes to look at you. you were glaring at him while making some weird pink drink a girl with a high-pitched voice that really pissed you off ordered.
liam slid his hand from her waist to rest lower near the end of her hips, and you just blinked. what were you gonna do?
he loved pissing you off, so there's that. but you really didn't care. was he trying to flirt with you while making out with another girl?
dick-ish thing to do.
she whispered something in his ear and he smiled and nodded. next thing you knew, she dragged him to the back of the pub. maybe the bathroom? oh Lord.
౨ৎ
he came back to his seat at the counter around one thirty, running a shaky hand through his hair. he was sweating like you did when you ran for the pub earlier tonight.
you chuckled to yourself continuing to clean the glass in your hands. you shook your head with a big grin plastered on your face.
"what's so funny, then?" liam leaned his elbows on the counter.
you continued to laugh. "s'funny is all"
"yeah, what is?" he asked again.
you wiped your nose, and tried to compose yourself.
"you fucked her, then?" you matched his position on the counter.
he wasn't expecting that.
liam scoffed. "that's none of yer business"
"I'd like to disagree with that. you were looking at me while touching her, why is that?" you squinted.
he shook his head, trying to deflect from the topic, teasing the rim of his glass with his index finger.
"what's that, liam? at a loss for words now?" you teased with a playful pout.
his eyes shot up to look at you. "wha'd ya say?"
"liam." you repeated.
he squinted. "you know my name?"
"yeah and you know mine but you just refuse to use it. maybe I should start calling you somethin" you muttered.
he chuckled. "and what would you call me?"
"dickhead." you smiled enthusiastically.
he huffed a laugh. "yer impossible."
"you aren't the first to tell me." you patted the counter once and set off again to give out drinks and bartend.
౨ৎ
two thirty. time to leave. finallyyyyyy.
you made your way over to the dressing room, taking off your guinness stained button up and threw it into your shoulder bag. a cold shiver ran up your spine, being only in your bra again.
it was liv's turn to lock up tonight, but she scored a hottie at the counter and you told her to go for it.
now you were all alone, or so you thought.
you sighed deeply, rubbing your temples.
"hard day?" someone asked.
you jumped at the noise, whipping your head around.
"liam?!?" you asked, your eyes widening.
"what?" he shrugged.
"you scared the shit out of me, dickhead." you clutched your heart.
then, you looked down. you were only in your bra. shit.
you looked up at liam, and he had a lazy grin plastered on his face.
"can you turn around you perv?" you spat.
"cant" he laughed.
ewwww.
you scoffed, turning around yourself. you put on your regular shirt, adjusting your shoulder bag. after locking your locker, you slammed it shut and retied your shoelaces.
you looked up at liam. "how did you even get back here?"
"the door was open." he shrugged.
this was too much for you tonight. of course the door was open but it had a fucking sign that said employees only. he shouldn't be in here.
"don't fuck with me gallagher." you shook your head.
"its the truth."
"it says employees only. I thought you were a rockstar, not a bartender." you sighed, heading for the door.
he grabbed your wrist.
"what did you just say?" he asked.
you were confused. did you offend him or something?
"you're a rockstar. not a bartender." you repeated slowly.
he smiled, crossing his arms. "so you know who I am then?"
"I know who you are. liam gallagher. frontman of oasis. the life changing 'band of the century' shit you like to say with your cocky tone," you rambled, using your hands while you talked.
his eyes widened, nodding sarcastically.
"you're with a new woman every night, and your brother writes all the songs you sing. sound about correct?"
he just stared for a second. then, he started to clap. agonizingly slow.
"wow. I'm impressed. were any of those supposed to be insults, pretty?" he tilted his head.
"all of them, actually." you matched his tone, tilting your head as well.
you turned to leave, but then returned to his space. "and don't call me that." you pointed a stern finger at him and then aimed it into his chest.
"its the truth, though, isn't it?" he called to you as you exited the locker room.
you called to him from the front door of the pub, "get out of there or I'm locking you in there all night"
he scoffed. "you wouldn't"
"oh I would. I'd lock you in here for sooo long,"
liam rolled his eyes, but you couldn't see considering there was a whole room seperating the two of you.
"so long that you're groupies are gonna have to find another frontman to mess around with"
he finally erupted from the locker room, giving you eyes with daggers in them. you smiled sarcastically.
"get out of my pub, gallagher"
he smiled. "i'd be honored to."
౨ৎ
"what do you want me to do?" liam shouted at his manager.
"liam, just stop fooling around. the press is taking the ball and running with it" tom shook his head.
"he cant help 'imself" noel chuckled, slapping liam's thigh.
liam shot noel a glare. "shut the fuck up."
"chill" noel shook his head.
"liam, you have a bad image right now. fooling around is the whole picture for you. it doesn't have to be."
"so what, you suggest I get a girlfriend?" liam rolled his eyes.
tom froze, his eyes darting to noel's.
noel smiled. "that's not a bad idea."
"what? fuck no-" liam shook his head, getting up out of the office chair.
"liam, don't leave." tom called to him.
liam lingered in the doorway. "what?" he gritted through his teeth.
"just hear me out. we give you a staged girlfriend. paparazzi photos. the press calms down with your bad image and starts taking you for the man who actually cares about the girls he sleeps with" tom thought out loud.
liam's face curled into a disgusted expression.
"makes no fucking sense. staged girlfriend? what happens when I break up with her? wont I just go back to the same thing as before? get yer fucking head together, lad" liam scoffed.
"liam yer not gettin' it. we're tryna steer you away from that" noel spinned in his office chair.
"no, i'm gettin it. I just can't believe you're being serious. its ridiculous is what it is." liam shook his head, not letting up.
"liam. it would distract the press. its perfect timing. once your second album releases, nobody will care about your love life. if you break up with her, no one will care considering there's new music out." tom explained.
liam sighed.
"he's considering itttt" noel smiled at tom.
"i told you to shut up" liam shot back.
noel put his hands up in defense, his face curling into a glare.
"fine." liam sighed.
"you know any birds liam?" tom asked.
liam squinted. then, he chuckled. "one. but not 'er, shes fucking whipped. difficult, with an attitude." he shook his head.
"that's perfect." tom smiled.
"no. please. she's crazy." liam begged.
"where the fuck did u find her, then?" noel lifted a brow.
"the pub. she works there."
noel let out a low whistle.
౨ৎ
you were working your shift again, cooped up behind the counter and serving drinks to already drunk bums.
"right there." liam pointed at you.
"cmon, i don't wanna date 'er. there's like a billion girls" liam whined.
"shut up liam" tom shook his head, walking towards the counter.
"two guinness, please ma'am." tom asked kindly.
you squinted. "who are you then?" you asked, nodding at tom.
"im his manager." tom responded civil.
you chuckled. "why'r you at the pub with your manager?" you asked liam with a lazy grin.
liam looked at tom with heavy eyes. "go on. tell 'er."
you squinted.
tom took a deep breath. "listen, i want you to date liam."
you froze. after a few seconds of looking between liam and tom for help, you burst into laughter.
"what the fuck?" you said through laughs.
liam looked down at the counter, and tom just watched you laugh with a straight face.
"you're not serious. right?" you wiped at your eyes which now had tears forming at the edges. you laughed way too hard. how could he say it so easily?
none of them responded. then, your expression dropped. this was serious.
"no. absolutely not." you said immediately.
you grabbed their guinness and placed it down on the counter, liam almost downing the whole thing.
"liam, help me out here" you scoffed.
"it wasn't my idea" he shrugged.
tom furrowed his brows. "actually it was."
"i was joking!" liam snapped.
"can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?" you crossed your arms over your chest.
"can you get off work right now?" liam asked.
you sighed. "i can try."
you told liv to cover for you while you had a talk with liam. she responded with,
"he's a cute lad" and smacked your shoulder.
you just smiled and nodded, knowing to you that was not true.
liam and tom were sat at a small wooden table, waiting for you to join them. you sat down at the table, sinking into a small wooden chair.
"ive got ten minutes. be quick." you rubbed your tired eyes.
"so, liam. he's wild." tom started.
liam made a disgusted face at his choice of words. your eyes widened, playfully looking at liam. he buried his face in his hands.
"he can't have flings forever. the press paints him as a dirty player." tom started.
"i wonder why that is" you mumbled, picking at one of your cuticles.
"oh my Goddd" liam groaned in embarrassment at your words.
"we want to distract the press with a fake girlfriend. just until the new album comes out, and you guys can break up. it'd be like nothing- no one would care about his relationship when oasis drops a new album."
you couldn't believe it. you stared blankly at them.
"surely you are aware that women aren't toys?" you asked with a furrow of your brows.
"here we go" liam rolled his eyes.
"what, liam? you got something to say?" you raised your voice.
he didn't say anything, just shot you a glare.
"i dont want to be used as some toy. what am I even getting out of this? im just helping you out of the kindness of my heart?" you scoffed.
"well, kinda, yeah-" liam started before tom interrupted him.
"we could pay you." tom blurted.
liam and you widened your eyes. "what?" you both said at the same time.
tom gulped. "we could pay you to date him."
you paused, considering it.
"how much?"
"two thousand" tom offered.
what. the. fuck. that was enough to help you pay the bills for your flat. to actually get a decent amount of groceries. the new record you wanted.
"two thousand pounds to date him?" you pointed at liam.
liam scoffed. "what, s'not enough for ya, princess?"
you were about to choke him across the table with all the stupid pet names he used for you.
"its enough. its...alot." you breathed shakily.
"c'mon, help me out? to shut him up?" liam smiled.
"fine. but stop smiling its creeping me out." you waved your finger in his face.
he frowned.
"what do I gotta do? hold his hand like we're in fourth grade?" you sighed.
"jus' kiss all over my pretty face and come to my gigs." liam grinned, puckering his lips playfully.
"oh lord." you mumbled.
"exactly. we'll arrange for you two to go out, attract paparazzi, that stuff" tom said.
"i can't believe im actually doing this." you confessed with a long sigh.
"don't worry, princess. ill treat you good." liam grinned.
"i have to get back to work." you said abruptly, ignoring liam's words.
౨ৎ
you stood outside liam's flat on saturday, a cig between your fingers. you blew out the cigarette smoke, getting a good look at his building.
a chilly breeze blew past you, blowing your hair in your face. you were wearing a long fur coat, one of your only valuable investments when you got your first big paychecks. you wore a fitted white button up, one that was yours and saved on the side for occasions, not for work at the pub.
your black bra was a bit visible through the shirt but you didn't care considering it was expensive. a black mini skirt and sheer tights covered you from your hips to your toes, and a pair of shiny black loafers were added to top it off.
liam called you earlier that week and asked you to "wear something attractive" you scoffed and told him to go to hell.
but here you were, wearing a dangerously adorable outfit.
you walked towards the door, pulling it open and walking up to the lift. the lift's doors opened, and you looked down at your hand, black ink with his address and floor on it.
fifth floor, you read in your head.
of that call with liam, it was full of bickering and arguments, but you two also had a laugh at some moments. you totally grilled him when he asked you to "wear something attractive," though.
you were attractive which pissed you off. I have nice hips, you thought. you wore this skirt mainly to show them off.
the bell dinged, and the doors opened. you walked down the hallway, your loafers clacking on the white marble floors. you knocked on the door to his room, and leaned on the wall beside the door. you tapped your foot. what was takin' him so long?
the door flew open to a sweaty liam with a scared expression.
"y/n? what're you doin' here?" he asked, his breath ragged.
you stuttered as he adjusted the buttons on his shirt. then you heard a voice.
"who's there?" a female voice called from inside.
realization sparked in your mind. he had someone over. a woman over.
"im interrupting something." you clucked your tongue, moving down the hall already.
"no, wait-" liam called to you, but you were already rushing away from him.
fucking dirty motherfu-
you couldn't even finish your thought.
he grabbed your wrist forcefully, turning you around. "wait." he panted out of breath.
you couldn't tell if it was from running after you or from his prior activities.
"what, liam?" you sighed.
"why are you here?" he asked.
you glared at him. "we planned something today. don't you remember?" you crossed your arms over your chest.
"that was today?" he ran a hand across his sweaty forehead.
"yes. oh my God, liam. you know what? I'm out. I cant do this shit with you. I'm sorry." you shook your head, turning away from him.
"no! you cant" he grabbed your wrist.
"let go!" you tried to wiggle out of his grip.
he dragged you by your wrist and pressed you up against the nearest wall.
"i said let go, liam" you gritted through your teeth.
"no." he shot back.
you fucking hated him.
"why do you want me to be your fake girlfriend when you have yet another girl in your bedroom?" you asked.
"it was just a one night thing, the press won't know-"
"fucking hell, liam!" you pushed him forcefully, sending him backwards.
"you just don't get it, do you?" you shook your head.
"women. aren't. toys. for. pleasure." you spelled it out slowly.
"I know."
"so why are you using me? and her? are you even in this deal?"
he didn't respond.
"you want to keep ruining your life? go ahead. I'm out."
"y/n, please." he called to you as you ran down the hall.
you shook your head.
"please." he asked calmly.
that's what stopped you. he didn't follow you, just asked.
you turned your head around to look at him, alone and wanting a second chance right there in the hallway.
"listen, lets go out for a drink, okay? talk at the pub or summat"
you came closer to him with an exhausted sigh. "you have a woman in your bed."
"oh. yeah. I do." he noticed.
you chuckled. "you are so insane and so unfair-"
"you can stop there" he smiled.
"I fucking hate you." you shook your head with a laugh.
"ah, I know. you only say it one hundred times every time I call ya"
౨ৎ
"how'd you get rid of her?" you asked, placing your bottle of beer up to your lips.
"told her i had to go to my mam's." he chuckled.
you shook your head in disbelief.
you and liam were walking along the river near the small dog park and the great seafood restaurant around the corner. you could smell buttery shrimp from down the street.
he wanted to stay at the pub, but you told him you were cooped up there almost all the time and wanted to get out. he offered a walk along the river. the paparazzi's favorite spot to take photos in london.
you spotted one man with a black hat on and black sunglasses, trying to stay as secretive as possible. he snapped one photo with his small camera the second you averted your eyes, pretending not to see him.
"you always get followed like this?" you asked.
he took a big gulp of his beer. "what'd ya mean?"
"there's a photographer." you said quietly.
"where?" he squinted his eyes, looking around.
"no! don't look, dickhead." you shook your head, pulling the sleeve of his jacket.
"sorry" he took another sip from his bottle.
"I mean, i've gotten used to it" he answered your previous question.
"that's kinda sad. no offense." you tilted your head.
"I guess" liam shrugged.
liam looked to a bench nearby, finally spotting the photographer. he snapped one more shot. liam furrowed his brow. "see him now" he told you.
"yeah? ignore him" you said.
"how? he's takin' photos of me." liam huffed a laugh.
"jus' focus on me." you offered.
this was the nicest its been with him. you and liam don't have a jolly time together. he's usually a dick. but right now, he wasn't. he was just a man. one you understood.
liam kept darting his head out to find the paparazzi, and you tried to ignore it. when he did it more than twice, you had to say something.
"don't look at him, liam." you said softly.
"kay." he mumbled, placing his beer up to his lips.
"so...he's takin' photos." liam said, his tone suspicious.
your brow perked up. "yeah...so?"
"so like..." he widened his eyes like it was obvious. then you realized.
an evil grin spread across your lips. "you want me to hold yer hand, liam?"
"nah, nah. not if you don't want to" he shook his head.
"okay. then i wont" you took a sip of beer.
you saw his facial expression shift uncomfortably out of the corner of your eye. you smiled dangerously.
"but yer like supposed to be my girlfriend, so..."
you sighed, reaching your hand out to hold his hand.
his cheeks went pink, feeling your cold hands in his.
"Jesus" he muttered.
you furrowed your brows.
"yer really cold." he said. "I have a pair of gloves in my pocket. you want?"
your expression softened. wait- was liam acting like he cared? of course he was- the cameras were out.
"you don't have to overdo it. i think that lad is gone" you smirked.
"i'm not doin it for him. you just feel really cold." he said.
you locked eyes with him, suddenly something different about him.
he pulled out the gloves from his pocket, with a small, "here."
he grabbed the beer from your hand and placed it on the railing seperating the boardwalk from the river, and held your cold hands. he slid on the soft gloves, immediately giving warmth to your hands. your cheeks were pink, and you muttered a tiny, "thank you."
"you can use my scarf if you need it too" he said softly, reaching for your fuzzy hands to hold them.
he passed you your beer again, and you sipped carefully as your nose went cold.
౨ৎ
the next day, you woke up the piercing sound of the telephone. it was all the way in the kitchen. you were in your soft bed.
"ughhhhh" you groaned, rubbing your eyes as you trudged over to the telephone.
"hello?" you asked with a loud yawn.
"did you see the fucking paper?" liam asked.
you squinted. "liam? that you?"
"yup. look at the paper. or the news. we're everywhere."
you yawned again, opening your door to see if the morning paper was dropped off. of course, 'the sun' posted it on the front page.
a picture of liam sliding the gloves over your fingers. the way you looked at him, so in love. you were a good actress. it scared you.
you chuckled. "cover photo, huh?" you asked, placing the telephone between the crook of your neck as you fixed your hands on the newspaper in front of you.
"yepppp. you got the paper?" he asked.
"mhm."
"in yer hands? are you lyin'?" he asked hesitantly.
you rolled your eyes. "yes liam, it's in my hand" you confirmed.
"go to the second page." liam told you over the phone.
you flipped the page, squinting down at the small print.
"read it for me. i cant see yet" you said through a yawn.
"oasis frontman sparks a new romance with mystery girl" liam read.
"y'know, pretty, it's a lot about you. people wanna know who this mystery girl is" liam paused reading.
"hmm. they'll find out sooner or later" you shrugged.
"I'll ask tom to schedule sumthin' else for us?" he asked.
"sure." you said while rubbing your eyes.
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oooo guys you are not ready for the fic im cooking up
its gonna be soooolong
a liamon wallpaper i made 😌💞
seven
pairing: pre!fame noel x f!reader cw: childhood trauma, implied domestic violence, abusive household, emotional neglect, and references to physical abuse. nothing graphic, but please take care while reading. wc: 6,3k author’s note: i cried a lot while writing this, like thats my baby !!! (sigh) anyways... once again, my number one muse did what she does best. this time, it was seven’s turn. if you can, please listen to it while reading this fic. it truly has one of the most moving melodies and lyrics i’ve ever heard, and it shaped so much of what i wanted this story to feel like. this one is written a little differently from what i usually do, so i really hope you enjoy it and appreciate it for what it is.
happy birthday, noel.
1974
Today I meet a boy at school called Noel.
At first, I thought he hated me. He sits two desks away from me and looks at everyone like they are stupid, even Mrs. Kelly, and Mrs. Kelly is not stupid because she knows all the times tables without looking. He has brown hair and a face like he is always thinking something mean. When I ask him if he wants one of my biscuits at break, he says no, but then looks at it for so long that I leave it on the wall beside him.
He eats it when he thinks I am not looking.
After that, he tries to pull my hair two times. The first time, I tell him he is horrible. The second time, I kick his shoe and he says, “Ow,” but he is laughing, so I know he is not really mad.
I decide he is my friend. He does not decide anything because Noel does not like deciding nice things out loud.
Mum says some boys are strange when they like you. Dad says that is not an excuse to pull girls’ hair. I agree with Dad, but I still sit next to Noel the next day because he lets me copy his drawing of a spaceship and he does the best explosions with red pencil.
The first time he comes over, Mum makes fish and chips, and Noel eats so fast that Dad tells him, “Slow down, son, nobody’s taking it off you.” Noel looks at him funny and then he eats slower.
I show him my room after tea. He says it is too pink, even though it is not that pink, only the curtains and the blanket and my little lamp. I tell him his face is too miserable. He says my doll looks possessed. I tell him he is not allowed to insult Susan because Susan has been through a lot.
He asks, “What’s she been through?”
I say, “You.”
And he laughs so hard he has to sit on the floor.
After that, he comes over all the time. Sometimes after school. Sometimes on Saturdays. Sometimes when it is raining and his coat is wet and his hair sticks to his forehead. Mum always makes him take his shoes off by the door. Dad always pretends to be annoyed when Noel and I are too loud, but he never really is.
Noel likes our kitchen best. He says it is because Mum has better biscuits than his mum, but I do not think that is true because Peggy is lovely and she buys us ice cream when we see her near the shops. She always says, “You two behave yourselves,” and Noel says, “We always do,” even if we absolutely do not.
Peggy takes us to the park sometimes too. She lets us run ahead, but not too far, and one time she brings Noel’s baby brother, Liam, who is only little and has big eyes and cheeks like bread rolls. I think I might die because he is so cute. Noel says babies are boring and loud, but when Liam drops his little toy on the ground, Noel picks it up before anyone else can.
I tell him he loves his baby brother.
Noel says, “Shut up.” That means yes.
Peggy is nice, and Paul is nice too when I see him, but I never go inside Noel’s house. Not once.
He comes to mine. I go to the park with his mum. We buy sweets from the corner shop. We sit on the kerb and make up stories about the people walking past. But I never go in.
When I ask Noel why, he just shrugs. “Nothing to see,” he says.
After a while, I stop asking.
One night, he sleeps over because Mum says it is too late for him to walk back, even though his house is not that far. She says it in her serious voice, the one that means I am not supposed to argue.
We make a tent in my bedroom with two chairs, my blanket and Dad’s torch. Noel says it is a rubbish tent because it keeps falling down on his head. I say it only falls because his head is too big.
He says, “Your head’s bigger.”
I say, “No, it isn’t.”
He says, “Yeah, it is. Full of nonsense.”
I shine the torch under my chin and make a ghost face at him. He does not laugh that time. He is lying on his back, looking at the blanket above us like it is the sky. The torch makes little yellow shapes on his face. For a bit, he does not say anything.
Then he says, very quiet, “I don’t like my house.”
I wait because I think maybe he is going to say more but he doesn't.
So I say the first thing that makes sense. “I think your house is haunted.” Noel looks at me. I whisper, “Your dad is always mad.”
He looks away again. “Yeah,” he says after a bit. “Maybe.”
I ask, “Are you scared of ghosts?”
“No.”
“You can be. I won’t tell.”
“I’m not scared of ghosts.”
“What are you scared of then?”
He pulls a thread from the blanket and twists it around his finger. “Nothing.” But he says it like he is lying.
So I move my pillow closer to his and tell him he can sleep in the tent if he wants, because ghosts cannot get inside tents. Everyone knows that. Noel says that is stupid. Then he stays in the tent anyway.
In the morning, everyone is already awake except for him. Dad is in the kitchen with the paper, Mum is putting plates on the table, and I am standing there in my pyjamas, thinking about Noel still sleeping in my bed like the morning forgot to take him home.
“Why is Noel still asleep?” I ask.
Mum glances toward the hallway before she answers. “He’s very tired, love.”
“Tired from what?”
“Just tired.”
I frown because that is not a real answer. “He sleeps loads here.”
Mum puts a plate of toast on the table and smooths my hair back from my face. “Then let him sleep,” she says softly. “Sometimes people are very tired and need a bit more rest.”
“But it’s morning.”
“I know.”
I look toward my bedroom. “Should I wake him up?”
“No.” Mum smiles a little. “Let him rest.”
So I do.
By the time he wakes up, Dad was reading the paper at the table and reaches out to ruffle Noel’s hair when he walks in. Noel flinches so fast it is almost invisible. His shoulders jump, his head ducks down, one arm comes up halfway like he is trying to protect himself before he even knows he is doing it. Then he realises it is only Dad, only a hand in his hair. Nobody says anything about it.
That is how it starts happening more.
Not every night, not even every week, but sometimes Noel stays. Sometimes Mum makes up reasons before anyone asks, sometimes Dad says, “Sofa’s free if you’re tired, lad.” Sometimes I find extra blankets folded at the end of my bed even though Mum says they are just there because it gets cold.
Noel never says thank you properly. He says things like, “Your dad snores,” or “Your mum burns toast,” or “Your house smells like washing powder.” But he keeps coming back and I know that means thank you.
Months go by, then more months and Noel and I become the sort of friends people stop asking about because we are always together. At school, if someone sees me, they look for him. If someone sees him, they ask where I am. Mrs. Kelly says we are like two peas in a pod, but Noel says that is stupid because peas are disgusting.
We fight all the time. We fight about who gets the last biscuit. We fight about whether dogs are better than cats. We fight because he says my handwriting is too neat and I say his looks like a spider fell in ink and died. We fight because he cheats at games and then says cheating only counts if you get caught.
But if anyone else is mean to me, Noel gets meaner. And if anyone says anything about Noel, I get louder.
Mum says we are like brother and sister. I say no, because Noel is too annoying to be my brother.
Noel says, “You’d be lucky.”
I throw a cushion at his face. He throws it back harder.
But sometimes, when he is asleep on our sofa with one arm hanging off the side, or when he stands in our kitchen eating toast with jam on his cheek, or when he follows me around the park even though he says he is not following me, I think maybe Mum is right. Maybe Noel is not just my friend, maybe he is something that got left at our house by accident, something we are allowed to keep.
1976
Noel is nine now and I am nine too, which means we are nearly grown-ups. That is what I tell Mum when she says we are too little to go to the shops alone.
She says, “Nearly grown-ups still need to hold hands when they cross the road.”
Noel says he is not holding my hand because that is for babies. Then he holds my sleeve the whole way there.
He is taller than before, but not by much. His hair is messier and his face is sharper, like someone has rubbed out the soft bits. He still looks cross most of the time, but I know better now.
Noel is cross when he is hungry or when he is tired or when he is embarrassed. And sometimes Noel is cross when he is sad, because being sad is worse and he does not like people knowing.
I know lots of things about him now. I know he hates carrots but eats them at my house because Mum looks pleased when he does and I know he likes sitting closest to the heater, but pretends he does not care where he sits also I know he says Liam is annoying, but lets him climb all over him when Peggy brings him to the park. I know he likes stories with ships and treasure best, even though he says stories are stupid if they have too much talking.
I also know there are days when Noel does not come to school. And when he comes back, he does not tell me why.
“Were you ill?” I ask once.
“No.”
“Then where were you?”
“Nowhere.”
“You can’t be nowhere. Everyone is somewhere.”
Noel kicks a stone across the pavement. “Maybe I was nowhere.”
I think about that all afternoon. I do not like the idea of Noel being nowhere.
One Friday, he comes to my house after tea.
He is not supposed to because he did not come to school that day, and Mum always says if you are too poorly for school, you are too poorly for playing. But when she opens the door and sees him standing there, she does not say that.
She just says, “Come in, love.”
Noel’s lip is split. Not a lot, just a little bit, right in the corner, like when the cold makes your mouth crack in winter. But it is not winter. It is May.
I stare at it. Noel glares at me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Stop looking.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m looking at your stupid face because it is in front of me.” He snorts, but it hurts him because he touches his mouth after, very quick, like he does not want me to see.
Mum sees, Dad sees too. Nobody says anything. That is worse sometimes, when the grown-ups do not say anything, because it means there is something so big they are stepping around it.
After tea, Noel and I go upstairs. We are pirates now. We have been pirates for three weeks because Noel found a stick shaped like a sword near the park and said it was too good for me, so obviously I stole it. We make a ship out of my bed and the chair from my desk. The floor is the sea. My blanket is the sail. Susan, my doll, is a prisoner, but only because Noel says she has “shifty eyes.”
I tell him captains do not sit on the floor looking miserable.
He says, “Good thing you’re not captain then.”
“I am captain.”
“You’re rubbish.”
“You’re rubbish.”
“I’m first mate.”
“You can’t be first mate if you’re horrible.”
“Yes, I can. Pirates are horrible.” This is true, so I let him win that one.
We sail to India because I like the name and because it sounds far enough that ghosts cannot follow us. Noel says pirates do not go to India just because I like the name. I say these pirates do. He says I am bossy. I say he is lucky because otherwise he would be a boring pirate with no treasure.
He laughs, but only a little. Then he lies down on the bed-ship and looks at the ceiling. I sit beside him with the torch in my hand. His mouth is still red in the corner.
I ask, “Does it hurt?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
He does not answer.
I poke his shoulder. “Noel.”
“What?”
“You can tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
I look at the ceiling too because sometimes it is easier to talk when you are not looking at someone. “Did your house get haunted again?”
He goes very still. That is how I know. He does not cry. Not really. Noel almost never cries in the proper way, with noise and snot and all that. His eyes just get shiny and angry, like they are doing something without asking him first.
“I hate it there,” he says.
It is so quiet I nearly miss it. But I do not, I hear it. And something in my chest feels funny, like when you are running too fast and the air gets stuck.
So I say, “Then come live with me.”
Noel turns his head. “What?”
“You can live here.”
“That’s stupid.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, because we can be pirates.”
His eyebrows move closer together. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“If you live here, we can be pirates every day. And you won’t have to go back to the haunted house. And you won’t have to cry.”
“I’m not crying.”
“Fine. You won’t have to not cry.”
He looks away fast. I keep talking because I think if I stop, he will say no properly and then I will have to think of another plan.
“You can have the sofa, or we can ask Mum if you can have the little room with the boxes. We can move the boxes. I’ll help. And you can have toast whenever you want, and Dad won’t make you eat carrots if you tell him they make you sick.”
“They don’t make me sick.”
“They could.”
“That’s lying.”
“Pirates lie all the time.”
Noel makes a sound that is nearly a laugh.
I sit up on my knees. “And if the ghosts come, we’ll fight them. I’ll have the sword because I’m captain, but you can have the torch.”
“I don’t want the torch.”
“You can’t have the sword.”
“I’m better with the sword.”
“You are not. You hit the lamp yesterday.”
“It was in the way.”
“It was on the table.”
This time he does laugh. Only for a second. Then his face changes again and he looks nine and not nine at all. I do not know what to do with that face. So I take my blanket and put it over both our heads like a tent, even though we are too big for it now and our knees push up the sides.
“There,” I say. “Closet.”
“It’s not a closet.”
“It is now.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Fine. It’s a pirate closet.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It is if I say it is.”
Noel is quiet. Under the blanket, everything is warm and dark and yellow from the torch. I can hear him breathing next to me. I can hear Mum downstairs washing plates. I can hear Dad laughing at something on the telly.
I whisper, “You can hide here if you want.”
He does not say anything for so long that I think maybe he has fallen asleep. Then his shoulder touches mine. Just barely.
“I’m not hiding,” he says.
I nod, even though he cannot see me very well. “Okay.”
“I’m just sitting.”
“Okay.”
“With you.”
I smile in the dark. “That’s allowed.”
He wipes his face with his sleeve, quick and angry.
Then he says, “If I lived here, I’d be captain sometimes.”
“No.”
“Then I’m not living here.”
I think about it. “Fine. Tuesdays.”
“Tuesdays and Fridays.”
“One Friday a month.”
“Every Friday.”
“Noel.”
“What?”
“You are very difficult to rescue.”
He goes quiet again. Then, in the smallest voice, he says, “Yeah.”
I do not know why that makes me sad. So I give him the sword. Only because pirates need rescuing too sometimes.
1981
Noel and I are fourteen now, school still starts at nine. Buses still splash dirty water on your tights. Teachers still care about homework. Boys still push each other in corridors and act like idiots because apparently that is what boys are made for.
Noel is still my best friend.
He is taller now. Not properly tall, just taller than he was, and thin in a way that makes all his clothes look like they are waiting for him to grow into them. His hair is darker and always falling into his eyes. He has started walking with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders up, like he is bored of every person on earth.
He still looks miserable. Only now, unfortunately, he also looks nice and this is a terrible problem.
I do not tell anyone because I would rather be hit by a bus than say I fancy Noel Gallagher. Especially because he is Noel, and he would never let me live it down. He would probably make a face and say something awful like, “Course you do,” and then I would have to move countries.
Also, he knows everything about me. He knows I cried when my rabbit died even though it was actually my cousin’s rabbit and I had only met it twice. He knows I cannot whistle no matter how many times I try. He knows I still sleep with one foot out of the blanket because I get too hot. He knows I am scared of deep water, but only if I cannot see the bottom.
Sometimes, when he stays over, we do not build tents anymore because we are too old and because if anyone from school found out we were under a blanket together, we would both have to throw ourselves into the canal. Now he sleeps on the sofa. Or sometimes on the floor of my room if my parents are too tired to make rules and we are watching telly too late. Nothing happens. Obviously. We are not like that. We are normal.
Except sometimes his foot touches mine or sometimes we lie there in the dark and neither of us moves away and sometimes I can feel him looking at me and I pretend I do not, sometimes I look at him and he pretends he does not know.
So, normal.
One Thursday, he does not come to school. This is not new, but it still makes my stomach feel wrong.
By the last bell, I have chewed the skin beside my thumb until it hurts. I walk home slowly, looking for him even though I tell myself I am not looking for him. I look near the corner shop, by the park, at the bus stop. I look down every street like he might appear by magic, with his stupid coat and his stupid face and some stupid thing to say about how I walk too slowly.
He is not there.
Then, when I am almost home, I hear someone shout my name, I turn around and Noel is running down the street. Actually running.
Noel never runs unless Liam is chasing him with something sticky or someone has threatened to take the last chip. His coat is open, his hair is all over the place, and he looks like he has forgotten he is supposed to be too cool for everything.
For one horrible second, I think something bad has happened. Then I see his face, he is smiling, properly. It makes him look younger and older at the same time.
I stop in the middle of the pavement. “What happened?”
He reaches me out of breath, one hand on the wall beside us, laughing a little even though he is trying not to.
“She’s doing it,” he says.
“Who?”
“Our mam.” I stare at him. He looks at me like I am being thick on purpose. “She’s leaving him.”
Everything goes quiet. “She is?”
“Yeah.”
“Noel.”
“She is.” His voice cracks a bit, and he hates it, so he looks away fast. “She’s actually doing it. She’s taking us.”
I do not know what to do first. Maybe I laugh or cry or throw myself at him. I only know that suddenly my arms are around his neck and he is hugging me back so tightly it hurts. His face presses into my shoulder for one second, just one, and I feel him breathe like he has been holding it for years.
Then he says, against my shoulder, “We’re leaving Burnage.”
And my heart drops so hard I almost let go.
I pull back slowly. “What?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “We’re going somewhere else. Don’t know exactly. Somewhere away from him.”
“Away,” I repeat.
“Yeah.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah.”
Neither of us says anything. His smile has gone smaller now, like he knew this part was coming and hated it before I even heard it.
I look at his face. The one I know better than any face in the world. The one I used to see across a blanket tent when we were little. The one I used to check for bruises before I knew that was what I was doing. The one that has annoyed me every single day for seven years.
“You have to go,” I say. He blinks. I hate that he looks surprised. “Obviously you have to go.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
“Fine.”
“Good.”
“Stop saying good.”
“I’m saying it because it is.”
“I know it is.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you want me to tell you not to.”
He looks away. That is enough of an answer. I feel something split open inside me. Because I do want to tell him not to.
I want to say you can live with me, remember? We can still be pirates, even if we are too old and stupid now. I want to say you can have the sofa, my room, the little room with the boxes, anything, just do not disappear from the only place I know how to find you.
But I am fourteen, not seven. I know things now. So I swallow all of it, for him.
I say, “Noel, you have to leave.”
His jaw moves, he nods once. “I know.”
“And don’t be stupid about it.”
“I’m not stupid.”
“You are sometimes.”
“You’re always stupid.”
“You’re the one who thought pirates couldn't go to India.”
“That was years ago.”
“You were wrong then and you’re wrong now.”
“About what?”
“About thinking you should feel bad for going.”
He looks at me properly then. I wish he would not. There are some things that are easier when he is not looking at me.
“You’re allowed to be happy,” I say, and my voice sounds strange. “You know that, right?”
His face does something I cannot name. For a second, he looks like the little boy under the blanket again. The one who said he hated his house. The one who said he was not hiding. Then he looks fourteen again, and mean, and embarrassed, and close to crying in that awful Noel way where his eyes get bright and his mouth goes sharp.
He catches my wrist, not hard. Just enough. For one second, neither of us moves. His hand is warm around my wrist. His thumb is right where my pulse is, and I wonder if he can feel how fast my heart is going. I wonder if his is doing the same thing. I wonder if he knows. I wonder if he has always known.
Then he lets go like he has burned himself.
I put my hand in my coat pocket and pretend it is nothing. “When?” I ask.
“Soon.”
“How soon?”
“In a couple of days maybe.”
“That’s very soon.”
“Yeah.”
“Will you write?”
He makes a face. “I’m not writing letters like some old woman.”
“Noel.”
“What?”
“Will you write?”
He looks at the pavement. “Maybe.”
That means yes. Or maybe it means no and he is too much of a coward to say it. I cannot tell this time, and I hate that.
We start walking to my house like we always do. Even now. Even when everything has changed, our feet still know where to go.
Mum is in the kitchen when we arrive. She sees Noel’s face before I say anything. Peggy must have told her already, because Mum’s eyes go soft and sad.
“Oh, love,” she says.
Noel rolls his eyes. “Don’t.”
But he lets her hug him. That is how I know he is really happy.
Dad claps him on the shoulder, careful like always, and says, “Best news I’ve heard all year, lad.”
Noel stares at the floor. “Yeah.”
Mum makes tea. Dad makes toast even though it is not tea time. Noel eats three slices and says our butter is rubbish. Mum tells him he has been eating our rubbish butter for seven years. He says that is how he knows. Everyone laughs. I do too. But it feels like laughing with a stone in my chest.
Later, we sit on the back step while the sky goes grey and the air smells like rain. We are shoulder to shoulder, but not touching.
Neither of us says much. There is too much to say, so we say almost nothing.
“You’ll be alright,” I tell him.
He picks at a loose thread on his sleeve. “You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do.”
“How?”
I look at him. “Because you won’t be there.”
He goes quiet. The rain starts very softly, little dots on the concrete. He does not move. I do not either.
After a while, he says, “What if it’s worse?”
“It won’t be.”
“What if it is?”
“Then you come back.”
“And do what?”
“Live with me.” He looks at me. I try to smile. “We’ll be pirates.”
For a second, he almost smiles too. Almost. Then his face falls apart in the smallest way. Not enough for anyone else to see. Enough for me.
“You’re mental,” he says.
“I know.”
“That was a stupid plan then.”
“It was a brilliant plan.”
“You wanted me to sleep in a pirate closet.”
“It was safer than your house.”
The words come out before I can stop them. We both freeze. The rain gets a little harder.
Noel looks away first. “Yeah,” he says.
It is barely a sound. I wish I could take the sentence back. Not because it is not true, but because it is too true. It sits between us, ugly and honest.
I put my hand on the step between us. Not touching him. Just there. After a moment, his little finger hooks around mine. It is such a tiny thing. So stupid, childish. So us.
I stare straight ahead because if I look at him, I will cry, and if I cry, he will either be horrible or he will be kind, and I do not know which one would hurt worse.
“I’m glad,” I say.
His finger tightens around mine. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“You look like someone’s died.”
“Maybe someone has.” He turns his head. I do not mean to say it. I really do not. But it is already there. I shrug, like it is nothing. “Not you. Just… us.”
Noel does not make a joke. He just looks at our hands, at his little finger around mine, like he is trying to memorise something without anyone noticing.
Then he says, “There’ll still be us.”
I want to believe him. I do. I want it so badly it hurts. But I know how grown-ups say things they cannot promise. I know how people leave even when they do not want to. I know letters get forgotten. I know buses go different ways. I know life is bigger than two fourteen-year-olds on a back step pretending their hands are not touching.
So I say, “Okay.”
Noel hears everything I do not say. He always does. He leans his shoulder into mine. This time, he does not move away. We sit there until Mum calls us in because we are getting soaked. And when Noel stands up, he lets go of my finger first. I try not to hate him for that. I try to be happy. I am happy. I am. He is leaving that house. He is leaving the shouting and the doors and the flinching and the terrible quiet after terrible noise. He is leaving the place that made him look older than he was. He is leaving the place that taught him to turn soft things sharp before anyone else could touch them.
That is the best thing that has ever happened. So why does it feel like someone is taking him from me too?
That night, after he goes home, I lie in bed and look at the ceiling. I am too old to make a tent. Too old for pirate closets. Too old to believe you can save someone by moving boxes out of the spare room. But I still think about it: he could have lived here, I would have let him be captain on Fridays.
And also I hope he goes but I hope he stays too, and I hate myself for the second one.
1991
I am twenty-four when I see Noel Gallagher again.
It happens in a pub so small and miserable it looks like it has been forgotten on purpose.
The floor is sticky. The beer is warm. The lights are bad. There is a band playing in the corner, or trying to, but the sound is mostly feedback and someone’s amp giving up on life. People talk over them anyway. Nobody here looks like they are going anywhere.
Then I see him. At first, it is just the back of his head. Dark hair. Shoulders slightly hunched. Cigarette between his fingers. A pint in front of him. One elbow on the bar like he owns the place and also hates it.
I know him instantly. That is the stupidest part. Ten years go by. People grow up. Faces change. Voices drop. Lives happen. You forget the exact shape of someone’s hands, the way they looked in a school jumper, the sound of their laugh before it got heavy with smoke and adulthood.
But I know him. Before he turns around. Before I see his face. Before anyone says his name. I know him.
My feet move before I decide anything. “Noel?”
He turns. And for one second, all the noise in the pub goes somewhere else. He is older, obviously. Sharper. His face has lost the last of the boy I knew, except it has not, not really. It is still there in the eyes, in the way he looks at me like he is trying to be unimpressed and failing so badly it almost hurts.
His mouth opens. Nothing comes out. That is how I know it is really him. Noel Gallagher, speechless.
I should enjoy it more. Instead, my chest feels too tight.
“Hi,” I say, because apparently after ten years that is all I have.
He blinks once. Then twice. Then he says my name. Just my name. Like he has had it somewhere in his mouth all this time and is surprised it still fits.
I smile, even though I feel like I might shake apart. “You remember me, then.”
He stares at me. “Are you joking?”
I shrug. “A bit.”
“You look…” He stops. He looks annoyed with himself. “Different,” he says finally.
“That’s insulting.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“It is if you say it like that.”
“I mean you don’t look twelve anymore.”
“I was fourteen.”
“Yeah, well. You looked twelve.”
“And you looked miserable.”
“I still do.”
I laugh. And there it is. His face changes. For a second, he looks exactly like the boy on my back step in the rain, little finger hooked around mine, pretending leaving did not hurt because staying would have killed him.
He looks away first. Of course he does. “You want a drink?” he asks.
“I’ve got one.”
He glances at the glass in my hand. “That’s not a drink. That’s coloured water.”
“It’s a lager.”
“It’s tragic.”
“You’ve been back in my life for twenty seconds and you’re already annoying.”
“Good to know I’ve still got it.”
He buys me a beer anyway. A proper one, according to him, which tastes almost exactly the same but I do not say that because he looks pleased with himself.
We sit in a corner where the table wobbles every time one of us moves. Ten years sit down with us. At first, we talk around them. He tells me he has been working, doing bits here and there, roadie work, music, bands, nothing glamorous. He says it like he does not care, but his fingers tap against the glass every time he mentions music. I tell him about my life. Not all of it. Just enough. Where I moved. What I studied. Jobs I hated. People he does not know. Places that meant nothing because he was not there.
He asks about my parents. “They’re good,” I say. “Mum still burns toast.”
“She always did.”
“You always ate it.”
“I was being polite.”
“You once told her her butter was rubbish.”
“Yeah, but I ate the toast, didn’t I?”
I smile down at my drink. “She asks about you sometimes.”
His face does something careful. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He nods like that is nothing. It is not nothing. I know him.
“And Peggy?” I ask.
“She’s alright.”
“Paul?”
“Alright.”
“Liam?”
Noel snorts. “Loud.”
“So, alright.”
“Depends who you ask.”
I laugh again, and this time he does too. Properly. Quiet, but real. For a moment, it is easy. Then it is not. Because his knee brushes mine under the table and neither of us moves. Because I notice his hands. Because he looks at me too long and then looks away like he has been caught stealing. Because ten years is a very long time until suddenly it is nothing.
“You disappeared,” I say.
Noel looks into his pint. “Yeah.”
“I wrote twice.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t write back.”
“I know.”
“That was horrible of you.”
“Yeah.”
I expect a joke. I expect him to go sharp. I expect him to make it easier by making me angry but he does not. He just sits there, older and not older, with his thumb rubbing at the wet ring his glass has left on the table.
“I didn’t know what to say,” he says.
I hate how much I believe him. “You could’ve said anything.”
“No, I couldn’t.”
“Why?”
He looks at me then. And suddenly he is fourteen again, and I am fourteen again, and the rain is on the concrete, and his little finger is around mine, and everything we were too young to say is sitting between us again.
“Because if I started,” he says, “I wouldn’t have stopped.”
My throat tightens. The band in the corner starts another song. Someone cheers ironically. Someone drops a glass near the bar. The pub keeps living around us like it has no idea.
I look at him.
Noel says, “You still look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you know things.”
“I do know things.”
“Yeah,” he says. “You always did.”
I should say something clever. I should ask him about the band, or his life, or where he lives now, or whether he is happy, or whether he ever thinks about the pirate closet, or whether he remembers promising there would still be us.
Instead, I say, “I missed you.”
His face breaks. Then he leans forward and kisses me. It is ten years of not writing back. Ten years of almost forgetting and never managing it. Ten years of every house after his not being mine. Ten years of my name still fitting in his mouth.
Then it slows. His hand comes up to my face like he is checking I am real. I kiss him back before I can think better of it. Maybe I do not want to think better of it.
When we pull apart, he stays close. Too close. His forehead nearly touches mine. For once, Noel does not look like he has something mean to say. He looks scared.
I whisper, “Noel.”
He closes his eyes for half a second. Then he says, very quietly, “I still got love for you.”
I look at him, at the boy I lost and the man sitting in front of me, and I realise some things do not disappear just because nobody says them for ten years. Some things wait. Like songs. Like ghosts. Like love.
I touch his wrist under the table and this time, he does not let go.
taglist: @evasmlp @misswhiddless @zulema222 @shesselectricc @mybigmouthera @gxnyadavid @dykwimean @angstynasty
this is the cutest and my favorite oasis fanfiction i've ever read 🥺🥺🥺 like why did i legit cry
to my beautiful amazing peopleeeee
100 followers on this account? i literally cannot believe it considering i started my oasis fanfiction blog like two months ago?? i love u guys thank you for reading my writing <33 mwah mwah mwah xoxoxoxoxo
birthday boy 🎂
happyyyy birthdayyyyy noelyy g 😌🫰
Noel Gallagher in The Making of Council Skies
hes so cute i died
guigsy 🤍
one word: babygirl 🤍
pretty boy (the neighbourhood).
pairing: liam gallagher x fem!reader
word count: 3,875
cw: suggestiveness, fluff, flirting, smoking, drinking, drunk characters, harsh language
summary: breaking up with her long time boyfriend is a struggle, so going to the club to let loose seems like a good solution. so does a little black dress. and perhaps...liam gallagher?
she lit a cigarette in her warm bedroom, the flame creating a romantic, dim reflection in her eyes. she stayed under the covers, her eyes stained with tears because the man she thought she loved cheated on her. brushing it off felt like a good idea, but no matter what, it hit harder each time the thought entered her head.
taking his phone. finding secret messages. yelling at him with tears streaming down her face.
she dug her palms into her eyes so hard she saw stars. she blew the cigarette smoke out of her mouth, letting it curl above her. she sat there, trying her best to think about a solution. going out with friends? no. she didn’t feel like it. right now, the solution was to sit in bed and mope. but thats not what she wanted to do. she felt heartbroken, but lazy and worthless. if he didn't care about her feelings, she should show that she doesn't care as well.
she shouldn't be here crying about some dickhead who clearly wasnt right for her. when she was done with her cig, she dabbed the ash on the small ceramic tray on her bedside table, and flew the covers off her legs.
goosebumps ran up her knees, and she shivered with the window open, the city lights reflecting on her and running over her body, making her glow with golden streaks of light around her eyes. she scurried over to the windowsill just in her oversized t-shirt and her black lacy underwear, looking down at the dark city, quiet.
she heard a faint hum of the club across the street thumping with heavy music. the rest was quiet, only the stars and the moon gazing down at her. even they looked at her like she was worthless.
wait. the club.
maybe that was the solution. staying in bed all day with a cigarette pack seemed nice, but gaining confidence also sounded nicer. and so did a beer. she smirked, pushing herself off the windowsill and opening the wooden doors to her closet. red dress, too much. pink dress, too playful. dark purple? she didn't remember owning that one. black…wait. black was decent. a little too short for her confidence level, but her goal was to reach it. it was perfect.
she tugged the dress up towards her chest, trying to see how it would hang on her hips. then she tugged it down, trying to cover herself more. it was a two way street. she sighed, tugging it more to cover her thighs, rather than her chest. she could just wear a jacket. she settled on a red leather jacket, covering her perfectly, but also showing enough of the dress. she smiled in the mirror, tilting her head.
it was good enough.
after adding some lip gloss and letting her hair flow wildly, she grabbed her cig pack and stuck it in the big pocket of her jacket, heading out the door of her flat.
𓆩♡𓆪
she briefly flashed her id, getting her inside. she opened the door, immediately smelling the cigarette smoke and the hazy feeling of the dim lights hitting her body. she had stepped into a crowded, sweaty, club- it was acceptable for today, she just wanted to get drunk and forget about the life she lived yesterday.
she sat herself down at the bar, sliding into a small stool at the counter. she removed her jacket, putting it on the back of the stool, leaning her arms on the counter. her bare forearms shivered on the cool stone of the counter, but she tried to ignore it. the bartender shouted over the music, asking her what she wanted to drink.
“uh, one guinness please.” she sighed with a small smile.
“two, actually.” someone called out to the bartender next to her, leaning their elbows on the counter.
she squinted into the distance, not looking. she tried to recognize the voice- maybe it was her ex-boyfriend. but now that he was with that new bitch, he probably didnt think twice about her. she didn’t recognize his voice- especially not his accent. she whipped her head around, only for her eyes to be met with liam gallagher.
wait. what?
his eyes were shielded with thick black sunglasses, short strands of brown hanging slightly over his glasses. he was wearing a white button up, a few buttons loose on the top to expose his chest. his muscles were toned, and she could see it through his shirt. she blushed, confused and curious. she was still trying to process why he would talk to her, or if she should even talk to him.
everything she heard about him was drama. in the papers, all they talked about was the fallout of their life-changing band oasis. his brother quit on him, leaving him in the dirt. he was a dirty player, and the women who did date him in the past came out discussing how much of a cunt he was.
he shot her a grin, bringing her back into the world. she blinked her eyes, trying to take in the situation. she opened her mouth to speak before quickly shutting it again. what should she say?
all of a sudden, the bartender slammed the glasses of beer down on the counter, the liquid trying to jump out of the glass. she turned her head, grabbing her pint and putting it up to her lips. she took a big gulp, dragging out how long it was so she could think about what to say to the man in front of her.
he laughed, bringing his own up to his lips and taking a gulp. she didn't even realize she split the g until liam pointed at her.
“nice.” he nodded.
she gulped, holding her chest. the sensation was so unusual- she had never drank that much beer in one sip. it felt good though, she needed to let go tonight.
“do you speak, birdie?” he leaned his arm on the counter again, tilting his head to look deep in her eyes.
she shivered, knowing his eyes were searching hers, even though she couldnt see under his dark glasses.
“what’s a pretty girl like you doin in a club all alone?” he furrowed his brows.
she nearly gasped, a little shocked at his choice of words.
“im trying to erase the past with a beer.” she held up her pint, showcasing the damage she did to her guinness in seconds. he chuckled darkly, continuing to examine her pretty face in the dim lighting of the club. he wanted to question her response, but maybe she was just trying to get drunk and forget about whatever shit happened earlier.
“what’s a famous rock star like you doing in a club all alone?” she shot back.
his lips curled into a sly smile. “i think you’re the first to notice me.”
she made a face. “impossible.”
he tilted his head in curiosity. “why is that, hm?”
she froze. “cause,”
he was invested now.
“i’m, uh…good with faces.” she said, her head held high.
“oh” he nodded sarcastically, taking another sip of his beer.
“you shouldn’t be talking to me.” she spit out, turning away from him shyly.
his shoulders tightened at her words, confused. “oh? why not?” liam pushed.
“because im…” she gestured with her hands all around her figure. “a mess.” she sighed.
he frowned slightly.
a wave of realization washed over her.
“wait, why are you talking to me?” she squinted.
his lips curled into a small smile. “because yer a mess just like me.”
she squinted with a soft chuckle.
“no, really? you seemed lonely.” he admitted.
“i am." she groaned.
“not anymore.” he slid into the stool next to her, mimicking her posture with her elbows on the counter.
“so tell me. why'r ya so alone?” he took another sip of his beer.
“breakup.” she said, drawing wet circles on her glass with the dripping dew.
“ah. sorry.” he said, twiddling with his fingers. deep in thought, he wondered if he really was sorry…
“its alright.” she didn't look at him.
her response snapped him out of his trance. “what happened? just didn't work out?”
she squinted, slowly turning her head to liam. “why are you so curious?”
he shrugged. “there's a voice in me head tellin me i gotta know ya.”
she smiled, not questioning his curiosity once more.
she turned her head back to her guinness, sighing at the thought of her ex-boyfriend again.
“he cheated.” she blurted.
liam was silent for a second. “right cunt he is.”
“yeah?” she challenged with a knowing smirk on her face.
“listen love, i've known you not even two minutes and even i can tell yer not the girl who deserves a heartbreak. and, you’re very pretty. i don't see a lot of birds with a rare type of beauty like you.” he explained, pointing a finger at her face.
she was surprised, frozen. did liam gallagher just say that to her? a much older rockstar just complimented her in the sweetest way nobody has before, and a blush crept up her cheeks. hell, he just complimented her far more than her ex-boyfriend ever did. what the fuck was happening?
“enough about me.” she pulled a strand of hair behind her ear. “tell me about you.”
“well, whaddya wanna know?”
she squinted in thought. “why are you wearing sunglasses inside?”
he laughed, definitely not expecting that.
“it's stylish.” he shrugged.
“can i see?” she asked, slowly lifting her hands.
he furrowed his brows. “see what?”
she bit her lip, bringing her hands up to his eyes to remove his glasses.
when she removed them, she caught sight of his eyes stuck on her lips. she smiled, and he watched the way her lips winded into a pretty grin. even her laughter was the prettiest sound he ever heard.
she placed his glasses on the counter, turning back to face him. she looked deep in his eyes, almost gasping at the sight of his pretty baby blue eyes.
she leaned on her head on her elbow, admiring him.
“you have really pretty eyes.” she said gently.
he didn't expect that one either.
“yeah?” he chuckled as his expression softened.
she nodded, biting her lip again. she knew exactly what that did to him, watching his eyes as they trailed down to her soft lips again.
“yeah. nobody's ever told you that?”
he licked his lips, his eyes returning to meet hers. “no…probably me ma.”
she laughed. “girls don't normally ask about you?”
he smiled. “not really. i don't really talk with many birds…not what they're into.” he shook his head.
“oh. okay.” her cheeks warmed, the realization dawning on her.
they were both silent for a bit, and all she was thinking about was if he was only talking to her because he wanted to take a step further. freshly out of a relationship, she really didn't care what she did tonight, even if it was a fling with liam gallagher.
but she liked talking with him, maybe because he made her feel seen. it was weird- he was nothing like how they described him in the papers.
she blushed, immediately considering asking the question on the tip of her tongue.
fuck it.
"do you expect that from me?" she asked, trying to seem bold, but her voice came out smaller than expected.
his eyebrows knit together. "expect what?"
she was wondering how obvious it was. maybe it wasn't...did she really have to elaborate?
she sighed, preparing to ask her question.
"why are you talking to me?" she squinted her eyes.
a wave of confusion ran over him.
"ya already asked me that. 'cause y'were lonely."
she had a hard time believing him, but chose to carry on. "oh." she placed a stray hair behind her ear.
"what's wrong?" he asked so softly it caught her off guard. she didn't take him to be the man who realizes sparks of emotion.
"uh, nothing." she shook her head, taking the last big gulp of her guinness before it finished.
he came closer to her, so close that she could feel his breath fanning down her neck. she shivered, gripping her glass, trying to prepare for what was coming. though to be honest, she did not have a clue what he was going to do or ask.
"what do i expect from you?" he asked, his voice deep.
she wasn't looking at him, and refused to turn her head to face him.
"look at me." he demanded, but softly. so softly it caught her off guard.
she turned her body to look at him, just enough for the stool to squeak on the polished floors.
"i thought that maybe you wanted more with me. its not all the time a rockstar approaches me in a club and asks to simply just talk." she admitted.
he laughed. "how often does that happen?"
"not often." she chuckled.
"i won't rush ya. not if ya don't want me to." he brushed a sweaty strand of hair that stuck to her forehead behind her ear.
she shivered under his touch, feeling completely exposed and too close to him.
"lead the way." was all she said.
a grin spread across his lips. "check!" he waved over the bartender, all while his eyes never left hers.
she gulped. was this the right choice?- it didn't matter.
𓆩♡𓆪
liam dragged her through the club, his hand in hers.
"my driver should be here soon." liam tapped his foot, looking at his watch.
"cancel it. just come with me." she blurted out.
it was obvious she couldn't wait.
his eyebrows knit together in confusion. "huh?"
"come back with me. to my flat." she offered, her cheeks getting red.
"are you sure?" he asked cautiously, but a grin was already teasing his lips.
"mhm. follow me." she turned the corner, walking across the street to her flat.
they walked inside the complex, and she hit the elevator button. liam tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for the elevator doors to open. she pursed her lips together in awkwardness. it couldn't get quieter.
finally the doors opened, and she sighed- but was grateful liam couldn't hear her over the sharp ding of the elevator's bell.
"what floor are you?" he asked, his voice gruff behind her.
her stomach fluttered. "fifth." she gulped.
a beat of quiet. then another.
then, "christ." he shook his head behind her.
"anybody up right now?" he asked cutely.
she turned her head slowly to face him leaning on the railing inside the elevator behind her. the glass reflective walls showed the two of them facing each other, and she edged closer to liam.
"no. they're all like, ninety." she giggled, her arms crossed over her chest.
he pulled her in by her waist, letting her stand between him. she shuddered.
"good. no interruptions." he leaned in, and their noses brushed.
"if somebody catches us right now just kill me." she sighed.
he laughed, tugging her closer by her waist and pressing a deep, teasing kiss to her lips.
she smiled into it, which shortly turned into a laugh. liam pulled away, confused.
"what?" he whispered against her lips as she giggled. the sound of her laugh made his stomach flutter.
"s'nothing...just," she started, wrapping her hands around his neck.
"im making out with liam gallagher in an elevator." she said quietly.
he laughed. "would you rather be kissin' that arsehole ex of yours instead?"
her eyes widened. "no! no way. you're perfect."
his expression softened at that.
"it's just crazy. why would you want me when there's a million girls who would willingly fall at your feet if you asked?" she mumbled against his lips.
liam only grabbed her waist tighter, pulling her in for another kiss.
"because you're better than them." he whispered.
she pulled him into another kiss.
"perfect." he mumbled into the kiss.
𓆩♡𓆪
the elevator rang, announcing that they reached her floor. neither of them heard it. as the doors opened, a lovely old couple's eyes widened, almost giving them a heart attack.
she was pressed against the railing, her and liam both drunk on a deep kiss.
"we're here." he whispered, pulling away.
"wait. im not ready to leave" she tugged the collar of his shirt.
he tilted his head cutely, trying to get a better look at her when something caught his eye. he fully turned his head to see two frozen elderly folks, the man's cane wobbling at the sight of them.
"what?" she whispered, tugging his collar eagerly.
liam cleared his throat, looking back at her. "love" he said through a cough.
her eyebrows furrowed. he jerked his head to the left, revealing the elderly folks standing outside the doors.
"shit." she mumbled. she reached for liam's hand, tugging him outside of the elevator.
"evening mrs. connelly. what are you doing out of your room so late?" she asked as innocent as she could, even as her cheeks were flushed red.
"we could ask you the same thing" her husband chuckled.
she blushed even more, her color turning redder by the second.
"dear, we were going to visit our daughter, she lives right downstairs." the woman explained.
"oh. well have a nice night." she said quickly, already tugging liam down the hallway.
"you too" the woman said slowly.
she stopped walking, turning her head back towards the couple. liam also turned his head, flashing a kind but dismissive smile.
"wait." the woman squinted her eyes.
"i've seen you, lad. on television." she pointed a shaky finger at liam.
"i'm sure you have, miss. g'night." liam tugged her wrist.
they left the couple speechless in the hallway as they turned the corner to her room.
"he's that pretty boy singer isn't he?" the old lady asked her husband.
he just shrugged, stepping into the hallway.
liam and her were pressed on the wall on the corner of the hallway, listening to the couple. she snickered, and liam draped a palm over her mouth to muffle her giggles.
"fuck. that was-" he started, dropping his palm.
"are they gone?" she asked.
"mhm." he nodded, kissing her again. she smiled into the kiss, teasing him with her lips.
"pretty boy." she repeated, playing with the collar of his button up.
he smiled. "where's yours?"
"down the hall. c'mon." she tugged him by his wrist, leading him to her door.
𓆩♡𓆪
"holy shit." he eyed her flat from corner to corner, looking everywhere he could. her living room had a massive window, overlooking the whole city.
"you like it?" she asked, removing her jacket and sitting on the edge of the couch.
"like it? this is awesome." liam looked up and down, admiring the view from her window.
one wall was plastered with band posters- the whole wall. his eyes widened. he spotted the stone roses, pulp, the beatles, the verve, and even a small oasis one. "heh. you got me on here." he pointed at his face; a poster of him with sunglasses on, the large oasis logo above him and noel, bonehead, and guigsy.
"you never said you were a fan." he realized.
"I like your guys music. i'm not gonna yell at you for an autograph or like, overreact when you came up to me in the club, but I will admit- you have a great sound."
"we had an amazing sound." he corrected. "cunt had to ruin it all"
she frowned. "sorry."
"s'alright. all good things gotta end, yeah?" he shoved his hands in his pockets.
"maybe." she mumbled. "maybe not."
liam looked back at all of the posters, squinting in the dim lighting.
"don't fuck with me" he said, shaking his head. "seriously?" he pointed towards a poster of blur.
she laughed. "they have a good sound as well."
"ehhhh" liam said.
"not as good as you guys, though." she came up next to him.
"that's what I'm talkin about, babe." he nodded.
she blushed, trying her hardest not to smile.
"c'mere." she said. he turned his head, walking closer to her. she pressed her back against her wall of posters, and he followed her steps.
"can I?" he asked, leaning in, his lips brushing her ear as his hands hovered over her waist.
she nodded, biting her lip, and he set his hands on her waist.
she pulled him into another kiss, this one full of hunger.
she could have sworn the world paused. it was just the two of them, frozen in time.
then, he pulled away, hesitant. liam shook his head.
her eyebrows furrowed as she lost contact with his lips, and she opened her eyes. "what's wrong?"
"i cant kiss yer with that cunt starin' at me."
she squinted her eyes, turning around. the blur poster. damon staring into his soul.
"are you serious?" she laughed loudly.
"yes. its creepy." liam said.
she sighed, and then grabbed his wrist, pulling him in the direction of her bedroom. she shut the door, crawling into her sheets.
"is here better?" she asked.
he leaned his head on the back of her door, sighing at the sight of her in the dim lighting. "much better. no dermot in here right?"
"uh, no." she calculated the weird name with a chuckle.
"good." he came closer, hovering over her on the bed and pulling her into a hungry kiss.
𓆩♡𓆪
liam traced slow circles on her shoulder. "how could ya say yer not perfect? you're sent from fuckin heaven" he shook his head, placing a kiss on her shoulder.
she hummed in response, still sleepy, and rolling around in the sheets.
"what?" she asked with a loud yawn. liam chuckled.
"i'm gonna go make breakfast" he announced, pulling the sheets off his legs.
her eyebrows furrowed as she sat up in bed. "you can make breakfast?"
he smirked. "uhh, no. but i can try."
she giggled softly, stretching her arms over her head.
𓆩♡𓆪
"I appreciate this..." she picked up her food, examining it.
"amazing gourmet meal? hotel style breakfast? the gallagher special?" liam guessed.
"burnt toast." she finished, speaking slowly.
his mouth made the shape of an "o" in understanding.
"but thank you." she took a bite.
"mmm. buttery." she said while chewing, trying to enjoy it as hard as she could.
"out of ten?" liam asked eagerly.
"don't make me answer that." she giggled, taking a sip of her tea.
𓆩♡𓆪
"i've gotta run." liam buckled his belt, and she helped him button his shirt, smoothing out the soft fabric.
"okay." she nodded cutely.
"here's my digits. call me whenever." liam kissed her head, handing her a small piece of paper.
"how's tomorrow?" she asked, leaning in the doorway of her bedroom.
"mm, how's tonight?" liam offered.
"perfect." she tugged her robe tighter around her body, smiling at him.
"don't forget to call." he said, popping an extra strawberry in his mouth.
"impossible. you're all i can think about." she shot back.
his devilish grin appeared. "let's keep it that way." liam said as he closed the door to her flat, slipping outside.
he was not what she expected. he was nothing the papers described him as. liam was cute. he didn't rush her. he was a pretty boy, too.
𓆩♡𓆪
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i know y'all are hungry I promise its coming
girl dad noel is everything to me 🥹💞
my cutie 💓
finally working on a new liam fic we all cheered
HERMANITOOOOOS 🗣️
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